Sunday, April 29, 2001

As the sun went down on Memorial Day, the national mood shifted from mourning the fallen to celebrating the freedom achieved by their sacrifice. Independence Day festivities took place across the country, from modest concerts in small villages to extravagant events in major cities. There was no sign that the 7 month Palestinian onslaught dampened the celebrations. City centres throughout the country were crowded with reveling Israelis determined to celebrate their pride in their nation.

In Jerusalem, Palestinians opened fire on the suburb of Gilo again that night, damaging 8 apartments, but residents didn't let that get them down. The firework display in the neighbourhood's main park went on as planned. Likewise, the Israeli communities of Gaza, so often under fire recently, kept their spirits up with festivities and firework displays in areas out of range of mortar fire, defying the Palestinian gunmen's attempt at destroying normal life in their communities.

Here in Modi'in, the municipality held its usual lavish celebrations with a show in the central park featuring Israeli pop stars Ayal Golan and Gali Atari, along with performances by local dance troupes. Also as usual Modi'in residents were treated to a spectacular firework display, visible for miles around. Later in the evening we heard and saw fireworks from the neighbouring town of Re'ut. Most of Modi'in's 30,000 residents attended the festivities which were secured by large numbers of police and volunteers from the town's civil guard.

Later that night we went on to a more modest event in the neighbouring town of Makkabim. There, in a lovely park planted with native wildflowers and trees, a large Bedouin-style tent lined with rugs and cushions had been set up near a campfire. Outside, a couple of police vehicles and several officers guarded the site, which is just across a small valley from the neighbouring Palestinian village of Beit Sira. Inside the tent, a group of musicians played old Israeli folk songs from fifty years ago, and a veteran of the War of Independence told humourous stories from the early days of the state. We sat squeezed in the crowded tent, sitting on the ground and on cushions, enjoying coffee and roast potatoes fresh from the fire and singing along enthusiastically with the band. We sang songs about the difficult early days in the late 1940s, about Israel's longing for peace, about our determination to survive despite our neighbours' belligerence.

As we celebrated independence by singing of our hopes for peace, we watched the yellow lights of the Makkabim patrol jeep a few hundred metres away as it patrolled the perimeter fence towards Beit Sira, whose lights twinkled just beyond. A few months ago its residents had stoned Israeli vehicles on the nearby road, injuring several, until the Israeli army sealed off the road to through traffic. Beit Sira youths had hung burning tires on Makkabim the perimeter fence, and yelled threats at the Jewish town's residents. Yet none of this was apparent as we sat singing Hebrew peace songs late into the chilly night. 'I was born for peace, may it only arrive,' we sang, as if the song itself could quell the war. Just as Israelis have done for 53 years now, we continued to sing and dream of peace, even as those with whom we seek peace make war against us.

Thursday, Israel's fifty-third Independence Day, we took the bus to Eli, a small Israeli town halfway between Jerusalem and Nablus/Shekhem. We had been invited to visit by friends who live there. It was our first visit to a Jewish community in the West Bank since the terror war began. The last time we visited, just under a year ago, we took the car, even taking a shortcut through a Palestinian town, Bir Naballah, whose shops sported Hebrew signs for their many Israeli customers. In recent months this village has been used by Palestinian snipers to attack the neighbouring Atarot industrial zone in northern Jerusalem. This year we left the car in Jerusalem and boarded a bulletproof bus for Eli, just to be on the safe side. When we reached the Ramallah bypass road near an army checkpoint, our bus was joined by an army jeep escort. The roads were pretty quiet, though, with little traffic and no incidents.

Once in Eli we were actually surprised by the absence of visible security measures. The outskirts of the hilltop town were patrolled frequently, with incoming traffic stopped at the entrance, but once inside the atmosphere was relaxed and festive. A bouncy castle and other attractions had been set up in the town's basketball court, which was crowded with children and parents. On a small cliff nearby teenagers were learning rockclimbing. A loudspeaker blared out a mixture of Israeli folk songs, pop songs and Hassidic rock. In addition to local residents there were many visitors from other parts of the country.

