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The day of the Riots
The year was 1994. A terrific and terrible year in Israel. It was my first visit to the country, and I had been in there for about 2 months. It was the year after Rabin had swept to power, the year of peace treaties and optimistic dialogue, and it was also the year that the suicide bombers began in earnest.
I had been on a Jewish Agency program called, "The Machon" (The Institute for Youth Leaders from Abroad) in Kiryat Moriah in Jerusalem. Coming from the Jewish Youth Movement, Hashomer Hatzair, I was tied to a Kibbutz in the Galilee region, Kibbutz Gazit, and would travel there every weekend for some relaxation, sitting by the pool and catching up with my Kibbutz family.
I had learned basically how to get to the Kibbutz through travelling with other friends, and felt up to making the journey on my own. I was also determined to learn Hebrew the hard way - through rough experience and 'jumping in the deep end'. But that's another story.
So here I am - February 1994, on my way to Tachana Merkazit (Central Bus Station) in Jerusalem. In those days it was right at the end of Jaffa Street, on the right hand side as you came from the centre of town. I get on the 405 to Tel Aviv - everything seems fine. I'm by myself, but confident of getting to Kibbutz by nightfall.
About an hour later we arrive in Tachana Merkazit in Tel Aviv - the place that reminds me of an airport, with departure gates, and constant activity. It's about 2:00pm, so I decide to buy a massive Shawarma in Laffa bread for lunch. I take my prize wrapped in foil, and steaming with heat from the wrapper towards my departure gate. I must get to Afula. Afula, Afula, Afula - there it is! OK, I see my gate, and settle myself down for the wait.
Within minutes the bus is here. It pulls up ceremoniously outside the gate, the driver gets out as we all stand up - and he locks the door and disappears from twenty minutes. OK - Israelis - what can you do? Eventually we all get on the bus, and I just hand him a fifty shekel note (and receive the appropriate grunt and grimace) and walk back with my change. I have no idea how much I should have paid, but I trust that the driver found the appropriate price - the price for a naïve foreigner who doesn't speak very good Hebrew going to Afula.
On the bus everything seems fine. I even get my seat near the middle all to myself. As the ride begins, I settle in and contemplate the hour and a half ahead. By the time we get on the main road, my eyes are giving way to a sleepy urge. And that's that.
Maybe I woke once or twice here and there, but the next thing I remember is being tapped on the shoulder. An female soldier is yelling at me in Hebrew, and I'm trying to look all cool - as if I understand, but don't care. But she motions for me to get up, and so I do. She realises I don't speak Hebrew and so begins asking me, "Where are you going to?" "Afula", I reply. "But do you see what's happening today? There has been a massacre in Hebron, and the Arabs are rioting!"
As I peer out the window my view is mostly blocked by thick black smoke pouring out of burning tyres on the road immediately infront of the bus. Young Palestinian kids are throwing objects towards the bus and standing fiercely behind their burning tyres.
"Where are we?" I asked the soldier. "This bus doesn't go to Afula," she exclaims, "It's the direct bus to Nazareth!" So much for my little experiment. I have been caught in the middle of one of the worst days of rioting Israel has recently seen. The age-old anger that abounds in Israel is now focused, amongst others, on me! Mummy!
Luckily, the bus did not attempt to make the trip to Nazareth. Any way, it would not have been roadworthy with its smashed windscreen and side windows. I was shielded to replacement bus down the road going to the nearest 'friendly' Jewish town - Afula. You see, I knew I could get there some way - even if I did take the wrong bus!
Bus 405 - Tel Aviv to Jerusalem
By Simon Katz
This is a story which I am sure that many travellers to Israel have experienced at some stage in their journey. I was at the central bus station in Tel Aviv, heading for Jerusalem - the 405 express bus. Anyone who has ever been to Tel Aviv central bus station will know that it is more like an airport than a bus station. I approached my 'gate' - the 405 leaves almost every ten minutes, as the route between TA and Jerusalem is obviously very popular. In any case, I walked out the gate and saw that people were already boarding the bus. As I walked toward the bus entrance, the bus driver jumped from his seat and asked me to stand at the entrance.
He then walked up and down the bus, seemingly counting people as he went. I knew there was something strange as the bus was nowhere near full, and he couldn't have been counting to see if there were any spots. He paused towards the back of the bus, and then came back and told me and the rest of the passengers to board the bus.
I paid the fare, and found my seat towards the back of the bus. I had been in Israel for about 2 months and was already quite able to tell the difference between an Arab and a Jewish Israeli. I worked out very quickly that the driver had paused right near the apparently Arab-looking Israeli. However, it did not immediately cause me any concern.
