Palestinian traders stay put in Jerusalem’s Old City, despite intimidation

The entrance to Jerusalem’s Old City is partially blocked by police vans.

“Where are you from?” barks one of several Israeli police officers at a makeshift checkpoint near Damascus Gate.

“Britain,” I reply. He looks confused. “UK… England.” He’s not happy.

“Are you Muslim?” I shake my head.

He passes my passport on to his colleague who asks if I am a tourist. I reply to the affirmative and I am finally let through. At the bottom of the steps is another checkpoint and I count around 25 within the 0.9 square kilometre of the walled city. Palestinians are stopped at these smaller checkpoints; tourists are waved through.

There has been a ban on Palestinians entering the Old City in occupied East Jerusalem for the past 48 hours, following the killing of two Israeli settlers by Palestinian Mohannad Halabi and the alleged stabbing of an Israeli by Palestinian Fadi Alloun, both on 3 October.

“Yesterday, only because I have the paper of my shop, they [Israeli forces] let me come and open it,” says 40-year-old Mohammed Fakhoury. “But I waited two hours until they let me inside, like 100 metres. Finally, when we were 10 people, they allowed us to open our shops.” Mohammed points to the checkpoint near his accessories and clothes store. “This street was closed on Sunday. My neighbour’s house is behind his shop but they didn’t even let him enter the street.”

The last time I came to the Old City was in August when I lost my friend for 20 minutes in the flurry of people, vehicles navigating the narrow and steep steps and the aroma of sweet-smelling spices. Today, with my camera and notepad, I am painfully conspicuous but the atmosphere is subdued; few people try to encourage me into their shops.

I suddenly realise how many Israeli settlers there are walking around this labyrinth in the heart of East Jerusalem. They no longer mingle with the crowd; they are the crowd. Israeli flags sway in the breeze, soldiers take photos of each other, laugh, joke and play on their phones. There are soldiers, police and border police at every turn, around 500 in total. A group of Japanese Christians walk past them with a small cross, singing. It seems somehow symbolic.

Mohammed is from Issawiya, a neighbourhood in East Jerusalem, and tells me that in the 18 years he has worked in his shop, the situation has never been so bad. “You can say that business is zero at this time. For three months now, there has been no trade and many problems.”

In his family-owned ceramics shop a few stores down, Mousa Fakhoury agrees. “There are not so many people at the moment.” He has counted six checkpoints in the short distance from Damascus Gate to his shop.

Even before these past two days and a lacklustre summer, though, the businesses were struggling. “Tour guides don’t bring people here,” explains Mousa, who has worked in the shop for 15 years and studies Arabic calligraphy. “They only go to the big shops where they get 35 per cent commission. Israelis benefit from the Old City; they take tourists to Israeli hotels, cafes and shops. They don’t take them to Arab areas; they say that Arabs are not good and that they steal things. That also makes the business bad.”

Proudly, Mousa shows me a magazine article from two years ago written in English about his shop in Jerusalem and pottery factory in Hebron. “Before the second intifada [uprising] in 2000 we had five times as many customers as today,” he tells me. “This shop doesn’t make so much profit, but we have to stay here. We can’t close the shop.”

Traders tell me that since the start of the Jewish holiday of Sukkot on 27 September, the problems have intensified. “They closed down the city.” says souvenir shop owner Yacroub Nashashibi.

Tensions over Al-Aqsa Mosque have flared in recent weeks, with the Israeli military repeatedly storming the site to allow Jews to enter during a series of religious festivals. Windows, doors and chairs have been broken inside the mosque and Palestinian worshippers assaulted. For 10 days, only Old City residents and Palestinian Israelis have been able to enter Islam’s third holiest site, alongside men over 50 and women of all ages.

Mohammed Fakhoury says that he and many other men have had to pray on the street instead, near a checkpoint. “I don’t think there will be quiet at this time because they don’t let us to pray in the mosque.”

Mousa Fakhoury agrees. He believes that “the Israeli occupation wants to start a religious war” and says that Israeli forces have also prevented children from going to two schools nearby.

“What do you think about the actions of Mohannad Halabi?” I ask.

“When you live under an unfair situation with the Israeli occupation, they are always doing crimes against us,” Mousa answers. “Some people, they can’t keep silent when they see these crimes. I think we will never have peace under the Israeli leadership.”

On Sunday 4 October, shop owners who could access their businesses went on strike, some to protest against the 48-hour ban, which is seen as collective punishment. According to Yacroub Nashashibi, “Shops didn’t open out of respect for the two heroes who died for this situation.” He is seemingly unfazed by the Israeli police and soldiers standing nearby. “These martyrs gave their spirit for this area so we respect them.”

Shop owners decided to reopen their businesses yesterday despite low trade because of fears that staying closed will result in further Israeli control of the Old City.

As I leave the Christian Quarter, an American tour guide is speaking too loudly, punctuating the eerie quiet. “That way is the Arab Quarter but no need to go there!” he says cheerily, pointing towards one of the narrow alleys. Two tourists ask an Israeli soldier to pose with them for a photo. “Baby killers!” shouts a Palestinian woman angrily as she passes by. The soldiers “tut-tut” and advise the couple to ignore her.

An elderly woman starts to pack up the mint that she is selling on the floor, in a usually busy spot. Children linger, bored. Many shop owners are hoping simply to struggle through this difficult period. Meanwhile, Israeli settlers and soldiers continue to tighten the noose around the necks of Old City residents and workers. “Thanks to God for anything He brings for us as a business,” says Yacroub Nashashibi. “We know that there will be no people, we just open our shops to show that we are here; that we, as Palestinians, are still here.”

Lydia Noon is a freelance journalist, currently based in Bethlehem.

The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.