Reflections on the Damascus gate attacks

A few weeks ago, I was asked to come to Israel – to be interviewed for a Judaic Studies-Education fellowship at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. Eventually, after I got the dates that I would be visiting Israel and going to Jerusalem – I was thrilled – thrilled to continue my work with Judaism and education. On Feb. 3, I went to Mt. Scopus for my interview. As soon as I finished, I went on my way to see a friend who lives in Jerusalem. While driving through the streets of Jerusalem, and then finding a parking spot by the Damascus Gate, I saw it.

A huge crowd gathered from all over. Dozens of police were running toward where I was standing. I didn’t know what happened. All I knew is that something probably happened.

Since I haven’t been in Israel in the last few months, I didn’t know what the feelings in the streets are. Even though I read the news more than a dozen times a day, it’s nothing like living in the middle of it.

Then I understood: I’m in the middle of a terror attack. People seemed eager to help the police forces, running around, feeling helpless, scared – but not broken. Trying to be protective, the police asked the crowd to move away, since they suspected it was just a decoy to a larger attack, and so we did. I moved away and went to see my friend, who lives right across from the Damascus Gate. He wasn’t scared. After almost seven years in the army, I got scared. He seemed used to it. He said that it is unfortunate, but that’s the routine.

These thoughts do not leave me. An hour later, we went to the Kotel, which was almost empty, and returned through the Muslim Shuk (the market). Again – absolutely empty.

The next few days brought on a lot of thoughts and reflections for me. Together with my father, I went to visit my old army base, and the place where I lived for almost two years – the Gaza strip.

Looking at Gaza, near Kibbutz Sa’ad, my father told me (probably for the 10th time) that just 20 years ago, he had many friends over there, and he used to work there every so often. He used to buy things in the Gaza Shuk, and eat hummus with other friends, Jews and Muslims. It’s sad that my father and I have such different perspectives and memories from the same place. Mine is war-related. His is life, work and food-related.

Again, I thought about Jerusalem and the attack.

I hope that Jerusalem will stay a place for my kids to visit, eat hummus with Jews and non-Jews, work, pray and to live.

GILOR MESHULAM is the Israeli Shaliach (emissary) for the Jewish Alliance.