The bus set out on time. As it is an express bus, there are never any stops at all on the run. However, 20 minutes into the journey the driver pulled over to the side of the road, and walked back to the Arabic guy.
As Israelis do, they started yelling, "Hey - what's the problem!" The bus driver came to the Arabic guy and asked him if he has any bags on the bus. This is when I got quite scared. He just mumbled and did not really respond effectively. NOw people started yelling at the Arabic guy to cooperate, and someone yelled that he did have a bag in the cargo tanks of the bus.
The bus driver told him to get his bag out. The Arabic guy asked the driver, "Why are you picking on me?" The driver did not answer this but told him to get his bag. He went outside the bus, and the driver asked a nearby soldier to accompany them. He retrieved his bag and stood about 2 metres from the open back door of the bus, and told the guy to open his bag. I heard a gun loading click and saw that the soldier was pointing his at-the- ready gun at the ground just near the Arabic guy. I suppose in case something happened.
It was the most nervous moment of my life. There could, at any moment, be an explosion or shots fired. It really was not very pleasant. However, he opened the bag and nothing happened. The Arabic guy started to complain that he was being picked on. But he got back on the bus and the driver started to drive. Everyone was quite tense.
Suddenly, the Arabic guy stood up and waited at the closed back door of the bus. People started yelling, "Hey - he's left his briefcase on the seat. What's he doing?!!!" Soldiers stood up and ran over to him, and to his seat, and there was complete pandemonium on the bus. I felt as if this was the storm before the bigger storm - perhaps a bomb or something was about to explode.
The driver pulled over again, and approached the man. He asked what was in his briefcase, and he simply did not respond. So an soldier pulled him over and demanded that he open his briefcase outside. The same scenario as before happened, and nothing exploded. But the Arabic guy refused to return to his seat.
The driver started his journey again, and the Arabic guy stood near the back door the rest of the way.
Thankfully, we arrived safe only a little late. This story is important to me because it is a perfect example of the
tensions between Arab and Israeli. The Arabic guy felt harrassed, picked on, but the Israelis were fearing for
their lives. Who is right? Who is wrong? None. It is just a symptom of deep mistrust between two peoples who are
forced to share the same patch of soil.
My first visit to the Kotel
My first visit to the Kotel (Western Wall) was as a student in my final year of High School. I went with a group of 20 fellow students to Israel on a fairly structured programme, and our first ‘tourist’ site was the Kotel.
I was actually not looking forward to going, though that may sound strange. I was not brought up religious and so I wasn’t quite sure what I was meant to do when I got to the wall. As we approached the Wall in the Old City we were split into two groups – those that had been and those that had not. I, obviously, went into the ‘have not’ group. We sat and discussed our feelings and expected emotions for 20 minutes. I wasn’t interested in talking about it – I just wanted to get the experience over and done with – so that now I could say that I’d been to the Wall.
As we approached the Kotel, and it was in sight, some people around me started crying; others were just staring blankly. I actually didn’t rush towards it, but sat at the stone benches at the edge of the plaza and couldn’t stop smiling. Funnily enough, it may have been that I was smiling because I was finally at a place that I had seen in books and pictures over the years, and it was now there before my eyes. Emotionally, I can’t remember exactly what I felt. I think the main emotion was relief – I’ve been there.
In our prior discussions, the madrich (leader) had suggested that we pick a stone in the wall and remember its position. Next time we visit we can check to see if it’s changed as a reminder of the permanence of the wall and as a connection to something that has stayed almost throughout our peoples’ history.
To this day, whenever I’m lucky enough to go back there, I check for my stone. And I always seem to smile. I can’t quite explain why.
Jeff Seidel Story
By Rachel Rachbaum
It was a rainy and cold night and we were all in our dorm room in Jerusalem. No one wanted to go out in the cold even to walk to the synagogue around the corner. It would have been easy to stay in. But it was my third week in Israel and I was determined to welcome shabbat at the Kotel. I took one of the last buses on a Friday afternoon to Ben Yehuda Street and wandered down to the Old City. As I prayed at the wall I realized that this was the first time in my three weeks on the program that I had been alone. But I did not feel alone as this was a magical and spiritual experience.
As I walked back, ready for the long and cold walk home I was approached by an older, religious looking man. He asked if I had a place for shabbat dinner. I did and I didn't. I had a place to eat but not somewhere I would have a true shabbat experience. Still, I do not often respond to approaches from strangers. He had a lot of students with him, however, and they urged me to joining them for a great experience.
