The Return of Paranoia

February 3, 2006 by · Leave a Comment
Filed under: General, Israeliness 

When Hamas swept the Palestinian Authority elections at the end of last week, my first thought was, well, it’s not such a big deal. It just makes overt what was always the thinly veiled policy of the now outgoing government. Maybe this could even be a good thing, I consoled myself. By removing ambiguity, the two sides could fight it out openly as unabashed adversaries.

But as the week went on and I read more and more alarming commentaries from Israeli analysts, coupled with increasingly aggressive proclamations from Hamas’ leaders, I realized that, long term hopes aside, this was no longer business as usual.

Still, would it really affect day-to-day life, I wondered? After all, the Israeli army has done a remarkable job quelling the violence in recent years. That wasn’t about to change whoever was in power on the other side. Would the changes taking place in Ramallah be felt here in our little neo-religious Anglo bubble of southern Jerusalem?

My answer came on Friday night.

My friend Eliot was visiting from Modi’in and he asked if we could check out a new shul for Shabbat evening services. It wasn’t far from our house; still, it wasn’t our regular congregation, and that meant we didn’t know all the faces. We got there a bit late and found seats on a rickety wooden bench set up on the far side wall of the men’s section to handle tardy overflow visitors like us.

As the hazan drummed his way through the spirited Kabbalat Shabbat singing, I surveyed the scene from my makeshift pew. Most of the men on our side looked typically Modern Orthodox – some clean shaven, some bearded, all with similar knitted kippot and tidy sweaters over fresh pressed shirts. We recognized a few people here and there.

But there was one guy who looked decidedly out of place.

He was sitting close to the mehitza that divided the synagogue space in half, wearing a heavy overcoat and a black ski cap that covered his entire head, most of his ears and the tops of his eyes (which seemed excessively glazed to my thinking).

A large scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck; the entire effect was that no part of his torso, other than his hands, could be seen and those were clutched tightly to his siddur (prayer book) which didn’t seem to be open. To make matters worse, from where I was sitting, his beard looked just a bit too bushy and I had a sinking suspicion that it was artificially affixed with scotch tape or superglue.

In short, one day after Hamas became the Palestinian party of choice, I felt a return of the paranoia that had gradually receded in the past few years, culminating in the column I wrote just a few weeks ago about letting our teenage daughter ride on a public bus again.

Now, I knew that the guy in the ski cap and heavy coat was probably not really a terrorist as my furtive imagination would have him. He was probably just a poor shlub who’d come in from the cold and hadn’t warmed up enough to disrobe.

But years of living through unpredictable violence, armed helicopters hovering overhead, not to mention keeping your eyes constantly peeled for the ever-present hefetz hashoud, – a suspicious object – had left me no longer the innocent abroad I had once been so many years ago when I first arrived in Israel.

And so that night, I felt I needed to be extra vigilant. In my twisted cantankerations, I imagined Hamas planning simultaneous attacks on synagogues across Israel as part of a sick victory celebration. A “welcome to the new order” message that no one would miss.

I pointed out the man to Eliot. He dismissed my paranoia with a shrug and that little clucking sound that Israelis and immigrants who have been here too long make.

Just the same, I found myself eyeing my potential enemy repeatedly through the service, looking for little hints that he knew his way around the prayer book.

Would he move from sitting to standing position at the right moment during Lecha Dodi? Bow once to the left and once to the right? Cover his (already shrouded) eyes during the shema?

And what if he didn’t? Should I try to take him down? Yell out “there’s a terrorist in the house?” Or grab Eliot and make a break for it, letting the rest of the congregation fend for itself?

I found myself becoming overly critical. Why didn’t this synagogue have a guard out front? Or at least someone to meet and greet new arrivals? I tried to talk myself down from my paranoid perch. If this guy was intent on blowing himself up, why was he waiting so long?

The service continued, through the Rabbi’s drash, through the Amidah. While others were silently welcoming the Sabbath angels, I was transfixed by the man by the mehitza who hadn’t done anything wrong except for wear too many layers of clothing.

The service concluded and the man with the cap and the coat got up, took his glazed eyes and the siddur that it was now apparent he had brought from home, and went on his way, back into the cold.

I got caught up in the schmoozing and the camaraderie of handshakes and heartfelt wishes of “Shabbat Shalom” and lost track of my partner in paranoia. I didn’t catch if he shook any hands himself on his way out or just vanished as into the night.

Eliot and I walked home. We didn’t talk about the suspicious man. I felt too sheepish now that we had passed the night and survived.

It’s still too early to tell whether, with Hamas now in power just a few miles away, things are going to change. But one thing is for sure: I already have.

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This article was cross posted at This Normal Life, which is hosted by Bloggerce, a new publishing service started by the author.

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February 2, 2006 by · Leave a Comment
Filed under: General, Travel 

When in Israel…

I guess an Israeli going to visit Massada is like a New Yorker visiting the Statue of Liberty, or going to the top of the Empire State Building.

But after a weekend visit to the historic fortress atop the mountain overlooking the Dead Sea, I implore my fellow Israelis who haven’t been there in years to plan a trip now.

First of all, you wouldn’t recognize the place – it’s totally renovated (I mean the visitors’ center – no the ruins). Underground parking, a professionally made introductory film, and even a spanking new youth hostel make a visit to Massada a step into 21st century tourism.

And of course, the climb on the snake path is incomparably beautiful (you didn’t think I’d take the wimpy monorail, did you?). I thought I’d be carrying my five-year-old on my shoulders, but he got up there before everyone else.

Then, there’s the main event – walking through the rooms of Jewish history, as impressive now as when you did it with your youth group on your first visit to Israel so many years ago.

It didn’t hurt that the weather was Mideast wintry perfect – high 60s, sunny, – just right for a day long jaunt up and down the mountain. So don’t worry about being perceived as a tourist – go back to Massada. Just don’t wimp out on the monorail.

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