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Petah Tikva buying hash

Kalandia, Jan. Kalandia checkpoint from the West Bank entering Jerusalem. The heat besieged us from every direction: the windows, the simmering seat covers, and the windshield. Even our bodies seemed to be colluding against themselves in this conspiracy of heat. October had arrived, but that day was August-like in its heat. Some cars were driving on the unpaved shoulder trying to bypass the long column of cars waiting to cross the checkpoint. Clouds of dust billowed. Their particles pierced our lungs. We had to keep the windows down to fight the heat. We were like panting dogs, lying on the road, burdened by their fur. It was an old car with no AC. A white Subaru truck, maybe ? But my father loved it. The window handle resembled a pipe. I probably thought of it as such because of this silent man, my father, who was a pipe-smoker. The sun made the window handle feel hot. Its leather cover was coffee-brown. There were fifteen jerry cans in the back. Each held seventeen liters of olive oil. It felt like we were smuggling gold. But we had no clear plan for going about it. In our area, we ignored the ban the Israelis imposed on commodities coming from the West Bank. We knew that there might be a price for violating their laws. That our ancestors survived the Nakba made us feel quite lucky in that unlucky moment. My father, who was seven when the Nakba took place, always says that we were unfortunate to stay in Palestine. I remember the first time I travelled abroad. I was on the train from Zurich to Freiburg in Germany. When we reached the Swiss-German border a few guards got on board and asked passengers for passports or IDs. One of them spoke to me in German. I responded in English. When he asked where I was from, I felt a bitter taste in my mouth. From Palestine, I said. He was interested in my passport. So I gave it to him without saying a word. Monkeys in our paradise carrying passports that only represent our catastrophe. Hebron, June Om El Khir, division between the land of settlers and Palestinians. I always felt I was under surveillance, or being watched by spectators. As if this country was a zoo. They are spectators and you are the monkey. I got sick a lot as a child. I was six or seven when I had a kidney stone. After it was treated I still had to go for follow-ups. During one of those visits I was naked except for my underpants. My mother stood next to me. The doctor took longer than usual checking my back. He said that I was too hairy. But this dark body was too hairy for him. Poland, Russia, or some other western country whose women undoubtedly had hairless bodies with milky skin. My poor mother wore a nervous smile on her face. They looked at me as if I were a monkey. A little monkey. I felt trapped at the checkpoint. I feel trapped everywhere in this country. They also looked at us as if we were monkeys. Our town was on the other side of the checkpoint. As if summoning his voice from the bottom of a deep well of memories, my father said:. Military rule lasted for nineteen years. I decided, like so many others, to go and work in the orange groves in Jaffa. We worked without permits. We would climb into big trucks and sit until we reach the checkpoints of one of the Zionist militias, which they later started calling the Israeli army. We would get off and walk for hours. There used to be beautiful groves and houses built in the old style with arches and illuminated windows. I was fourteen. Just a boy. We had to sleep in the groves and the wolves came at night and roamed nearby. It was very cold in the winter. My fingers froze. I kept crying and fell asleep crying. He took another deep breath. I was afraid to look at his face. A speeding car passed by and a cloud of dust brought us back to this checkpoint. Hebron, Old City, June A door with a surveillance camera is locked at night and differnet times of day by the Israeli occupation to control circulation within the city. We tasted the olive oil at the mill as if it were wine. We marveled at its dark green color and spicy aroma. The taste of freshly milled olive oil is heavenly. My mother always says the mills that use old methods are much better. He raises his left eyebrow in protest. The workers helped us load the jerry cans. With all that added weight in the back, the car looked as if it might just flip over on its back like a beetle. Father used to say that these cars are excellent. They only make things that break nowadays so you have to keep throwing away and buying again. Tulkarim was behind us now. We stood in line on that one road we cross to go from Palestine to. They all ask you to buy for them because you have a pickup truck. After all the waiting, carrying, and unloading. You want a person to say thank you twenty times. You believe that he bribes them with a shawarma sandwich? He gives them hash! We have to cross the checkpoint with the olive oil! Lately they started restricting the amounts. A jerry can per family. We swim in it. Hebron Dec Checkpoint situated by the entrance to the Tomb of the Patriarchs. Palestinians living in the Old City are forced to pass through the checkpoint on their daily routines. The wait can vary from 15 minutes to hours. The soldier looked at us and took our IDs. I was sixteen when my ID was issued. I had that stupid smile on my face back then. My face looks different now. He turned his gaze to the cargo. Just two. You have to take them back. Go straight and make a left turn into that opening and go back to wherever you got them from. My father sighed. But I could tell that he was looking for a way out. It was futile to ask if it was legal to keep our IDs. Kalandia checkpoint from the West Bank entering Jerusalem, June, I laughed. We exited the checkpoint area. He turned the signal on and prepared to make a left into the opening to go back. He kept looking in the rear-view mirror. I turned and looked back. The soldier was busy with another car. My father stepped on the gas and drove straight ahead. We were on a two-way road with a dividing white line in the middle. He stopped on the right shoulder, turned on the hazard flasher. Come on! Just as we were about to start unloading a car stopped right behind us. A muscular young man got out. We need to take these down and line them by the road over there. He laughed, telling my father that he was still a rascal. I asked him if I should stay next to the jerry cans. He said that that would attract attention and we should both be in the car to get our IDs back. Hebron, Dec. The Old City market, once one of the busiest streets in the ancient city. In , all shops and homes were shut. By the time of the second Intifada in , it was a ghost street on which no Palestinian was permitted to set foot. We left the olive oil right there and drove back toward the check point. The soldiers rarely search or stop cars going into the West Bank. They are only concerned with cars entering Israel from the West Bank. We drove through and then turned and joined the end of the column of cars leaving the West Bank. Somehow, the heat was no longer as potent, as if it had retreated from the day. We took our IDs and drove away. My father stopped the car again on the side of the road. He took out his pipe and stood next to the car to smoke and watch the checkpoint from afar. He shook his head and smiled. We drove to the spot where we had deposited the jerry cans. They were right there waiting for us. Minor Victories. His body took the shape of a question mark. A joint is exactly what I needed at that moment. We need a clear plan. Flat tire? You need help? When we reached the soldier, he asked how we were able to come back so quickly? The soldier looked at the two jerry cans we kept in the back.