As we sat down to a festive Independence Day lunch on our friends' porch the air was thick with the smell of barbecues and all along the road we could see neighbours sitting down to their own dinners. Friends from Gush Etzion, south of Jerusalem, had also been invited. Conversation around the table quickly turned to the security situation on roads near our communities. Although all of those around the table came from parts of the country whose access roads had come under attack in recent months, everyone agreed that for the most part they were living life as usual. Some took extra precautions, such as avoiding driving after dark, or pairing up with at least one other car to avoid being alone on the road. Despite the tension, they weren't going to be intimidated into staying off the roads. After all, somebody commented, many more people are hurt in traffic accidents than in terror attacks.

Apparently, the strict security measures paid off. There was only one shooting on Independence Day itself, a Palestinian attack on an Israeli army post in Gaza. It was the quietest day we've known for a long time. However, such a tight closure on Palestinian areas can't be maintained for long, and Israel's policy is to minimise the pressure on Palestinian civilians, so by Friday most of the restrictions had been relaxed. Like the civilians, the terrorists were also free to travel again. Israelis soon felt the difference.

When we turned on the news last night after Shabbat we discovered that the week ended as it had begun, with a series of serious attacks, and at least one more Israeli murdered and several more wounded, bringing this week's Israeli death toll to at least three, with scores injured. This week three bombs went off in Israeli cities (Kfar Saba, Haifa and Or Yehuda), killing one. Another Israeli was murdered after taking a wrong turn into a Palestinian area near Ramallah. On Saturday five Israeli teenagers were wounded when a mortar bomb landed on a community centre in the Israeli Gaza village of Netzer Hazani, this after a bomb exploded there on Friday, wounding two Israelis. On the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv highway a Palestinian stabbed and wounded a fellow passenger in a service taxi. The attacker was overpowered by other passengers saving the life of his victim. Last night a man was murdered and four passengers wounded in a drive-by shooting at a busy junction on Route 65 near the Israeli Arab town of Umm El Fahm in the southern Galilee.

Many of these incidents could have ended far worse, I lose count of the number of times the word miracle has been used this week.

This morning we awoke to another round of Palestinian terror. A car bomb was detonated next to a schoolbus near Shavei Shomron, west of Shekhem/Nablus. A bomb exploded in the town of Sha'arei Tikva, east of Petah Tikva. A bomb was discovered in the seaside resort town of Netanya, exploding just after police had cleared the area and were preparing to defuse the device. Miraculously no one was hurt, save for a few women who were treated for shock. Palestinian gunmen fired mortar bombs at the Jewish village of Kfar Darom in Gaza. Another week and its bombs.

The latest word is that our leaders are once again trying to negotiate a ceasefire with the assistance of Jordan and Egypt. We can't help but be sceptical. We can't help but hope as well though.

Shavua Tov,

Independence Day

Sunday, April 29, 2001

As the sun went down on Memorial Day, the national mood shifted from mourning the fallen to celebrating the freedom achieved by their sacrifice. Independence Day festivities took place across the country, from modest concerts in small villages to extravagant events in major cities. There was no sign that the 7 month Palestinian onslaught dampened the celebrations. City centres throughout the country were crowded with reveling Israelis determined to celebrate their pride in their nation.

In Jerusalem, Palestinians opened fire on the suburb of Gilo again that night, damaging 8 apartments, but residents didn't let that get them down. The firework display in the neighbourhood's main park went on as planned. Likewise, the Israeli communities of Gaza, so often under fire recently, kept their spirits up with festivities and firework displays in areas out of range of mortar fire, defying the Palestinian gunmen's attempt at destroying normal life in their communities.

