RAMALLAH, July 14 (Xinhua) -- The traffic jam began suddenly, as they often do in the West Bank.
It was late afternoon near the end of a workday. On the main road connecting the northern and central cities of the West Bank, the line of cars stretched for kilometers in both directions.
"I need to smoke," my colleague said. He stepped out of the car and lit a cigarette.
The road had become a parking lot. Drivers sat on the curb or leaned against their cars, chatting in small, resigned groups.
I stepped outside too, hoping the air would ease the unease that comes with a long, unexplained wait.
Beside the road stood a small convenience stand selling sweets and drinks. In many other places, setting up shop in the middle of nowhere might seem absurd. But here in the West Bank, the owner clearly understands the unique logic of doing business here.
The early summer sun was harsh and relentless. I joined the other drivers waiting in line to buy a Coke from the stand to quench my thirst. An hour passed, and there was still no sign of the traffic easing. More cars kept joining the line.
No one honked. No one asked why. The locals knew exactly what it meant: an Israeli military checkpoint ahead had been closed.
When we finally reached the front, I saw soldiers frisking a Palestinian man. Maybe they were searching for someone who attacked settlers, a driver later told me.
"Are you used to all this?" I asked.
He just shrugged. "What can I say? We live under the occupation."
In 2025, a UN report documented 925 movement obstacles across the West Bank. These restrictions affected the lives of 3.4 million Palestinians, with most taking the form of checkpoints and road gates.
Israel describes such measures as security arrangements built up over decades of conflict. Palestinians, however, see them as a slow, grinding siege that quietly shapes every aspect of daily life, from work and school to family visits and even the simple act of getting home for dinner.
Earlier that day, I visited a Palestinian Bedouin community in the central West Bank. Residents there live under two pressures: the threat of violence from nearby Israeli settlers, and repeated Israeli demolition orders targeting their homes.
I saw one housing structure reduced to flat earth. Solar panels, once the community's only source of electricity, lay dented and shattered. In the distance, Israeli settlements crowned the surrounding hills, with an Israeli flag fluttering in the wind.
During the interview, an alarm suddenly sounded. It was part of a motion-detection system, warning of approaching settlers.
"People are scared. Children are scared. Women are scared," said Eid Jahalin, a community spokesman, pointing toward a nearby settlement.
Minutes later, an all-terrain vehicle appeared. The children watched nervously as the car approached. Three young men stepped out, each carrying what appeared to be a long stick. An attack seemed imminent.
After noticing that journalists were filming, the settlers eventually drove away. But for the Palestinians who live here, the fear and danger do not leave when the cameras do. They are part of everyday life.
According to a UN update published in May, since the beginning of 2026, the United Nations had documented more than 870 attacks by Israeli settlers against Palestinians across over 220 communities in the West Bank. These incidents had resulted in casualties, property damage, or both.
Inside the Bedouin community, there is a school. Its walls are painted with bright colors: children's handprints, doves carrying Palestinian flags, symbols of peace and solidarity.
As the sun began to set, shepherds released their sheep. Children ran through the hills chasing the flock.
"If they come to demolish my house and throw me out ... maybe my son will come back. Maybe after 10 years or 100 years, they will come back," Jahalin told me. "This is my land."
On the drive back, I saw an iron gate at the entrance to a Palestinian town was shut. Some Israeli soldiers stood guard there.
Along the road was part of the separation wall. The 712-km-long barrier, together with its gate and permit regime, remained the single largest obstacle to Palestinian movement within the West Bank, a UN report said in April.
The terrain is hilly and undulating. From time to time, I could see land and buildings on the other side of the wall.
They looked so close. Yet they felt impossibly far. ■
