Assaf Gavron - Almost Dead

He wanted to talk to me about his ideas.

Ben-Gurion International Airport. Since the Fatah operation in the seventies no one had managed to get near it. The passenger lounge was a good target. An aircraft was a possibility, either in the air or on the ground. Huge impact. Great damage to the economy. The feeling that their escape routes had been blocked off, that running to Mummy in America was not so easy. The feeling that they were locked up in here with us.

Second option, Eilat airport. A little far but the impact would still be considerable. A small airport but relatively light security. Near the city centre and the hotels. Less guarded. Several options to get there: from the southern part of the West Bank; from the Gaza strip via Egypt, along the border or from Sinai; through Saudi Arabia or Aqaba, in a commando boat. Eilat was vulnerable.

I said, ‘It’s not a coincidence that Eilat’s hardly been targeted yet: it’s not Palestine.’

‘New York and Munich aren’t Palestine either.’

‘Right. But you’re talking about the mother of all…’

Third option, a big hotel in Jerusalem. ‘Like the Jewish operation against the British in the King David. They drove a car in with two hundred and fifty kilos of explosives. This is what I’m talking about. Something that will go down in the history books.’

Fourth option: a symbol. David’s Tower.

‘Oh, come on: David’s Tower?’

Fifth option: the Knesset. ‘Get people with weapons inside with the caterers or cleaners, in trucks through the back gate. You get someone to work there for a few months.’

‘It’s not easy,’ I said.

‘I didn’t say it was easy.’ He looked up with irritation. ‘We will keep thinking. I’m happy to hear more ideas. Anyway, you’re to start working on the explosives. Start gathering quantities. Slowly.’

‘ How are the muscles responding, Doctor? ’

‘ Well, you know. He’s not moving them like us. You should be giving him more massages every day, here, and here, like this… ’

‘ I know — I’ve already increased the number of deep massages. He gets more than anyone, longer than anyone… ’

‘ And always check underneath, because that’s how he usually lies… ’

‘ I do. I’m determined that he won’t get any pressure sores. I’ve been working on reducing these inflammations, too. Here, help me turn him over, Doctor… ’

‘ I’m impressed, Svetlana… ’

‘ Careful with the tubes now…One for air, and another for urine. He’s lucky we treat him so well. Nobody else gets such personal treatment, Doctor .’

Outside, the armoured personnel carriers rolled by, leading columns of soldiers like ducks leading trails of their young. We’d grown used to them and, as in the zoo when the animals get to know each other, we feared them less. Kids were already throwing stones at them, almost affectionately, as it were.

I poured Coke into a couple of tall Coca-Cola glasses I got free with a box of six bottles and Bilahl lifted his glass dubiously, the drink sizzling with a thousand tiny explosions beneath his lips. I didn’t like his attitude. I didn’t know what they’d told him in Gaza but I’d seen the money they’d given him. Two thousand in cash. Two grand, and even a glass of Coke was somehow impure and decadent. We should have enjoyed it more, should have realised that the tap could have been turned off any time. But it’s easy to say that in hindsight.

I drank Coke and ate sunflower seeds and watched Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? and The Weakest Link and The Mission . A contestant on The Mission managed to reach the Golden Question, giving himself a chance to double the five million Lebanese lira he’d already won.

The Golden Question was this:

‘Last week members of the Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades carried out an attack on a bus on the road between Jaffa and Jerusalem. In what year did Palestinian freedom fighters carry out similar attacks against Jewish buses on the same road?’

‘1978,’ said the contestant, and my smile disappeared. Up in heaven I guess Grandfather Fahmi’s did too. Ihab the host stared at the contestant for a few seconds before telling him he’d just blown five million lira. He recounted the real story of the Beit-Machsir fighters. When Bilahl came back I told him and he switched the set off and snapped that I needed less TV and more mosque in my life. I said nothing. I just looked levelly at my brother and leaned back on the sofa, where Rana and I had done something he never had.

I tried to return to my previous life, and to two things in particular — Duchi and Time’s Arrow. Duchi was sweet, considerate and kind, or tried to be. Time’s Arrow also welcomed me back with open arms. They equipped themselves with plenty of patience and understanding and were obviously giving me as much time as I needed. Jimmy said he was sure I’d organised everything to get out of the Brussels trip. Little by little was the phrase I kept hearing — at work, on Wednesdays in therapy and beside Shuli’s bed— little by little .

It wasn’t easy. In retrospect, it was impossible. For a start, in my previous life I used to sleep. In this one I didn’t. I would wake long before dawn, exhausted by my own dreams and, hating the silence, wander through the rooms or sit in front of the television’s fuzzy, comforting light. In order to pass the time I started smoking, which made me grumpy and nauseous. Duchi tried to talk to me but I pushed her away, telling her to go back to bed because she couldn’t understand. Several times I called Uzi Bracha, who was always awake in the small hours, but it didn’t help. After a few weeks the doctor suggested some sleeping pills called Zopiclon, which sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t but always left me apathetic and addled. Sleepless nights led to bad days, and vice versa. It was a vicious circle. I had a permanent headache, my nerves were frazzled, my thoughts were racing and my body was running on empty.

But now I was also… CrocAttack ! Magnet of attention, symbol of resistance, vessel for other people’s ideas. New forces were taking control of my life and I couldn’t, or perhaps didn’t want to, avoid them. Here came the offers and the pressures, the strangers and the advisers…every day I was approached by people I’d never talked to who knew what I needed, or who needed to know what I thought. Could I lend them my voice, my support, my opinion? It didn’t matter to them that, in most cases, I had no opinion.

I got a call from Left and Right on IDF Radio, a kind of sub- Noah’s Ark , with people from the left and the right shouting at each other. ‘Eitan Enoch, what do you think about the decision to impose a curfew on the territories for the duration of the holiday season?’ ‘Mr Enoch, as someone who has personally experienced the intifada, could you please explain to my dear friend sitting in her air-conditioned studio in Tel Aviv the reality of terror?’ ‘Eitan Enoch, what do you think about a unilateral withdrawal?’ ‘About the planned construction of a Separation Barrier?’ ‘About the transfer of Jewish settlers?’ ‘About the two-state solution?’ They called two or three times a week and I don’t know why they bothered because I never had any answers. On the curfew, I said it was very hard to live like that and we should find ways to relax it. On terror attacks, I said we had to put an end to them and fight with all our might. On the wall, I said we should cause as little damage as possible. On unilateral withdrawal, I said only on the condition that security could be guaranteed. I said words which added up to sentences which grew into paragraphs but I wasn’t really saying anything whatsoever. I talked like a politician and said nothing at all and it seemed to go down fine with them, because they kept calling.