The officer made us stand outside in the rain. He took our IDs and then ordered us to clear all the mess left on the road from the demonstrations that had taken place the day before: garbage cans, stones, burnt tires and other things. We cleared the road and stood there another five minutes or so. Meanwhile, it was already 7:00, which is when I start work at the carpentry shop. I went up to the jeep, knocked on the window and told the officer we had cleaned the road as he had ordered us, and now I had to get to work. I asked him to give me my ID so I could go.
The officer slammed the door open, hitting my left hand. Another police officer who was sitting in the jeep cursed my mother and told me to go back and stand where I had been with the other passengers. The first officer got out of the jeep again and asked: “Who is Saber?” I said it was me. He held onto my ID card and gave the other four passengers their cards back and told them to leave. They flagged down cars and drove away.
After they left, the officer who had cursed me earlier got out of the jeep and said something in Hebrew, I think cursing the people of Qalandiya. He grabbed me by the neck and pressed on my throat. I was trying to get his hands off and push him away when three other cops attacked me and beat me. The four of them tried to get me into their jeep. They dragged me on the ground, tore my clothes and humiliated me in front of all the passersby. Some of the people passing by shouted at them, but no one really intervened.
Eventually I managed to break away and ran for 10 or 15 meters. The officer called out to me and said: “Come on, don’t be afraid, come, take your card”. He spoke in a soothing tone and I believed him. I went over and then he put his hand on the back of my neck, like a friend, and led me towards the jeep. When we were by the back door of the jeep, the officers jumped me and forced me inside. I was naked from the waist up and smeared with mud. A woman who was passing by managed to throw me the shirt that was torn off me when the soldiers dragged me on the ground.
They sat me on the floor of the jeep, between them. The jeep drove off and all the way they kept hitting me with their hands and helmets, kicking me and pulling my hair. One of them hit me with the antenna of his handset. Finally, the jeep stopped at the a-Ram checkpoint. Border Police there asked the ones in the jeep who I was, and after they answered, the officers at the checkpoint beat me too. One of them got in the jeep, hit me with his hands and kicked me. Another officer ordered me to open the window and when I did, he shut it tight on my fingers.
After ten minutes or so, the jeep drove off again. They took me to the police station in Neve Ya’akov, and on the way there continued to hit me. We arrived at Neve Yaakov at 7:45. When the officers took me out of the jeep, they got a fright from how I looked and the officer ordered me to tidy myself up. I said: “What’s the matter, what are you suddenly worried about? You did all this and now you ask why I look rumpled?”
We entered the police station. They held me there until an interrogator came. I asked to be allowed to call my workplace. I had to beg them to agree, and then I notified work where I was. They handcuffed me. The interrogator
arrived only around 9 A.M. He was in a blue police uniform. The Border Police officer removed the handcuffs and then spoke with the interrogator. The officer gave me a document written in Hebrew and told me to sign that I hadn’t been beaten and everything was fine. I refused to sign it.
After a few minutes, the officer called for me and took me into the interrogator’s room. After that I didn’t see the officers who had beaten me again. The interrogator said he had collected testimony from the officers and they accused me of attacking them and that I had hit four police officers. I said to him: “Look at me, do I look like someone who hit, or could hit, four Border Police officers? Look at my clothes and how I look and mud all over me. I’m the one who copped it from them. My clothes are torn, not theirs.” The interrogator got angry and said: “How are you talking to me?” He got up and slapped me. Then he closed the door and punched me. After that, I gave him a testimony. In the meantime, my employer came and signed a 2,000-shekel bail for me. I signed the testimony I gave the interrogator, even though it was written in Hebrew and I had no way of knowing what it said.
In Qalandiya Refugee Camp, Ramallah District, on 10 December 1998
The testimony was given to Najib Abu Rokaya on 14 December 1998
On Thursday, 10 December 1998, I left my home in Qalandiya Refugee Camp at 6:40 A.M. to go to work. I am a carpenter and work in the Atarot industrial area. When I got to the Ramallah- Jerusalem road at 6:45, I hailed a Palestinian taxi, got in and paid the fare. Before the taxi managed to drive off, a Border Police jeep drove up and blocked its way. A Border Police officer who was sitting next to the driver got out. He asked me: “Are you the one that came from Qalandiya?” The officer ordered me and four other young people to get out. As far as I know, only the driver and one passenger remained in the taxi. The taxi drove off.
That day, the police attacked me and beat me severely for a long time without mercy. The painful thing is that they had no reason or justification. They kept hitting me even inside the jeep. It was terrifying. Imagine that you’re alone with four armed people who are beating you up.
