One of our high-ranking officials remarked that the more time passes since the terrorist attack at the "Dolphi" disco, the fewer chances remain for any retaliatory action on our part. The observation is entirely accurate: once the head is lost, no one mourns the hair. Or, as they say, a spoon is dear when dinner time comes. But that official did not say one thing — whether this was the last time we missed the opportunity to strike a full-scale blow against the enemy: against its headquarters, infrastructure, barracks, the lair of the foul-voiced Sheikh Yassin and his associates. Or whether there will be many more occasions ahead for "inadequate" responses.
It would seem that the terrorist attack at the disco at midnight should have marked the end of our patience — a patience that, for some reason, is called strength. But now the murdered boys and girls have been buried — some in Jewish cemeteries, others in Christian or kibbutz ones — and the waves of our anger have begun to subside. Perhaps only those awaiting trial for participating in the "riots" at the Hassan Bek Mosque still grind their teeth in anger — those accused of disturbing public order by throwing stones at the thick walls of a Muslim structure in the heart of Jewish Tel Aviv. Yet even there, as is known, the effect was reciprocal: those inside the mosque, well-practiced after months of the intifada in this ancient form of combat, responded "with fire for fire," and their stones did not miss. Today, commentators suggest that only a coincidence saved the mosque from destruction: it was the Sabbath, and thousands of potential stone-throwers could not arrive. In any case, that confrontation too was lost. One cannot help but recall the destruction of Joseph's Tomb.
It is said that the government was resolute that day, that the General Staff had proposed targets for strikes, and combat pilots were awaiting orders to take off. Then something happened — something interfered with the natural course of events. The military plan was placed in a safe, the safe was locked. Propaganda began praising the "Solomonic decision": now, they say, the whole world will see how good we are, how civilized. Instead of counterattacking, we patiently turn the other cheek — which, excuse me, is a distinctly Christian behavior. Meanwhile, all cultured and well-mannered people will see that we are ready to make great sacrifices in the struggle for peace. Today — young people who came to dance and enjoy themselves, tomorrow — children and the elderly, the day after — state independence.
Jews are beginning to forget why and for what reason we are here, on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean. They are beginning to forget that Israel is not Uganda or Birobidzhan, that this is not a temporary stop or a refugee camp. We did not come here for a resort with palm trees and cheap oranges — we returned home. And when bandits break into your home, the owner takes up arms — this practice has not changed for thousands of years, and the new century is unlikely to alter it.
In exile, we were inclined to seek the love of others: "Oh, they do not love us, they do not pity us!" Today we have our own country, our own Jewish home, paid for with far more than four hundred shekels of Abraham's silver. We do not need the love of others — it would be enough to live in harmony with one another. In a country at war, even if a virtual unilateral ceasefire has been declared, this is crucial.
But something else is important too: to understand that it is inappropriate to dance at discos when, every day, the victims of this war are being buried. It is inappropriate, under the howl of mortar shells, to hold weddings in mirrored banquet halls with DJs and hundreds of guests. Marriages are made in the heart, not in banquet halls with metal boxes for gifts.
But the state, the authorities, seem to think otherwise. We are persistently urged to "live as usual" — in other words, to pretend that nothing is happening. Examples from the past are cited: during the Six-Day War, Tel Aviv residents not engaged in combat sat calmly in seaside cafés drinking coffee. But vivid examples from the past belong in historical novels, not in everyday reality. We are living under a state of emergency, in wartime. Only the blind fail to see this and continue striking their stick against the pavement and the legs of passersby.
