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August 27, 2004
A paradox of Israeli life
A Palestinian fighting a Jewish fire is cause for pause.
SHANA ROSENBLATT MAUER SPECIAL TO THE JEWISH BULLETIN
Several weeks ago, I sauntered out of my neighbors' house late
on Shabbat afternoon to find a gaggle of onlookers peering into
my house while firemen directed the spray from their hose toward
our top floor. As I stumbled closer, I discovered that it was actually
my neighbors' home, two doors down from my townhouse, that was ablaze.
After ascertaining the whereabouts of my children and evacuating
my oblivious, sleeping husband from our home, I began to take in
the scene.
Flames and smoke were shooting out of an upstairs window. Their
son, the only one who had been home on Shabbat, was outside and
there seemed to be no risk to human life, although a second spray
of water was now being directed toward the roof of the home wedged
between my house and the burning one, suggesting a threat that the
flames might travel. As I gathered my wits, praying that the fire
had not spread, I observed those fighting the blaze. In addition
to the head of our town's local security, there was a small fire
brigade led by the main attendant at the local gas station (situated
next to the local fire department), who, as it happens, is a Palestinian.
Though immediate concerns of human safety and property damage were
paramount, I could not help but marvel at the irony. Nearly two
years ago, following an attempted suicide bombing in the central
grocery store, a ban was implemented in Efrat, prohibiting the entrance
of Arabs under any circumstances. Occasional exceptions arose with
leniency granted toward Israeli Arabs, but for approximately a year,
the Palestinians, who comprised the bulk of the town's construction
workers, were completely absent. Then, as time went on and Israeli
military and intelligence forces managed to significantly stem the
tide of terror attacks, the regulations were modified and a security
protocol was put into place that allowed Arabs to work in Efrat
under specific terms: Arab workers could only enter Efrat after
presenting their identity card (something all Israelis and Palestinians
are obliged to carry) and then receiving clearance from a Jewish
foreman, who was responsible for ensuring that their worksite would
be overseen by a Jewish guard. On that Shabbat, I watched as all
of these security measures were surreally blurred.
What is the security procedure for overseeing a Palestinian in a
Jewish town, working with a Jewish fire brigade, wearing a Magen
David emblemed jacket as he leads the effort to quell a fire that
has already destroyed nearly a third of a home? I wondered if the
fire truck had to stop at the checkpoint situated at Efrat's entrance
while the Palestinian firefighter underwent a security check. Was
he really a part-time firefighter with the Gush Etzion firehouse,
or did they simply enlist his help when caught shorthanded on Shabbat?
When the fire was finally extinguished and the police had arrived
for the requisite questioning, the brigade packed up and some of
the neighbors brought them food and bottles of water. Interestingly,
few people commented on the Palestinian's role in fighting the fire.
Certainly, it did not go unnoticed. Possibly, some, such as my neighbor,
Norm, whose late wife was killed near Efrat in a drive-by shooting,
felt uncomfortable with his participation. Others might not have
found it noteworthy; life in Israel brims with paradox and contradiction,
why should a fire scene be any different? But I was in a state of
disbelief. Our macro-level interaction with Palestinians is so complicated
and tense while our personal contact is often humanly banal.
I have not been to the gas station recently, but the next time I
see the attendant I will surely offer him my thanks. It is still
not clear how the fire was started, but it seems that it was almost
definitely linked to irresponsibility on the part of the teenagers
who had been staying at the house that weekend. The house is now
under repair and the owners have chosen to use an exclusively Jewish
building crew. The progress is slow. An unrelated renovation is
taking place in another house in the neighborhood. It is being carried
out at an impressive clip by a construction team that is entirely
Palestinian, headed by Mustafa, a resident of Halhoul, near Hebron,
and a veteran builder and electrician who has built a good portion
of the Efrat homes. It will be interesting, and possibly even ironic,
to see the two final results.
Shana Rosenblatt Mauer is a doctoral candidate in English
literature at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, focusing her research
on contemporary American Jewish writers. She contributes articles
and book reviews to Jewish newspapers throughout North America.
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