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,

Another crazy day in Israel - Jerusalem miracle

Wednesday, March 21, 2001

Last night we went out to dinner at a lovely little Hungarian restaurant in Tel Aviv to celebrate Jason's birthday. The restaurant was cosy and crowded. In the warm, heimish atmosphere it was possible to forget that the security situation here is one of the worst in Israel's history. It was so relaxing to spend an evening without listening to the radio. On the drive home the we discussed Pesah holiday plans and enjoyed the delicious night time fragrance of jasmine that wafts over a large section of the Tel-Aviv-Modi'in highway during the spring. Save for the extra police patrols, all seemed peaceful, just as it was half a year ago.

This morning we went into Jerusalem to take care of some errands at the bank. We left the house too early to have time for breakfast so we had brunch at a cafe where I had arranged for a surprise birthday cake for Jason. He then went off to work, but I had some more errands to do in Jerusalem so I spent most of the day there, later meeting a friend for coffee and picking out a lovely new hat for Pesah. Tired, schlepping assorted packages, I headed for the nearest bus stop to return to Modi'in.

As I walked along it dawned on me that a helicopter kept passing overhead, backwards and forwards over the centre of town. Even by current standards, there seemed to be a lot of police and security vehicles around. Something was definitely up. I reached my bus stop with several minutes to spare. It was an unusually hot March day and I was parched so I popped into a kiosk to get some water. While waiting to pay I overheard another customer telling the shop keeper that he'd just come from the Meah She'arim neighbourhood and that the street he needed to get to was closed due to a suspect car bomb. I was a few minutes walk from Meah She'arim, right on the edge of the neighbourhood.

I didn't panic though. No, not because I'm so brave, but because false alarms are common. Each abandoned car, every bag someone dumps or loses, each box of rubbish - all are suspicious objects and the police take any possible bomb seriously. Only two months earlier I nearly missed my bus while waiting at that same stop because police suddenly came across a suspect package in the same area, closed off the street and told everyone to leave. In the end that suspect bomb had thank God been a false alarm.

The news meant that the bus would be delayed, traffic would be bad and who knew how long I'd have to wait in the hot sun with all my packages. The bus stop was filling up rapidly with people waiting for buses which could not get through because of the nearby road closures or the subsequent traffic jams.

The Modi'in bus was coming from a part of town relatively unaffected by the closures. The continuation of the route was however directly through the crowded narrow streets of Meah She'arim, "Shabbat Square" and the Bukharan Quarter. That entire area was closed off by the police, and all its traffic and pedestrians had been pushed out into the bustling and congested streets of central Jerusalem. As you can imagine it was pretty chaotic, traffic was moving at a snail's pace, if at all, while pedestrians, cars and even buses were weaving in and out trying to find alternate routes. It was a long and tense ride home that afternoon.

By the time I arrived home I had missed the early evening news and it was only at 7.30pm that I heard the whole story. This afternoon it wasn't a false alarm. The car bomb was very real and very large. Only by a miracle had a terrible tragedy been averted. A passerby noticed an illegally parked car which was blocking traffic and called a municipal parking inspector to do something about it. The inspector became suspicious when he noticed that the car was beautifully new, so nice and new that no one in their right mind would risk parking it like that on a narrow crowded street. Something seemed wrong. He checked the licence plate number and sure enough, the car was stolen. Fearing that it was a bomb he rushed to clear the area, warning people to run away. Police then carried out a controlled explosion. For the third time in recent months the people of Meah She'arim were miraculously saved from a Palestinian terrorist's bomb.

How chilling to discover that this afternoon I and thousands of other civilians going about their daily business had been within a kilometre radius of a large car bomb. What a debt we owe to the vigilance of that municipal parking inspector.

Another crazy day in Israel. Another Palestinian terror attack added to the growing list. Thank God this one had a happy ending.

Musing on the strangeness of American "normalcy"

Tuesday, March 20, 2001

I know I haven't written for a while. We've just returned from visiting Jason's family in the US. To put it mildly, being outside of Israel felt rather odd. It wasn't just the superficial differences of foreign landscapes, different weather and a different language. No, it was the different atmosphere, the lack of tension, no one tuning into the news obsessively every hour. Even when we did tune in to the radio the news was relatively staid compared with what we often have at home.

Things felt more relaxed abroad, but then I guess they would be in countries whose right to exist is not constantly questioned. Overall, being in the US, and briefly on stopover in London, made us realise how what passes for normality in Israel is not necessarily that normal. No, as I have said many times before, most of Israel is not the war zone you see on TV. In Israel as well, we consider war zones not to be normal. No, it is the parts of life which we think of as normal, as just like any other country, such as going to the movies, visiting a shopping mall or taking a bus, which after visiting the US seem less routine.

On our first day in America, on the way to visit Jason's grandparents, we stopped at a bookstore in a large shopping mall in the hopes of finding an Israeli newspaper - Israelis are by necessity obsessed with the news. We drove into the parking lot, found a parking space near the bookshop entrance and parked the car. As Jason turned off the engine we suddenly realised that no one had stopped us at the entrance. There had been no line of cars stretching into the main road waiting for a security guard to check them. No one had asked us our name, taken down our licence plate number or inspected the trunk of the car for weapons or other suspicious objects. We had just driven right in and parked. Weird. Due to the threat of terror in Israel you can't do that.