Here in Modi'in, the municipality held its usual lavish celebrations with a show in the central park featuring Israeli pop stars Ayal Golan and Gali Atari, along with performances by local dance troupes. Also as usual Modi'in residents were treated to a spectacular firework display, visible for miles around. Later in the evening we heard and saw fireworks from the neighbouring town of Re'ut. Most of Modi'in's 30,000 residents attended the festivities which were secured by large numbers of police and volunteers from the town's civil guard.

Later that night we went on to a more modest event in the neighbouring town of Makkabim. There, in a lovely park planted with native wildflowers and trees, a large Bedouin-style tent lined with rugs and cushions had been set up near a campfire. Outside, a couple of police vehicles and several officers guarded the site, which is just across a small valley from the neighbouring Palestinian village of Beit Sira. Inside the tent, a group of musicians played old Israeli folk songs from fifty years ago, and a veteran of the War of Independence told humourous stories from the early days of the state. We sat squeezed in the crowded tent, sitting on the ground and on cushions, enjoying coffee and roast potatoes fresh from the fire and singing along enthusiastically with the band. We sang songs about the difficult early days in the late 1940s, about Israel's longing for peace, about our determination to survive despite our neighbours' belligerence.

As we celebrated independence by singing of our hopes for peace, we watched the yellow lights of the Makkabim patrol jeep a few hundred metres away as it patrolled the perimeter fence towards Beit Sira, whose lights twinkled just beyond. A few months ago its residents had stoned Israeli vehicles on the nearby road, injuring several, until the Israeli army sealed off the road to through traffic. Beit Sira youths had hung burning tires on Makkabim the perimeter fence, and yelled threats at the Jewish town's residents. Yet none of this was apparent as we sat singing Hebrew peace songs late into the chilly night. 'I was born for peace, may it only arrive,' we sang, as if the song itself could quell the war. Just as Israelis have done for 53 years now, we continued to sing and dream of peace, even as those with whom we seek peace make war against us.

Thursday, Israel's fifty-third Independence Day, we took the bus to Eli, a small Israeli town halfway between Jerusalem and Nablus/Shekhem. We had been invited to visit by friends who live there. It was our first visit to a Jewish community in the West Bank since the terror war began. The last time we visited, just under a year ago, we took the car, even taking a shortcut through a Palestinian town, Bir Naballah, whose shops sported Hebrew signs for their many Israeli customers. In recent months this village has been used by Palestinian snipers to attack the neighbouring Atarot industrial zone in northern Jerusalem. This year we left the car in Jerusalem and boarded a bulletproof bus for Eli, just to be on the safe side. When we reached the Ramallah bypass road near an army checkpoint, our bus was joined by an army jeep escort. The roads were pretty quiet, though, with little traffic and no incidents.

Once in Eli we were actually surprised by the absence of visible security measures. The outskirts of the hilltop town were patrolled frequently, with incoming traffic stopped at the entrance, but once inside the atmosphere was relaxed and festive. A bouncy castle and other attractions had been set up in the town's basketball court, which was crowded with children and parents. On a small cliff nearby teenagers were learning rockclimbing. A loudspeaker blared out a mixture of Israeli folk songs, pop songs and Hassidic rock. In addition to local residents there were many visitors from other parts of the country.

As we sat down to a festive Independence Day lunch on our friends' porch the air was thick with the smell of barbecues and all along the road we could see neighbours sitting down to their own dinners. Friends from Gush Etzion, south of Jerusalem, had also been invited. Conversation around the table quickly turned to the security situation on roads near our communities. Although all of those around the table came from parts of the country whose access roads had come under attack in recent months, everyone agreed that for the most part they were living life as usual. Some took extra precautions, such as avoiding driving after dark, or pairing up with at least one other car to avoid being alone on the road. Despite the tension, they weren't going to be intimidated into staying off the roads. After all, somebody commented, many more people are hurt in traffic accidents than in terror attacks.

