There but for fortune

Friday, May 24, 2002

My personal excitement for today was the cute little pink lizard which lodged itself in the frame of my open bathroom window. I managed to coax it out, only to have it flee in the wrong direction, slip on the smooth tiled bathroom window sill and land unceremoniously in the bathtub, where it ran around in frantic circles trying to escape up the slippery bath sides.

At this point the phone rang. DH told the caller that I couldn't talk because I was busy chasing a lizard around the bathtub.

Eventually I somehow coaxed the panicked creature into an (empty) plastic hummus container. Well, the first time I thought I'd caught it, I was left with nothing but its tail - they are detachable for just such emergencies. The second time I was fast enough to trap it and carry it out to freedom on my balcony. I'm happy to report that it has found itself a nice shady corner near my pepper plant and when last seen was happily gorging itself on plant bugs.

If only life in Israel could always be this uneventful.

As of about 1am this morning, Israel has a new hero: Modi'in resident Eli Federman. A 36-year-old security guard, his alertness foiled a terror attack at a Tel Aviv disco.

Standing outside the Studio 49 club, Federman suddenly saw a car hurtling towards the building. He yelled at the kids standing near the door to get down, and then opened fire at the vehicle. It erupted into a massive explosion, sending pipe bombs in all directions. Thanks to Federman's actions there were only five injuries, and the only person killed was the terrorist himself.

It was barely a year ago that a suicide bomber murdered 22 young Israelis at the Dolphinarium disco on Tel Aviv's beachfront. Had it succeeded, today's attack could easily have been worse.

Just as life in Israel seemed to be returning to some semblance of normality, just as people were feeling freer again, right after the most normal holiday Israel has known in a long time, the bombers plunge us all back into the routine of death and destruction.

Over last week's Shavuot holiday weekend, for the first time in a long while, hotels all over Israel were booked up, Israelis were travelling and hiking in numbers not seen since the war started. This Shavuot hinted that perhaps, just perhaps, this time, something was going to change for the better. The PLO would reform, the more moderate Arab states would force Arafat to behave - and Mary Poppins would come to the rescue of us all.

Only last Shabbat, as we were sitting around the table and "the situation" came up, DH was saying how it looked as though things might be starting to change, the war might be drawing to a close, or at any rate, we finally seemed to be winning it.

I've been thinking that too of late, but though I'm not superstitious, I didn't want to say it out loud. No reason to build myself up for disappointment. No reason to stop looking very carefully at the people around me on the bus or at the supermarket.

Operation Defensive Shield saved many Israeli lives, that I don't doubt. As I've mentioned before, though, I can't help observing that the Israeli army was not allowed to finish the job. As a result the terrorists still have plenty of bases, and for all the valuable intelligence that enabled Israel to prevent a series of terrible bombings, it wasn't enough to prevent all of them.

Two successful suicide bombings in four days this week. Five murdered Israelis. Over sixty wounded. Netanya on Sunday, Rishon Letzion on Wednesday. Today's foiled car bomb in Tel Aviv. Two other incidents in which suicide bombers exploded prematurely, killing themselves, but no one else. Another handful of suicide bombers-in-waiting Israel caught before they could strike. With all those planned terror attacks it is perhaps not surprising that a few should succeed.

Wednesday night we went to bed with the news of the suicide attack in downtown Rishon Letzion. A bomber detonated himself amidst a group of locals gathered in a park to play their nightly game of chess or backgammon. Only that morning we awoke to news of a bomber shot by border guards while attempting to cross into Israel.

Thursday morning we could, God forbid, have been in the midst of horrors that would even have dwarfed any of the previous terrible attacks we've suffered. Everyone is talking about the "mega terrorist attack" which miraculously failed.

As a diesel tanker pulled into Israel's largest fuel depot, Pi Glilot, an explosion ripped through the truck, sending flaming diesel fuel spilling out of a gaping hole in the tank. Thank God the onsite emergency team was well drilled and immediately leapt into action, putting out the fire before it could spread to nearby tankers.

Had the emergency crews not reacted so quickly, I don't even want to think of the possibilities. A huge depot, tons of highly flammable gas, petrol and diesel, all in the middle of Israel's most crowded population centre. The northern Tel Aviv suburbs are to the south, the Herzliya industrial zone to the north, and the country's busiest highways surround it. In the worst case scenario, had the main depot exploded, the resulting fireball could have extended for half a mile in all directions. Police estimate that if, God forbid, the attack had succeeded, casualties may have been in the hundreds or thousands.

