August 19, 2004

Alison on Aliyah:  Waiting to Exhale

            There’s a strange feeling in the air here in Jerusalem.  It has taken me about a month to put my finger on it, and in an odd way it still continues to unsettle me.  Something is different.  People are calmer; traffic flows more freely because of fewer roadblocks; cafes and restaurants are busier; there are tourists again.  Nobody wants to say it out loud, but it’s true, and it’s continuing to persist:  the security situation within the borders of the country has improved, both quantitatively and qualitatively.

            In 2002, there were over forty “successful” terror attacks inside the country.  In 2003, the number decreased dramatically to just over twenty.  In the past eight months, there have been five terror attacks, only two of which were the “traditional” Jerusalem bus-bombings with which we all became so familiar during the beginning of the Intifada.

            These statistics are so staggering; we simply can’t help but be affected by them.  Articles have begun to pop up in the newspapers, whispering tentatively that we may have won the battle.  People are starting to smile again, and speak in optimistic tones about our future as a country.  As much as the general population swore up and down that we refused to alter our lifestyle or to be afraid, it is obvious now that we were – on some level – beaten down.  There was no way to not be affected by the constant fear and anxiety that accompanied simple daily tasks.  But now, as we are watching the fog slowly lift, we can see how stifled and upset we really were.

            Have you ever gone on a hike, and worn a heavy backpack for hours at a time?  In the beginning, when you first hoist the pack on your back, it is almost unbearably heavy, and you wonder how you will be able to carry it for that long.  But the minutes and hours tick by and you get used to it.  It becomes a part of you, and your body starts to compensate for its weight.  Then, hours later when you finally take it off, you feel as light as air.  It is as if you had just unburdened yourself by at least twice the weight that it actually was, and it is actually easier to walk after this than it had been before you even put the pack on.

            Here in Jerusalem, we are just starting to lower our packs to the ground.  We are looking around and seeing our city as if from a totally new vantage point.  Cafes are places to sit and enjoy ourselves rather than potential targets.  Buses are slowly becoming merely a means to get to our destination, rather than a possibly life-threatening obstacle to be overcome during our travels.  Businesses are starting to make a profit again, and English can be heard everywhere coming from the mouths of our much-needed tourists.  We are starting to live again, and one can almost hear the collective exhalation of a society that is no longer under fire.

            One can see this most dramatically in the news that makes it into the papers these days.  Of course we still have the occasional terror warning or Qassam missile strike in the south.  After all, the attempts haven’t decreased; what has changed is Israel’s ability and efficacy at protecting herself.  But instead of a front page filled with warnings and attempts and attacks and casualties and fatalities, we are beginning to see normal news stories.  Although many of them are still quite distressing, what characterizes them the most is their pure banality.  A dog attacking a young girl; a teenager pulling a knife on a fellow student; a man who left his child in a hot car for too long.  These are the mundane violations and catastrophes of a “normal” society.  This is the ordinary stuff that exemplifies a country that may no longer be considered “war-torn.”

            It is a shame that we became so used to the abnormal, to the extraordinary pain and tragedy of living under the veil of terror.  It is only now, as the shroud may truly be retreating, that we can see both how affected and how desensitized we had become.  Perhaps now we have the chance of rebuilding our lives and our hope and our “normal” humanity.  Perhaps now we can truly exhale.