How to Buy Weed in Petah Tikva: A Tourist’s Guide

Petah Tikva buying hash

This guide will help you navigate the local scene and find what you need safely. Although recreational cannabis is illegal in Israel, possession of small amounts has been decriminalized, reducing the risk of severe penalties. However, for tourists, discretion is key. While locals might get away with just a fine, visitors should be more cautious to avoid any unnecessary legal trouble. The most straightforward and secure way to buy weed in Petah Tikva is by using Telegram. This messaging app is widely used across Israel for cannabis transactions, allowing buyers and sellers to connect discreetly. This method ensures privacy and typically provides higher quality cannabis than what might be found on the street. To find a trusted Telegram channel, visit this link. This resource connects you with reliable sources, ensuring a smooth experience during your stay in Petah Tikva. Petah Tikva is home to several parks and recreational areas where locals often gather. Places like Yad Labanim Park offer a relaxed atmosphere where you might discreetly find someone willing to help you buy weed in Petah Tikva. For those looking to buy weed in Petah Tikva , there are several ways to do so, with Telegram channels offering the most reliable option. By following this guide, you can safely and discreetly find cannabis, making your stay in Petah Tikva enjoyable and hassle-free. Your email address will not be published. Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. Always keep a low profile and be discreet when purchasing or consuming marijuana. Use Cash : Most transactions will be cash-based, so having the right amount on hand can save you from unnecessary complications. Know the Local Rules : Understanding the legal environment will help you avoid issues while enjoying your time in Petah Tikva. Final Thoughts For those looking to buy weed in Petah Tikva , there are several ways to do so, with Telegram channels offering the most reliable option. September 4, Leave a Reply Cancel reply Your email address will not be published.

Petah Tikva buying hash