by alexandernevsky-426 » Sun Feb 25, 2001 8:06 pm
Israel's shells force a theatre to retreat . Phil Reeves at Beit Jala on the West Bank . February 2001 . what was going on around her, Marina Barham was impressively composed. Yet she was obviously feeling the pain. . and her colleagues spent years scraping up funds to create a place of their own, a theatre that would serve Palestinians and their children from across the southern half of the West Bank. Now, moving by candlelight in the gloom of a power cut on a cold winter afternoon, she and her company were sadly packing up their brightly patterned costumes and stowing away their props. . Inad theatre in Beit Jala, an Arab town on the edge of Bethlehem, decided last week that enough was enough. War had made it impossible to keep the community playhouse open. Its sign is pock-marked with shrapnel, the lettering ripped by machine-gun bullets. Their building has been shelled by the Israelis so often that it is in danger of falling down. Giant bites have been taken out of the house next door by one missile after another. . Thursday – on the same day that a special fund-raising performance of Caryl Churchill's play Far Away was staged in London, specifically to help Inad – the theatre fell dark. . Palestinian players had been wondering for a while whether it was time to close. The theatre stands on the front line, caught between Palestinian gunmen and Israeli tanks dug in to the hillside opposite. The events of last week provided the answer. . Wednesday, as the Inad team was packing up, the funeral was under way of one of their close neighbours, an 18-year-old boy called Osama al-Quraby. His house is only a few yards up the hill from the theatre. At around 9pm on the previous evening, it took a direct hit from an Israeli shell while he was inside. He was the second person to be killed in the town by the Israelis since the intifada began. But for the first time, the Israeli armed forces admitted it was a pre-emptive strike – a bombardment unprovoked by Palestinian shooting. The lad was so deeply buried by rubble that it was some hours before anyone in his family realised he had been indoors. . company felt his death deeply. Osama was a friend, who used to help them sweep up, joking that – though only a labourer – he would one day like to go into acting. But it was also furious about the shells that struck the upper part of its own building – three half-built apartments above their small ground-floor studio – on the same night. "We just feel totally paralysed," said Ms Barham, the theatre's director, her eyes blazing with anger. "We just cannot guarantee the children's safety or our safety any more. The Israelis know what this building is – they know we are here – but still they shoot." . the past few months, Ms Barham – a 35-year-old Palestinian who studied at Warwick University and the Institute of Education in London – has sought to draw the world's attention to the conflict in her home town. She has fired off e-mails, trying to get an apathetic international community to take notice. The foreign press has been interested; her friends at London's Royal Court Theatre – which has supported Inad for some years – have been supportive. But the politicians have not. "We haven't heard one government – and especially the US – say that what is happening is illegal and that Israel should stop it," she remarked. . Jala is a Christian Arab town strewn over a hillside on Bethlehem's western edge. Its shuttered old stone villas, balconies wrapped in bougainvillea, have a crumbly, colonial-era elegance wholly different from the angry and fermenting squalor of the Gaza Strip or the conflict's West Bank hotspots, such as Hebron or Nablus. Not so long ago, tourists were a regular sight in its narrow streets. . the north-west stands another hill crowned by a line of modern apartment blocks. This is Gilo, a Jewish settlement built on occupied Arab land but which, in Israeli eyes, is a suburb marking the southern perimeter of Jerusalem. Between the two places, there is a valley, containing two tunnels through which runs the main artery road down into the southern West Bank. About three-quarters of a mile separates the two sides. That, and decades of deep resentment, rooted in the fact that Beit Jala Arabs have not forgotten that Gilo is built on their land. . has been under way – off and on – since October. Keen to press Israel back to the pre-war borders of June 1967, Palestinian guerrillas have been firing at Gilo from within the town. This has upset some in Beit Jala, who believe their militant – and probably Islamic – brethren should not operate in residential areas. Disproportionate Israeli reprisals have proved their concerns to be justified: Kalashnikov bullets have been met by helicopter and tank shells, blasted into the town by the Israelis with scant regard for the risk to civilians. . Israelis say they shoot at the source of fire directed at them; the mess they have made of homes in Beit Jala – more than 480 buildings have been damaged – reveals that precision is not high among their priorities. Any suggestion that anyone has been shooting at the Israelis from the upper reaches of the Inad theatre building – and that this is why the Israelis have shelled them – is dismissed as nonsense by Ms Barham. "It's locked," she says. "You can't get in." . can sometimes hear the night-time battles in downtown Jerusalem. The thud of tank shells is never more unsettling than when it mingles with the banal nocturnal clatter of a modern city, the throb of disco music and bustle of traffic, and is but five miles from your own home. . is far worse for Ms Barham. When the shelling starts, she takes cover in her Beit Jala house, desperate to know whether her theatre has been hit, but aware that it is too dangerous to venture out to check. The Israeli shells threaten to destroy all the company's hard work, which began in earnest in 1996. The Inad group fought to raise money for the theatre itself, and have since then carried on, squeezing gifts of equipment from the community. . children, its principal audience, are traumatised by weeks of violence, and need the relief of entertainment. "We are absolutely determined to continue," said Inad's director. "Israel wants us to stop. So we must go on."