So I went with this man and he took me to up alleys and down cobbled
paths to a home of a man, his wife and their 7 children. They cleared a
space at the table, welcomed me into their homes and I had a wonderful
shabbat dinner complete with stories, songs, children's readings. The
family was more religious than any I had ever met but so wonderfully
warm that I stayed in contact with them throughout my 18 month stay in
Israel and they became like a second family to me. I thank this man -
Jeff Seidel - for his introduction and for showing me what true shabbat
spirit really is.
HASHGACHA PRATIS (Devine Providence) ON THE FRONT
By Moshe Schapiro
For the most part, the recent Israeli military offensive against Palestinian terrorists has been a walkover. The two big exceptions were the ferocious battles over Jenin and Shechem.
Israel's army finally gained the upper hand and captured both towns. And, according to eyewitnesses among the Israeli troops, it happened through a miracle.
For a while there it looked like the Palestinians in Jenin were going to pull a Stalingrad. The terrorists-a term describing virtually all of the refugee camp's 16,000 residents, including men, women and children-wired explosives to every hovel in their densely populated shanty town.
Snipers hid in cracks and crevices and waited for the Israeli troops to crawl forward along the camp's narrow, winding alleyways and come into range. Suicide bombers would burst out of doorways or even drop down from rooftops and try to detonate the explosive charges strapped to their body near the soldiers.
Women served as human shields for Palestinian gunmen, and children wielding semi-automatic weapons joined the fray. The Israeli soldiers who took part in this battle described it as a living nightmare.
The lowest point of the battle took place in the predawn hours of Tuesday morning, when a company of Israeli soldiers walked into a courtyard laden with concealed explosive charges. Following the massive explosion, Palestinian snipers who had been lying in concealment in adjacent rooftops rained down a hail of bullets on the helpless soldiers below. The country went into mourning when it was announced that 13 soldiers had been killed and dozens more wounded on that terrible morning in Jenin.
And there did not seem to be an end to the battle in sight. The Palestinians had a distinct advantage, and they knew it. All they had to do was wait for the Israeli soldiers to approach-and then push the button again.
And then something inexplicable happened. On the following morning, a news bulletin suddenly announced that the Palestinian terrorists holed up in Jenin had given themselves up. Just like that. One minute they are sitting snugly in their lairs, waiting anxiously for their next kill, and the next, there they are, waving white flags, laying down their weapons and lying face down on the floor with their arms spread wide to either side.
What had happened?
According to a teacher in Yerushalayim's Bais Yaakov Seminar (Chadash), it was the thunder that did it. She heard the following story from her sister, who heard it from her brother-in-law, who is serving in Jenin: "We were devastated by the deaths of our thirteen buddies. Although there was a sharp thirst for vengeance among the troops, our morale was low. Frankly, we were filled with trepidation at the thought of entering those infernal alleyways again and risk getting blown to pieces by an explosive charge buried in the ground or concealed behind a wall.
"Aware of our state of mind, our commanders tried to intimidate the terrorists to give themselves up by announcing over a bullhorn in Arabic that unless they came out with their hands up, we would call in an airstrike and a squadron of F-16s would swoop down from the sky and reduce the camp-and everyone in it-to rubble.
"The ruse seemed kind of ridiculous to us at the time. The terrorists knew as well as we did that we would not call in the air force and risk killing 'innocent' civilians. It was, frankly, kind of embarrasing to even have to go through this whole show. Everyone knew it had no hope of working.
"A few minutes later, we were making some final preparations before we mounted another attack against the camp when suddenly an ear-shattering explosion went off seemingly right over our heads. All of us instinctively hit the dirt and braced ourselves for the shock waves that always follow the detonation of an explosive charge.
"But there were none. I looked up just in time to see another flash in the sky before the next boom cracked through the valley. It was just thunder. I heard someone near me laugh out loud. We picked ourselves up and shamefacedly looked down at our mud-covered clothes. Talk about nerves on edge.
"The next thing I knew, I heard people screaming in Arabic inside the camp. We looked on with amazement as dozens of bedraggled fighters crawled out of their hiding places with their arms raised high in the air. At first we thought it was another one of their dirty tricks-pretend they're giving themselves up, and then blow themselves up on us when they got within range.
"But no, it was for real. Our Bedouin tracker yelled at them to lift up their shirts to see if they had anything strapped to their bodies. They didn 't. Then he told them to lie face down in the mud and not to move a finger. And they did. Something didn't make sense. We were still suspecting a trick.
"As I blindfolded and handcuffed one of the terrorists, I asked him in Hebrew, 'Why did you give up?'
"'It was those F-16s dropping their bombs,' he answered. 'You can't fight against a plane.'