As is often the case, I was schlepping a backpack with my camera, binoculars and a local bird guidebook, just on the offchance that we might see something interesting. As we neared the entrance I kicked myself for having taken along my bag. I hate going to shopping malls, cinemas or department stores with a bag of any sort, but especially not a big bag or one with lots of compartments. It's such a hassle to open it for the guard at the door to inspect. It felt strange to walk right in to the mall carrying whatever we wanted. No one checked to see what was in my bag or whether my camera was in fact a camera or a bomb, or whether Jason was carrying a concealed weapon. No security guard whatsoever. How odd. I didn't see any police or soldiers in the mall at all.

In fact we hardly saw any police or soldiers during our entire visit, save for the odd patrol car on the road or some marines at a shopping centre near a base. In Israel uniforms are so common that you don't even notice. The security situation and the country's small population require everyone to serve in the army or do other forms of national service, so it's common to see young people in uniform. Many men also do up to a month's reserve duty a year, so it isn't odd to see your neighbour don his uniform once or twice a year, even if usually he works as a mechanic, rabbi, chef or stockbroker. We often see men or women in uniform just doing their groceries or picking the kids up from school.

With the current security problems it is also common to see border guard or police patrols in towns and cities, shopping malls, popular places of entertainment and even sometimes at roadblocks at the entrance to town. The lack of visible security measures in the US was palpable. Of course this isn't to say that the US doesn't have security problems of its own. Every big cities has neighbourhoods you wouldn't want to get lost in, and unlike in Israel, there are no police roadblocks to stop you from accidentally driving into them. Of course the locals know where it's safe, and plan their routes accordingly, just like people do here. Each country and its own risks I suppose.

In fact the only major security presence that I noted was during our stopover in London's Heathrow airport where we had to change planes. There was a posse of British police in flak jackets, carrying wicked looking machine guns, who surrounded the passengers waiting to check in at the El Al desk. No other airline had a similar security presence. I assume that they were there to deter potential attackers, but I and other passengers I chatted to found the way they stood over us very intimidating, as though we were the potential threat to peaceful Britain rather than potential targets. It almost felt as though they were trying to corral us. Security is tight in Israel, but somehow it doesn't usually feel that cumbersome or oppressive.

No offense to our American friends and relatives, but listening to American radio was quite bizarre. Stories about whether there would be another winter blizzard, the new Bush administration's tax plans, Clinton's shenanigans or racing car drivers - if only those were the lead stories here. In general we found the tone and style of US news reports to be more relaxed, sometimes almost lethargic or folksy. They lacked the urgency of Israeli news broadcasts, where every update seems to bring a new crisis. So entrenched is the feeling of living on the edge that even relatively trivial stories are reported with melodramatic overtones.

We arrived home Purim eve. This time of year is a favourite of Jews around the world, especially kids, who look forward to the boisterous Purim holiday. This year should have marked an extra special Purim as Israelis marked the tenth anniversary of the end of the Persian Gulf War. While that war was of course actually fought in the Persian Gulf, about 1000 miles from here, Saddam Hussein used it as an excuse to lob Scud missiles at Israel, mostly at the Tel Aviv area, and Israelis spent the war with the ever present fear that he was going to arm those Scuds with poison gas. The war ended on Purim, and the festival became the first day in months that Israelis were free to go about their lives as usual without schlepping gas masks with them or listening out for air raid sirens.

On Purim eve this year, as the rest of Israel was in the middle of or en route to readings of Megillat Esther, the Book of Esther, in synagogues across the country, the residents of Netzarim, a Jewish village in Gaza, were rushing to their bomb shelters because neighbouring Palestinians were shelling them. Thank God, no one was hurt. As the Jews of Gaza have been under attack for 6 months now, the event got little coverage. Purim morning, as I was preparing mishloah manot, the traditional Purim food gifts, to deliver to family and friends, a resident of Netzarim was being interviewed on the radio about how he was going to be spending the festival. He described how after two mortar shells landed in the village residents hurried to their shelters, bringing with them food for the Purim banquet and megillat Esther scrolls. A few families gathered with his in a neighbourhood shelter. One man had thought to grab his accordion, and he played Purim songs to keep their spirits up. The resident being interviewed said that as they read the Purim story from the book of Esther they had faith that just as the Jews of ancient Persia were saved from Haman's evil decree, so they would be saved from their enemies. What a way to spend what should be one of the most joyous festivals of the Jewish year.

Thankfully Purim in most other parts of Israel passed peacefully. Israel's tight security measures succeeded in preventing terror attacks. Most towns held their annual Purim fancy dress parades as usual, though with stepped up security. With the festival falling on Friday in most of Israel, and on Sunday in Jerusalem and other towns with ancient walled centres, Purim was rare long weekend in Israel this year.

The tighter security measures included a strict closure around Palestinian controlled territory in the Ramallah area north of Jerusalem. Ramallah and surrounding Palestinian villages are the principal base for many Palestinian Authority militias and terror cells carrying out attacks on Israelis in the Jerusalem area. In order to prevent the terrorists from reaching Israeli areas the Israeli army created a tight cordon of roadblocks on roads in the region, isolating Ramallah from surrounding Palestinian villages and towns - and from Jerusalem.