Thank God, we were spared all that. As of that afternoon the fuel depot was closed until further notice pending security upgrades.

Average Israeli's dream in a nutshell?

Thursday, May 16, 2002

Hard to believe, but Shavuot, the feast of weeks, is already here. Fifty days after the horrors of the seder night massacre in Netanya, and in comparison life has been relatively normal. Who would have believed that we'd come to consider "only" a couple of successful suicide bombings a month to be relatively normal?

Yet we have lately felt things returning to normal. The radio news a few nights ago opened with announcer Esti Perez: "Like any normal country, we begin tonight's news programme with a slot about the weather." The average Israeli's dream in a nutshell.

The weather was indeed the most striking story of the day. Towards the end of what until then had been a pleasantly balmy May evening, we suddenly felt drops of rain. The wind shook the palm trees, and a moderate but steady rain was falling. The cool drops soaking through our thin summer clothes, dampening our hair, were deliciously refreshing. Driving home, the sky in the distance was sporadically brightened by flashes of lightning. Rain in mid-May. Yes really, rain in mid-May in Tel Aviv.

Only that afternoon we'd been experiencing the harbingers of the Israeli summer. In Jerusalem the heat was dry, though not yet the scorching, searing heat of summer. Overhead, swifts raced through the sky hunting flying insects, skimming the rooftops, their piercing cries slicing through the noise of the traffic on the busy street.

From behind their cool sunglasses a pair of soldiers kept a watchful eye on the scene from the relative shade of a shop awning. A middle aged cop sweated into his sticky dayglo vest as he directed traffic in the strong afternoon sunshine. Caught out by the changeable spring weather women gazed with renewed interest at shop displays of strappy open sandals and wispy cotton dresses.

The approach of summer means the arrival of Shavuot. Over the past few weeks television and radio have been full of ads for cheeses, cream and cheesecake, while commercial jingles are pastiches of Israeli folk tunes. Florists are selling fresh garlands for children to wear at the traditional harvest festivities, and there are special deals on bouquets for Shavuot decorations. Display windows look like mock barns, full of straw, milk churns and plastic produce. Clothing stores feature rack upon rack of pristine white.

More than our other festivals, Shavuot at home in Israel is much richer than in the lands of the diaspora. We may not have been able to bring our harvest offerings to the Temple since its destruction nearly 2000 years ago, but the spirit of the harvest festival is alive nonetheless.
Just look around and you can see the fields full of wheat, others covered in the stubble from the freshly harvested crop. As Passover celebrates the spring, Shavuot commemorates the start of summer. The summer flowers are in bloom, but the spring greenery is already fading to summer's browns and yellows. The pomegranate trees are covered in gorgeous red, bell-like, blossoms; the fruit itself will only ripen by late summer or early autumn. The fig trees have regained their foliage and the first tiny unripe fruits have appeared. Look carefully at the grape vines and olive trees and you will see miniscule seed like clusters - embryonic grapes and olives.
For the average Israeli, Shavuot is a time of folklore and harvest festivals, celebrating an older, more rustic Israel, the rural Israel of the kibbutzim and rural villages, of moustachioed farmers driving red tractors, of young men and women in "kovei tembel" (the floppy sunhat - Israel's national headgear) rising at 4am to work in the cowshed.

Agricultural communities across Israel hold Shavuot harvest celebrations, with swirling folk dances, white dresses, floral crowns and all. Last week Jerusalem got a taste of the festivities when farmers from across Israel brought their produce to the city in honour of Jerusalem Day - a ceremony recalling the Shavuot pilgrimage to Jerusalem of Temple times.
A village in northern Israel built a giant basket and invited communities and individuals to fill it with local produce. The filled basket was then taken to Jerusalem and presented to the Rabbi of the Kotel (Western Wall), for distribution to the city's needy.

Walking through downtown Jerusalem this week I was taken aback to see a giant basket of produce sitting in the middle of Zion Square and next to it a huge statue of a couple sitting at a festive table, glasses of wine in their hands. The basket was courtesy of Israel's produce marketing board and the couple had been donated by the Barkan winery, one of Israel's largest.
All this isn't to say that here in Israel we forget that Shavuot is also the festival celebrating the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai. Increasingly, the custom of staying up and studying Torah all night is not restricted only to the religious or the more learned. Community centres across the country offer Shavuot Jewish Studies programmes, and an increasing number of study sessions are organised even by secular Israelis. For example, at the Metullah poetry festival in northern Israel they'll be devoting tonight to the study of the Book of Ruth, traditionally read on Shavuot. Each poet is expected to turn up to the session with a five minute commentary on the biblical book, and they intend to keep going for as long as they can hold out.

