It finally happened. I had heard the stories from American and Israeli friends in the past--how people on Year Course 2000-2001 were half of a mile from the Dolphinarium when a suicide bomber killed himself and over 20 young Israelis, and how people on Year Course this year were very close to a shooting in Jerusalem several weeks ago.
Then there were the countless numbers of stories Israeli friends had told me: "I was supposed to be on that bus," "My friend/sibling/parent was right there when it happened," or "I saw the bomb go off."
Terrorism has touched the lives of nearly everyone who has spent a significant amount of time in Israel. I, however, had yet to feel any of this tension during my first three months in Israel on Kibbutz Ketura in the Arava Valley of the Negev Desert.
A friend and I decided to spend the weekend of December 1st in Jerusalem to meet a friend from the States who would be in Israel for about a week. The weekend started out as normal: We met friends, went all over the city, and spent our time casually. On Saturday night, we met our visiting friend at a restaurant in downtown Jerusalem. After dinner we wandered around Ben Yehuda Street, walking in and out of various stores. Ben Yehuda Street is right in the heart of downtown Jerusalem and is known for being a popular hangout for young people and tourists. At one end of Ben Yehuda Street is a place called Kikar Tziyon, or Zion Square.
We found ourselves at a bank in the square at about 9:30 p.m. A few minutes later we went to another restaurant to have some coffee and dessert. Lucky for us, I wasn't feeling too well that evening. At around 11:00 p.m. I said, "I hate to cut the evening short, but I'm not feeling so hot." I remember all the details. We went back to Zion Square to catch a cab and head back to where we were staying.
When you think of the sounds of a city, the first things to come to mind are speeding cars and sirens--police, fire, ambulance--it doesn't really matter from what. The next thing I remember was being awoken by all these sounds. Not a few of them, but hundreds of speeding cars and blaring sirens. In my state of half consciousness, I remember saying to myself, "There must have been a bomb." It was 11:30 p.m.
My cell phone started ringing. It rang again and again. Someone came into my room. "There was a bomb." Then more people called. I finally started to understand. Two suicide bombers, one car bomb. The television cameras showed a second car exploding, which had been planted to go off while people were running away from the first one. Had I not been sick, we would've been within half a mile of the attacks.
I didn't sleep that night. My phone finally settled down at 2:00 a.m., but I had a hard time going to sleep. My heart pounded all night. I had a pit in my stomach. I heard more sirens for the next few hours.
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Now I'm finally on Kibbutz Ketura, away from all tension and pressure. Year Course travel has been restricted indefinitely. My group is ending its Kibbutz section shortly.
Next stop--Jerusalem.
Want to find out more about Young Judaea Year course in Israel? Click on http://www.YoungJudaea.org/html/year_course.cfm
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