Contrary to reports on CBS or the BBC et al the closure was not an attempt at "collective punishment", but rather a means for curbing Palestinians attacks on Israelis. As an Israeli army spokesman put it, better that the Palestinian gunmen target army roadblocks than Israeli civilians. These towns and villages were not under siege, but movement in and out was limited to a few main entrances and exits with every vehicle checked scrupulously. Food and other humanitarian supplies were allowed in. The operation has proved quite successful so far, with Israel capturing several terrorists and so preventing a planned bombing in Jerusalem. I've noticed that the foreign media seems to be ignoring these aspects, focussing only on what they see as the harsh restrictions on Palestinian movement in the region.

Israelis do not relish imposing such restrictions on civilian Palestinians, but we relish even less being shot at and bombed by Palestinian terrorists. Under the circumstances the closure and restrictions seem to be the most effective way of preventing terrorists from infiltrating into Israel. In fact hours after the closure was lifted in Bethlehem Palestinian gunmen ambushed and murdered an Israeli driver on his way to work from Efrat to Jerusalem. They then escaped to Palestinian controlled Bethlehem with no Israeli checkpoints in their way.

No doubt ordinary Palestinian civilians are suffering, but it is the Palestinians who have instigated this war and continue to besiege Israeli communities by terrorising their roads with snipers and booby traps. Whenever the roads are open to Palestinian traffic, terror cells take the opportunity to ambush Israeli traffic. They do this with the support and assistance of their pseudo government and with the sympathy of a large majority of the civilian population as repeated Palestinian opinion polls have indicated. So long as the Palestinians continue to attack Israelis on the road, snipe at Israeli communities and plant bombs in Israeli towns, why should Israel feel any obligation, legal or moral, to open these roads to them or grant them work permits? If they are suffering they should complain to their leadership for destroying the peace process and starting an unnecessary war that has cost us all dearly. It seems they wish to achieve their goals through warfare without suffering the consequences.

Nissan, the Hebrew month in which the Pesah festival falls, begins this Sunday. I never imagined that when the Palestinian assault began just before Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year, nearly six months ago, that I would be preparing for Pesah in its shadow.

Wishing you all hodesh tov, a good month.

Ballot boxes, bombs and bullets

Tuesday, February 6, 2001

Tuesday was of course election day in Israel, which in Israel is a national holiday. We live right next to our polling booth, so we voted early and then went south for the day to take a break from the elections. We weren't the only ones with that idea. We saw many families out for the day in the national parks, though the most crowded place was the shopping mall in Be'er Sheva where we stopped for dinner on the way home.

We explored the northwest Negev region, an agricultural area of plains and gentle rolling hills on the edge of the desert. It was an unseasonably warm winter day, the sun was bright, the wildflowers created carpets of yellow, mauve, white and red and the air was filled with birdsong. Many birds of prey winter in the fields in this area and we saw many soaring over the roads or perched on trees by the road. Fields of sunflowers and grains lined the route, as well as - believe it or not - several ostrich farms. Not far from the road we passed the Nahal Besor stream and relaxed to the gentle tinkling of the water rushing over the rocky stream bed.

Yet to the west of this region is the battleground of Gaza, where the Jewish communities are under constant attack and only the day before an Israeli soldier on patrol was killed by a Palestinian sniper. Only a mere 20 kilometres away in the Eshkol-Nahal Besor national park all was blissfully peaceful, save for the odd military helicopter flying overhead. It was hard to believe that we were so close to Gaza, hard to believe that had we continued a few kilometres further we would have reached army road blocks and armoured convoys. It really brought home how localised the violence is. The Israeli communities of Gaza are the buffer zone bearing the brunt of Palestinian attacks, protecting the north-west Negev from Palestinian terror.

From the fields and dunes of the Nahal Besor region we continued south and east into the real Negev desert, a land of rocky cliffs and barren landscapes. Even here though the winter rains have brought some colour, patches of wildflowers and greenery in the wadis and ditches by the road, wherever the runoff from the rains has settled. Along the road we noticed the occasional Bedouin encampment, shepherds with their flocks of sheep and goats and once a herd of semi-wild camels foraging in the middle of nowhere with no human settlement in sight.

One of the loveliest places in this region is Ein Avdat, a dramatic canyon with a spring fed stream flowing along its floor. The hike along the canyon floor is easy, and we had a leisurely wander along the trail, accompanied by the calming rushing of the water, the song of the birds perched in the waterside vegetation and the cooing of the doves nestled along the rocky ledges high above us. From time to time a huge Griffon vulture soared over the canyon, one of the largest birds of prey in the region.

There were a few other people around, but the site wasn't crowded. By late afternoon we were taking it easy, relaxing by the stream and watching the ibex wild goats clatter down the rocky cliffside for an evening drink. The fateful elections were a world away.

We arrived home at 7pm, three hours before the polls were to close. There was nothing on television but meaningless reports about voter turnout and commentary on post-election scenarios. An hour before voting ended, Channel 2 thankfully tried to help ease the tension with an election-special game show. Animated Sharon and Barak characters appeared on the screen to tell contestants whether their answers were right or wrong.