In previous years we've stayed with relatives who live in walking distance of the Kotel, the Western Wall, where we joined the Shavuot early morning prayers. Now that is a sight to behold: hundreds of thousands of Jews streaming into the Old City through all its gates at about four o'clock in the morning, filling the Kotel plaza. The walk back afterwards is exhausting, but well worth the effort for an inkling of what the ancient pilgrimage must have been like.

Wishing you all a happy Shavuot,

Was Uri Tzvi Greenberg a prohpet?

Thursday, May 9, 2002

This is a week of celebrations in Jerusalem. Friday is Jerusalem Day, commemorating thirty-five years (according to the Hebrew calendar) since the city's reunification during the Six Day War. In honour of the anniversary there is a week long programme of special events in the Israeli capital, with concerts, exhibitions and the like.

Last night we attended a festive evening in the Jerusalem Theatre. The highlight was the world premiere of a new symphony by renowned Israeli composer Gil Shohat. It was flanked by two lighter events in the lobby: a performance by the Jerusalem School of Flamenco and a trio singing French chanson. The music of Jacques Brel and Edith Piaf make many an Israeli go dewy eyed.

We were pleased to see such a full house, like the "old days", before the war, with not a seat to spare in either the lobby cafe or the auditorium. At the entrances guards with machine guns kept watch. Everyone entering the building had to pass through a metal detector.
We had good seats, a few rows back from the stage. Amongst the VIPs in the audience was Gil Shohat himself, the 28-year-old composer, dapper and most un-Israeli looking in his suit and silk evening scarf.

Jerusalem was the repeated theme of the event. The Jerusalem Symphony Orchestra in the Jerusalem Theatre performing two works based on texts by Jerusalem poets in honour of Jerusalem Day.

The first, shorter, piece was excerpted from a symphony whose texts were commissioned from poet Hayim Guri, also present in the audience. The centrepiece followed: the premiere of a symphonic arrangement for a poem by the late Uri Tzvi Greenberg.

Greenberg was one of the leading Hebrew poets of the twentieth century, and one of the most controversial. His work is often called prophetic, having foreseen the destruction of European Jewry many years before the Holocaust. Unlike many of his contemporaries, while a staunch Zionist, he did not see Jewish statehood as the panacea for his nation's suffering. For him sovereignty was necessary in part as a means of enabling Jews to defend themselves, a need which would not vanish anytime soon.

Last night's symphony was based on a 1930s Greenberg poem entitled "Kodesh Kodashim", "Holy of Holies". It tells the metaphorical story of a Jewish mother, representing the helpless pogrom-ravaged Jews of Europe, and her son, representing the new generation taking shape in the Land of Israel, committed to sovereignty and self-reliance.

As the mother lies dying in her son's arms, they dream of being carried together to Jerusalem. The mother advises her son to remain always on alert:

"Even when the Redeemer comes and the nations beat their swordsTo plowshares and throw their guns into the fire,You - No, son, not you!"
"No, mother."
"Lest the nations arise again and collect iron
And once again set upon us when we are unprepared
As we have been unprepared until now... Woe!"

This, for Greenberg, was the central lesson of modern Jewish history: That Jews unable to defend themselves would always be potential targets. No amount of self-abasement and gestures of goodwill would bring any lasting security for the persecuted nation. No one but the Jews would look out for their survival.

Classically, Jewish poets have turned to Jerusalem as a symbol for the eternal peace at the time of the redemption. In Greenberg's poem, though, that Jerusalem is elusive. The City of David, for him, is the city of David the warrior, who fought all his life to defend his kingdom from the surrounding nations. It was only his son, Solomon, who enjoyed the fruits of his father's success and ruled in a time of peace. In this poem, Jerusalem is the Jerusalem of David, not of Solomon, of vigilance, not tranquillity.

Perhaps we, too, must accept that we are, metaphorically, the generation of David, not of Solomon. God willing, our children will enjoy the peace that we can only dream of. For now though, we have no choice but to fight the vicious enemies who seek our destruction. The only peace we can foresee is the peace of deterrence.

