by Bruce Taub
It is a beautiful sunny morning
At apartheid gate 927
The Israeli soldiers are listening to rock music
They are in their 20s
They have automatic weapons
Uniforms, walkie talkies
Humvees, tanks
F16 fighter jets, a nuclear arsenal
We are Palestinian farmers
With donkeys and tractors
With seed
Fertilizer
And lunch in plastic bags
We are four Americans over fifty
With cameras, cell phones, and bottled water
We are Bedouin with sheep and goats and identity cards
We dismount from our donkeys and tractors
And wait
Wait long enough to see the falcon hunting
To see the wild dog with the stolen chicken
Wait to be admitted through the small gate
To the turnstile
Then into the concrete bunker
To wait at the counter
To show our passes
To be released into a holding area
To go back through the sliding gate
To get back on our donkeys and tractors
To pass through the big gate
Opened only certain hours
Of certain days
To get onto our land
Our own land
On the other side of this abominable fence
That separates us from our fields
From our trees and fruit
From our grass, our rocks, our graves
On the other side of this fence
That separates us from our brothers and sisters
We stand in the sun two hours
On the side of this fence
That separates us from our livelihoods
On the side of the fence
That separates us
Bruce Taub is an American attorney and peace activist. He has been to Palestine four times in the last two years helping with the olive harvest and olive tree planting on Palestinian village lands captured by Israel during the construction of the apartheid barrier wall.
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