Then at 10pm the nation held its breath as the first exit polls were released. There were few surprises. As the polls have been indicating for weeks, Ariel Sharon, was elected prime minister by the largest landslide in Israeli history with the exit polls indicating a win of about 59% to 40%. By the following morning with 99% of the vote counted Sharon's success was confirmed: 62.6% to 37.4%.

It would be hard to imagine a more decisive repudiation for prime minister Ehud Barak. Amazing that only in May 1999 his election was greeted by so many Israelis with such optimism, even euphoria. He really seemed to offer the consensus, centrist government that so many Israelis yearned for. Today there is hardly anybody who will say a good word about him. How the mighty have fallen.

Thursday, February 8, 2001

Every time you think that maybe, just maybe, things are calming down a bit, the Palestinians do something to shatter any remnant of hope that maybe, just maybe, they really might decide to honour one of the numerous ceasefire agreements they've committed to in recent months. I know, perhaps my letters are predictable, always a lull before some kind of storm, but I can only tell it the way it is, and sadly that is the way it is.

I had a free afternoon on Thursday because a girl I'm tutoring cancelled on me. I took the opportunity to do something I've wanted to do for a long time - accompany a local naturalist and birder to a rural area just behind Modi'in and observe the wildlife there. I have always loved nature, especially birds. In these crazy times I find it comforting to be out watching the birds, it helps me to take my mind off the more pressing problems of the day.

It was a productive afternoon with my guide showing me several species I'd never seen before. As twilight approached a pair of owls began calling to each other across the valley, and soon their cries were joined by the howling and cackling of jackals from the other side of the hill. As we were scanning the horizon with our binoculars, hoping to catch sight of the jackals my friend's mobile phone rang. I heard him say "A pigu'a (terror attack)? Where? How many hurt?" My heart sank. Not again. The phone conversation ended and he turned to me "Do you have family in Jerusalem?" I hovered somewhere between panic and alarming calm. Panic because I have a lot of family and friends in the city, not to mention plenty who work there even if they live elsewhere. Calm, because sadly such news has become so routine that I no longer have the strength to panic for long.

We heard more jackals, but didn't see any this time. I arrived home half an hour later and switched on the TV. Channel 1 was on a basketball game and Channel 2 had a celebrity documentary about supermodels. Nothing to watch on TV, that meant that the terror attack wasn't too serious, otherwise both stations would be on special news bulletins.

When the news finally came on at 7:30pm it became clear that thank God, we have merited another miracle in the midst of this tragic situation. The car bomb was planted in a side street at the edge of the Hareidi (very traditional orthodox) Meah She'arim neighbourhood near central Jerusalem. A witness, still pale with shock, noted that only minutes before the blast a truck laden with gas canisters had driven right past the bombers' car. Had God forbid the bomb gone off as the truck passed one shudders to think of the terrible outcome.

Close to the scene of the blast is a charity centre which distributes food to the needy of Jerusalem every Thursday afternoon at 5:30pm, ensuring that the poor have meals for Shabbat. The bomb went off about 15 minutes earlier, and had the blast occurred at a 5:30, Heaven forbid, we would be looking at a far higher and more serious casualty toll. There is speculation that this centre, crowded with people, was the terrorists' target. This evening locals were celebrating the miracle. The news showed hundreds of Hassidim dancing and singing, thanking God for saving their neighbourhood.

Sunday, February 11, 2001

Our Palestinian peace partners still apparently need to have the word peace explained to them. Over the last few days there has been a steady upsurge in attacks, just as they promised us there would be, to celebrate the Israeli elections. At least they keep their word on something even if they ignore the peace agreements. There has been a marked increase in shootings, bombings and stonings. I'm not going to mention every incident here, I can't, there have been scores in recent days alone.

The Bethlehem region in particular has been heating up. Tonight 35-year-old Tzahi Sasson was murdered while driving home from work in Jerusalem to the village of Rosh Tzurim. Sasson was hit in the head by Palestinian gunfire while he was driving on the highway bridge linking southern Jerusalem with Gush Etzion. At first he was seriously wounded, and Israeli soldiers and ambulance crews struggled to rescue him under continuous fire from Palestinian controlled Bethlehem. By the time the wounded civilian was extricated and evacuated to hospital it was too late.

Just a short while ago we sat in horror watching the desperate attempts to rescue the wounded civilian with the soldiers crouching low behind the bridge railings to avoid becoming targets for the Palestinians, using armoured military vehicles to shield the ambulance from snipers. Once again I sat in my living room and watched a familiar road become a war zone. Only a year ago we took that road to Efrat to attend my cousin's Bar Mitzvah. I remember sitting by the bus window and looking towards the mosque minarets and occasional churches which dot the Bethlehem skyline. Now that bus journey seems a whole lifetime away.

Palestinian gunmen in Bethlehem have been firing on and off at Rachel's Tomb for almost a day now. This evening they resumed shooting at the southern Jerusalem neighbourhood of Gilo. The living room of 90 year-old Tzila Stricker was hit by Palestinian gunfire. She and her carer narrowly escaped injury. Tonight she said they'll be sleeping in her windowless hallway just to be on the safe side.

