I was privileged to bring life into the world these days, when so many lives around me were cut short.
I came for a final prenatal check-up at Shaarei Tzedek shortly after Yehuda Glick was shot and rushed there. Media crews were standing outside, waiting for an update on his condition. The receptionist was an Arab from the east of the city. It was the first time I wondered what was going through her mind, under the veil. Because I knew what was going through my head.
I arrived to give birth a few days later, minutes before Shabbat. The radio on the way was telling about the funeral procession for 17-year-old Shalom Adani, who was killed in the truck attack and buried that morning. The charming team of midwives included Jews and Arabs, and the birth mothers were also of one kind or another. Lots of veils, lots of settler head coverings, lots of wigs, lots of secularism. Lots of Hebrew in the air and lots of Arabic. How does a Jewish midwife feel now that she is giving birth to an Arab baby? How does an Arab woman feel when she is giving birth to a new settler? What do the excited husbands think about each other? No one talks about it. All you can hear in the air are medical instructions, shouts from the birth mothers and lots of "Mazal Tov, Mazal Tov!""
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The next day, when I ask one of the Jewish doctors about this, he replies: "We are very cautious, we are forcibly avoiding talking about the situation, especially since the story of the doctor at Barzilai Hospital who fled to ISIS. Everyone leaves their opinions at home, or at least in their hearts." One of the Arab nurses says that she has stopped being active on social media: "I no longer know who will tag me or respond with a smiley face to some terrorist attack, and I want to keep my job. I don't want to be afraid that some screenshot will suddenly anger the Jews.".
On Saturday night, the main headline on the website opposite the receptionist was already about the incident in Kfar Kana. An armed young man attacked police officers and they killed him. "Mothers, please come and take the babies to be fed." On Monday, soldier Almog Shiloni was stabbed at the Tel Aviv train station, just seconds after I was released home and we left the huge "Shaarei Tzedek" complex.
Outside, Arabs are killing Jews, and inside, Arabs and Jews are trying together to heal.
On Monday of this week, Ahmed came to our house, for some urgent renovations. He came from the house in Shuafat. He told us about his friends, the parents of Muhammad Abu Khdeir, and about the terrorist who rammed the car last week, his neighbor. We ask where he thinks all this is going, and he gets angry: "Stop going up to the Temple Mount! All day long, they've been showing on Al Jazeera how the Jews are taking over the Mount. And this morning Jews also killed a bus driver. What, haven't you heard?""
We are surprised that he thinks so too, but we don't respond. Start a debate about sovereignty? Who is the violent side here and who is the side that is being pitied?
The next day, at seven in the morning, a wave of sirens. I wonder if Netanyahu is going to the office early because of the crisis in the coalition, but the voices don't stop, and Bibi's convoy isn't that long. While making sandwiches for the children, I turn on the radio, then turn it off.
Why would they hear about an axe attack? And two more blocks from their school in the Har Nof neighborhood? I tell the older ones in general detail what happened, and they recite Tehillim while preparing their schoolbags. The little ones only understand that "there are traffic jams" and rejoice in the feeling that they are going to miss some school today. As the eight o'clock approaches, the older one is stressed out about being late.
After many notes about being late in my life, I find myself writing to her about a note that says "she was late because of the attack.".
Almog Shiloni, a soldier from Modi'in. Dalia Lemkos, a settler from Koa. Chaya Baron, a three-month-old baby. Yemima Mosquera, a convert from South America. Jadaan As'ad, a Druze from Beit Jan. How different the recent murders are from each other. As if they are teaching us that it is not against the settlers, nor against the secularists, nor against the Zionists, it is against the Jewish people and everyone who shares it.
And now, a new, usually hidden sector has been exposed to the camera: four ultra-Orthodox Jews with American and British citizenship were buried this week in Jerusalem soil. In Haredi parlance, they are called "outsiders." Immigrants to Israel, but they bring with them much of the foreignness and culture. This time, it's a donor's turn. Many eulogies were delivered on Mount Nof in perfect English, or in heavily accented Hebrew.
And this time it's Jerusalem's turn too. Just three months ago, it was almost the Switzerland of the Middle East. Relatives from the south and center came to stay with Jerusalemites during "Protective Edge." Guests who lived in our house then strolled through the Mahane Yehuda market and the pedestrian street on Jaffa Street, and returned with the feeling of almost being abroad. And suddenly it's in Jerusalem, and no longer just on the seam line but in one of the quiet neighborhoods.
Har Nof, as its name suggests: mountain and view. Until a year ago, when they saw a broadcast van there, they knew it was on its way to the famous house on HaKablan Street. Since Rabbi Ovadia Yosef passed away, the media had nothing to look for there, until this week.
Serious experts say in the studios that this conflict should not be turned into a "religious conflict." But is this our decision, what to call the hostility towards us? What has this conflict been up to now? Has it not touched the deep roots of our existence and that of Muslims? And who said that everything "religious" is bad? Maybe there is a religion here that sanctifies death, and opposite it is a religion that sanctifies life?
At the triple funeral in Har Nof, for example, there were no cries of revenge. The Haredi rhetoric is completely different. Sometimes it is even difficult to understand. Instead of expressing feelings of hatred, the Elfs asked themselves what they themselves had sinned against. At a time when the MKs on the right, including the Haredi, competed with each other in the strength of the military response they proposed, the narrative drawn at the funeral was one of self-correction.
Rabbi Yitzhak Rubin, the rabbi of the synagogue where the attack occurred, did not ask if it was a religious conflict (of course!) nor did he wonder what the conclusion was (to improve!). He also did not have to say that he was talking about this week's Torah portion, the "Toldot" portion. The entire audience knew that the rabbi was talking about the battle that is read about this week in the Torah, the struggle for the birthright between Jacob and Esau.
""This is the eternal war between Esau and Jacob," he told the audience through tears. "About Esau, the enemy, it is said in the Torah, 'By your sword you will live,' and about Jacob it is said, 'A blameless man who dwells in tents.' This is the situation to this day. And what should we do at this time? It is easiest to do the accounting of the world, instead of doing the accounting of our own souls. We do not need to tell others what to do, but to do it ourselves. Everyone knows what they need to improve in their souls, in their behavior, and within their homes. Everyone knows what they need to fix.".
Jewish status: ""It is said in the Torah about our forefather Jacob that he was a 'pure man.' Innocence is not a simple thing at all. He who is privileged to walk in the ways of innocence lives a true life" (Rabbi Nachman of Breslov)
• The column is published in Yedioth Ahronoth