Greenberg was no stranger to the horrors of war, having fought in the trenches of the First World War. As he wrote in another poem, he understood the yearning for the day when "night creeps softly on tiptoe and nightingales gather at my window - instead of death." Yet he was ever aware that longing for peace does not bring it about.

Today, his pragmatic, Hobbesian view of the world seems particularly relevant. Those who saw peace just around the corner have had their hopes violently dashed. The expectation of peace led to far worse tragedies than the suffering it had been purported to end. Maybe this is why interest in Greenberg's poetry has undergone something of a revival recently.

On our way home we were just in time to catch the 11 o'clock radio news. The headline was about a family in an Israeli village in Gaza who had miraculously escaped physical injury when a Palestinian mortar shell slammed into their house, plunging through the roof, spraying their living room with shrapnel.

A few minutes later regular programming was interrupted. An explosion in the Rishon Letzion industrial zone, preliminary reports say many injured. In my mind's eye I could see the area; last year we were at a wedding in a hall right nearby.

Dear God, not again, not again.

Once again the radio was repeating those dreaded numbers, the phone numbers for the hospitals, and for the national morgue. How many dead, how many dying, how many wounded. By morning the toll was sixteen Israelis murdered, over fifty wounded.

Three weeks had passed without a suicide bomber succeeding. It felt like a glimmer of hope. A hope we knew would not last. We knew that the Israeli army was forced to end Operation Defensive Shield early. Every Israeli knew that sooner or later we would have to pay for leaving the job half done, for leaving part of the terror network intact in the face of international threats.

Every day for the last few weeks the Israeli army has prevented a suicide bomber from reaching an Israeli population centre. Thanks to intelligence gathered from the raids on Palestinian terror bases and from interrogating the terrorists apprehended there. But there was so much more to be done.

Was it only yesterday that we were enjoying the stupidity of a football referee scandal, the mundane headline about the budget?

And now there is nothing left for us to do but to stand in front of the TV, watching the terrible pictures from Rishon, while we recite Psalms. May our tears and prayers open the gates of Heaven.

Uri Tzvi Greenberg has rarely seemed more prophetic.

Bombshelter birthday - A quiet evening in the West Bank

Thursday, May 2, 2002

I spent last night at a friend's birthday party in a neighbourhood bomb shelter in a remote Israeli mountaintop village between Ramallah and Shekhem/Nablus.

Well, the only reason we were in the bomb shelter was that it is a convenient large room for community events, parties, kids' activities and the like. Across Israel there are synagogues and kindergartens located in bomb shelters. When peace breaks out we'll just be left with loads of soundproofed reinforced concrete dance halls. I'm surprised that no Israeli songwriter has penned a peace song like that yet.

We took the bus, bullet proofed as all buses on this route are. Our friends had advised against taking our car. The road from northern Jerusalem, bypassing the outskirts of Ramallah, and winding its way up into the Samarian mountains has been the scene of several fatal shootings over the past 18 months, though thank God it's pretty quiet lately.

We passed the spot where, exactly a year ago, a friend's husband was murdered one morning by Palestinian terrorists while on his way to work. Further on we passed the old police post where last March a Palestinian sniper killed nine Israelis.

Inside the bus, though, most of us weren't concentrating on the dangers of the route. Many commute this way every day.

For those of us en route to our friend's surprise birthday party it felt a bit like a school outing, or perhaps a reunion. Already at the Jerusalem Central Bus Station we were looking out for old pals, greeting one another as we boarded the bus, waving as we caught sight of friends.
The seats inside the bulletproof bus are more cramped than on regular buses, the armour adding extra thickness to the walls and windows, making the window seat especially cramped. Good thing I was sitting next to my husband. It was still cramped but at least those were my husband's elbows poking me in the ribs.

Getting into the bus station itself was a hassle. DH hadn't been there in a while, and was surprised by the x-ray machines checking every bag brought into the building. Imagine going through airport style security every time you want to get a bus.

Above the x-ray machines and the escalators a verse from Psalm 122 is inscribed: "Seek peace, Jerusalem; your lovers will find serenity. Let there be peace in your precincts, serenity in your palaces. For the sake of my brothers and friends let me wish you peace. For the sake of the House of our God I will seek good for you."

Perhaps since my visit to the States I note the craziness of all this even more, the juxtaposition of our everyday, ordinary routines with the trappings of a state under siege.