Apparently, the strict security measures paid off. There was only one shooting on Independence Day itself, a Palestinian attack on an Israeli army post in Gaza. It was the quietest day we've known for a long time. However, such a tight closure on Palestinian areas can't be maintained for long, and Israel's policy is to minimise the pressure on Palestinian civilians, so by Friday most of the restrictions had been relaxed. Like the civilians, the terrorists were also free to travel again. Israelis soon felt the difference.

When we turned on the news last night after Shabbat we discovered that the week ended as it had begun, with a series of serious attacks, and at least one more Israeli murdered and several more wounded, bringing this week's Israeli death toll to at least three, with scores injured. This week three bombs went off in Israeli cities (Kfar Saba, Haifa and Or Yehuda), killing one. Another Israeli was murdered after taking a wrong turn into a Palestinian area near Ramallah. On Saturday five Israeli teenagers were wounded when a mortar bomb landed on a community centre in the Israeli Gaza village of Netzer Hazani, this after a bomb exploded there on Friday, wounding two Israelis. On the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv highway a Palestinian stabbed and wounded a fellow passenger in a service taxi. The attacker was overpowered by other passengers saving the life of his victim. Last night a man was murdered and four passengers wounded in a drive-by shooting at a busy junction on Route 65 near the Israeli Arab town of Umm El Fahm in the southern Galilee. Many of these incidents could have ended far worse, I lose count of the number of times the word miracle has been used this week.

This morning we awoke to another round of Palestinian terror. A car bomb was detonated next to a schoolbus near Shavei Shomron, west of Shekhem/Nablus. A bomb exploded in the town of Sha'arei Tikva, east of Petah Tikva. A bomb was discovered in the seaside resort town of Netanya, exploding just after police had cleared the area and were preparing to defuse the device. Miraculously no one was hurt, save for a few women who were treated for shock. Palestinian gunmen fired mortar bombs at the Jewish village of Kfar Darom in Gaza. Another week and its bombs.

The latest word is that our leaders are once again trying to negotiate a ceasefire with the assistance of Jordan and Egypt. We can't help but be sceptical. We can't help but hope as well though.

Shavua Tov,

Memorial Day

Saturday night, April 28, 2001

With intelligence warnings of an escalation in terror attacks over last week's Memorial Day / Independence Day commemorations, security measures across Israel were at a peak. Entering Jerusalem's main shopping mall on Tuesday, the eve of Israel's Memorial Day, all shoppers had to pass through metal detectors at the entrances. Security guards were extra thorough in inspecting shoppers' bags and checking for concealed weapons.

Stores closed early at 6pm, and everyone hurried home to arrive before the 8pm memorial siren. I boarded the bus for Modi'in at 7pm, just before sunset. I wondered which route the bus would take. The shortest route from Jerusalem to Modi'in passes by a series of Palestinian villages. Following a handful of terror attacks along that road over the past few months, the buses have avoided that road after dark, instead taking a long detour. What route would we take at twilight?

As the bus collected passengers on its route through Jerusalem, the question of the route arose. "It's still light, take the direct route!" said one man. "Light, what light? I don't see much light" said another. "Take the most direct route, I want to be home in time for the 8pm siren" responded his companion. "Besides, there is a closure on the Palestinian towns tonight. The road should be safe even after dark, the army isn't letting Palestinians use it over the Memorial Day weekend." Finally the driver ruled in favor of the direct route: "There is still enough light for it to be safe."

This was the first time in 7 months that I travelled that road in darkness - twilight here is so short that half the journey took place after dark. Reassuringly, there was plenty of Israeli traffic on the road. Maybe they were emboldened by the closure of the road to Palestinian traffic, or comforted by the bolstered army presence along the route in recent months, or satisfied by the recent capture of the Ramallah terror cell behind most of the attacks on the road. In any case, it only takes 15 minutes to get from the northern outskirts of Jerusalem to the roadblock near Makkabim. That's the entire section of the road that runs next to Palestinian villages. Sometimes it seems silly that we had ever avoided the route.

