I took the easy way out and stood with three of my children in the center of Jerusalem yesterday afternoon, part of a vast human chain that stretched 90 kilometers from Judaism's holiest site to the sea. It was a compromise of sorts, as I'd expected to be standing in very different circumstances.
Originally I'd thought to "catch" the human chain around Latrun, along the highway that runs from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. It was at Latrun that Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, but most Israelis remember Latrun more for the fierce battles that took place there during the War of Independence in 1948.
But as it turned out, a last minute change of plans had me in Jerusalem and so the location I picked was the city center. I thought it a most appropriate place. As I stood there watching the hustle and bustle of downtown Jerusalem, I realized that I'd chosen well. I make a point of going to the center of Jerusalem as often as I can, and I try to do as much of my shopping there as I can. More and more, Israelis are agreeing and it is now common, once again, to see the Midrahov, the pedestrian walkway of Ben Yehuda Street, crowded with vendors and shoppers.
This time, I stood on Jaffa Street and as the hour grew late, the sidewalk was filled almost to capacity. I looked at the people, mothers and fathers, grandparents and little children. There were many teenagers, my own among them. I thought of what this street has seen in the last four years.
In the last four years, at least five bombs had gone off to the left of where I stood with my children, another three to my right, and at least two across the street. It is terrorism that has brought us to this point, even more than Ariel Sharon's misguided disengagement plan. Our nation has been seeking peace for generations, but then, as now, we did not have a partner with which to attempt this most important of agreements.
(Even Sharon cannot believe we will have peace after he forces this disengagement on us. The Arabs will almost definitely see our withdrawal as a further sign of weakness and seek to capitalize on it. If continued Arab threats and attempted suicide attacks were not proof enough of the Arab intention to continue this war, the mere fact that France, Belgium and the United Nations are wild about the idea should send shock waves through our country.)
I stood among so many, crowded on the sidewalk, and yet no one complained. This is Israel and it is like no other country in the Middle East. Our young children munched on favorite Israeli snacks, vendors did a brisk business, and chain marshals and police patrolled the streets. The harshest words were gentle reminders to parents to keep their young on the sidewalk and jokes were exchanged with marshals as they kept walking by and asking us to hold hands a full 30 minutes before the moment when we were to join hands and sing.
Having handed out the Bamba snacks and potato chips, wiped hands and found a place for a little one to sit, I let myself glance up and down the street and just enjoy the sights and sounds of a Jerusalem full of people. As I watched, across the street, a group of eight Arab women strolled down the sidewalk. It was about 6:45pm when they entered the clothing store and began shopping. The store was virtually empty, as most Israelis were standing across the street, in a united human chain of hope. Oblivious or choosing to ignore us, each woman focused on the clothes and turned their backs to us. I watched them talk to each other, hold out shirts, make a pile of clothes. Ordinary sights on a most unusual day.
Again the marshals came by. "Sing. Sing," they urged us. "It is 7:00pm. Sing." We joined hands and sang of hope, the one hope that has sustained us. Hatikvah, the national anthem of our state.
"As long as the Jewish spirit is yearning deep in the heart,
With eyes turned toward the East, looking toward Zion,
Then our hope - the two-thousand-year-old hope - will not be lost:
To be a free people in our land,
The land of Zion and Jerusalem."
We finished and everyone cheered. We are a free people in our land. The land of Zion and Jerusalem. The plan was to sing and then leave, but it didn't seem like anyone wanted to let the chain go, and so a group to my left began another song, I Believe. Another song of hope, this one grounded in our faith.
"I believe with a complete belief
in the coming of the Messiah,
and even though he may tarry,
I will wait for him, whenever he comes."
Still the Arab women shopped across the street, still they didn't look at us, and still we didn't want to leave. To my right, another song was started.
"If any of our brothers, members of the house of Israel,
find themselves in trouble or in captivity,
whether they are at sea or on dry land,
may God take pity on them and deliver them
from their trouble to safety, from darkness to light,
from captivity to freedom, swiftly!"
I thought about that song - from trouble to safety, from darkness to light. Earlier in the day, two Israelis entered the Palestinian town of Kalandia by mistake. They were immediately recognized as Jews and they were surrounded. Their vehicle was stoned and the Israeli army had to go in and rescue them. A few hours later, surrounded by thousands of Jews, eight Arab women calmly strolled down the center of Jewish Jerusalem, entered a Jewish-owned store, shopped for several minutes, and then calmly exited the store and continued strolling down the street.
There will not be peace when we are pulled out of Gaza. But there will be peace when a Jew can walk into Kalandia and not be stoned. Until that time, Arab women will continue to walk amongst us without fear and our children will remain in danger. It is 30 days since little four-year-old Afik was killed by a mortar attack in Sderot, a town within the pre-1967 border of Israel. A town that will remain, under any plan, within Israel after any final settlement.
Sharon offers no answer to the death of Afik, no promise that his disengagement plan will prevent the death of more of our children. Twenty-seven suicide bombers have been caught in the last six months, an average of one per week. Sharon's plan offers no promise that these will stop either.
The chain was broken, people were heading home. We decided to go to Sbarro's pizzeria for dinner with our children. Another act of defiance. Almost exactly three years ago, Sbarro's was attacked. Fifteen people were killed, including 7 children, and about 130 injured.
As the Arab women began strolling down the street, my phone beeped. A message. Usually trouble. A mortar had been fired at a Jewish settlement. Six young children were injured, one seriously. I thought of the human chain of hope and solidarity and of the three songs. Our hope, our belief, our commitment to fight for those among us who are in danger. Would that our Prime Minister would do the same.