I remember it all clearly and still suffer from the consequences. At the time, I didn’t tell the B’Tselem representative who was investigating the incident everything, because I was young and ashamed. That day I was preparing to sign the marriage contract with my fiancée, Asmaa Abu Ermeileh, who is now my wife, 40, and the mother of my four children.
The incident started when we reached the checkpoint. The officer got me out and told another officer at the checkpoint that I was the problem in Qalandiya, even though I hadn’t done a thing. The officer at the checkpoint said to me in Arabic: “What, you throw stones?” I was glad I could finally speak with one of the cops and complain to him, so I said: “I’m getting engaged in two days, do you think someone in my position would cause trouble?” I wish I hadn’t said that sentence. I’m paying the price to this day.
When the officer heard that sentence, he said to the first officer in Hebrew: “This one’s getting married in two days.” He said it with contempt and arrogance, as if my engagement was something criminal. He said to his friend: “Look, look, he still thinks he’s going to get married and have kids.” The first officer pulled me over and said, to provoke me: “I’ll frisk you, really search you.” He ordered me to stand with my legs apart. The police usually make us face the wall, but this time he made me stand facing him. Then he asked me again: “So, you’re planning on getting married in a couple of days?” He also made signs with his hands so I could understand. I answered in Hebrew: “Yes, sir”.
Then, when I was distracted for a moment, he kicked me as hard as he could in the groin and said: “Congratulations”. I saw stars and fell over, writhing and screaming in pain. The police officer who hit me laughed and joked at my expense with a female police officer who was standing there.
After that, they threw me into the jeep, paying no attention to the bad state I was in, while I was twisting and groaning in pain. The cops sat on the seats around me and laughed at me. It was a terrible torment, especially because there was also a female police officer there who taunted and humiliated me.
They took me to the police station in Neve Ya’akov and released me only in the afternoon, when my boss came and signed my bail. He took me to a medical center, where they did X-rays and found that my testicles were torn and bruised, my hand was bruised and fractured, and my right leg was swollen. My leg is still not okay and it hurts to wear shoes. I also had severe abrasions in the chest and stomach, as well as bruises, scratches and bleeding in various parts of my body and swellings in the head.
But physical pain was nothing compared to the mental suffering. The physical pain wore off with medication and treatments, but the psychological pain is still with me, every single day. To this day, whenever I see a Border Police patrol, I get anxious.
The worst was fearing my wedding night, because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to function. To this day I have a hard time and thanks to God, I have a smart, educated wife with a high level of awareness. She supported me and helped me get through the crisis, and other crises I’ve been through as a result of that incident.
To this day, I can’t watch movies that have violence or news reports about incidents with the Israeli army, although every Palestinian should be aware of what’s happening around him. I live almost detached from reality. It reached the point that when my daughter Shuruq, 14, asks me to take her and her brothers for a walk and sees me hesitate, she jokes and says, even before I reply: Ahh, right, you’ll tell us there’s a checkpoint and trouble. She knows about my phobia. It causes me embarrassment and heartache. What can I say to her? I feel helpless in such situations.
I am also very worried about my sons and I’m afraid they’ll go near places with soldiers or police. Even when they go to school, I call them or their mother a lot to make sure they’re okay. The kids have grown up and complain about my anxiety, but they don’t know what fear I feel and what a heavy price I paid.
I make a point of being sure to get home early and hardly ever visit friends, neighbors or relatives. I used to be a sociable person and an avid sports enthusiast. I even played football and won a few trophies in my school days. I did sports for a short time even after we got married, and then I dropped it.
Since the incident, I have never been able to get a permit to enter Israel. My father underwent catheterization and retina surgery in Jerusalem and I couldn’t visit him. I also can’t work in Israel, although obviously I could earn much more there.
B’Tselem filed a complaint at the time, demanding that the police investigate the incident and hold those involved accountable. I hoped something would happen, but it only led to disappointment and frustration. The results were very disappointing and nothing happened.
Saber Abu a-Russ, now 40 and a father of four, spoke with B’Tselem field researcher Iyad Hadad this year, sharing more details about the incident and his life since:
We are ten children – five boys and five girls. We all studied at university. Even my sisters studied at a time when it wasn’t customary. We never got involved in anything, so much so that on the morning of the incident, I didn’t know soldiers had entered the camp that night. I left the house early, as I did every day.
I hereby notify you that our department conducted an investigation as part of the aforementioned case concerning the complaint of Mr. Abu a-Russ.
Our case was closed after the investigation, due to lack of evidence.
Letter to B’Tselem dated 22 August 1999 from Boaz Segalovitz, Assistant to the Director of the Department of Internal Police Investigations
B’Tselem appealed this decision to then-Attorney General Elyakim Rubinstein on 3 April 2000 but did not receive a response.