It seems even crazier to me that such a beautiful bus journey should be marred by concerns about snipers. The scenery is so rustic and biblical. Rugged mountains, their stony slopes still green from the winter rains, dotted with bright patches of yellow wild mustard, white wild carrot, red poppies and the bright pink flashes of wild hollyhocks and snapdragons.
In between we passed fields, vineyards, olive groves, shepherds with their goats and sheep, a family harvesting their barley crop with scythes, a donkey tethered in a roadside meadow.
Every so often we passed a village. The Israeli villages are mostly on hilltops, the compact red roofed houses neatly arranged in tight rows. Some have vineyards, date palms, olive trees or orchards. Most have tidy shrubs or pleasantly disorganised flowerbeds. A few have goat pens or pet donkeys in the yards.

The Palestinian villages sprawl, usually in the valleys. In some there are large ornate homes haphazardly scattered between large lots, some with beautiful gardens, others with yards full of old cars and building junk. Other villages are more modest, simple concrete box shaped houses nestling in the valley, or perched on stilts with storage space underneath.

In some of the Palestinian villages they have copied the tiled red roofs popular amongst Israelis. In some of the Israeli villages the houses have the concrete balustrades and ornamentation popular amongst the Palestinians.

The scene is so pastoral, it's hard to imagine that there could be a war going on. I've taken this road so many times before, the landscape is an old friend. It feels ridiculous to have to think of it as a potential danger.

Arriving at our destination, we passed through another checkpoint and then the bus wended its way up a narrow road to the village. We hurriedly made our way to the bomb shelter/function hall, where more friends awaited.

Assorted children chased each other round the room, munching on pizza and playing under the tables. The grownups caught up on each other's news, talked politics and kept an eye on the kids. Tables were piled high with salads, falafel, pizza and soft drinks. The otherwise stark room felt warm and cosy, with the odd balloon taped to the ceiling. You could almost forget it was a bomb shelter.

The night time return route felt a little spooky. The moon hadn't yet risen and the nightly mountain mists were closing in, swirling around us. Much of the route was lit only by the twinkling lights of the villages, neat rows of orange lights for Israeli ones, random white lights for Arab ones.

By the time our bus pulled back into the Jerusalem bus station it was nearly 11pm. We reached our car just in time for the news. Will Arafat leave his Ramallah compound? British and American guards escort the murderers of the late Israeli minister of tourism out of Ramallah to a jail in Jericho. Palestinian attacks continue on Israeli villages and roads in and around Gaza. Diplomatic manoeuvring proceeds at the United Nations. Back to the real world. During our quiet evening in the West Bank, it seemed a world away.

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes...On Lag Ba'Omer

Monday, April 29, 2002

I realise I've been writing a lot lately. I'm sorry if I've been overloading you all. If I'm overdoing it let me know.

Today I was in Jerusalem to meet a friend for coffee and take care of some errands.
We went to a little out of the way cafי off Jaffa Road. Its glass walls bring back memories of Cafי Moment, blasted to smithereens last month by a suicide bomber. The cosy atmosphere made us feel as though the place existed in a time warp, the staff welcoming customers as they would guests to the family home, appearing oblivious to the everpresent danger all around.

The Jerusalem municipality is doing its best to cheer up terrorised Jerusalemites, sticking huge bright cardboard cutout bouquets along the main roads, and garishly painted lions in squares and on street corners. The festive colours lend a bizarre carnival atmosphere to an otherwise tense city.

Despite the tight security, despite the guards checking bags at most shops and cafes, despite the many stores which have closed down, somehow there was a feeling of renewed hope in the air.

The streets were more crowded than I've seen them in weeks. Many pedestrians seemed to have a new bounce in their step. Israelis are buoyed by the fact that we're finally striking back at the terrorists who've struck in this city's heart so many times. They know that even with the current military successes, terrorism is still a very real threat, but at least the Israeli army has finally done serious damage to the terror network.

We feel that we are no longer helpless in the face of the bombers' onslaught. The whole world may condemn us for defending ourselves, they may threaten us with all manner of sanctions and investigations, but on a day to day basis what Israelis notice is that terrorism is down.

It is a relief to wake up each day, turn on the radio, and to hear of "only" one or two attempted attacks instead of daily suicide bombings. It is incredible to hear each day how many terrorists have been caught, planned attacks foiled due to Israeli military and intelligence operations.

It is heartening to hear other mundane news stories, about the economy, about a bank employee embezzling funds - anything that sounds like the normal news of any other western country.

