Prisoners are also people and should be treated humanely

Much was written about segments of Israel’s population that endured Iranian missile attacks without access to protected areas and had to improvise solutions, such as lying in ditches. However, I saw nothing about a group that lives near Ben Gurion Airport, a preferred target, and which was unable to improvise solutions or leave for a safer place.

I refer to thousands of inmates in the large Israel Prison Service complex located at the juncture of Lod and Ramla. Even someone who has committed a crime is a human being and is entitled to protection, certainly to preservation of life.

Because of a relative who was incarcerated, I was connected for several years to the world behind bars. I learned a little about the attitude toward those whom society has put away, as well as toward those who are in contact with them, as if we too deserve punishment.

Anyone who wants to go to the post office, the bank or similar institutions logs onto their websites, sees what is available and books an appointment. Sometimes the websites aren’t available and not all are user-friendly, but generally, you can arrange things at any time, from any device, for almost any appointment. Almost, because to visit an inmate, you must book by phone, during limited hours for each facility. Sometimes no one answers, or by the time you get through, your preferred slot is taken and you have to start over.

As a pensioner, I have time on my hands and visited him infrequently. But imagine a prisoner’s wife (since most inmates are men), essentially a single mother, who has to make this effort in addition to everything else. Think of working parents of an inmate – the boss allows them to miss work in order to visit their son, but doesn’t understand why, in this day and age, they need to spend working hours just to book an appointment.

Arrived? Sometimes there’s no problem parking, but often one has to go into unregulated areas, wading through wet soil in winter and heat and humidity in summer. What can you bring? There is a list of clothing items that are laundered before being handed over, for obvious reasons. Also, in addition to regular deposits into the inmate’s canteen account, to allow him to supplement what the prison doesn’t provide, you can give a gift during each visit, as follows: two lighters, costing a few shekels; two phone cards, several dozen shekels; two cartons of cigarettes, at nearly a thousand shekels. Instead of allowing visitors to provide a sum for any need, cigarettes become the prison’s currency. Thus, the Prison Service, which sells them to visitors, encourages smoking.

After depositing everything except my glasses and the key to the locker, after a series of checks, having passed through doors and gates, I arrive at the meeting. It takes place behind glass, by phone, while inmates and visitors talk loudly on both sides, making it hard for us to hear each other. I even emptied my pockets of tissues. I am a harmless elderly person. What could happen if I met a sickly inmate without that barrier? Never mind me, but children visiting their father. They didn’t commit a crime and deserve a hug.

I remember a visiting room without a clock, and it was impossible to know how much time had passed. Suddenly, the line cut – thirty minutes are up and the visit is over. No warning, no chance to say goodbye.

All of the above applies when visits are allowed. There are times, as happened during COVID or when the prisoner is in hospital, when only first-degree relatives are permitted to visit. But not everyone has first-degree relatives, and some of those don’t visit. The criminal was sentenced to years without freedom; he was not sentenced to isolation.

Recently, my relative passed away after years of suffering. If any of the issues above are addressed as a result of this writing, may the improvement be in his memory.