Before I departed for my trip to Canada this past winter, I went, as usual, through a bout of my pre-flight jitters. A friend of mine, seeing the state I was in, attempted to allay my fears by saying, "Do you realize that at any one moment in time, there are 3,000 planes up in the air all over the world, and how many plane crashes do you hear of?"
Though his logic was irresistible, I was still scared stiff to board that plane. Given my tendency towards phobias, you can imagine how I responded to the series of bus bombings here in Israel in the spring of 1995. This latest bout of Arab suicide car bombings, the Netanya attack and the like have just re-awakened in me these fears, despite the still low statistical probability of falling victim to terrorism.
After taking care of some banking in Jerusalem this past Thursday, I began debating with myself as to how to reach my French Hill bus stop in time to catch my bullet-proof bus back home. My city-bus phobia still intact, I flagged down a cab.
The taxi stopped, I hopped in. A minute - or perhaps two - passed before I realized that my driver was - in fact - an Arab.
As I have done before in such situations, I started giving him my visual once-over: A little bit of gray around the temples. Good, good.... Clean shaven, close-cropped hair: even better! His yuppie-ish cotton shirt conclusively assuaged my fears.
"It's so hot in this country," he quipped, taking a sip from his bottle of mineral water.
"What? And it's not hot in Jordan, or Syria?" I replied.
"What? You've been to Syria lately?" he asked, turning his head toward me.
"No, no," I chuckled... "I don't think that I would be welcome there."
After a short break, he piped up:
"I've been trying to get to Saudi Arabia for some time now..."
"Where? To Mecca?"
"Sure, Mecca.... I yearn to be there! But you know, they stop you in your tracks, unless - well, unless you slip them some money under the table...."
(I was refreshed that my Arab cabby identified Mecca as the focal point of his religious strivings. None of this Al-Aqsa mosque stuff for him....)
As we drove through the back streets of downtown Jerusalem, he began airing his financial woes. "No tourists. There are no tourists here this year," he lamented.
Playing counselor, I asked, "Why do you think that is?"
"People turn on CNN and all they see is bullets flying. Shooting, shooting, and more shooting! So they don't come. And they see pictures of people blowing themselves up in shopping centers, you know..."
He then started to lash out at Yasser Arafat, blaming him for the tough financial straits of the Arab masses under his rule. "Has he created one job in Ramallah or Jenin? Even one job?" he asked rhetorically. "Not one! Not one!"
I butted in: "But he's getting lots of financial aid from other countries."
"Don't you understand? He's in the war business!!!" exclaimed my cabby. "They're sending his money to continue the war! So that's what he's using it for. This Arafat, he has huge sums of money in the bank -"
"I heard a half million dollars or something like that," I interjected.
"Half million? Half million? Try twelve million - in his own private account in Bank Leumi in Tel Aviv! Everybody knows that!"
As we pulled onto Route One, the stretch of road separating the downtown from eastern Jerusalem, I took over: "You seem like a regular guy who just wants to make a buck," I said. "Why don't you and people like yourself, maybe other motivated Arab businessmen, organize yourselves and provide an alternative leadership? Things might just improve.."
We pulled up to an intersection and stopped at the light. "Are you kidding?" he asked. "Let's say I was to start spreading the word of a plan like the type you mentioned, and I start talking to someone about it. I can't tell if the guy I'm confiding in is or isn't one of Arafat's henchmen!"
"And if he would be?"
"Then I'm a dead man. That's the problem. That's why nobody does anything. We're all scared. Arafat - he's a Mafia boss."
As I got out of the cab still a few minutes early for my bullet-proof bus back home, I paid him and thanked him for the ride.
"Take care of yourself," he said. "Have a safe trip!"
And he drove away.
Though his logic was irresistible, I was still scared stiff to board that plane. Given my tendency towards phobias, you can imagine how I responded to the series of bus bombings here in Israel in the spring of 1995. This latest bout of Arab suicide car bombings, the Netanya attack and the like have just re-awakened in me these fears, despite the still low statistical probability of falling victim to terrorism.
After taking care of some banking in Jerusalem this past Thursday, I began debating with myself as to how to reach my French Hill bus stop in time to catch my bullet-proof bus back home. My city-bus phobia still intact, I flagged down a cab.
The taxi stopped, I hopped in. A minute - or perhaps two - passed before I realized that my driver was - in fact - an Arab.
As I have done before in such situations, I started giving him my visual once-over: A little bit of gray around the temples. Good, good.... Clean shaven, close-cropped hair: even better! His yuppie-ish cotton shirt conclusively assuaged my fears.
"It's so hot in this country," he quipped, taking a sip from his bottle of mineral water.
"What? And it's not hot in Jordan, or Syria?" I replied.
"What? You've been to Syria lately?" he asked, turning his head toward me.
"No, no," I chuckled... "I don't think that I would be welcome there."
After a short break, he piped up:
"I've been trying to get to Saudi Arabia for some time now..."
"Where? To Mecca?"
"Sure, Mecca.... I yearn to be there! But you know, they stop you in your tracks, unless - well, unless you slip them some money under the table...."
(I was refreshed that my Arab cabby identified Mecca as the focal point of his religious strivings. None of this Al-Aqsa mosque stuff for him....)
As we drove through the back streets of downtown Jerusalem, he began airing his financial woes. "No tourists. There are no tourists here this year," he lamented.
Playing counselor, I asked, "Why do you think that is?"
"People turn on CNN and all they see is bullets flying. Shooting, shooting, and more shooting! So they don't come. And they see pictures of people blowing themselves up in shopping centers, you know..."
He then started to lash out at Yasser Arafat, blaming him for the tough financial straits of the Arab masses under his rule. "Has he created one job in Ramallah or Jenin? Even one job?" he asked rhetorically. "Not one! Not one!"
I butted in: "But he's getting lots of financial aid from other countries."
"Don't you understand? He's in the war business!!!" exclaimed my cabby. "They're sending his money to continue the war! So that's what he's using it for. This Arafat, he has huge sums of money in the bank -"
"I heard a half million dollars or something like that," I interjected.
"Half million? Half million? Try twelve million - in his own private account in Bank Leumi in Tel Aviv! Everybody knows that!"
As we pulled onto Route One, the stretch of road separating the downtown from eastern Jerusalem, I took over: "You seem like a regular guy who just wants to make a buck," I said. "Why don't you and people like yourself, maybe other motivated Arab businessmen, organize yourselves and provide an alternative leadership? Things might just improve.."
We pulled up to an intersection and stopped at the light. "Are you kidding?" he asked. "Let's say I was to start spreading the word of a plan like the type you mentioned, and I start talking to someone about it. I can't tell if the guy I'm confiding in is or isn't one of Arafat's henchmen!"
"And if he would be?"
"Then I'm a dead man. That's the problem. That's why nobody does anything. We're all scared. Arafat - he's a Mafia boss."
As I got out of the cab still a few minutes early for my bullet-proof bus back home, I paid him and thanked him for the ride.
"Take care of yourself," he said. "Have a safe trip!"
And he drove away.