Following Saturday's carnage in the Israeli village of Adora, the Israeli army finally went into Hebron today to track down the terrorists there. In the fighting one of the gunmen responsible for the Adora murders was shot, and several others arrested. As elsewhere in the Palestinian Authority, large quantities of weapons and explosives were discovered, including another car bomb ready for dispatch to central Israel.

For tonight, though, the news and international politics are far from most Israelis minds. Stick your head outside and you'll get a pall of smoke and the wintry scent of burning wood. The air is so heavy with the smell of burning that my clothes reek of it, even though I've hardly been outdoors tonight. It's Lag Ba'Omer, Israel's national bonfire holiday, and it feels as though the entire country is out tonight, camping out by giant fires.

Kids have been planning the festivities for weeks, piling up huge pyres of wood, from tiny twigs to old cabinets. You'd hardly notice that the moon is almost full tonight; the skyline glows red from the fires set up on nearly every patch of open ground.

Lag Ba'Omer is one of the more esoteric Jewish festivals. There are several traditions regarding the holiday's origins.

The date is the anniversary of the death, roughly 2000 years ago, of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yohai, traditionally held to be the author of the Zohar, the key text of Jewish mysticism. The bonfires may symbolise memorial candles, or the light of the insights into creation found in the Zohar, or the sacred glow of the highest levels of holiness. Scores of thousands make a pilgrimage to Bar Yohai's tomb in northern Israel, holding huge festivities in the rabbi's honour.

Still another tradition maintains that the holiday commemorates the Jewish uprising against Roman oppression during the period of Roman occupation of Israel, roughly 2000 years ago. According to this, the bonfires hark back to the signalling fires lit on the hilltops to carry news of the revolt.

According to another tradition this is the date on which the students of another great sage, Rabbi Akiva, stopped dying of a terrible plague. Many attribute the traditional period of mourning observed at this time of year to the death of Rabbi Akiva's students. For many Lag Ba'Omer marks the end of this period of mourning.

Those who aren't out with the bonfires tonight are probably at weddings, which were prohibited for a month during the period of mourning.

We were also at a wedding tonight, albeit a movie, not the real thing. We aren't big bonfire fans and we figured the cinemas would be empty tonight, so we went to see "Monsoon Wedding".
With all the cultural differences, it's amazing how at home most Israelis felt watching this film about an Indian wedding. The big family with many members flung halfway across the world. The henna ceremony, common amongst many Jewish communities as well. The dusty streets and alleys of Delhi, the concrete, hole-in-the-wall shops, reminiscent of any number of Israeli towns, say Ramle or parts of south Tel Aviv. The invigorating, pounding, drenching rain at the start of the rainy season. The mix of Western modernity and ancient tradition.

On TV tonight the usual live Israeli music show was broadcast from an army base near Bethlehem. Like Vera Lynn entertaining the troops in World War II or Geri Halliwell performing for the anti-terror coalition in the recent Afghan campaign, Israel's songsters were out there singing for our boys and girls in khaki. Here, though, you don't need to fly thousands, or even hundreds, of miles to the front. It's less than an hour away from nearly every major Israeli town and city.

The repertoire included a few "golden oldies" from the early Seventies, in many ways a similar period of attrition, a grinding struggle for survival. The same songs continue to inspire and offer comfort.

Army doctor in Bethlehem

Sunday, April 28, 2002

At the end of a peaceful and relaxing Shabbat in Modi'in, we turned on the TV last night just in time to catch the end of the news headlines. The newscaster was talking about a "pigu'a", a terror attack. My heart froze. I should be used to it, but perhaps it's just as well that one never quite does.

Terrorists had infiltrated Adora, an Israeli village near Hebron, Saturday morning.
After cutting through the chain-link perimeter fence, they split up to go house to house and then room to room, in an attempt to kill as many Israelis as possible. They shot people as they slept in their beds, and hunted down others who heard the shots and hid. Four people were killed and seven wounded before the gunmen fled.

What is it like to walk into a bedroom and shoot a husband and wife sleeping side by side? How must it feel to stand over the bed of a sleeping five-year-old and shoot her in the forehead at point blank range? What kind of man can move methodically from room to room, checking each bed and pulling the trigger? Even with all the terrorist atrocities of the last 18 months, my mind still refuses to grasp how people can do these things.

Today's newspapers greeted us with the black-bordered photo of a smiling little girl. The caption underneath read, "Danielle Shefi, of blessed memory." This afternoon we watched her parents solemnly bury her, the mourners mostly quiet, a few weeping softly. Her mother and little brother, both wounded in the attack, left their hospital beds to attend. There are no words of comfort on such an occasion, only tears and silence and mumbled farewells.