Earlier today an Israeli soldier was wounded when Palestinians opened fire on the Israeli-Palestinian coordinating office in Bethlehem. The office is supposed to facilitate cooperation between the two sides on security and humanitarian matters, but all too often the Palestinians have attacked it instead. Over Shabbat the Giv'at Hadagan neighbourhood of Efrat, south of Jerusalem, was also subjected to Palestinian fire from the Bethlehem area.

The Jews of Gaza have also been having it tough. The Gaza region has been a constant focus for Palestinian violence, even when other sectors have calmed down a bit. Today a mortar shell was fired at the Israeli village of Netzarim for the second time in two weeks. Luckily it fell in an open patch of ground, and not, as last time, on someone's house. Residents were instructed to spent the night in bomb shelters. Roadside bombs and ambushes are daily occurrences in Gaza, with several Israelis wounded in recent days and a number of miraculous near misses.

The besieged residents of Netzarim are holding firm though, despite the constant shooting, despite being able to travel to and from their homes only in armoured convoys. Imagine living like that for months now, going to work and school with the ever present threat that you or your spouse or your children will not make it home in one piece - if at all. One Netzarim resident put it like this: we're protecting Israel's border so we have to remain strong.

In the lower Galilee region of northern Israel, some Israeli Arabs have once again joined in the fun, throwing rocks at passing Jewish motorists driving along the Wadi `Ara road, a major east-west artery. At least one Jewish driver was lightly injured by a rock thrown at his car.

Hard to think that all this is less than a week's worth of news. How we long for calmer days.

"Wonderful adventure"

Tuesday, January 30, 2001

The other day someone sent me one of those "inspiring" e-mail chain letters. This one was entitled "Let Your Life Be a Wonderful Adventure!" I couldn't help but laugh. I don't know about wonderful, but adventures, here in Israel we seem to have too many of those. I could certainly go for some wonderful though.

Once again, the amount of news and the pace of events has just been overwhelming. Even more overwhelming though is the task of trying to explain to you overseas what it feels like in Israel right now. I feel the urge to catalogue everything, to send you every fragment of news that happens here because perhaps that is the only way to describe life here. So if this letter is long, forgive me. If it takes several coffee breaks to read it, I understand. I didn't even have space in this letter to write about everything that is on my mind, so much will have to wait for next time. And if I sound a bit incoherent, well, that's just the after effects of the anaesthetic. I had a wisdom tooth removed this evening.

A few weeks ago, on a gloriously sunny and unseasonably warm winter day I took the bus into Jerusalem to take care of some errands. Yeah, nothing new there. The landscape in this area is now beautifully green after the rains, covered in wildflowers, red anemones, pink cyclamen and white asphodels. The first almond trees are in bloom, creating whitish-pink puffs along the hillsides. From the bus I noticed chukar partridges wandering along rocky embankments next to the highway and even gazelle frolicking on another slope. The gazelle made my day, it's rare to see these shy antelope, though they are not that uncommon in this part of the country.

More unusual, though, were the tanks I saw by the side of the road. I now see them every time I take the bus into Jerusalem. In light of the increasing severity of the attacks on the main Modi'in-Jerusalem road the army has stepped up its presence on the route. There are now several new army outposts on cliff tops overlooking the road. In some of these new outposts, such as the one overlooking the spot were Eli Cohen from Modi'in was murdered in December, there are now also tanks.

I'm not entirely sure how useful the tanks are against snipers, but I suppose that it does make local residents feel that the army is at least doing more to protect us. As to whether they make me feel safer, I'm not sure. On the one hand the increased army presence in general does make the road feel more secure, on the other hand it is terrible to be reminded that things have come to this, that we need tanks on the highway to protect us from Palestinian attack.

The juxtaposition of the gazelle and the tanks was surreal to say the least, but sadly it is a metaphor for our rather odd existence of late. The gazelle is one of the traditional symbols of the land of Israel, "Land of the Gazelle" as the bible describes it. This antelope symbolises grace, beauty, agility and speed in the bible. Perhaps today they symbolise our fleeting dreams of peace and tranquillity.

The tanks reminded me of the other road to Jerusalem. In 1948 Arab snipers controlled the high ground on either side of that road, Route 1, and the only way Jews could get from the Tel Aviv area to Jerusalem was to run the gauntlet in armoured convoys. The wrecks of these armoured vehicles still line the main Tel-Aviv Jerusalem road, grim reminders of the cost paid in Jewish lives to secure the road between Israel's major cities and the Israeli capital.

Route 443, Modi'in's main road to Jerusalem, was recently widened and improved in part so that Israel would never face a 1948 situation again, whereby there was only one major road connecting Jerusalem to the lowlands and coast. So that Jerusalem could never again be besieged so easily, just by cutting the single Jerusalem-Tel-Aviv road with its narrow mountain passes. With Route 443 threatened and the southern road from Jerusalem to Gush Etzion frequently closed due to Palestinian attacks from the Bethlehem area, most of the traffic to Jerusalem is once again channelled through the narrow mountain passes that make up Route 1. God forbid, but it almost feels as though we're sliding back to 1948.

Yesterday was the anniversary of the Shayeret haLamed Heh - the Convoy of the 35. During the 1948 Israeli War of Independence 38 Israelis went in a convoy to bring supplies to the Jewish villages of Gush Etzion, south of Jerusalem, which were then under siege by Arab forces. One man was wounded en route and two men escorted him back to base. The remaining 35 continued until they were ambushed by an Arab mob on a hill en route to the Gush. In the ensuing battle all 35 were killed.