The security crackdown continued at the entrance to Modi'in. Traffic backed up down the highway, with cars waiting at police checkpoints at the entrances to town. Police inspected each car, shining a flashlight into the vehicle. Our bus was pulled over and boarded by a policeman who checked for suspicious packages. In town, the town centre was closed with yet another roadblock diverting traffic from the evening's memorial ceremony for fallen soldiers and victims of terror attacks.

I got off the bus just before 8pm. As I walked home, the memorial siren caught me a few doors away from my building. The quiet side street was almost empty, but the few people out reacted to the siren by freezing to attention in accordance with modern Israeli tradition. One man got out of his car to stand in respect, another stopped while walking into his doorway, and a little girl stood in place as she climbed a staircase. The siren commanded us all to cease what we were doing and unite in the memory of those no longer with us.

The next morning, I went as usual to Kfar Saba's military cemetery for the memorial service for Israel's fallen. There I visit the grave of a classmate killed several years ago in a military helicopter crash.

Traffic is always crazy on Memorial Day. Tel Aviv's Central Bus station was crowded with people hurrying to cemeteries across the country for memorial services and soldiers on leave for the holiday. On the bus I caught snippets of conversation as someone on a mobile phone reassured a worried parent that it would be perfectly safe to visit Kfar Saba.

Actually, I had thought twice about attending this year. Only a few days earlier, on Sunday, a Palestinian suicide bomber had blown himself up next to a bus near the Kfar Saba town centre. An Israeli doctor was killed and over 50 others wounded in the blast. A week earlier two other Palestinian bombs went off near the Kfar Saba central synagogue, and the next day another exploded at a checkpoint just outside the town, near the neighbouring Palestinian-controlled city of Kalkilya. Still, I decided to go as usual. Not that I believe in taking unnecessary risks, but there is no way of knowing when a terrorist might strike, and neither do I believe in cowering in my apartment. Life has to go on.

Central Kfar Saba made Modi'in's security look light. The main street was blocked off by police, as were some surrounding streets. Traffic was diverted through narrow back roads. Heavily armed police and border guards in flak jackets were everywhere. The roads near the central bus station and the military cemetery were patrolled by soldiers in full battle gear manning temporary roadblocks. I have never seen soldiers dressed like that inside an Israeli city before. In fact I've never seen soldiers dressed like that except on news reports from actual war zones. It was chilling.

The streets were filled with throngs of people making their way to the cemetery. Groups of schoolchildren clad in blue and white walked in orderly lines, chatting and singing. At the gate of the cemetery a soldier inspected my bags. Family and friends of the fallen milled around the graves along with soldiers in dress uniforms, making their way to the resting places of their loved ones. The atmosphere was solemn yet warm. Old friends and comrades-in-arms greeted one another, relatives and girlfriends silently contemplated a loved one's grave, a group of yeshiva students recited Psalms.

Just before 11 am, the gates of the packed cemetery were closed. A German camera crew elbowed their way through the mourners, pausing here and there to film their grief or to catch a particularly poignant moment. The soldiers in the crowd snapped to attention. At exactly 11, the mournful siren began to wail. A heavy silence fell upon the crowd. No one moved. Time itself seemed to stand still. Only the faint wind swayed the trees and the birds continued to chirp. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. Halfway through the siren, a woman standing by the nearby grave of a 19-year-old policewoman broke into hysterical sobs and was comforted by a companion.

Then the ceremony began. An army rabbi read traditional memorial prayers. A bereaved father recited the Kaddish prayer. A government minister said a few words about Israel's longing for peace and the debt we owe those who have given their lives to defend our embattled country. Representatives of the state and the security forces laid wreaths. The solemn and dignified ceremony mixed traditional Jewish and western elements.