Today Palestinian organisations are vying with one another as to who deserves the credit for the bloody attack.

This isn't the first attempted infiltration of an Israeli village by Palestinian gunmen, nor is it the first "successful" one. Recent months have seen many such assaults in border areas, though most have fortunately been foiled by Israeli security: in and around Gaza, near Beit Shemesh, in the Jordan Valley. Last month, four members of one family in Eilon Moreh were murdered by a terrorist who broke into their home. Earlier in March, five yeshiva students in Atzmona were killed in the school's study hall by a terrorist with an automatic weapon and grenades.

The terrorists of yesterday's attack came from a village near Hebron, the only major West Bank city not included in Israel's recent anti-terror operation, Defensive Shield. In Hebron, the terror network remains undamaged - gunmen, explosives experts, bombmakers, along with their bombs, guns, grenades, and stolen Israeli vehicles. This is the second major terror attack to come out of Hebron in recent weeks; only two weeks ago, a suicide bomber from the Hebron area blew herself up in Jerusalem's Mahane Yehuda market, killing six shoppers.

The Israeli army successfully thwarted a major bombing in central Israel last night. Terrorists in Kalkilya had planned to blow up one of Tel Aviv's tallest skyscrapers. Under American pressure Israeli forces withdrew from Kalkilya a few weeks ago before completing their anti-terror mission. Last night they were forced to go in and finish the job.

Meanwhile, the Israeli army remains in Bethlehem, hoping to apprehend the dozens of wanted Palestinian terrorists holed up in the Church of the Nativity, along with the clergymen and civilians they've taken hostage. Just last night, Israeli police managed to track down and defuse two car bombs near Manger Square, which were destined to wreak more carnage in downtown Jerusalem. One shudders to think what might have happened had Israeli forces already withdrawn from the city.

A close friend of ours was called up for reserve army duty in the Bethlehem area during the recent anti-terrorist mission. As a physician, he served as an army doctor with a combat unit. He described some of his experiences in a recent e-mail:

"In my battalion (about 500 men) there was one death from a sniper, who killed a soldier standing a mere 50 meters from me. It was a bullet through the heart so we had no chance of saving him, even though we tried. There were also numerous minor injuries.

"While I was on leave for two days, the replacement doctor was called by the Palestinians to tend toa pregnant woman. In the end the woman gave birth to her son inside our army ambulance in the Palestinian town of Bet Jalla (from where terrorists fire on the Jerusalem suburb of Gilo). We then sent her to Jerusalem's Hadassah Hospital. It turned out that the woman was first cousin to the suicide bomber in the recent Mahane Yehuda market bombing.
"During the campaign I was 'lent' to the Etzion Regional Brigade (in the Bethlehem area). During this time I was mainly tending to the 60 Palestinian terrorists who were our prisoners. Every time one of them complained of anything, even as trivial as a headache, a full medical team including a doctor was sent up to see them. I can add that they got the same food as the Israeli soldiers.

"There was also a case of a Palestinian woman who had had an appendectomy in a Palestinian hospital in Area A (under full Palestinian jurisdiction), and she had to return home to her house in Area B (shared Israeli/Palestinian jurisdiction). Under the circumstances, the Israeli army regional medical officer taxied her home in his jeep."

He is just one of several friends and family suddenly called away from their ordinary lives, putting everything on hold, going off to defend our homes. May they all return safely.

Jenin eye-witness

Tuesday, April 23, 2002

A lot of you have been asking me what really happened in the Jenin refugee camp, the scene recently of the fiercest battle yet in Israel's ongoing war against Palestinian terrorism.

By chance last week we heard an insider's perspective at perhaps the unlikeliest of places.
Friday night, at a small local synagogue in the remote desert town of Mitzpe Ramon, when we were expecting the rabbi's sermon, a softspoken young man stood up instead. He had returned from three weeks of fighting in Jenin, he said, and he wanted to tell the story.

With quiet calm he told of how his army reserve unit was called up shortly after the Passover seder massacre in Netanya's Park Hotel, a suicide bombing which killed 28 civilians. Of the soldiers who received callup notices, 120 percent reported for duty. That is, on top of those drafted, many who had been exempted from duty volunteered for service. In fact, once word got out that their unit had been called, comrades urgently phoned the draft office asking why they hadn't been notified yet.

