Hospitals, Rockets, and a Lesson in Irony

More on unpredictability...

I woke yesterday morning to blue skies and sunshine and strolled through Gan Sacher Park in Jerusalem to catch a bus down south to Be'er Sheva. A few people were out, lying on the grass in the warm winter sunshine. Dogs roamed around while their owners strolled slowly behind. And the gentle buzz of almost Shabbat life vibrated softly through the city. I phoned the secretary to the Ben Gurion University President to make sure that my meeting was still on -- it was cancelled at the last minute on Monday when an emergency, conflict-related meeting was called. But she assured me that all seemed well today and it would be safe to assume that I could meet with the President in the late afternoon as planned. Rolling through the green, rock-strewn hills leading south from Jerusalem, conflict felt forever away.

I have been working for the past several months to build a cooperative, joint initiative between the Israeli Ben-Gurion University of the Negev and the Palestinian University Al-Quds in East Jerusalem. Our initiative is putting together a team of Palestinian and Israeli academics, computer scientists, and public health practitioners to construct a joint website for health information outreach for the region. In the Negev region, I have been working with an inspiring group of young Bedouin women to run a needs assessment and internet usage analysis in the Negev Bedouin community, where we are creating a prototype website in the hopes that it will provide information in an accessible and non-stigmatizing way to target severe health concerns, such as infant mortality. The work has been inspiring. It has shown me people's extraordinary commitment to working together for a common and necessary cause across a divide which can seem insurmountable. I wish more people knew these narratives about cooperation in the face of conflict. The stories are countless, and they give a very different face to the lives of people in this region and the ideals that they live through.

And now for the irony...I stepped off the Egged public bus beside the Ben-Gurion campus to a warm winter day in Negev desert. Life felt like it was slowly starting to return to Be'er Sheva. There were notieably more cars on the streets and students roaming around campus then when I'd been to the city earlier in the week, a city that still felt ghostly, waiting. BGU had made the decision to call graduate students and last year undergrads back to campus to resume classes, though they are all being held in bomb shelters for the time being (less than pleasant). Attendance by these students had apparently reached over 50%, which is quite significant given continuing threats and abundant fears. As I opened my laptop to prepare for my meeting and glance at the news, I couldn't help but feel optomistic.

Until, of course, I saw the headlines. The IDF had shelled the UNRWA headquarters in Gaza, displacing hundreds of civilians seeking shelter, and the Al-Quds hospital in Gaza City was engulfed in flames after being caught in the crossfire. As my advisor at BGU, the Director of Epidemiology, had anticipated, it was only a matter of time before a hospital and what remains of health care infrastructure in Gaza would be hit. It was almost unavoidable. I had spent the previous afternoon at the headquarters of Physicians for Human Rights-Israel, working with them on a fundraising campaign to purchase and deliver urgently needed sanitary equipment and medical supplies to Gaza. The fourth shipment of medical equipment had gone out the day before, laden with supplies including 5 ICU beds and baby formula. But mostly with prosthetic limbs. An entire truck nearly full to capacity with prosthetic limbs, and not nearly enough to meet growing needs. Hard even to think about. It paints a stark and heart-wrenching picture.

An hour later, I was sitting in the office of the university President with my advisor and mentor for our health outreach project. We were discussing how best to keep cooperation and dialogue going with our Palestinian colleagues during the present times. We were optimistic. We were thinking ahead to what the joint project could mean, the difference that it could make for all sorts of communities in the region.

And then the sirens went off.

We rushed into the stairwells -- the nearest "safe area" -- and huddled with the rest off the office staff. Waited, and listened. They were much more used to these occurences that I. Often the sirens go off several times a day. Often the alarms are false. Only rarely can you hear the rockets hit. Usually someone brings chocolate, and everyone waits quietly, hopes, prays, assumes they will be fine.

"Echad ... shtayim ... shalosh." We counted as the rockets hit, close, too close. I'm not usually given to panic, and it takes a lot for me to feel truly threatened, but this time, I was scared. We were all emotional. We heard the sirens wail, hoped that they hadn't struck campus (found out shortly afterward that they had hit just north of us, wounding six). Rumors had been circulating that Hamas may be attempting to target Soroka Hospital, the literal lifeblood of the Negev, serving the entire population in the South of Israel. The consequences of such an event are unthinkable. Like the situation in Gaza. Too stark to believe, even when it slaps you in the face.

We tried to continue our discussions from before, but somehow the rockets had made a mockery of our words. The ambulances wailing outside, the audible commotion. The pictures coming in from Gaza. The account of the workers at PHR. It's become just too much, leaders tearing at each other, catching the innocent in their crossfire. It's always the children that suffer the most, on both sides of the line.

I rode the bus back up north, hoping that the sirens wouldn't go off, allowing the silent tears to fall. When the sirens wail, the bus stops and its passengers unload quickly, lie on the side of the streets, cover their heads with their hands. The traffic wasn't moving. I never thought that my professors would be giving me lessons in how to protect myself from shrapnel.

I am amazed and inspired by the way that the professors and staff at Ben Gurion University and colleges like it in the Negev have continued their commitment to their work despite the daily sirens, the depressing atmosphere, the fear and insecurity. We had always thought that the Negev was immune, but no longer.

I think that it is important that people outside (and inside) of Israel know that there isn't consensus in Israel on what is going on in Gaza. There is a lot of fear, and at the bottom of it everyone wants to live in safety, in peace, without the sirens and the constant nagging insecurity. There are very smart people who feel strongly that there were other, better options, that diplomacy could have been possible and that there are ways forward beyond the violence.

More later, but for now, praying for a ceasefire, praying that the voices for peace grow louder, that you lend yours, that cooperation can continue beyond this. Cooperation is a narrative that we can't let go of. Even when the violence is so blinding.

Here's something that you can do now. Help Physicians for Human Rights-Israel purchase and provide urgently needed medical and sanitary supplies to civilians in Gaza. Visit our Facebook Cuase page and decide to act now -- join, invite your friends, donate as you can. Go to this link and engage : http://apps.facebook.com/causes/187475?m=7e3959a1&recruiter_id=384744

Complacency just isn't an option. Even when you close your eyes, the reality doesn't go away. You can still hear the sirens wail.