A look inside Shikma Prison, home to 650 maximum-security criminals.
By MAXINE LIPTZEN-DOROTjail prison cell 88(photo credit: )
Ashkelon offers visitors lots to see and do: 12 kilometers of beautiful beaches, an international marina, a national park filled with archeological ruins, a water park, a museum, lovely parks for picnics or just to sit in and enjoy a lovely day - and Shikma Prison, a maximum security facility on the edge of the residential neighborhood of Migdal.
I've driven passed the prison countless times and always wondered what lies behind the massive gates and barbed-wired roof. Sometimes, the outdoor parking lot is filled to capacity with buses with Arab writing on them and women and children in Arab garb sitting on the grass, waiting. The building itself is a foreboding structure with security towers at every corner. Being a fan of the Prison Break television series only added to my somewhat morbid curiosity. So, I thought, "Why not see what's on the other side of the walls?"
The Israel Prisons Authority (known in Hebrew by the acronym Shabas) was very helpful in arranging a visit, and so it was, with notebook loaded with questions and camera in tow, that I buzzed on the prison intercom, taking a deep breath, ready to enter a maze of dimly lit prison cells (yes, I am a child of Television). After my identity was checked, my cell phone taken, and I passed through a metal detector, I was greeted by Gili Liberman, a social worker/prison guard with a Master's Degree in sociology from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Liberman led me through a series of metal doors (that slammed shut behind us with an automatic lock) and, to my surprise, I found myself in a surreal world. There we stood in a sunny, lovely garden with well-trimmed lawns, beautiful flowers and plants lining the walk. The gardens were being tended by young men (all wearing kippot) in T-shirts and orange training pants, a sign that these are prisoners who have the privilege of working during their incarceration, doing maintenance jobs in the prison and kitchen. "This is a prison?" I wondered.
Shikma Prison is one of over 25 throughout the country. It was originally built by the British in 1930 as their southern headquarters in the typical "fortress" style of the time: buildings set within sealed walls, with one door in and one door out. It is so fortified that when GRAD missiles fired from the Gaza Strip recently landed in the city, the prisoners in their cells were safer than the guards. In 1949, after the founding of the state, the building became Ashkelon's police station and in 1968, after the Six Day War, it was used to hold Fatah prisoners. Since then, several more wings have been added and today, Shikma Prison is home to 650 maximum-security criminals, including murderers, rapists, pedophiles and terrorists.
The neighbors are used to the prison being almost around the corner, and don't seem phased at all. "It's been here forever; it's part of the neighborhood and we don't even see it," says Itzik. "A few years ago, a prisoner escaped and that was scary, but otherwise, it doesn't bother anyone here that I know, as long as no one else gets out," he adds with a grin. "The prisoner who escaped was caught almost immediately but we were all nervous and making sick jokes for a while, but that was a one-time thing. I mean, look at it… except for that one time, it's impossible to get out of there."
And so it seems. To assure that no one escapes, the prison holds head counts four times a day and state-of-the-art technology is used in each section to oversee the inmates. There are closed-circuit cameras all over, except in the cells, and the guards are visible, very visible. At night, patrol dogs walk the perimeter of the prison.
While interviewing Liberman in her office, we were interrupted by an alarm. Before it stopped, she was out the door in a near-run. "It's either a drill or for real. Do you want to come?" she asked.
I ran after Liberman to the area leading to the Arab prisoners' cells. Several guards were already there, including two young female ones, dressed in full riot-control gear, lining up at the stairs leading to the area. "It's a drill," Liberman explained, yet the guards went through their paces in total seriousness, going through mock routines and confrontations with "prisoners" and a real guard dog. Only after the signal went off announcing the end of the drill did the guards relax. "We're very serious here," said Liberman. "Security is first and foremost. We've been entrusted with the task of guarding some of the most evil criminals in the country, many who are here for life. All of us take our jobs very, very seriously."
At one time, anyone could be a prison guard. It was considered one of the lowliest jobs around, but that has changed. Today, in order to be accepted into the IPS, one must go through a series of tests, oral and written, plus interviews with psychologists and a full family background check. A new recruit must pass a two-and-a-half-months course during which he or she learns everything from how to open and close handcuffs to how to recognize the signs of an impending fight. After new guards are assigned to a prison, they are mentored by a more experienced one who doesn't leave their side until the mentor is satisfied that the new guard is more than competent. There are also regular mandatory workshops and seminars on a host of issues related to the job. The IPS also encourages guards to earn a Bachelor's Degree, and many of the Shikma guards are students at Bar-Ilan University (which has a branch in the nearby Ashkelon College) or at the Open University. The guards who work in Shikma also quietly serve the community and surrounding area. They collect clothes and toys during the year and at holiday time visit the children in the city's Barzilai Hospital. They went to Kassam-torn Sderot and helped rebuild houses that were destroyed or damaged by rockets.
As in the army and police, the IPS also has elite units: Matsada, specialists in hostage negotiation; Dror, keeping drugs out of prisons; and Nachshon, a unit that functions as a jail on wheels, accompanying prisoners from their cells to court hearings.
When a prisoner enters the prison to serve his sentence, he is placed in a cell only after going through a complete medical evaluation and being interviewed by a prison social worker who checks his background and gets a first impression. The social worker assesses the newcomer's personality and whether he will potentially have problems with other inmates. Only then is he assigned to a cell, some of which hold eight men and some 16. Each cell has bunk beds, shelves, a table and chairs for eating, and a shower and toilet, both with doors to assure privacy. All prisoners, Jews and Arabs, get a kit containing basic toiletries and underwear; the family brings the rest of the person's needs.
