Reserved revelry of the times

January 7, 2009 - 7:28 AM by · Leave a Comment
Filed under: coexistence, Crime, General, History and Culture, Israeliness, Life, Travel, War 

highway 443With a population of around 67,100 and proximity to both Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, Modiin is one of the larger suburbs of Israel. The city is located very close to the Green Line, though, making for some awkward situations for Israeli-Arab relations in the neighborhood – especially along the 443 highway, a major commuter thoroughfare. This isn’t a band of fringe settlers butting heads with nationalist Arab elements. Like the Kfar Saba-Qalqilya juxtaposition, it’s mainstream Israel in close quarters with villages.

Terror-resembling hate crimes have taken place in the area many times over the years (including these four incidents from 2000, 2001, 2002 and 2003, during the Second Intifada). This past March, long before the wave of violence that kicked off last month, the high court defended arrangements which basically ban Palestinians from using the 443 in order to minimize its exposure to terror. And since the war in the south has escalated, there have been stoning incidents, Molotov cocktails and even a stabbing.

Anyone reading this blog knows that in times like these, life goes on. In general, incidents like the aforementioned don’t keep Israelis from going about their business, much like the way that regular shootings and muggings in American inner cities don’t keep Americans from going about theirs. But that doesn’t mean that we don’t take precautions. We do.

A friend of mine who lives close to me in Modiin attended a party last night in Jerusalem, and while he didn’t drink, so as to maximize safety on the journey home, his sister did. Quite inebriated, her head was spinning from the drive, which, as we all know, has the potential to cause vomiting. Cruising along the 443, my friend found himself in a bind. He did not want his car to get all vomited out, and he wanted to comply with his sister’s wishes for a break in the motion, but on the other hand, it was the middle of the night and he was within rock-throwing range of more than one Arab village.

So yes, in times like these, we keep working, living and even sometimes partying as if there were no conflict. But that doesn’t mean the conflict doesn’t color our judgment and impact our actions. And in case you were wondering, the way he tells it, my friend’s solution was to pull over for his sister to vomit out the car door for two minutes at a time, and only when she really really needed him to. She used a plastic bag the rest of the time.

Photo of the 443 highway courtesy Michaeli via Wiki Commons.

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Renewal

December 12, 2008 - 2:09 PM by · 3 Comments
Filed under: A New Reality, History and Culture, Israeliness, Life, Profiles, War 

It’s been said that everyone in Israel knows at least one family touched by terror, that is. The truth is, things are far better than they used to be on that front, certainly better than during they were six and seven years ago, when there seemed to be a bus bombing or shooting attack every week – and sometimes more often.

Terrorism aims to destroy lives – and often it does. But it’s not just lives: Families are never the same, even if the intended victim survives. Communities change, kids relate to their surroundings differently. We hear about the attacks, which make news for a few days, and move on; they often can’t. So when we see individuals and families who do manage to rebuild their lives, we can only stand back and gape in awe at their superhuman strength.

I had an “awesome” moment last night, when the son of a friend of mine got married. I won’t reveal their names, but I can tell you the story: While driving home from buying school supplies for the upcoming term, Jacob and Rachel (not their real names) were shot at by Arab terrorists. With them in the car were three of their five children. The shooter got their car point blank – killing Rachel, and leaving Jacob and their oldest daughter, Dina, in a wheelchair. Rachel was several months pregnant at the time. Also in the car were two boys – Shimon, 8, and Levi, 3. Not in the van were their oldest son Reuven, 13 (he had just had his bar-mitzvah two months earlier), and Sarah, 10.

Suffice to say that the family was shattered; the oldest boy became rebellious, the second son took after him, and the youngest boy, in the car when it happened, was basically shellshocked. Jacob tried as well as he could, but it was difficult juggling his family and work obligations. The community helped – a lot – but it just wasn’t the same. Rachel was one of those “super-moms” – always there for the kids, working to help others (she was a nurse), with a golden personality, always smiling. This was a family that had lost so much – and things looked bleak.

But the family experienced a rebirth – in large part thanks to Leah, whom Jacob married three years after losing Rachel. The kids were wary at first – she was a widow herself, and had three older kids of her own – and things were rocky at first. But with love and patience, things worked themselves out. The community helped a lot, too. Plus, the determination of Jacob – and the kids – not to give the terrorists the victory they so sorely sought.

And now see Reuven at his wedding! He grew up to be a fine, sensitive, scholarly young man, a veteran of the elite Duvdevan unit. The joy on his face, and on the faces of family and friends, was unique. This wasn’t just a wedding; it was a vindication, a confirmation of life, a message to the forces of darkness – Israel, and Israelis, are here to stay.

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