A Palestinian girl rides her bicycle near her home and the Israeli separation wall in the West Bank city of Qalqilia. (Maan Images)

In Nadem's backyard there's a large shadow of an old eucalyptus tree that draws its water from the underground pipes of the crowded refugee camp of Deheishe, as well as from the sewer and old wells. Dates grow nearby, and purple grapes fall from the grapevine that has climbed to the roof.

Yet inside the house, there has been no water for two weeks. The camp's water supply was disconnected and the pipes were empty, Nadem tells me. Those who could afford to pay NIS 300 (roughly $70) ordered a tanker that filled the water tanks placed on the roof for the frequent periods of shortage.

There was drinking water, but no water for bathing. At the height of the heatwave, which was also suffered by Israelis despite our many air-conditioners and large quantities of water, there was not even one drop of water in the camp's faucets.

I didn't know about it, and Nadem didn't tell me about it on the phone. It only became apparent when I went to visit Deheishe, like a concealed secret of the poor, or the hidden distress of a neighbor in your building, where you don't know what's happening beyond your walls.

What do I know of the distress of people near me, in Israel? Distress is like an epidemic that spreads secretly. Many of those afflicted with it are silent. Scared to talk, as if this discovery will lead to ostracism.

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I see distress within the Green Line here and there during my travels around the country. Here and there, something also makes it to the newspaper. Yet what happens there, beyond the wall that rises between us and the neighbors in Bethlehem – this is completely hidden from view.

For two weeks, at the height of the heatwave, there was no water in the faucets. If you tried to turn on the faucets, all you heard was a gurgling sound. Big deal. They should drink flavored bottled water.

Nadem says they went out to protest over the water. All the thirsty people and those desperate for a shower set tires on fire and yelled "We want to shower" and "We want to drink," while hurling stones at police officers. Only after the last demonstration, suddenly the water was back.

A weak flow, as always, because of a regular malfunction in the old water system, or because there's no money, or because a pump broke down, or perhaps the water sources were depleted. Because all of us, them and us, pump from the same springs and underground water reservoirs, only we pump 10 times as much, because we are in control.

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