One reservist cut short a trek to Thailand, flying home to do his part for his country. Another interrupted a visit to Canada for his sister's wedding, leaving immediately after the ceremony. Soldiers came from all walks of life, and morale was high, with reservists motivated by the conviction that they were fighting in defence of their homes and families from the terrorists who had turned every Israeli town into the front line.

Some were sceptical at first - what would rusty reservists be asked to do? Clean equipment? No, they were told, they were "going in," into the lair of the suicide bombers, to engage the enemy in the Jenin refugee camp.

At the pre-combat briefing, uppermost on the minds of many soldiers were the moral questions. They were to be fighting in a densely-populated urban area. How were they to act upon encountering terrorists sheltering behind women and children? What if they were fired upon from inhabited buildings, or from mosques?

The speaker emphasized this point especially. In preparation to fight against hardened terrorists, his colleagues were primarily concerned about avoiding harm to civilians. No other army would go to such lengths - not America, with its high altitude bombing raids over Afghanistan; not NATO with its indiscriminate bombing in Serbia. How many of his comrades might have survived the fighting had Israel resorted to similar tactics? Despite the heavy losses, though, he was proud that for Israelis, fighting morally was a priority.

One could argue, he noted, as to whether women and children sheltering terrorists merited such protection. In many cases, they took an active part in the combat, helping to prepare - or even detonate - booby traps and bombs. In others, terrorists holed up in a house would have a woman or child open the door to the approaching Israeli soldiers, forcing them to hesitate just long enough for the terrorists to shoot first. This reluctance to harm enemy civilians cost the lives of several Israeli soldiers. But the prevailing attitude was that this is the proper way for the army of a Jewish state to fight.

In one incident, Israeli troops were threatened by a Palestinian sniper holed up in the minaret of a mosque. The easy solution would have been to destroy the minaret from the air. This was rejected for fear of harming a holy site. Instead a riskier tactic was used: an Israeli sniper was positioned to take out the enemy alone. On another occasion, terrorists were holed up in a facility of UNRWA, the United Nations humanitarian agency responsible for the refugee camps, using it as cover to fire on Israeli forces.

Fighting in Jenin was like none they had experienced. The streets were death traps. Every alley was booby trapped; every exposed space was surrounded by enemy snipers. The enemy wore no uniform, blending in with the civilian population. Suicide bombers roamed the streets; every civilian encountered was a potential human bomb. Israeli forces avoided exposure, moving from building to building through the walls where possible - though the buildings were often booby trapped too.

One night Israeli soldiers were stationed in a building flanked by two others. The adjacent buildings were full of people, a mix of civilians and combatants. Suddenly, people began streaming out of one of the buildings, mostly women and children. They were shivering from the cold and the children were whimpering. An Israeli soldier took pity on them, but going out into the street was too risky. Instead, he opened a window and threw them army-issue blankets. The blankets were quickly snapped up, though not by the women and children - rather, by the few men in the crowd, who huddled in the blankets while the women and children continued to shiver and whimper.

The young reservist, no older than my husband, spoke with obvious pride at having done his duty for his people. But he seemed most proud of the high moral standards and compassion demanded of Israeli soldiers, which they stuck to so eagerly, even at times at the cost of their own lives. He thanked God for the privilege to serve his country in its time of crisis, and for bringing him home safely. Then we proceeded with evening prayers.

Knowing what we know, it hurts all the more to hear the Palestinians bandying about lies about a "massacre" in Jenin, while the United Nations and foreign press corps parrot these fabrications without a shred of evidence. Contrary to claims that Jenin was "destroyed" or "levelled" and thousands made homeless, only a small area of the refugee camp was damaged, where the heaviest fighting took place, as can be seen from aerial photographs at: http://www.mfa.gov.il/mfa/go.asp?MFAH0ll60 .

Much of the damage was perpetrated by the terrorists themselves, who booby trapped buildings in the hope of destroying them on the heads of Israeli forces. In one incident, this tactic succeeded in killing thirteen soldiers at once. One of the terrorists from Jenin described these tactics at some length, including the use of civilians as human shields, in an interview in Egypt's Al Ahram daily newspaper at: http://www.ahram.org.eg/weekly/2002/582/6inv2.htm . It makes chilling reading.

Before the UN starts accusing Israel of "creating a humanitarian crisis", perhaps it is time they investigated how UN-run refugee camps have turned into havens for terrorists and bombmakers?

Good night.