, a relaxed traveller, couldn’t wait to leave the town. After a few hours in Hebron, I was getting nervous. I was not a happy place.

It was the winter of 2013. Thanks to a British passport, I could travel to Palestine with my family. We aimed to go to the holy sites for pilgrimage, mainly the Aqsa mosque, but every place in this land is steeped in history, and every step takes one back to the Quranic/ Biblical stories. There is plenty to see besides.

Of all that I saw, my visit to Hebron undoubtedly left the deepest mark.

Prima facie, Hebron should be at the happiest juncture of the three great Abrahamic faiths. It is home to the Cave of the Patriarchs, the graves of Abraham, Isaac, Sarah and their progeny. These are personalities revered in Islam, Christianity and Judaism alike. In reality, it is anything but that. In the decade since my trip, things have only gotten worse.

Under the Israeli occupation, Hebron has morphed into the ugly face of colonial repression. Only a visceral, firsthand experience can genuinely familiarise a visitor with the pain of everyday existence in the holy lands.

At the time of my travels, things were quiet. There were no street protests. There was no violence. Things were settled, and overall, my journey proceeded in peaceful surroundings. Additionally, I had no problematic experience with the Israeli army, their immigration authorities or anywhere else during my travels. There were numerous checkpoints along the way, but we were treated courteously as we passed them. Whether it was the fact that we weren’t Arab or that we had British passports, I don’t know, but I had nothing to complain about.

I wish I could say the same for my driver, Mohammed, who was Palestinian. Like many Palestinians in the occupied territories, he did not have a passport. He had papers that offered him limited travel opportunities and was subjected to aggressive questioning at most checkpoints. This was his life every day, he said. His tone was very matter-of-fact, as he had not known anything different. If I was looking at anger when he said that, I did not detect it. But I sensed something stronger simmering underneath.

On a cold, crisp, but sunny winter morning, Mohammad drove us to Hebron. It looked like any other ancient town in the holy land, full of honey-coloured buildings, many of them having an austere square, Ottoman-style construction. After parking our car, we went to the Cave of the Patriarchs. On the way, we walked through the town centre and came to the ancient bazaar. It was eerily quiet. All shops were shuttered except a few temporary stalls selling vegetables. Mohammad told me that since the ‘trouble,’ Israeli authorities had shut down the shops; “they have either bought out the owners, or they’ve closed them.”

This meant that there was hardly any economic activity in the town, which was 98 percent Muslim, with a population of around 300,000 (at the time).

The Cave of the Patriarchs is an enormous structure housing a mosque and a Jewish prayer area. It was surrounded by barbed wires and an elaborate security system was in place.

A group of children aged 12 to 16, who were all begging for money, surrounded us as we approached the main complex. I also noticed some adults doing the same. They were all local Palestinians. They sensed that we were Muslims and it seemed that they were not used to foreign Muslim visitors. There was frenzy in their demeanor, almost aggressive, as they approached us. A couple of them lifted their shirts to display scars. They were from bullet wounds courtesy of the Israeli armed forces. Poverty and desperation were evident on their faces. For the first time in my trip, it dawned on me that I was in a live conflict zone. It was a sobering thought.

In finance, we have a concept called replacement value. The value of an asset would be the cost to replace it or get it back. Freedom should be assessed in the same way. You take it for granted and can only know its worth when it’s taken away.

Inside the complex, there were separate paths for Muslim and Jewish visitors. A courteous army officer searched our bags and wished us well. He said ‘God bless you’ in such a genuine tone that I still remember it after so many years. The mosque is at least a thousand years old. A few people were praying. The tombs could be accessed in two ways, one reserved for Muslims and the other for Jews. The two are entirely segregated. The Muslim mosque is available to Muslims every day, except for a few days in the year when the Jewish community gets access to both sides of the holy graves.

In 1992, an American-Israeli doctor armed with an M-16 rifle opened fire on the Friday congregation. Nearly thirty people were killed and scores injured. This event set off a chain of violence, which had severe implications for Hebron.

The main street, which in the past used to be the town centre, has been completely cordoned off and is not available for Palestinians to walk on. Hebron has a tiny community of Jewish settlers, numbering in the hundreds, who are ultra-aggressive towards the majority. They are supported and defended by the Israeli army. The settlers and non-Palestinians are allowed to use the main street.

If you were a citizen of Hebron and of Palestinian origin, you were not allowed on the street. I, a foreigner, on the other hand, was free to walk on it. I struggled to absorb this fact. I visited the District Six Museum in Cape Town, South Africa, several years later. The exhibits described measures under the apartheid times, including restrictions on the movement of indigenous blacks. I was immediately reminded of my time in Hebron. What else is apartheid?

Leaving the complex, I meandered towards the street next to it. The street was deserted, with Israeli troops patrolling and looking at us suspiciously. I saw a shop with silverware. Walking in, I realised that it was mainly Jewish artefacts and religious items. The shopkeepers were courteous and I did not feel unwelcome. I looked out and saw my guide, Muhammad, standing outside. He beckoned me to come out. But he did not come into the shop. I found it odd. I stepped out and asked him why he had not come in. He said, “I cannot go into these shops as Palestinians are not welcome; it could lead to an ugly altercation.” Then, he led us to a Palestinian-run shop right next door. They sold mainly touristy souvenirs.

Hebron was the place where I felt the most uncomfortable in all my travels around Palestine/ Israel. The tension was palpable. It would not take much to trigger something serious. Having completed our prayers in the mosque and looked around the shops, I told Muhammad to return to our Jerusalem hotel.

There was something overwhelmingly dark about the Hebron experience. I wondered what it would be like in Gaza and other ‘sensitive’ areas and how life must be for Muhammad and his family. They walked through checkpoint after checkpoint as they went about their daily lives.

How do you value freedom?

In finance, we have a concept called replacement value: the value of an asset would be the cost to replace it or get it back.

Freedom should be assessed in the same way. You take it for granted and can only know its worth when it’s taken away. My grandfather had lived through the partition of the subcontinent. He had lived most of his youth under the British Raj in India. The books in our house and his views tended to be nationalistic. A bit over the top, I felt as I had been fortunate enough to work and study in many other parts of the world. And I consider myself a globalist.

That day in Hebron, I finally understood the jealousy with which my grandfather guarded the newfound freedom of Pakistan. He grew up knowing that, come what may, he would always be subservient to the colonisers. They would never be equals. It would be the same for his contemporaries across the border in India. I could never imagine living in a state where one would feel like a foreigner in their homeland. If I did, would I value my freedom differently?

We complain about Pakistan, and it is far from perfect. Many people don’t get the rights and privileges they deserve and that certainly needs to be addressed. But it would also help to be grateful for what we have; we must remind ourselves of that. When the law of the land relegates you to being a second-class citizen, you are living in an open-air prison. No human being deserves the indignity, humiliation and suffering the Palestinians are put through.

As Thomas Jefferson said, the price of freedom is eternal vigilance.

(Most of this article was written before the 2023-24 catastrophe in Gaza. The recent events have only laid the pain bare).

The writer is a finance professional based in Dubai. He tweets @travelutionary1