by JAMAL MAHJOUB
PHOTO/Yossi Gurvitz
Residents of the Gaza Strip are restricted in their movements, in what they can bring into and send out of their land, even how far off their shores they can fish. Words, though, know no borders.
As we pass under the “Welcome to Gaza” sign, a ripple of excitement goes through the bus and everyone grabs their telephones to record the moment. After three hours spent killing time at the Rafah Border Crossing while the Egyptian officials decided whether they would allow us through (the Egyptian Ministry of Interior didn’t grant us permission to travel to Gaza until the day before our scheduled departure) and eight hours of driving from Cairo, it feels like a victory to have made it through at all. Two writers from our group were refused entry and have had to drive back to Cairo to find the necessary papers. All of us were aware when we agreed to come that there was a strong possibility that we might not be allowed into Gaza at all. This was my third trip with PalFest, the literary roadshow that began in 2008 with a journey to the West Bank. The aim of the Palestine Literary Festival is to break the isolation of ordinary Palestinians, to make contact through cultural events, readings, recitals, and workshops.
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