"It was a real miracle. I never thought I would see something like that in this day
and age."
THE THUNDERSTORM IN SHECHEM
By Unknown
A division of 100 tanks and armored personnel carriers was assigned the task of capturing Shechem, a hotbed of Palestinian terrorism where some of the biggest culprits were holed up.
The Israeli detachment had one major advantage over the terrorists-the element of surprise. The Palestinian Authority apparently did not take into account the possiblity that the Israeli government would one day wake up to reality and take the bold move of protecting its citizens against terrorism by actually going on the offensive. Speed, therefore, was of the essence. It's rather difficult to keep a batallion of 100 roaring tanks hidden from enemy eyes. And once the Palestinians realized what was coming their way, it wouldn't be long before they laced the streets with buried 250-pound explosive charges capable of ripping out a Merkava tank's underbelly.
At this point, says Alon Friedman, who was in one of the lead tanks, the Palestinians used a trick right out of the Arab warfare strategy textbook-they lined up hundreds of women and children all along the path of the tanks. The Palestinians were certain that the stupid Jews would continue to behave like decent human beings and respect the value of human life and sit in their tanks fuming while the Palestinians went about laying down the explosive charges that would welcome the tanks into the city.
The commander of the tank batallion, seeing the human wall ahead, ordered his driver to come to a complete stop, bringing the entire armored column to a halt.
"Now what?" all of the tank crews wondered.Suddenly, the roaring of a tank gun ripped through the silence. Several tank commanders peered over their turrets to see which tank had broken the rules and fired a round of live ammunition at civilians.
Meanwhile, the Palestinian women and children, convinced that the Israelis had begun fighting like Arabs, broke ranks and ran for their lives. The batallion commander wasn't about to ask any questions, and he gave his driver a kick in the shoulder that meant, "Let's roll!"
The column charged forward and captured Shechem in a matter of minutes, catching Palestinian terrorists in the process of laying anti-tank mines and explosive charges.
Only later did it become evident that the shot had been fired down from
Shamayim-(Heaven) and it wasn't a round of live ammunition, but the rumble of thunder
that saved the day.
LETTER FROM ISRAEL #1
Sent in By Erwin Kaplan
Ruminations on Living 25 Years in Israel
We know why we made aliyah in 1977; an instant feeling of belonging when we first visited and a desire to be useful when we retired. But why did we stay? After the first five months of excitement and euphoria we went into a funk. We were cut off from our closest family and friends. We were missing all the simchas. And the bureaucracy was not to be believed. But we were stuck. As Faulkner aptly put it “You can’t go home again”(especially if you had sold your house}. We were stuck.
Fast forward 25 years. In the end it turned out to be one of the better decisions we ever made. Wherever one settles roots are put down. In spite of the incredible bureaucracy the individual help from individuals was above and beyond the usual. Our biggest problem, understanding Hebrew, is still a frustration but we have learned the basics. And how nice to know English so well as it is the second language here. Our quality of life is high. Food is plentiful and varied. I enjoy cooking and trying out mid-eastern recipes. Even without a car, we gave ours up a few years ago, we get around easily. Living in the center of town we can walk to all the stores, banks, eateries and places of entertainment. The train starts up in Nahariya and has new, modern rolling stock. The ride to Tel Aviv is under two hours and to Beer Shiva, way down south under three hours. The bus station is also within easy walking distance. For senior citizens all fares are half price. Taxis are also cheap and we never have to wait more than five minutes for one to get to our house when we call. Adding to our quality of life is the beach and pool club only a short block from where we live. We swim outdoors from May to October. Temperatures are moderate. We use our air conditioner infrequently during the summer contrary to what people think about Israeli summers.
We are very pleased with our medical coverage. We like our family doctor and have good specialists. Our nearby hospital has evolved into a modern medical center. Sandy and I do volunteer work there. Best of all though is living on 10 minutes away from our daughter and her family. We’re very involved with our three grandchildren on the kibbutz and they give us lots “kavod”. We’ve been part of their lives from birth. The twins are now 17 and pre-registered for the army. Their sister’s turn comes next year.
The unstable conditions have impacted on us. We’ve been to several funerals of children of friends murdered by terrorists. It makes us angry and sad but we don’t let the situation interfere with any of our plans. And it now turns out that the rest of the world is not safer than here. But I’ll tell you a secret. Easy telephone access to the USA, cable TV and video, e-mail and enough resources to visit America often has made our life here more content. We still miss you and are glad to be more in touch. Our love to all of you.
Now it's your turn. Please email me your stories (as long or as short as they are), so that I may get them on the site ASAP.