There are times when an incident jolts us so powerfully that the
aftershock leaves a permanent impression on our lives. A year ago, I
was traveling with a driver and a friend along the road from Ariel to
Kedumim in the West Bank. As we passed by the entrance gate to a
settlement called Emmanuel a violent crack shook the roof of the car.
It was followed, within a split-second, by two further thumps and an
immediate shattering of glass. The wind-shield had been smashed by two
rocks thrown within yards of the jeep. We braked and then jumped out of
the car to scour the nearby brush for a sign of the attackers. They had
fled. We returned to the car but not before I noticed that a small sign
at the side of the road bearing the name Emmanuel in Hebrew had been
defaced.
After the attack on Emmanuel this week I remembered that event and
relived the sensation of being under attack. I remembered how the rocks
pounded with such speed that there was no time for reaction. I recalled
how I flinched as the final rock hit and only then did I uselessly raise
my arms to shield my head.
It must have been an identical experience for those on Bus 189 assaulted
by terrorists on the road to Emmanuel. Nothing this time so ?benign? as
rocks. The bus tripped two 20 kilo roadside bombs and as it staggered
to a halt was strafed by three Palestinian terrorists hidden nearby who
mercilessly gunned down men, women and children. They killed seven
including a nine month old baby and wounded eight .
No terrorist incident is like any other but what Emmanuel bears uniquely
is that it is the only Jewish settlement to witness a mass slaughter of
its residents, not once but twice. Only nine months ago terrorists
launched an identical operation which claimed the lives of 11. As in
the first incident, mothers and their babies, fathers and their sons,
even a fetus, numbered among the victims of the most recent assault. Most were murdered before they had an opportunity to react.
Yet statistics like these do not even begin to convey the full extent
of suffering in such a small community. It is not just the absence of a
mother, father, brother or sister that is so telling. It is the loss of
the bagel maker, the man who delivers the mail or who serves behind the
counter of the community store. It is the loss of the children?s nursery
teacher or the community doctor . The devastation it leaves rakes a hot
comb across the heart of the community leaving it damaged for years.
This, of course, is the aim of Arafat?s terrorist campaign as it has
been in the persecutions of Jewish communities for generations. It is an
attempt to destroy the spirit of Jewish life by making that life
intolerable. But the people of Emmanuel are unbowed. The name of their
settlement may offer some explanation. It translates simply as God is
with us. This declaration might be hard to accept as body bags of the
community?s residents are loaded onto gurneys. But as I watched
television footage of the scene on that tragic day, I noticed something
that made my heart beat hard. The defaced sign by the side of the road
had been restored. Upright, it seemed to be screaming to me a defiance
of history; there, before the cameras, it proclaimed that despite the
dangers Jews face, the compass of Jewish history remains fixed on a
providential destiny and that hope survives.
So finally I understood how insignificant are the differences between
us all. The rapid rise of hostility toward Jews in Europe and in other
countries is an ominous wind from the past now blowing in unison with
Palestinian terror. In one way or another, Jews everywhere are still
embarked on a perilous journey between safety and danger. For some, the
peril may be less obvious than it is to others. But as for me, I now
appreciate that my own road, as certain and secure as it has always
seemed, travels onward with the knowledge that the fury of Jew-hatred is
only a stone?s throw away.
--------------------------------------
Avi Davis is the senior fellow of the Freeman Center for Strategic
Studies and the senior editorial columnist for Jewsweek.com.
aftershock leaves a permanent impression on our lives. A year ago, I
was traveling with a driver and a friend along the road from Ariel to
Kedumim in the West Bank. As we passed by the entrance gate to a
settlement called Emmanuel a violent crack shook the roof of the car.
It was followed, within a split-second, by two further thumps and an
immediate shattering of glass. The wind-shield had been smashed by two
rocks thrown within yards of the jeep. We braked and then jumped out of
the car to scour the nearby brush for a sign of the attackers. They had
fled. We returned to the car but not before I noticed that a small sign
at the side of the road bearing the name Emmanuel in Hebrew had been
defaced.
After the attack on Emmanuel this week I remembered that event and
relived the sensation of being under attack. I remembered how the rocks
pounded with such speed that there was no time for reaction. I recalled
how I flinched as the final rock hit and only then did I uselessly raise
my arms to shield my head.
It must have been an identical experience for those on Bus 189 assaulted
by terrorists on the road to Emmanuel. Nothing this time so ?benign? as
rocks. The bus tripped two 20 kilo roadside bombs and as it staggered
to a halt was strafed by three Palestinian terrorists hidden nearby who
mercilessly gunned down men, women and children. They killed seven
including a nine month old baby and wounded eight .
No terrorist incident is like any other but what Emmanuel bears uniquely
is that it is the only Jewish settlement to witness a mass slaughter of
its residents, not once but twice. Only nine months ago terrorists
launched an identical operation which claimed the lives of 11. As in
the first incident, mothers and their babies, fathers and their sons,
even a fetus, numbered among the victims of the most recent assault. Most were murdered before they had an opportunity to react.
Yet statistics like these do not even begin to convey the full extent
of suffering in such a small community. It is not just the absence of a
mother, father, brother or sister that is so telling. It is the loss of
the bagel maker, the man who delivers the mail or who serves behind the
counter of the community store. It is the loss of the children?s nursery
teacher or the community doctor . The devastation it leaves rakes a hot
comb across the heart of the community leaving it damaged for years.
This, of course, is the aim of Arafat?s terrorist campaign as it has
been in the persecutions of Jewish communities for generations. It is an
attempt to destroy the spirit of Jewish life by making that life
intolerable. But the people of Emmanuel are unbowed. The name of their
settlement may offer some explanation. It translates simply as God is
with us. This declaration might be hard to accept as body bags of the
community?s residents are loaded onto gurneys. But as I watched
television footage of the scene on that tragic day, I noticed something
that made my heart beat hard. The defaced sign by the side of the road
had been restored. Upright, it seemed to be screaming to me a defiance
of history; there, before the cameras, it proclaimed that despite the
dangers Jews face, the compass of Jewish history remains fixed on a
providential destiny and that hope survives.
So finally I understood how insignificant are the differences between
us all. The rapid rise of hostility toward Jews in Europe and in other
countries is an ominous wind from the past now blowing in unison with
Palestinian terror. In one way or another, Jews everywhere are still
embarked on a perilous journey between safety and danger. For some, the
peril may be less obvious than it is to others. But as for me, I now
appreciate that my own road, as certain and secure as it has always
seemed, travels onward with the knowledge that the fury of Jew-hatred is
only a stone?s throw away.
--------------------------------------
Avi Davis is the senior fellow of the Freeman Center for Strategic
Studies and the senior editorial columnist for Jewsweek.com.