JERUSALEM — It used to be that the sight of a pregnant woman would put a broad smile on the face of even the most somber Israeli. During these days of Palestinian terrorism, however, a woman with a bit of extra bulk around her middle immediately causes fear and suspicion. I learned this the hard way in March when I was about four months pregnant and looking it.
At the time, the intifada had been going on for 18 months, and Jerusalem had begun to look more and more like a ghost town. Though wary about venturing out due to the constant threat of terror, I occasionally needed to make a personal appearance at the bank and the post office. And I desperately needed to buy some maternity clothes to fit my fast-expanding waistline.
Dressed in an oversized gray sweater against the late-winter chill, I suddenly realized that people seemed afraid of me. Rather than examine my face, the security men guarding the entrance to cafes and supermarkets and other places of business stared intently at my belly. For the first time in 14 years, since the time I moved to Israel, I had become the subject of intense scrutiny. The guards waved their magnetic security wands to detect whether I was wired with explosives.
Understanding that a terrorist might indeed masquerade as a pregnant woman, I made no protest. But it did bring some of my own insecurities to the surface.
Like other Israelis, the threat of terror has made me extremely anxious at times. After battling infertility for so long and finally becoming pregnant with twins at the age of 43, I am doing everything humanly possible to protect my unborn babies.
I, who once reported from war-torn Bosnia, from Hamas headquarters in Gaza, and from Kiryat Shmona while under Ketuysha rocket attack, now consciously avoid any assignment that I believe could be dangerous. I, who used to travel regularly to refugee camps and Jewish settlements (and will certainly do so again after the birth), no longer venture to the West Bank or Gaza, not only because I can’t find a bullet-proof vest suitable for a pregnant woman but because I’m afraid of getting stuck at an Israeli security checkpoint.
There have been documented instances in which Israeli soldiers — suspecting (sometimes rightly, sometimes not) a terrorist ruse — have prevented Palestinian women in labor from reaching the hospital. In a few instances the babies have died.
But living in Israel, especially in Jerusalem, is also filled with risk. Since learning I was pregnant I have tried to avoid places I consider terrorist targets: the center of town, the Mahane Yehuda fruit-and-vegetable market, East Jerusalem including the Kotel.
Sometimes, though, I must venture into town, for a doctor’s appointment, a visit to a government office, to conduct an interview or to buy maternity clothes. The best store for expectant moms is on Ben Yehuda Street, the site of several fatal attacks during the intifada and even before. So I swallow my misgivings and tell myself that everything will be fine, all the while eyeing my fellow pedestrians with more than a little suspicion.
During a recent visit to a children’s store in town, the owner shooed me out the moment I arrived. He had discovered a huge, unaccounted for, backpack in the stroller section and was waiting for the bomb squad.
While I consider myself to be an adventurous and fairly brave person, I have to concede that dodging suspicious objects while shopping for cribs and infant car seats is very unnerving. As someone who has long dreamed of giving birth to sabras who would grow up in the Jewish state, it is unsettling to admit that I’m starting to have some doubts.
Knowing that I am carrying two boys at a time when so many of my friends’ sons (and husbands) are serving in IDF combat units has filled me with a sense of dread. What if, 18 years from now, we still don’t have peace? Could I stand to be the mother of two soldiers? I’m not absolutely certain.
These days, even parents of younger children are having a terrible time. One friend, a mother of four, told me that her 9-year-old son has become so fearful that he crawls into her bed every night. Her 11-year-old refuses to listen to the news and her 13-year-old is increasingly angry because, fearing for his safety, she won’t allow him to go to the mall.
Another friend no longer allows her kids to ride their bikes outside unattended or to go to the corner grocery store for ice cream.
“It used to be that Israel was the best and safest place in the world to bring up kids,” this mother said.
Israeli friends who’ve left the country tell me how guilty they feel not being in Israel during this terribly difficult time. At the same time they readily concede that having their children away from the front lines — either in combat or on a public bus — is tremendously comforting.
Now that I am a mother-to-be, I understand them. We bring children into this world praying that nothing will harm them. As terror attack follows terror attack, I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night wondering whether raising children in Israel is something akin to insanity, or at the very least, irresponsible.
But then I remember why I moved to and continue to live in Israel: because Shabbat in Israel is really a day of rest and because the school year and work schedule revolve around the Jewish calendar. Because even the most secular of Israeli children study Jewish history and Tanach in school and speak Hebrew fluently.
Because, despite the constant tension, children raised in Israel have a confidence, an independence, an exuberant love of life that I’ve rarely seen in children raised elsewhere.
Because my presence in Israel, the only Jewish country in the world, really does make a difference. And because my children will be Israelis. If all frightened Israelis left the country, Israel would cease to exist.
In discussions with older Israelis, I have come to understand that crises in Israel are cyclical, and that the current situation is perhaps no worse than previous ones.
Living on the edge isn’t pleasant, but it has given me and other Israelis a deeper appreciation for the people we care about. I no longer take for granted that my husband or I will arrive home safely, and this realization has drawn us closer.
We’re staying closer to home these days, not only due to terrorism but because of my advancing pregnancy. We’re fixing up our new apartment, puttering in the garden. We invite friends over for a meal and we play a lot of Scrabble. It’s a new experience for me, and one that I’m enjoying.
A psychologist friend calls it “nesting.”
With my due date approaching, I am admittedly torn between wanting my family to come from New York for the britot and the fear that something terrible could happen to them while in Jerusalem.
But as always happens in Israel, the good ultimately outweighs the bad, exuberance and resilience outweigh fear and despair.
Life overcomes death.
I pray that very soon, God willing, the birth of my sabra sons will bring light to the world, a light that will outshine the darkness.