The Orange Road

You wake up one warm morning at the end of June and decide to visit your uncle, halfway between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. You need to enter Jerusalem from the east, exit from the west, and take the Tel Aviv-Jerusalem highway the rest of the way there. As you pile into your car and ignite the engine, the radio turns on. It is still on the news station you were listening to yesterday, when peaceful protests against Sharon's disengagement plan slowed your return home to Gilo from near Gaza.

The news anchor mentions that earlier in the day settlers threw nails and oil onto the Tel Aviv-Jerusalem road. The police, taking the settlers more seriously than they did yesterday, have already rushed to clear the road, and it should be open to traffic. Placing your faith in Israeli law, you back out into the parking lot of your apartment complex. In front of you, a car bearing the orange ribbon of protest pulls over to hail a group of teenagers on the sidewalk. The teens are dressed in orange and are carrying what looks like spare parts for a car. The news station informs you that last night settlers raided cars bearing blue and white ribbons, the ribbons of Sharon's supporters. You wonder where those teenagers got those spare parts from.

As you enter Jerusalem from Gilo, you notice less orange ribbons than yesterday. Perhaps less people have turned out in support? Sharon is being quoted on the radio, saying calming things that Israel will not be disrupted by "gangs." Maybe they're afraid of him.

As you approach the religious quarter at the west end of town, however, signs of chaos begin to appear. A mass of fifty or so orange-clad religious Jews of all genders and ages are holding signs and chanting loudly. "Israel is ours; God gave it us!" one sign says. Another proclaims, "Jews don't throw Jews out!" Although the adults are being kept separate from the flow of traffic, younger children are darting into and out of the street, evading the police. Drivers are moving slowly to avoid killing a child and starting a riot.

More striking than the protesters, however, are the police. You count one officer for every five protesting adults. You're relieved that the police are taking this seriously, and that these protests won't get out of hand.

As you turn the corner, you see yet another officer on a police motorcycle, facing a maze of dumpsters overturned in the road. Drivers are weaving through, barely sorting their way at 5 kmh. The officer himself looks nonplussed - he is unequipped to deal with these dumpsters, and drivers seem to be directing themselves well enough.

You pass, and begin your descent towards the west exit from the city. Traffic entering on the other side of the road seems very thick. Most traffic normally does not come up this way, and you are pleased to see that drivers have not been scared off the road. A moment later, however, you see where the swarm of drivers came from. You are at the intersection where the road from the religious quarter meets the Tel-Aviv Jerusalem highway. To the right, the road leads to downtown Jerusalem, where most traffic at this hour would be going. And to the right, police have completely shut down all traffic, directing it up through the narrow road to the religious quarter.

There are no orange protesters, just hordes of police. Ten officers are redirecting traffic and policing the area. At all four corners, groups of four to eight men and women in olive uniforms carry assault weapons and await action. These troops are the Border Patrol, Israel's equivalent of the National Guard. Just as the sight of the National Guard on an American road is a symbol of degrading peace, the sight of the Border Patrol presents a worrying forecast for the near future of Israel. Your earlier confidence turns to ash in your mouth - the government is taking the settlers too seriously.

As you embark down the Tel Aviv-Jerusalem road to your left, things continue to be unsettling. You fly along at 110 kmh, and run into little traffic. You've been to Israel many times, and you haven't even seen this little activity on the Sabbath. It's a symbol that Israelis - who are known for leading normal lives in the face of constant terrorism - are taking settlers seriously. The radio informs you that hundreds of Israelis have decided to take the new train from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv instead. One pundit even jokes that this whole state of affairs is a plot by the train company to increase traffic.

Along the road, you see neither nails nor oil. What you do see, roughly once per kilometer, is small clusters of Israeli police or Border Guards. There are very few orange ribbons visible on this road except tied to lampposts, although at one turn you see a group of four settlers being patted down by Border Police.

Your last contact with authority is at the end of Shar Ha'Guy, the valley west of Jerusalem. A small gas station crawls with police - ten watching the police vans, fifteen eating at the small tables, and more inside. A half-kilometer past the station is a large bus painted olive, filled completely with border guards.

Beyond that, Israel is deceptively calm, devoid of ribbons, police, military, and protesters.