As every year, the parents of my late classmate invited friends to come back to their apartment. By now we have come to know each other reasonably, strangers united by the fact that we knew their son. We meet every year at the memorial, a strange mix of communal grieving and, with the years, a reunion of friends. I cannot imagine what it is like to lose a son, especially one so young whose life had only just begun. I cannot imagine how it must feel to see his comrades and schoolfriends grow up, marry and go to college and to know that he will always remain twenty-two. His parents are so composed, bearing their grief with such dignity that even though we go to comfort them, we always return strengthened and comforted by them.

Waiting at the bus stop on the way home, a car pulled up and two soldiers in battle gear stepped out. With obvious relief they hastily took off their helmets and flak jackets and removed the magazines from their M-16s, only to get back in the car and drive away. Someone muttered something about them coming back from duty near the checkpoint east of Kfar Saba. Behind the bus stop, city workers were busy setting up a stage and sound system for that evening's Independence Day celebrations. Welcome to Kfar Saba, a border town in central Israel.

Shavua Tov,

Passover - what passes for relative quiet

Sunday, April 15, 2001

First, a personal note. I've delayed sending this letter because I wanted to add a few words about Jason's grandfather, Nathan, who passed away over Pesah at the age of 80. Holocaust Memorial Day falls a few days after Pesah, and so it seems especially appropriate to tell his story. As a young man in Poland during World War II, Nathan had hidden in the woods with the Partisans fighting the Nazis. He met his wife, a concentration camp survivor, may she merit long life, in an Austrian refugee camp after the war. He raised three children and lived to see nine grandchildren and one great-grandson. We will miss him deeply. May his memory be blessed.

Pesah has been and gone. For the past several weeks TV and radio here were full of seasonal ads. Cleaning materials and vacuum cleaners featured prominently (lots of special offers...). Wine commercials featured sedarim. Moses hit the rock and got a special offer on Mei Eden mineral water. A toothpaste company had belly dancing tubes of paste proclaiming the "greatest offer since the Exodus from Egypt". A jewellery store advertised its seasonal discount offers with a pun on the traditional Mah Nishtana seder night song: "why is this Pesah different from all others? Because we had such great offers this year!". All manner of regular food commercials had banners proudly announcing that they will be kosher for Pesah this year. The frenzy of cleaning and scrubbing was in the air, along with the smell of burning hametz.

Of all the Jewish festivals, Pesah is probably the one which is most widely celebrated in the traditional manner by an overwhelming majority of Israeli Jews. Almost all the Jews of Israel attended a seder, well over 80% according to most statistics. About 70% read through the entire Haggadah. Most kept kosher for Pesah. In short, this is a major holiday here and even if there is a guerilla war going on in parts of the country, Israelis are not about to cancel their usual Pesah activites.

True, Israelis are being a bit more cautious than normal and a lot more alert, but aside from that they are getting on with their lives as best they can. In the approach to the Pesah festival the shops and markets were crowded with people preparing for the holiday. Many malls and places of entertainment weren't quite as crowded as usual, but they were pretty busy and merchants reported record sales.

The newspapers were full of ads for the usual Pesah music festivals and children's events. All the annual Pesah festivals recorded large ticket sales. Tens of thousands of Israelis flocked to events such as the Misgav music festival and the Boombamala New Age gathering, as well as more traditional religious events, such as the mass priestly blessing ceremony at the Western Wall in Jerusalem. Hotels in the Red Sea resort of Eilat were booked up, as were most guesthouses in the Galilee. Pesah is one of the three pilgrim festivals, and Jews flocked to Jerusalem from around the country and the world.

Security is the tightest I think I've ever seen it, with police everywhere and police roadblocks popping up sporadically on major roads or at the entrances to towns. On a recent visit to Tel Aviv the heavier than usual police presence was palpable. Making a bus connection at the central bus station I lost count of the number of times buses and bags were inspected. There seemed to be a police officer or soldier at every exit and entrance, on every bench, inspecting every bus and patrolling every section of every level of this giant bus terminal, the largest in the world. The same was true everywhere I've been in the past few weeks, including the seaside town of Netanya, which has been targeted by terrorists several times in recent months.