Originally I'd thought to "catch" the human chain around Latrun, along the highway that runs from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. It was at Latrun that Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, but most Israelis remember Latrun more for the fierce battles that took place there during the War of Independence in 1948.
But as it turned out, a last minute change of plans had me in Jerusalem and so the location I picked was the city center. I thought it a most appropriate place. As I stood there watching the hustle and bustle of downtown Jerusalem, I realized that I'd chosen well. I make a point of going to the center of Jerusalem as often as I can, and I try to do as much of my shopping there as I can. More and more, Israelis are agreeing and it is now common, once again, to see the Midrahov, the pedestrian walkway of Ben Yehuda Street, crowded with vendors and shoppers.
This time, I stood on Jaffa Street and as the hour grew late, the sidewalk was filled almost to capacity. I looked at the people, mothers and fathers, grandparents and little children. There were many teenagers, my own among them. I thought of what this street has seen in the last four years.
In the last four years, at least five bombs had gone off to the left of where I stood with my children, another three to my right, and at least two across the street. It is terrorism that has brought us to this point, even more than Ariel Sharon's misguided disengagement plan. Our nation has been seeking peace for generations, but then, as now, we did not have a partner with which to attempt this most important of agreements.
(Even Sharon cannot believe we will have peace after he forces this disengagement on us. The Arabs will almost definitely see our withdrawal as a further sign of weakness and seek to capitalize on it. If continued Arab threats and attempted suicide attacks were not proof enough of the Arab intention to continue this war, the mere fact that France, Belgium and the United Nations are wild about the idea should send shock waves through our country.)
I stood among so many, crowded on the sidewalk, and yet no one complained. This is Israel and it is like no other country in the Middle East. Our young children munched on favorite Israeli snacks, vendors did a brisk business, and chain marshals and police patrolled the streets. The harshest words were gentle reminders to parents to keep their young on the sidewalk and jokes were exchanged with marshals as they kept walking by and asking us to hold hands a full 30 minutes before the moment when we were to join hands and sing.
Having handed out the Bamba snacks and potato chips, wiped hands and found a place for a little one to sit, I let myself glance up and down the street and just enjoy the sights and sounds of a Jerusalem full of people. As I watched, across the street, a group of eight Arab women strolled down the sidewalk. It was about 6:45pm when they entered the clothing store and began shopping. The store was virtually empty, as most Israelis were standing across the street, in a united human chain of hope. Oblivious or choosing to ignore us, each woman focused on the clothes and turned their backs to us. I watched them talk to each other, hold out shirts, make a pile of clothes. Ordinary sights on a most unusual day.
Again the marshals came by. "Sing. Sing," they urged us. "It is 7:00pm. Sing." We joined hands and sang of hope, the one hope that has sustained us. Hatikvah, the national anthem of our state.
"As long as the Jewish spirit is yearning deep in the heart,
With eyes turned toward the East, looking toward Zion,
Then our hope - the two-thousand-year-old hope - will not be lost:
To be a free people in our land,
The land of Zion and Jerusalem."
We finished and everyone cheered. We are a free people in our land. The land of Zion and Jerusalem. The plan was to sing and then leave, but it didn't seem like anyone wanted to let the chain go, and so a group to my left began another song, I Believe. Another song of hope, this one grounded in our faith.
"I believe with a complete belief
in the coming of the Messiah,
and even though he may tarry,
I will wait for him, whenever he comes."
Still the Arab women shopped across the street, still they didn't look at us, and still we didn't want to leave. To my right, another song was started.
"If any of our brothers, members of the house of Israel,
find themselves in trouble or in captivity,
whether they are at sea or on dry land,
may God take pity on them and deliver them
from their trouble to safety, from darkness to light,
from captivity to freedom, swiftly!"
I thought about that song - from trouble to safety, from darkness to light. Earlier in the day, two Israelis entered the Palestinian town of Kalandia by mistake. They were immediately recognized as Jews and they were surrounded. Their vehicle was stoned and the Israeli army had to go in and rescue them. A few hours later, surrounded by thousands of Jews, eight Arab women calmly strolled down the center of Jewish Jerusalem, entered a Jewish-owned store, shopped for several minutes, and then calmly exited the store and continued strolling down the street.
There will not be peace when we are pulled out of Gaza. But there will be peace when a Jew can walk into Kalandia and not be stoned. Until that time, Arab women will continue to walk amongst us without fear and our children will remain in danger. It is 30 days since little four-year-old Afik was killed by a mortar attack in Sderot, a town within the pre-1967 border of Israel. A town that will remain, under any plan, within Israel after any final settlement.
Sharon offers no answer to the death of Afik, no promise that his disengagement plan will prevent the death of more of our children. Twenty-seven suicide bombers have been caught in the last six months, an average of one per week. Sharon's plan offers no promise that these will stop either.
The chain was broken, people were heading home. We decided to go to Sbarro's pizzeria for dinner with our children. Another act of defiance. Almost exactly three years ago, Sbarro's was attacked. Fifteen people were killed, including 7 children, and about 130 injured.
As the Arab women began strolling down the street, my phone beeped. A message. Usually trouble. A mortar had been fired at a Jewish settlement. Six young children were injured, one seriously. I thought of the human chain of hope and solidarity and of the three songs. Our hope, our belief, our commitment to fight for those among us who are in danger. Would that our Prime Minister would do the same.