A Brief Pause to Take Stock of the Living and the Dead

The bodies were stacking up in the morgue.

During the five days of Israel’s stifling siege of Ramallah, it had been impossible to bury a body. The siege, imposed by Israel as part of what it calls its war on terrorism, has trapped people in their homes, kept children out of school and blocked access to basic services such as medical care.

But a brief respite came Tuesday afternoon when Israel lifted restrictions and Palestinians were allowed to emerge into the daylight for a couple of hours.

With hesitation at first, and then something akin to frenzy, they ventured out, cleaned off market shelves and lined up at gas stations. And they buried their dead, most of whom had been shot by Israeli forces who took over this city, the de facto capital of the Palestinian West Bank, on Friday.

Outside the morgue, on the edge of an asphalt parking lot, an earthmover dug two pits, one for male bodies and a smaller one for the women. Suddenly, amid cries of “Allahu akbar!” (God is great!), workers sprinted from the morgue to the lot, carrying one body after another.

The 17 corpses were wrapped in white plastic, some of it stained with blood. After hasty, emotional prayers in the parking lot, the dead were lowered into the mass graves.

Palestinian officials said the hasty burials were necessary because the morgue was crowded beyond capacity, and this seemed the safest way to lay the dead to rest, even though TV cameras and journalists appeared to outnumber family members. But clearly, political protest was part of the ritual.

In fact, one family would have none of the spectacle. They picked up their corpse, loaded it in the back of their truck and drove away for their own private funeral, even though that meant risking a violation of the Israeli curfew.

The most recent victim of the violence here was among the dead buried Tuesday. Widad Sufran, a hard-of-hearing grandmother in her 50s, had gone to the hospital in the morning to have a cast removed from her leg. That done, she began to hobble home on her cane.

An Israeli sniper from a nearby building shot her down about 50 yards from the hospital’s entrance, according to doctors who witnessed the shooting. The ambulance crew that tried to reach her also came under fire, the witnesses said.

“She stayed home by herself, and no one explained to her how dangerous the situation is,” said a cousin, Rasma, 50, who jostled among the crowd at the parking lot funeral.

When Israel reoccupied Ramallah, it poured dozens of tanks and other armor into the city, which is nine miles north of Jerusalem. Residents were formally ordered to remain inside their homes, but even if there hadn’t been a formal order, the sight of a hulking tank on the corner, or the chance of accidentally running up against one, has been enough to keep many people at home.

The United Nations, the International Committee of the Red Cross and the local Palestinian Red Crescent Society voiced alarm Tuesday at the deteriorating situation for Palestinians, especially in Ramallah.

Husan Sharkawai, an official with the Red Crescent Society, said that once-prosperous Ramallah was suffering its worst conditions in more than 30 years. He said ambulances were unable to respond to hundreds of calls from sick and wounded residents. On Tuesday alone, he said, three ambulances were stopped by soldiers and the medics arrested.

A spokeswoman for the Israeli army said the ambulances had failed to coordinate properly with officers on the ground and had failed to identify themselves properly. The army has charged in the past that ambulances are often used to transport weapons and fighters. “It’s a very tense situation,” the spokeswoman said.

Residents reported acute shortages of food and water. Many had no electricity or telephone service for long periods during the preceding five days.

At the city’s downtown Manara Square, Israeli tanks and the Palestinian gunmen who have been doing daily battle with them had pulled back Tuesday afternoon for the brief respite.

Aladeen Ferris sprang into action. The ginger-haired 21-year-old farmer loaded his carts full of bananas from a storehouse and took up a position just off the square, where the fruit sold quickly.

“Two more days and these bananas would have gone bad,” he said.

Adel Bara was among the buyers, having emerged from his home for the first time in five days. The 40-year-old civil engineer had used his last bread for dinner with his five children Monday night. He wasn’t sure what would happen Tuesday.

“Today we didn’t have breakfast, we didn’t have lunch,” he said.