We spent the seder with relatives in the nearby town of Kiryat Sefer, just north of Modi'in. Kiryat Sefer is a Hareidi town whose main industry is probably the study and teaching of Torah. The atmosphere was frantic with the last minute Pesah rush, followed by a magical calm as Shabbat began. As we sat down to the seder with my cousins and other friends we heard the sounds of other sedarim from adjacent apartments, each family and their traditional tunes. Every household took the seder at its own pace, some reading quickly through the Haggadah in order to finish the meal before midnight, others drawing out the retelling of the story of the Exodus from Egypt, others adding special gimmicks and games to keep the children alert and interested throughout the extended meal.

At our seder, my cousin awarded chocolates to every child - and every young-at-heart adult - who asked or answered a question about the ceremony. Even the two year old got a prize for knowing how to complete each word of the Mah Nishtana, when prompted. I guess that our seder was one of the longer ones, certainly one of the liveliest (6 adults and about a dozen kids) and by the time we all finished and had cleared away it was after 3am.

The next evening, after yom tov, we went into Jerusalem for a concert by Yehoshua Engelman, who served as the rabbi of our community for a number of years, and who is also a singer and musician. His music is itself a commentary on the texts he chooses, a mixture of traditional religious works and modern Israeli poetry. That night, as he often does, he ended the concert by singing Psalm 23 to the melody he composed. "Even though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death I will not fear, for You are with me. Your rod and Your staff will comfort me.You prepare a table before me in the face of my enemies." It was the first time those words had really struck a chord with me. Indeed, we had prepared our seder tables in the shadow of the enemy. Our seder felt like a form of resistance and triumph over the Palestinian gunmen and bombers who have been trying their hardest to destroy normal existence in Israel.

That night as we returned home from the concert, we heard on the radio that Palestinian gunmen had opened fire that evening on the outskirts of Kiryat Sefer. Thank God no one was hurt, but an apartment was hit by two bullets. This is the second shooting towards the town and the third attack in the region north of Modi'in in recent weeks. It seems as though Palestinian gunmen are trying to stir things up in what have been until now mostly peaceful Palestinian villages. The attack certainly jangled a lot of nerves in an area that has been pretty safe until now.

A week earlier, shots were fired at the security patrol road of the village of Menora just southeast of Kiryat Sefer, from the neighbouring Palestinian village of Harbata. Two Israeli watchmen were lightly injured. This was the first attack on Menora or its larger neighbour, Lapid. The shootings alarmed local residents because, although the Modi'in region is a border area, with many Israeli and Palestinian communities in close proximity, in comparison with many other border regions there have been only a few isolated incidents of Palestinian violence. Six months ago the idea of any attacks would have been ludicrous; now we are grateful that there have only been a few "isolated incidents".

Still, on the whole the Pesah holiday passed mercifully quietly in most parts of the country. During hol hamo'ed we did some day trips to southern Israel. Driving south, the heightened military activity as we passed turnoffs towards the Gaza region reminded us that in that part of the country the war was going on as usual, with Palestinian shootings and mortar attacks taking place against Israeli communities in and around Gaza on a daily basis. Yet only a few kilometers west, away from the tense border with the Palestinian Authority, there was no indication save for the military traffic that anything was out of the ordinary, with national parks full of hikers and picnickers. We enjoyed trips to the southern Dead Sea, and to a nature reserve and ruined castle near Nizzana, in the western Negev desert.

Not long ago, it was hard to imagine we would enjoy a relatively quiet Pesah. The week of March 21-28 saw one of the most intense Palestinian assaults in months, apparently timed to coincide with the summit of Arab leaders in Jordan. It was, to say the least, a very tense and difficult week. Between March 25-28 alone dozens of Israelis were wounded and three killed, including a 10-month-old baby. Over the course of the week, eight Palestinian bombs were planted in Israeli cities, of which four exploded. The damage could easily have been far worse, but we were very lucky. The diary of that week's major attacks is astounding even by recent standards.

