As a Palestinian who lives in the Old City of Jerusalem, I must admit, I am so glad I’m not going home today. Instead of making my usual journey back to Jerusalem via the miserable Qalandiya checkpoint, I will be staying on this side of the wall. Today, of all days, I do not wish to be in the Old City because I just don’t need the heartache.

Today is what Israel calls “Jerusalem Day,” commemorating the day the Old City fell to Israeli forces two days into the 1967 War. Since that day, Israel has been celebrating the “unification” of Jerusalem and its “return” to Jewish hands. The day is marked by tens of thousands of Israelis marching through the streets of the city, down through the narrow alleyways of the Old City, through the Muslim quarter to the plaza of the Western Wall. Hoards of young and overzealous settlers sing loudly, dance and carry huge Israeli flags through Palestinian neighborhoods, banging provocatively on closed shops and ringing the doorbells of bolted up homes.

"To put it plain and simple, Israel cannot claim for itself what it denies to others and still call itself a democracy. Neither can it hold a monopoly over a city of such significance to all peoples and faiths such as Jerusalem."

As you may have guessed, it’s not a pleasant sight. I have lived in the Old City for 13 years and every year I have been confronted with this offensive scene. The second year I moved to the Old City, my then-infant son was in my arms when I unknowingly walked into the nightmarish party of settlers just a few hundred meters from my house. As they pranced around singing and chanting in Hebrew, some with their guns slung across their shoulders or stuck into the backs of their pants, I instinctively pulled my son closer to me as I tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Nothing is more uncomfortable than walking into what felt like a pit of snakes, especially when I was on usually familiar ground. Read more