In a radio interview yesterday Shaul Goldstein, the head of the Gush Etzion regional council recalled how his father was in a similar supply convoy, shortly thereafter, the Neve Daniel convoy. Sadly the Israelis were unable to break the siege and the Jewish villages of the Gush fell to the Arab armies. The surviving defenders of the Gush were massacred or captured. However the Gush defenders were instrumental in saving Jerusalem, blocking Egyptian forces advancing from the south and preventing them from joining up with the Jordanian soldiers attacking Jerusalem from the east.

It was only in 1967, in the Six Day War that Israel recaptured this region, following the Jordanian attack on Jerusalem. After this war many surviving Gush residents or their children returned to the region, rebuilding three of the destroyed villages, Kfar Etzion, Neve Daniel and Rosh Tzurim (formerly Ein Tzurim). When the Palestinians began their recent intifada war against Israel the Gush Etzion region was once again on the front line. Shaul Goldstein found himself following in his father's footsteps as he travelled in bullet proofed buses with army escorts to and from his home in the Gush along almost exactly the same route his father took over 50 years ago.

That I haven't written in a while does not mean that it has been quiet here. At the moment on average each week two Israelis are killed by Palestinian gunmen. Most of the deaths have been those of civilians deliberately targeted by Palestinian terrorists. For example, two weeks ago Roni Tzalah, a farmer from Kfar Yam, a village in Israeli Gaza, was murdered by his Palestinian employees. Later that week Ofir Rahum, a teenager from Ashkelon was lured to Palestinian controlled Ramallah, north of Jerusalem, by a Palestinian e-mail penpal, who posed as an American living in Jerusalem. When he went to meet her he was murdered by Palestinian gunmen apparently acting in conjunction with her.

Last week two Israeli restauranteurs, Moti Dayan and Etgar Zeituny, from Tel Aviv's trendy Shenkin Street were murdered when they went with an Israeli Arab acquaintance to Palestinian controlled Tulkarm, east of Netanya, to purchase decorative jugs and flowerpots. The threesome stopped at a restaurant in Tulkarm and were seized by Palestinian gunmen. The two Israeli Jews were "executed", the Israeli Arab's life was spared.

Last Thursday night Akiva Pashkos, a 45-year-old father of six from Jerusalem's Bayit Vegan neighbourhood, was shot and killed by Palestinian gunmen as he drove home from work in the north Jerusalem industrial zone of Atarot.

When the restauranteurs were murdered, Israeli and Palestinian negotiators were meeting in Taba, Egypt in a last-ditch effort by the lame-duck Israeli government to come up with a diplomatic success before the impending elections, which they are expected to lose by a landslide. When news came through of the double murder, the Israeli team suspended talks until after the funerals two days later in a gesture of respect to the bereaved families. A couple days later, when Akiva Pashkos was murdered, the Israeli delegation took a break for just one hour, eagerly returning to the table because they assured us much progress was being made and waiting until after the funeral would have been too much of a disruption. Many Israelis felt that respect for the life of Israeli citizens was cheapened by this casual response to Pashkos's murder.

In the end, talks broke up with a glitzy press conference and an empty declaration of "much progress". While Israeli Foreign Minister Shlomo Ben Ami spoke of peace, his Palestinian counterpart hinted that if they don't get everything they demand through negotiations, they have "other means" of continuing the struggle. Similarly, in Davos, Switzerland this week, while former Israeli prime minister Shimon Peres spoke of his yearnings for peace, Yasser Arafat took the opportunity to spout venomous lies, accusing Israel of all manner of barbaric behaviour, playing to the fears of his European hosts by falsely charging Israel with using depleted uranium and other forms of "illegal" weapons. Shocked by Arafat's outburst, Prime Minister Barak cancelled a planned meeting with him, only to reconsider when Arafat changed his tone completely in an interview the following day, though without retracting any of his earlier vitriolic remarks. Again, Israel speaks of peace, Palestinian leaders speak of war, and Israel comes back for more, and still we dare to hope for peace which looks more remote with each passing day.

This afternoon I attended the funeral of 55-year-old Arieh Herzkovitz, a father of four, murdered yesterday on his way home from work. Herzkovitz, the son of Holocaust survivors, was killed by Palestinian terrorists in a drive-by shooting on the road to his home in Ofra, north of Jerusalem. I didn't know him, but one of his sons is married to a schoolfriend of mine, so I wanted to go and pay my respects. The Petah Tikva cemetery where he was buried was filled with hundreds of mourners, many of whom followed the cortege all the way from Ofra, north of Jerusalem, via his workplace in Atarot, to Petah Tikva, near Tel Aviv.

In one of the graveside eulogies the Chief Rabbi of Petah Tikva reminded the mourners that the cemetery in Petah Tikva also contains the graves of the Jews of the town murdered during the anti-Jewish riots of 1921, when local Arabs tried to destroy what was then a small Jewish village. As the thriving modern town of Petah Tikva shows, the Arab mobs of 1921 failed in their mission. Now, as then, the Rabbi said, the Arab mobs terrorising Jews in Israel in an attempt to destroy the Jewish state, will fail in their mission. The Rabbi expressed the hope that Ofra, like Petah Tikva, will thrive and grow.

