Dafna Meir, a’h
By Larry Gordon
It is difficult to recall a period when it was time to go to Israel for one reason or another and there wasn’t some kind of crisis or wave of terror. It would be deceptive if I did not mention that prior to these trips to Israel, I have on occasion wondered whether going to the Middle East at that particular time was a crazy idea.
And I have to admit two things on that count. One is that on my most recent trip to Israel, which concluded last week, that thought was more prominent than at any time in the recent past. And second is that if we had not gone particularly at this time, that would have been a colossal error.
Frankly, we made all kinds of plans that included seeing parts of the land that we had not seen in a while. That included a visit to Tsfat and an overnight stay in Tveria and maybe even the Dead Sea. We have been to those locales and cities in Israel, but they are not among the must-see or must-do things for every time you are in Israel.
But this year—two weeks ago—with the situation being what it is, I thought it might be a good time to do less moseying around than we like to do and hit the road to see a little bit more of this special country that is so dear to us.
I wasn’t scared away by what was taking place much too often on the streets of Israel, but I found the situation a little disturbing and disconcerting. But then again, when we arrived and looked around, everything seemed normal and even routine.
On the first day, we decided—as I reported last week—to not be dissuaded by the news but to walk into the Old City, make that left turn on St. James Street, and walk through the Jewish Quarter down to the Kotel. I thought we would find a ghost town, yet—while it was not as bustling as usual—the streets and stores seemed pretty busy.
Before leaving New York for Israel and exploring in my mind’s eye where we would be going and what we would be doing, I could not help but wonder how the matzav was being handled on the usually crowded streets of Geula and Meah Shearim. For me anyway, over the last few decades, this has represented the essence and lifeblood of Jerusalem. I was afraid that the quaint narrow streets that look like they were extricated from a shtetl-inspired painting of a few hundred years ago would not be the same as I had left them last summer.
Once we arrived there on Thursday evening, I was overjoyed to see that the hustle and bustle of the street was as intense as ever. It was difficult to fathom or imagine that this corner right near where the large Hazorfim silver emporium is located was the scene of a terror attack that cost two men their lives as they innocently waited for a bus and were run down by an Israeli telephone-company technician.
Most call it resiliency; some consider it something between mindlessness and craziness. But that latter characterization is just plain wrong. We are statistically very safe on the streets of Jerusalem, Tel-Aviv, and, for that matter, all of Israel. So postponing or canceling a trip plays into the designs of the terror merchants, whose long-term goal is to damage Israel’s economy.
In an odd way, people’s perceptions of New York—for those who do not live here—are that it is simply a dangerous place to live and you have to be a little nuts to want to live here. Those of us who do live here know that as the time goes by, there is a minimal amount of drama and only sporadic crime that impacts specifically on the Jewish community.
In the same vein, take a look at what is going on in France with the pronouncement last week by some leaders that it was dangerous to be seen wearing a yarmulke in the streets of Paris and other cities with large Jewish populations. Recently I have had contact with two leaders of the Jewish community in France who have undertaken a campaign to make sure that Jews remain in Paris and that they do not heed calls by Prime Minister Netanyahu and others to make aliyah to Israel. They say that if a French Jew has that Zionist spirit that moves him or her to live in Israel, that is one thing; but they are opposed to fleeing because of apparently increasing anti-Semitic attacks.
And no, they do not want to see Jews assaulted. But they feel that the history and the attachment of Jews to France is not something that can be easily dislodged or upended with a few political speeches or pithy slogans in the immediate aftermath of an anti-Jewish event.
Most today will agree that over the last decade or more we have been witnessing the unfolding of ancient prophecy with the ingathering of the exiles of Jews from far-flung lands, under a variety of circumstances, dealing with hardships in their home and sometimes native countries by moving to Israel.
So are these places—including modern Israel—dangerous for us or not? The perceived reality from out here, wherever we may live, is that there is a constant threat and the young Palestinian lone wolves with their knives are running rampant. My feeling is that a few years ago I walked on the Champs-Elysées on a July afternoon, but that I would be less inclined to do so today, especially with a yarmulke on.
But we cannot and hopefully do not categorize Israel in the same fashion that we might be inclined to appraise the situation in other countries during these changing and unpredictably dangerous times.
One of my daughters was in seminary in Israel at the height of the intifada in 2002. Sometimes when she would hear sirens, she would call me here in New York to ask if anything unusual was going on. I’d check and see that there was rarely anything noteworthy to report. Then I would explain to her that Israel is, on one level, like any other country. There are fires, which means you are going to hear fire engines; people take ill and need ambulances; and so on. The sound of a siren does not necessarily announce a terror attack taking place.
So last week we decided not to go to Tveria or Tsfat because we just like walking the streets of Jerusalem so much. It was part passion and part protest. Those are the streets that belong to the Jewish people and the Jewish nation. There’s nothing like the steep hill that is Rechov Shlomzion HaMalka or Jabotinsky Street in Rechavia. I think of Jabotinsky as Cardiac Hill, because after you walk up to the top you’ve already had quite a cardiovascular workout. It’s an especially good stroll after dinner.
Then there were the street musicians at the bottom of Ben Yehudah surrounded by the quaint little shops hawking all kinds of gifts and goodies, from jewelry to just plain junk. And what about the Mamilla Mall? I cannot recount how many times I’ve been in Zara or Castro; it’s just something you do when there is nothing else to do. On the one day that it rained, we took a taxi to the Malcha Mall, where the candy kiosks already had lavish displays of Tu B’Shevat fruits on their stands.
But then on the other hand, while we were there Dafna Meir was murdered in front of her children in the Shomron, and Michal Froman was stabbed in the shop where she works, in the community of Tekoa. And the other day there was yet another sacrifice—Shlomit Krigman of Beit Choron. For now, the government response seems to be to let these things play themselves out. In the meantime, people are being attacked and in some cases killed or badly wounded.
The interesting dynamic at play here is that whether you are in the IDF or the police force, or just a guy from New York taking a walk on King George Street, you are on the frontline of Israel’s continued struggle for survival. And that is because all of Israel today is that frontline. Oddly, it doesn’t seem or feel dangerous but rather just seems to be a part of everyday life.
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