4 Miles, 2 Hours

By Kiara ViDemantay

Newspaper Director

*This article is not based on any SOAR High School students, this is part of a developing series where SOAR students will be able to ask questions to teens in other parts of the world. The question for this article was “What is school like where you live?” and was directed to a teen living in Palestine. Names have been changed at the interviewee’s request.*

Monday through Friday at 5am, you can find 17 year old Nour slipping out of bed before the sun rises to get to school. She has a 2-3 hour car ride ahead of her and can’t afford to be late. Her route is always the same but never predictable. Long lines of cars inch forward, soldiers’ voices cut through the morning air, and the minutes tick by with agonizing slowness. Some days she gets to school with time to spare, other days, she just waits and waits.

Nour’s school is only around 4 miles away from her home, in other circumstances, it would only take 10-15 minutes for her to get to school. But everything is changed by a single military checkpoint and the time it takes her to get to school rests in the hands of the soldiers operating it.

“The Israeli military checkpoint is literally built to restrict the movement of us as Palestinians, preventing us from moving freely through our towns and cities,” Nour says. “It takes hours to finally get out […] they search you or your car without your consent, but there’s nothing you can do about it.”

The checkpoint she passes is just one of 898 temporary and permanent military checkpoints, metal detector gates, sand berms, and cement cubes across the West Bank, including East Jerusalem. Checkpoints themselves are not only barriers of concrete and steel but also sites of frequent political tension. Protests often erupt there, and tear gas, rubber bullets, or even live fire are not uncommon. Soldiers may respond with force not only against demonstrators but also against ordinary people simply trying to pass through on their way to work, school, or the market.

“It's very unsafe and many children my age or younger go through the checkpoint. Just yesterday they threw tear gas at the checkpoint.”

The possibility of sudden violence adds another layer of fear and uncertainty to Nour’s route.

Nour lives in a place where the separation wall and the checkpoint dictate the rhythm of daily life. The wall towers between 26 and 33 feet high, slicing through communities and turning short drives into exhausting ordeals. Checkpoints are part of a broader network of controls, including the separation wall, military outposts, and roads that are restricted to Palestinians with certain permits or sometimes completely prohibited. The system regulates who can travel where, when, and under what conditions. Still, she explains, she has it much easier than many other Palestinians because of the color of her ID.

Palestinians who live in the West Bank, like Nour’s father did, receive green IDs. Blue IDs are given to Palestinians in Jerusalem, like Nour, her mother, and her siblings.

For those with green IDs, crossing into Jerusalem requires special permits, valid for only a few months at a time, and entirely dependent on Israeli authorities’ approval.

“When my father had his green ID, he could never drive the car since he didn't have a Jerusalem [blue] ID. He had to leave the car and pass through the checkpoint on foot, along with the rest of the people from the West Bank. My mother could drive us through. We'd have to pass and wait for him on the other side [...] If my father drove the car on his green ID, they would let us turn the car around and won't let us pass.”

Nour’s school follows the British IGCSE curriculum, which has strict deadlines and external exams set by the British Council. These exams require students to cover chapters of materials to be ready for the exams.

“So whatever happens, you need to be ready for the date that the exam was set on. If you don't show up, all the money you paid will go to waste and they will fail you and whether you have finished all the chapters or not they don't care, that's our problem.”

Nour explains that due to the unstable political climate, strikes, protests, and this strict curriculum, her school year starts much earlier than most. During the strikes, daily life, including school, takes a pause and students do not go.

“We live in a very unpredictable country. My school doesn't want to take the risk that we don't finish the material we need. So, they bring us way earlier to compensate for the days we might miss.”

Nour’s school experience is also radically different from that of her peers. She is one of only two students in her grade who live behind a checkpoint. Although they live only a few miles closer to the school, the difference is stark.

“I wake up at 5, others wake up at 7:30 [...] they get to sleep, I don't. They also get to see their families whenever they want and not pass a checkpoint every time. They don't have to wait for hours to get back home, some take 5 mins to get home, it takes me an hour and a half on a good day. They can go to the beach whenever they want, some people in the West Bank that are not as lucky as I am. They have never seen a beach in their whole lives.”

For Nour, checkpoints don’t just steal time. They carve away at her freedom, her education, and the small moments that make up daily life. Her father recently applied for and received a blue ID; however, it can be taken away at any time, leaving constant uncertainty. Nour’s story is just one among thousands, but the question remains: What is lost when lives are under constant control?

To submit a question, please fill out the following form:

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1suDXHXns2r6TCKyvTvBVhL0fSzb4N-BqZCpBVO5i8J4/edit