Yesterday an Israeli taxi driver from Ra'anana was attacked by his Palestinian passengers. The driver picked up the passengers in the Israeli town of Kfar Saba. They asked to be taken to the Israeli Arab village of Baka-el-Gharbia, however instead they tricked him into driving them to the neighbouring Palestinian village of Baka-e-Sharkiya, where they stabbed him. Then more Palestinians appeared on the scene, dragged him out of his taxi and began beating him. In a desperate attempt to save his life the Israeli driver spoke to them in Arabic, insisting that he was in fact an Israeli Arab, not a Jew, begging them to spare his life. The ruse worked. Convinced that the taxi driver was in fact an Arab, they let him go, taking only his car, but sparing his life. Had the Israeli driver not been a fluent Arabic speaker his fate would have been even worse.

In a similar attack last week another Israeli taxi driver was attacked by Palestinian passengers, including a Palestinian policeman, in his cab en-route to Jerusalem. The driver struggled with his attackers, saving his life by jumping from the moving vehicle. By law Israeli taxi drivers have to take passengers who get into their cabs, so it would have been illegal to refuse Palestinian passengers. Several weeks ago a similar attack occurred, also on the Tel-Aviv-Jerusalem highway, when a Palestinian passenger stabbed an Israeli taxi driver, seriously wounding him.

These are just the tip of the iceberg. In scores of other roadside attacks Israelis have escaped with "only" minor wounds such as a bullet graze or bruising and fractures from rocks. And so the five month old Palestinian guerilla war goes on. Shooting attacks, fire bombs, roadside bombs and rock throwing continue, some days a bit more, some days a bit less. Any Israeli neighbourhood close to a Palestinian area is a potential target. The Jewish communities of Gaza, especially the village of Netzarim, are under almost constant attack. The Jerusalem neighbourhoods of Gilo, Neveh Ya'akov and Ramot have come under fire from neighbouring Palestinian controlled villages, while other Jerusalem neighbourhoods such as Armon Hanatziv and Giv'at Hamatos have been firebombed. The odd potshot or firebomb lobbed from Palestinian controlled areas in the direction of their Israeli neighbours such as Tzur Yigal, Bat Hefer or Nitzanei 'Oz north of Kfar Saba.

There is a joke, originally by Israeli satirist Uri Orbakh, making the rounds of Israel at the moment in various forms. It goes something like this:

"In America, everyone knows that it is terribly dangerous in Israel now. In Israel everyone knows that it is dangerous only in a little bit of Jerusalem. In Jerusalem everyone knows there is shooting going on, but only in the neighbourhood of Gilo. In Gilo everyone knows that it is dangerous, but only in the houses that face Beit Jalla. In the houses facing Beit Jalla everyone knows it is dangerous, but mostly in a few apartments on specific floors that get shot at occasionally.

"In the apartments that get shot at they know it is dangerous, but not in all the rooms, just in the kitchen. In the bedrooms and bathrooms for instance, it is totally safe. In the kitchen that gets shot into they know it is really dangerous, but not in the entire kitchen, just near the fridge and toaster.

"And in the freezer over the fridge part of the refrigerator on one part of Ha'anafa Street at the edge of Gilo in Jerusalem in Israel? Oh boy, it is dangerous there. If you stand there and get some frozen schnitzels out of the freezer - you're taking your life in your hands. So for a few months, just until things calm down, we're not going to use the freezer. Nu, this you call dangerous?"

So that's the way it is. We try to make the best of a crazy situation.

Oh, and did I mention that we have elections next Tuesday?

Life goes on

Friday, January 5, 2001

I don't want to give you the wrong impression. Life does go on as usual in most places. People go to work, school, to the movies, shopping and out to cafes. Except for avoiding Route 443 after dark, extra police patrols and some school outings being cancelled life in Modi'in hasn't changed much. We aren't running around in fear all the time. Thank God most of us have not even heard the shooting down the road. In general, for most Israelis it's business almost as usual. Walk around in Tel Aviv or down town Jerusalem, including the Old City, and you wouldn't know anything was wrong. Life has to go on as usual, this is our best response to Palestinian terror designed to leave us cowering in our homes.

We were driving home from an evening out in Tel Aviv on Tuesday night when we heard the news. Two Israelis were shot in their car on the approach to Makkabim Junction. Makkabim Junction?! That's just down the road from us, no more than a five minute drive from our apartment. On a Saturday afternoon walk we often go up to a nearby hilltop and look towards the Makkabim junction about a mile away and watch the traffic go by. The intifada had not hit this close to home before. There have been occasional shooting attacks a few miles to the north and east of Modi'in and they have been increasing in frequency in recent weeks. I suppose we had a feeling it would come to this sooner or later but still the actual attack was shocking. I can't quite come to terms with the fact that two men were shot not five minutes from my front door.

