This should simplify my life... so why am I nervous?

My daily commute takes me through several make-shift and permanent check-points.  This is a part of life when one lives and works on opposite sides of the so-called 'Green Line'.  In the past I have taken advantage of the stops at these roadblocks to occasionally drop off cookies, cakes, drinks and other goodies for the soldiers who have the unpleasant job of checking the cars. 

However, over the past year or two the larger permanent check-points have changed staffing and are now manned (and womanned) by a government-appointed civilian security service (i.e. people who get paid to do the unpleasant job).  While this has lessened the need for me to deliver cookies and other snacks (don't worry... still plenty of soldiers to spoil along my route), it has made me feel more and more as though I am passing through an international border or airport security screening (which is essentially the same thing).

To cope with this I sometimes poke gentle fun at the men and women who sit in the booths at these crossings.  They sometimes just say 'hello' or 'how are you?' in order to be able to hear if my response is accented or if I appear nervous. 

But they also often ask "Where are you from?". 

My inner civil libertarian bristles at this invasion of my privacy.  When that happens I usually ignore the intention of the question (which is to find out where I live) and answer, "I'm originally from the U.S.... this guy over here is English... the two soldiers in the back are Australian and the young lady behind me is originally from Hadera".  Some find this amusing and wave me through with a smile... while others become visibly annoyed. 

I enjoy both reactions.

On the one hand, I know that they are just doing their job... and an important one at that.  But I also hate feeling like I am crossing an international frontier when we haven't given away the land (yet).

This morning as I rolled up to the checkpoint I smiled and said good morning.  The young woman in the booth responded, "Where are you from?", which prompted me to go into my routine of introducing the real and made-up nationalities and home-towns of the passengers.  She got the joke and smiled.  But instead of opening the gate, she asked me if I passed through the checkpoint frequently.  When I nodded 'yes', she asked if I wanted a Ministry of Defense sticker for my car so I would pass more quickly through checkpoints.

Even though I had decided over a year ago not to get such a sticker when it was offered to residents of my town, for some reason today I said yes.

She waved me over to a table off to the side where a government official checked my registration and ID card to make sure they matched, and then placed a little sticker (with a serial number) inside the upper left hand side of my windshield.

As I drove on towards work, my eyes kept darting to the yellow sticker.  It didn't have any words on it... just a bright yellow arrow pointing in both directions, which I suppose is designed to suggest freedom of movement. 

Almost immediately I flashed back to the period preceding the disengagement when the police were routinely pulling over and turning around anyone with an orange flag on their car (and even anyone who appeared to be religious) in order to keep them from attending perfectly legal peaceful demonstrations.  All I could think as I kept glancing at this little yellow emblem on my car was 'boy, it'll sure be easy to identity who the settlers are now'.

On the one hand, this little sticker could simplify my life and speed my passage through any and all roadblocks I might encounter.  But on the other hand, the possibilities for abuse are almost limitless.  Not only will police and other government officials now have a handy way of identifying who I am (a settler) and where I live (which is none of their damned business if I'm peacefully driving on roads paid for with my taxes)... but once it becomes widely known what this little yellow arrow emblem represents, settler's cars could become easy targets for vandalism from people who take violent exception to 'the occupation' and those they view as 'obstacles to peace'.

Don't tell me this couldn't happen.  There were many reports of cars with orange ribbons and flags having their tires slashed in the country's center during the summer before the disengagement.  And I recall one particular article on the 'Walla' web site where an anonymous thug suggested readers break the windows of cars sporting orange ribbons... with the helpful defense tip that, if caught, they should tell the police they thought there was a baby locked inside.

Sadly, as wonderful as this country is (especially as compared with the ruthless civil and human rights conditions in our neighboring countries), abuses of power are commonplace here, and victims of such abuse are often rebuffed with impenetrable bureaucracy while the abusers are given relative slaps on their wrists.

Once again, I find myself on the horns of a dilemma.