State Security

"The People of Israel Live"

After 24 hours here, Tel Aviv feels more European to me than Middle-Eastern. And in spots more American than European. Last night I had a beer in a joint called "Mike's Place", facing the Mediterranean. (Mike's Place made the news in 2003 when a suicide bomber blew himself up at its entrance. Three people plus the suicide bomber were killed; 50 were wounded.) 


Inside Mike's Place, American music blared; the bartender, speaking perfect English, spoke above the blare to an American customer who worked for Intel and drank German beer. All the waitstaff spoke English to their customers, who also spoke English, and to each other, who also spoke Hebrew. And from what I could tell, every plate that came out of the kitchen was piled high with French fries. I began to wonder who precisely was the bomber's target.

I had a conversation with the guy from Intel. His name is Paul. He told me that he's been coming to Israel for years to do Intel installations for customers. He told me the Intel office in Tel Aviv has a bomb shelter for employees. Imagine hearing that as one of the company perks: "We offer a great 401-K plan, full-medical benefits, and -- we have our own bomb shelter." 


Paul has a friend who works some kind of U.S. intelligence, and who gives him a scouting report of the place he's heading toward before he actually heads toward it. Paul said one time he was scheduled to go to the Mediteranean port city of Ashdod, about twenty miles south of Tel Aviv, and about 20 miles north of the Gaza strip. Paul's intelligence friend made some calls and told him to steer clear of Ashdod, that he heard through channels things were going to happen there. Trusting his friend, Paul convinced his supervisor to let him work in Tel Aviv instead, and he agreed. Paul then told me that Ashdod was rocketed 400 times or something like that during the period he was originally scheduled to be there. He chuckled as he recounted all this.

***

People who explode bombs have to get very close to be affective; no one would lift a finger against suicide bombers who walk into the desert and push the plunger. To deny bombers access to crowded places, guards and gates abound in Tel Aviv, and, I suspect, throughout Israel. In order to access the bus station yesterday, I had to permit the guard to stick his nicotine-stained hand inside my backpack and fish around for anything that might have felt like a bomb. He then did the wand thing. This to get on a city bus.


To gain access to Tel Aviv University's campus from where I began writing this, I had to pass a checkpoint where the guard looked in my laptop case. Earlier today, I saw a busload of seniors waiting to board, being guided in part by a young guy in a green t-shirt with a semi-automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. Not the driver; he was riding shotgun. 


And then there are the soldiers, who walk the streets, get on buses, sit in cafes, with this weapon that looks to be a cross between Rambo and paintball. The soldiers aren't menacing or the slightest bit Stallonish. They're mostly scrawny kids, seemingly carrying their weapon barely aware of its potential. 


With all this security, I wonder if Israelis feel more safe, or less safe. In other words, the omnipresence of security indicates the omnipresence of threat. Which prevails in the psyche of the average Israeli?

***

Late yesterday afternoon I had a beer with a woman named Liv. A mutual friend put us in contact with each other, so that we could have a discussion about Israel. I wanted to know things only an Israeli could tell me.

Liv has a PhD in Argumentation and works with a research group out of Tel Aviv University. Her current project analyzes the de-legitimization of Israel in the French media (her focus is websites). She was born and raised in Paris, and speaks with an Israeli-French blend.

I asked her how long she's been living in Israel, and she told me moved here at 24, which I guessed to be about 24 years ago. I asked her why she moved here, and I thought she said "sciencism," something to do with her research, but in fact she said "scionism", that is, Zionism. We had a good chuckle once we got that sorted out. 


Liv came here, to Israel, as a young Zionist. She moved here from Paris because she believed in the state of Israel, and wanted to contribute to its building and future. She sighed when she told me that Zionism today isn't what it was when she came here at 24. I didn't need to ask why. As I write this, the answer is being provided, among other ways, by the crusading Zionist settlers on the West Bank. And then there's Netanyahu.


Liv has two kids, a daughter and a son. Her daughter is just now finishing up her military service. Every Israeli citizen is required to fulfill military service (two years for girls; three years for boys). Liv told me that when her daughter expressed to the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) no interest in combat duty and no interest in officer-training -- meaning committing to more than the minimum two-year period -- she was given a hum-drum assignment. Liv was fine with that. 


Liv's son is only 16, and he has already expressed interest in volunteering for combat duty once he enters the army. This worries her. There are many flashpoints in and around Israel. When I asked her about the likelihood of danger she gave me to believe that it wouldn't be unusual at all for her son to engage in some fighting. The risks for her are too real. Liv wished that in this respect, her son had been more like her daughter.


Liv, like most people, would like to live a peaceful life. Would like not to see her son go into combat, or see Israel under such constant military lockdown. But she is also a realist. When I asked her if Israel hasn't swung too far militarily, and hasn't hurt its image abroad, she struggled for an answer. "Well of course it's not good. Am I happy about it? Obviously, no. But people want to kill us. Hamas fires rockets at us? What are we to do?"

***

Earlier tonight just before sundown I went for my first ever swim in the Mediterranean. The beach around Tel Aviv slopes very gradually, almost imperceptibly. You can walk out from shore a good ways before the water gets even waste high.


The sand is soft, but packed very hard. The slight waves above doesn't stir it. 


The water is surprisingly clear, and very salty. 

With the sun about a two feet off of the horizon, I toweled off and sat down to watch the sun set in a beach chair outside the Banana Cafe. A guy who'd been standing close to the water and just gazing out turned around and approached. It so happened that he was my waiter. Perhaps not the most attentive waiter, ever, but a very nice fellow. He asked what would I like, and smiled.


I requested my beer choices and settled on a Tuborg. He asked where I was from, and when I told him New York, he smiled broadly and slapped my hand. "Very cool! Right on." He then went to get my beer.

When he returned, he told me that he had just gotten back from New York two weeks ago, somewhere in Brooklyn, and that he returned to Tel Aviv to attend his cousin's wedding. He'd only been in New York a couple of weeks, but he'd like to go back. Before New York he'd been in Ecuador. And before that Hawaii. And Brazil. He said that whenever he made some money, he'd go travel with it. In all, he'd been traveling three years.

"So, now that you're back in Tel Aviv, are you going to stay here a while?"


"Me?! No way, man. I'm going to make a little more money and go away someplace."


"Why, you don't like it here?"

"No. Too much stress."


He works sunsets on the Mediterranean: stress?


"Look," he said, pointing over the water. Two helicopters were buzzing south. I'd seen others like them off and on throughout the afternoon. "Army helicopters. All day. Every day. It never ends. No. Too much stress here. It's not for me."