As I mentioned in my last letter, on Wednesday, March 21, an alert parking inspector in Jerusalem discovered a car bomb which was successfully defused by police. Late the following night a small bomb exploded outside a crowded restaurant in the Herzliya industrial zone where Jason works. Monday evening, tragedy was averted in Petah Tikva's busy main street when an alert falafel snack bar owner noticed a suspicious package outside his kiosk. That night Palestinian snipers, who have been targeting the playground of the Hebron Jewish Quarter, killed ten-month-old Shalhevet Pas with a single shot to the head. Her father Yitzhak was wounded in the legs by a second bullet, and another bullet lightly grazed another little girl playing there, ripping a hole in her dress.

On Tuesday, two bombs went off in Jerusalem. The first, just before 8am, was a powerful car bomb which exploded in the Talpiot industrial zone, a major commercial district, fortunately before many businesses had opened. A parked bus shielded passersby, so there were "only" light injuries. A few hours later at the busy French Hill junction in northern Jerusalem a suicide bomber detonated a bomb next to a city bus, wounding more than thirty people. That evening, in one of many Palestinian stoning attacks, Danielle Fein, 27, of Be'er Sheva, was hit in the head and critically wounded as she sat in the family car en route to sheva brakhot wedding celebrations in Yakir, east of Petah Tikva.

Wednesday morning March 28 brought worse news, with three attempted bombings. Two of them, in the central Netanya and Petah Tivka markets, were averted by alert civilians who noticed suspicious packages and notified the police. The third, at the ironically named "Peace Junction" gas station just outside the town of Kfar Saba, resulted in tragedy. As on every weekday morning, a group of schoolboys were waiting there for their schoolbus. As they were waiting, a suicide bomber approached them and detonated himself in their midst. Fourteen-year-old Eliran Rosenberg-Ziat of the Tel Aviv suburb of Giv'at Shmuel and 13-year-old Naftali Lanzcron of Petah Tikva were killed along with the bomber. Another boy was critically injured while two others suffered moderate wounds and one was lightly wounded.

Early the next week two Israeli soldiers were killed in separate sniper attacks, one near Nablus / Shekhem, and the other near Rachel's Tomb south of Jerusalem. The latter attack was only the start of a major Palestinian assault on the Jewish holy site which raged in the area for several hours and could be heard throughout much of Jerusalem.

Saturday night, as Pesah ended, we turned on the TV news to discover that two bombs had gone off near the central synagogue of Kfar Saba, northeast of Tel Aviv. The second exploded about an hour after the first and was apparently targeted at the rescue crews responding to the first blast. Three Israelis were injured, one seriously. The next morning another bomb exploded on the road just east of Kfar Saba, near the border with Palestinian controlled Kalkilya.

Many Israelis think that Palestinian terrorists have found it easier to infiltrate Israel since Israel relaxed the closure on Palestinian-controlled areas, allowing freer movement within these areas and greater access to Israel. Israel is in a quandary. On the one hand the government and most Israelis don't want to place restrictions on ordinary Palestinian civilians, yet on the other hand, when Israel does ease restrictions on Palestinian travel the result has been increased terror, as terrorists are also freer to move around. No simple solution is apparent.

Despite the situation, though, most Israelis are not feeling as jumpy and anxious as one might expect. Yes, the possibility that a bomb might go off in any Israeli city or marketplace is to say the least unnerving, but after so many months of the Palestinian onslaught Israelis are sadly becoming used to this threat. Despite the attacks, most of the time it is still pretty safe in most parts of the country. At the beginning many people were a bit hysterical and panicky, but as the months go on people have become resigned to this state of semi-war or "low intensity conflict". Israelis by and large are not putting their lives on hold any longer because who knows how long this crazy situation will go on. The Palestinians are counting on whittling away at Israeli resolve with the constant pressure of a long-term terror campaign. Only the fortitude of the Israeli public can see us through this difficult period.

Shavua Tov,