The shooting took place at around 8pm. Yossi Barukh, 35 and Aharon Kabriakov, 23 from Neriah, a Jewish town north-east of Modi'in, were driving home from Jerusalem on Route 443, the Jerusalem-Modi'in highway. As they passed the Palestinian village of Beit Sira Palestinian gunmen opened fire on them. Yossi Barukh was shot in the head and is currently in critical condition fighting for his life at a Tel Aviv hospital. Aharon Kabriakov suffered bullet wounds to his neck and jaw and his condition is stable. A few minutes earlier two other Israeli cars came under Palestinian fire in the same area, though fortunately only the cars were damaged.

Night is when the Palestinian gunmen have the upper hand. Lately most Israelis have stopped driving on Route 443 after dark, leaving the road almost empty. The bus to Jerusalem has changed its schedule too, travelling on 443 by day, but detouring via the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv highway by night. For the people of Modi'in this means that the route home takes a little longer. For the people of Beit Horon, a Jewish village on Route 443 itself, it means that after dark there are no buses home. I've taken the bus into Jerusalem several times in the last few weeks. The entrances to the Palestinian villages along Route 443 have been blocked by huge concrete blocks and mounds of earth to prevent their residents from getting to the road and attacking Israeli vehicles. The olive groves along the roadside no longer seemed picturesque. They have become potential hiding places for Palestinian gunmen, as on the night two weeks ago when Eliahu Cohen was murdered. The road is the same, and yet it is transformed, pastoral beauty masking potential threats.

Recently I was talking about the situation with friends, mostly discussing what roads we would or would not drive on. One woman told of her daughter, who lives in a town close to Palestinian areas whose main access road is dominated by a Palestinian village high above the road. She drove the gauntlet of rocks and firebombs each day until one day she saw a Palestinian standing on high pushing a boulder down upon her car, a boulder that would have killed her. She pressed on the gas pedal and sped past, a move which saved her life as the boulder glanced off the car's rear fender rather than crushing the driver's seat. Since that day she decided to take the far longer, but safer route, through a winding single lane mountain road. Better to take an extra hour than not to arrive at all.

Or is it? We agonised over whether it was worth the risk to drive on roads which come under attack, if an alternative route was available. On the one hand it doesn't seem worth risking a rock through the windshield or a bullet in the head just to save time on a journey, visit friends or go away for the weekend. On the other hand if we avoid every road that has been attacked we are conceding these vital roads to our attackers and giving in to Palestinian terror. If we just avoid every road that is attacked we send the message that we can be frightened away from every road in the country, and if we allow that to happen then we will have no country. Bombs have gone off recently in major Israeli cities, Tel Aviv, Netanya, Hadera and Jerusalem, does this mean that we should avoid these places as well? Perhaps avoiding roads on which attacks have occurred is defeatist. Or perhaps we just don't feel brave in a car that can offer little protection against bullets and firebombs - or even rocks. And yet what should Israelis in "risk areas" do, drive around in armoured cars wearing helmets and bullet proof vests just to go to work or drop the kids off at school? Should we cower in our homes waiting for the danger to pass?

I don't have an answer to this dilemma, few of us do. Some avoid roads, all the while feeling guilty for doing so. Others brave roads which have been attacked, either because they have no choice, or as a matter of principle. Still others insist that the solutions are bullet proofed buses, concrete walls to protect the highways from attack or building new roads to bypass Palestinian areas. Some in the government have suggested building a wall along the borders between Israel and Palestinian-controlled areas, such as the one built at the edge of Gilo to protect it (unsuccessfully) from gunfire from neighbouring Beit Jala.

While the Modi'in area is the region I'm most familiar with, just because I don't write about other places doesn't mean that all is quiet elsewhere. Far from it - Palestinian shootings, bombings and stoning attacks continue in many parts of the country. On Monday night I arrived home at 10pm, as I usually do on a Monday night, pleasantly tired from my three-hour Flamenco class. As I walked in the door Jason casually asked if I knew how my uncle was planning to get from Jerusalem to Netanya, where he was going to visit friends. I said I thought he was taking the bus. It seemed a slightly odd question, but then my uncle had been unsure of the bus schedule, and he hadn't visited Netanya in years. Then Jason asked if I knew when he had left. Well, I last saw my uncle at 4pm when I caught the bus back from Jerusalem to Modi'in. We had spent several hours shopping in central Jerusalem for a housewarming gift for friends who have just moved into a new house in Netanya. I told Jason I thought my uncle had left Jerusalem not long after I did, and asked why he was interested in all this in the first place. A funny look came over Jason's face. "There was a pigu'a (terror attack) in central Netanya this evening, about 30 hurt, mostly lightly."

For an instant I was terrified. Then followed a feeling that my uncle must be fine. Common sense took over and told me not to panic. I called directory inquiries to get the friends' number and I phoned them as I calmly as I could. The wife answered and straight away reassured me that my uncle was there safe and sound. I heard my uncle joking in the background. Then he came on the phone to say that he had almost been in central Netanya at the time of the blast. Not sure which gift to buy, he had planned to take an early bus to Netanya and shop for a present there. At the last minute, though, he decided to buy the framed picture we had looked at in Jerusalem. In the process he missed the earlier bus. He heard the news about the car bomb while on the way to Netanya, sitting on the bus in the traffic jam caused by the police, who sealed off central Netanya after the explosions. Had he taken the earlier bus he would have been shopping in central Netanya, the scene of the bombing, just at the time of the blast.