Arab prisoners are kept completely separate from the Jewish ones. There are other sections for prisoners, Arab or Jewish, who are dangerous to themselves and to others; sections for those awaiting trial; an isolation area plus a cell where attorneys meet their clients. Prisoners are allowed to have visitors, depending on the status of their trial and the terms of their sentence. Visits may be weekly, twice-weekly or at longer intervals. The prison even allows for conjugal visits if the prisoner has been incarcerated for more than a year and has behaved well. There are also home visits if the prisoner has completed a quarter of his sentence and has met certain very strict requirements laid out by the IPS and the police. There may be specific terms to a home visit, like having to stay within the confines of the house for the entire time, or being accompanied by someone from the Prisons Service 24 hours a day. However, if prisoners have been jailed for family violence or for sexual crimes, they may leave only after receiving approval from a special committee, following a lengthy hearing.
The day at Shikma starts at 6:30 in the morning when the "count alarm" goes off. Each inmate must answer to his name and a question that only he would know the answer to. This is the first of the four daily headcounts. Breakfast, like all three meals, is delivered to the cells and the men can eat it whenever they want. A nutritionist who works for the prison network supervises the menu, and there is plenty of food. Prisoners who do work leave for their prison jobs while the rest visit the clinic, go to court, read, study in one of the many courses available, or meet visitors. Twice a day, for an hour each time, the prisoners go on "trips" in a courtyard in their wing. Here they can socialize, play basketball or ping pong, and see and feel the sun and breeze through open barbed-wire roofs.
Back in the cells, there are radios and televisions provided by the IPS, but no cable TV. The inmates followed the news of a recent Palestinian prisoner release closely from their cells but reaction was muted, as it is anytime there is a terrorist attack or a prisoner release. "They know if they show any signs of joy or celebration, they'll be punished. The guards are all very alert to these things and [the inmates] know it," Liberman explains.
Because the building is over 30 years old, the wiring will not support an air-conditioning system. The cells do have fans. It's not a country club, but then, it's not supposed to be.
The prisoners have access to the canteen two to three times a month. Money is supplied by family members, who deposit funds into a Post Office bank account, which transfers the money to the prison. If a prisoner has no family, the IPS will provide "enough" for shopping in the canteen. If a prisoner wants to study, he can do so via the Open University, on his own money. Workshops and courses teach reading and writing; help prisoners prepare for their matriculation exams; teach them how to live in the outside world and how to get and keep a job. There is also a branch of Narcotics Anonymous.
Prisoners who come from violent families and are themselves violent receive help in changing their behavior in meetings with specialists that include anger management skills and role-playing. As Liberman puts it: "Our aim is to teach the prisoner that there is an alternate way to live their lives and with any luck, they'll have the tools to succeed."
As part of the prisoner rehabilitation program, some inmates who meet the necessary requirements have been doing volunteer work with disabled children. For the last five years, prisoners have been going to Ashkelon's Barzilai Hospital on a weekly basis to do maintenance work in the gardens of the Oncology Building. Barzilai's head gardener teaches them about the different plants that grow there and how to care for them. On Tu Bishvat, some of the prisoners planted trees in the nearby Givat Tom and Tomer, a memorial garden for two of the IDF soldiers killed in the 1997 helicopter disaster. "We want the prisoners to give back to the community and at the same time feel good about themselves because of it. This also is a self-motivator," says Liberman.
Dimitri Beilin, 41, has been a guard at Shikma for six years, since he left the army. "When I came here, my wife was understandably concerned and so were my kids. But they're used to it now and know that I enjoy my job and am safe here, despite the fact that I'm guarding some of the most dangerous people in society. But for me, that's part of the challenge: I feel that I'm helping them become better people while making sure the country is safe. I treat the prisoners with respect and don't talk down to them. I also separate my feelings for how they got here from my work. Sometimes it's a bit difficult, but it's part of my job."
Nodding his head in agreement is Asher Berabi, 30, who served in an army combat unit and as a Knesset Guard. In his third year studying criminology in Open University, Berabi, 30, and father of two young children, is convinced he made the right choice. "This is interesting work and not easy. Every day we go up against the enemy and it can be dangerous, for sure. We have constant help here with any problems, real or potential, and surprise drills so that we are all prepared for any situation. We have lectures and discussions on security problems and regular staff meetings and meetings with IPS people from other prisons."
The guards and their families, Berabi says, are very close and deep friendships have developed. He says they all support each other and see each other socially, going on trips and outings. "We're all one family here, and just like the other prison guards are my family, I'm the family… the father and mother of each prisoner. I make sure the prisoner receives his basic rights: food, shelter, a place to sleep and a shower. I don't judge the person; I'm carrying out the order of the court and in doing so, make sure there is no way he can escape, but at the same time I am treating that person with firm respect." Everything that happens in the prison, he says, is designed to ensure security. "We react quickly and sternly to any infraction."
When it's time for the guards to change shifts, the new guards get a full report of everything that has happened in their sections. That report is written on the guard's protocol and nothing is left out. Each guard shift is 24 hours on - with rest periods, showers, a lounge and small dining area - followed by 48 hours off. Consideration is also given to guards who need time off to study before their exams.
Up until a year and a half ago, arrestees were held in a cell at the police station. Now, they're sent directly to prison but kept in a different area from those serving sentences. Social workers help detainees adjust to their new situation and accompany them to and from their court hearings.
"Our job has everything to do with security," says Liberman. "That's what we're trained for. Every small infraction is dealt with seriously. We do hard work here and have to be tough, yet at the same time sensitive, patient and understanding. We must, and do, guard to the letter of the law and everything that goes on here is absolutely according to that law. Although I'm a trained, licensed social worker, I'm a prison guard first."
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