Close Up

VIOLENCE

IV

1

S - R AEL

Words of terror: Masked Palestinians, members of the faction known as the Fatah Hawks, spray paint slogans calling for continued resistance to Israeli occupation on
a wall in the Khan Yunis refugee camp.

DETROIT J EWISH NEWS

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never make it out of Israel, show the foot-
long jagged knives used in stabbing at-
tacks. Arabs who have successfully
slaughtered Israelis gain prestige in their
villages, earning the title of "Abu Husah,"
father of the knife.
In my mind I start practicing my final
conversation with the Arab fruit sellers
who come to my door every week. A year
ago I bought some oranges from the blind
Arab and his daughter out of pity and I
quickly became a regular on their route.
Sometimes they bring other family
members; her son who asks for bread,
once a sister who walked into the kitchen
and helped herself to a handful of peach-
es. A husband who leans outside and
waits.
Lately I have less sympathy. I close
the door, or hide in the back. In my yet-
to-take-place confrontations I am angry,
asking them how they can dare to
saunter up to my door, when a Jew who

comes anywhere near an Arab village is
killed.
But sometimes in my mind I pull the
Arab woman aside. She is roughly my
age, but we are a universe apart. I look
into her eyes and ask her what does she
think of all this? When is it going to stop?
What are we going to do?
Last week I was supposed to interview
Jewish women living in the Muslim
quarter of the Old City. The visit had
been arranged by a friend of mine, a
Canadian journalist whose husband is
stationed here as a correspondent. But
a few days before our visit, the armed
guards who accompany these women to
their homes were attacked. Suddenly
there was a new outbreak of stabbings
in places deep inside the "Green Line":
Afula, Beit Shemesh.
My Canadian friend and I debated.
Would armed guards make us safer or
more of a target? Were we being savvy

journalists or risk-taking fools? Should
we seize this newsworthy moment, or
put off the visit till things quiet down?
In the end my friend turned down the
offer of guards and walked with her hus-
band through Damascus Gate. At the
last minute I decided to stay home.
"There is no way I can pass as a tourist,"
I told myself. "I'll stick out too much. It's
not worth the risk."
The day after, when of course nothing
whatsoever had happened to her, I
thought of the years when I used to spend
half my time in the Muslim quarter, eat-
ing hummus, practicing my Arabic in the
"shuk." And I wonder how much of the
battle is taking place in the streets and
how much in our minds.
While six Israelis were killed in ter-
rorist attacks week before last, 15 died
in car accidents. A fact which was greet-
ed with no outcry. The American immi-
grant stabbed in Afula marveled at the

rush of onlookers to help him, remind-
ing us on local T.V. that the murder rate
in his home town of New York City is still
ten times that of Israel.
I try to figure out how to judge the sit-
uation, what yardstick I should use,
which threats are real and which imag-
ined. Have I already surrendered the Old
City, given up my right to be there with-
out so much as a fight? Should I make
a point of going to places like Hebron,
show support for the settlers who are cut
off there, or stay safely at home, avoid-
ing the fruit sellers?
And I understand that this is the real
meaning of terrorism; to creatg panic and
confusion, to instill worry, to alter peo-
ple's behavior. To switch the fight from
the tangible, where there is a possibility
of compromise and reconciliation, to the
dark side of the imagination, where the
only responses are anger and fear. ❑

