hankyoreh

Soldiers with the Israeli Defense Force stop and frisk people heading into Al Aqsa Mosque in the Old City of Jerusalem on Aug. 6, 2024. (Kim Kyung-ran/Hankyoreh)

Editor’s note: The war between Israel and Hamas that started in October of last year has been ongoing for over 10 months. The Hankyoreh has sent documentary filmmaker Kang Kyung-ran to report from the ground where the tragedy is unfolding. Kang has experience in war-torn areas like Iraq and the Balkan Peninsula, and has produced over 100 films, including the five-part KBS series “Land of People.” 

I boarded a plane for Israel exactly one week ago, on Aug. 3. Including a layover in Amsterdam, the trip to Tel Aviv took me 20 hours. The process to get cleared to enter Israel began at Amsterdam Airport Schiphol. Somebody interviewed me about my intentions for going to Israel, and all my baggage underwent extensive security checks. Ismail Haniyeh, the political leader of the militant terrorist group Hamas, had just been assassinated in Iran days earlier, on July 31. News reports since then had hovered around the possibility of an Iranian retaliation, but the flight to Tel Aviv was completely booked. 

The passenger who sat next to me was a teenager named Snir, who was returning to Israel after visiting his brother in Germany. “Do you really think a war will break out with Iran?” The worried face of the young man looked up at me. I asked him if he was afraid. “I’m not afraid,” he said. “But my parents told me to not return to Israel.” 

“Is war really going to break out?”

In the event of war or a national crisis, all Israeli men aged 18 to 21 are drafted. For women, it’s 18 to 20. Snir is only 16, and is therefore exempt from service, but he told me, “My parents seem to think that Israel isn’t safe.” 

“A lot of young people are volunteering to enlist. Due to the number of students enlisting in the military, school has been pushed back to January, although it was supposed to start in October,” said Elisheba, another person sitting next to me. A history lecturer in Tel Aviv, she was returning to Israel after attending a seminar in Amsterdam. A rocket fired from Gaza takes 90 seconds to reach Tel Aviv. That’s enough time to take cover.” 

Thinking of the shelters back in Korea, I wondered how 90 seconds was enough time to take cover. “In addition to public buildings like schools, hospitals and apartments, individual residences also have bomb shelters. My house also has an underground bunker,” she said. 

“But if Iran launches a missile, that’s a different story. But still, I think we’ll be fine.” 

As far as the history lecturer is concerned, a wider war with Iran is unlikely. Even if Iran does retaliate, she thinks it will most likely be something similar to the drone attack that happened in April. After around four and a half hours in the air, the captain announced that we were nearing Tel Aviv. The passengers all clapped. It was their way of showing appreciation that the plane was not shot down by a rocket, and that they were arriving safely at their destination, my seatmate explained. 

The arrivals terminal at Tel Aviv’s Ben Gurion Airport was quiet. I didn’t see any planes from airlines that did not bear the Israeli flag. The line for arriving Israeli citizens was long, but the one for foreigners comprised only me and my colleagues. 

The Qalandia checkpoint separates Jerusalem from Ramallah, a city in the central West Bank that serves as the de facto administrative capital of Palestine. Around 7,000 Palestinians cross through the checkpoint every day. Around 4,000-5,000 of them are people who work in Jerusalem. The number of people who cross the checkpoint has visibly diminished since the war broke out. On Aug. 6, at around 9 am, the number of people who crossed through Qalandia into Ramallah was less than 10, including me. The checkpoint involves notoriously detailed security checks and inspections, but I got through in less than a minute. 

The streets of Ramallah were bustling. The city center, marked with a Palestinian flagpole around 65 meters high, was filled with 20- and 30-somethings hanging around smoking cigarettes. “I can’t work, so I’m just hanging around with my friends,” said Omar, a man who claimed to be a construction worker in Jerusalem. Although Qalandia has never been shut down since the war broke out, the Israeli government has restricted its issuance of work visas and entry passes. People who once regularly went back and forth for work are now unable to renew their visas, and therefore cannot cross. 

The flag of Palestine flies in Ramallah, the administrative capital of the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank on Aug. 6, 2024. (Kim Kyung-ran/Hankyoreh)

Why is Ramallah staying quiet?

I covered the second intifada (literally “uprising’) from 2000 to 2005. Ramallah was my center of operations, so I’ve spent some time in the city. It’s been 20 years, but I still remember the images of kids throwing rocks in protest of Israeli occupation, and the silent tears of the mother holding her child who was killed by Israeli fire.

The streets of Ramallah that I experienced in August 2024 were quiet. There were no children throwing rocks. 

“The Ramallah that you experienced during the second intifada and the Ramallah of today are totally different places. The Palestinian government then was led by Yasser Arafat, while Marwan Barghouti led the Fatah.” 

The world is filled with people shouting about Palestine, so why is Ramallah so quiet? Where are the children throwing rocks? 

Ahmad, a reporter who runs the Palmomenta Media Group, a Palestine news agency, explained the changes in the political landscape to me. Once synonymous with Palestinian politics, Arafat died in 2004. Barghouti, leader of the Fatah, a rival organization to Hamas that led the second intifada, was arrested in 2002 by Israeli soldiers and is serving a life sentence. Mukataa, the city that housed the headquarters of Arafat, seems to no longer serve any political importance. 

Since the war broke out, around 40,000 Palestinian civilians have been killed in the war, but the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank has not issued a single official statement on the matter. 

“We ask the same thing. The government that’s been tasked to protect the people refuses to take a stance on the matter. It makes no sense. Yet we’ve been given no answers,” said Ahmad, who described the Palestinian Authority’s official stance as “silence.” On Aug. 6, Israeli forces clashed with those of Hezbollah, another militant anti-Israeli faction, near the Lebanese border; and an Israeli operation in the West Bank city of Jenin killed multiple civilians. 

“We are worried about Jenin becoming the next Gaza,” said Ahmad, who was trying to establish contact with someone on the ground in Jenin. 

The streets of Tel Aviv, unlike those of Ramallah, were bustling with hot activity. They were teeming with both people who support the war and those who oppose it, those demanding the resignation of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, and those demanding the immediate release and return of hostages held by Hamas. Some of these people are organized, others stand alone. Every Saturday, these voices clash into a clamor that fills the streets of Tel Aviv. 

As people keep warning about a retaliation from Iran, and as clashes continue in the West Bank, tensions continue to rise. I wonder what awaits me on the streets of Tel Aviv next Saturday.

By Kang Kyung-ran, producer and director

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