Life in Israel 1991 and 2012

The daily events in Israel today take me back to the day in Jerusalem when I went to an area in Mea Sherim to collect my gas mask. Housed in an elegant box, the mask, filter and anti-chemical supplies included a syringe, preloaded with adrenalin and Fuller's earth and gauze to deal with nitrogen mustard gas. This was just prior to the Gulf war in 1991.

I was a bit of mystery to the Army who were distributing the supplies to residents both Arab and Jew. I was neither and had to ask again and again for a mask. I was a Kiwi nurse living inside the Old City, working with the Arab branch of the Israeli Social Services.

Among other things my role was to train any elderly Arab people in the Christian Quarter of the Old city in how to wear their masks. I remember teaching about 200 at one time in a meeting in the Armenian Quarter. Then there was training them and myself how to seal their rooms and pack an emergency bag for possible evacuation. The Jerusalem Post was full of instructions and humour to coax the population to "get prepared".

I lived with old Um Yousef (87). She was a typical Arab 'mother' originating from Turkey bordering on Armenia. She travelled the deserts of Syria with her Armenian husband and eventually in the 1940's arrived in Jaffa. From there she moved to Jerusalem and lived in a cul-de-sac called 'Hosh a Tuti' (courtyard with a 'Tuti berry tree). I rented a small room two and half meters by one and a half with a door opening onto a courtyard and a small window.

As I was an unmarried lady, Um Yousef treated me like an Arab daughter, (I was 35 but, a definite liability) watching me like a hawk to ensure I was socially compliant and didn't damage her reputation! She fed me fried spaghetti, humus, goats head, chicken neck soup, not to mention pita bread and homemade feta cheese with olives.

We waited, watching Israel TV and surely one Sunday night about 2am I heard the whine of sirens all over Jerusalem. I had a developed a routine; turn on my battery radio, put on a full length plastic cape, rubber boots, mask and orange gloves.

I covered the door with masking tape and a wet cloth along the floor cross the door, soaked in Sodium bicarbonate - we were told it would delay any gas seeping under the door. There I sat in the dark waiting until the siren went again to say 'all clear', sometimes an hour or so.

The first time this happened, my Arab neighbours had not collected their gas masks since Yasser Arafat had said it was all a 'Zionist' trick. The local mosque had preached that day against cooperating with the Jews. They 'knew' Saddam Hussein would never attack the Arabs in Jerusalem.

But, that January winter night at 2am when the first siren was heard, my neighbours came banging on my door calling, "Ne'meat, help us!"

A few had collected the boxes but didn't know what to do. I spent several hours helping these terrified people put their babies and children into protective wear and calm their fears. All hoped there was no gas in the atmosphere. It was cold with stars in the mid-winter black sky. The next morning there was a rush from my neighbours to collect their gas masks and protective equipment!

In the morning the streets were filled with citizens going about their daily business with an uncanny calmness. We carried our 'shoulder bag' everywhere ready for use at a moment's notice.

Those were tense and yet the most organized days of my life in the Old city. We all knew what to do. I had done a paramedic course which dealt with how to cope with the needs of all kinds of war, chemical and conventional. Israel had planned how to evacuate the Old city if attacked and I was part of that plan.

Today, residents of Israel are again receiving gas masks at central shopping malls. They stand quietly waiting their turn and continue their lives as usual. I can identify with them. Those who have experienced war are always ready. The buzz on the street was in hushed tones. I visited and treated my patients as though each day was 'usual'.

The nearest scud to Jerusalem landed about 10 km from the centre. Some days we had 3-4 scuds, others none.

The war finished in February on Purim. It was a reminder to all that the God of Israel had watched over His people and there was very little loss of life. That Purim Israel celebrated as never before.

Arabs likewise, heaved a sigh of relief that it was over.

Israel was delivered out of the hands of Sadam Hussein. Everyone was glad that Israel had destroyed the Iraqi reactor ten years earlier or otherwise the story may have been very different.

It seems to me that the situation in Israel is deja vu.

Supplied by Dorothy Finlay from Otumoetai, Tauranga - KBRM member (Kiwis for Balanced Reporting on the Middle East)