Illustration by David Terrill

I am a third-generation Jewish American, raised in Manchester, New Hampshire. When I was 14, I visited Israel for the first time as part of a six-week tour organized by my Jewish youth group. I immediately felt a visceral connection to the land and the people. Throughout high school, I continued visiting during summer vacations. And after graduating from American University, in 1989, I moved to Israel and became a citizen. (Israel's close relationship with the United States enables Americans who choose to become Israeli citizens to maintain dual citizenship.)

Like every other Israeli, I was required to join the military. I tried out for one of the paratrooper units, tested well, and was invited to join. After completing my obligatory service with some distinction, I was asked to join one of the top reconnaissance units. This unit, comprising the best soldiers from the most elite commando units, is part of the reserves. Unlike the US reserves, the Israeli reserves make up the bulk of the Israeli armed forces. Most reserve infantry units are active one month out of each year -- spending half that time training, the other half actively engaged in the defense of Israel. My unit is regularly called up for short stints throughout the year -- one week here, a few days there -- and when all the days are tallied up, we usually end up serving well over two months each year.

Over the next seven years, I continued my studies at Hebrew University, in Jerusalem, where I worked on an MBA before realizing that I really wanted a master's in English literature. While at school, I worked as a bodyguard, a screenwriter for documentary films, and a marketing executive for a high-tech start-up. Every few weeks, I'd have to tell my employer I'd be gone for a few days or request an extension on a paper or exam. Everyone, including myself, thought this perfectly normal. One day you're sitting in front of your desk at work, the next you're off trying to stop terrorist infiltration. Five days later you're back at your desk playing catch-up. Although members of my team are called up more often than most, this is the way of life for many Israeli men, and it lasts through middle age.

About two years ago, I moved back to the United States to be closer to my family. I retained my post in the reserves. Several weeks ago, I received notice that my unit was being called up for reserve duty. At that time, Operation Defensive Shield, a campaign to end the almost daily terror attacks on Israeli citizens by suicide bombers, was in full swing.

IF YOU HAD TOLD me two years ago that Ariel Sharon would become Israel's prime minister, I would have laughed. If you had told me that an overwhelming majority of Israelis -- from the left and the right -- would support him enthusiastically, I'd have laughed and pointed a mocking finger at you. If you had told me that I'd be one of his supporters, I'd have stopped laughing and said, "That isn't funny." My newfound support for Sharon isn't funny, and it illustrates the extent to which Palestinian Authority chairman Yasser Arafat has lost credibility with the Israeli people.

When I left Israel, negotiations were under way between Arafat and former prime minister Ehud Barak, guided by former president Clinton at Camp David, and peace seemed like a done deal. Millions of Israelis, myself included, were euphoric. We believed that the Arab world finally was going to embrace Israel and that a new Middle East, where peaceful relations prevailed among neighbors, would give birth to a socio-economic marvel to rival the European Union.

As it turns out, it's true that Camp David marked a watershed moment in Israeli-Palestinian relations, but not because a highly anticipated historic agreement resulted. Rather, it was a turning point because Arafat rejected Israel's offer, and in so doing, demonstrated that he did not want true reconciliation with the Israeli people.

At Camp David, Barak put all his cards on the table. Even liberal Israelis like me balked at his offer: Barak accepted the Palestinians' maximalist territorial positions, offering 97 percent of the West Bank and Gaza, plus three percent of undisputed Israeli territory in exchange for outstanding land demanded by the Palestinians. He also offered the Palestinians control of East Jerusalem. But we all thought, "If that is the price for peace, we'll gladly pay it." When Arafat insisted that Israel also allow the repatriation of millions of Palestinians within Israel's recognized borders, however, it became clear that Arafat did not accept the Jewish people's legitimate claim to the land of Israel. It's important to understand that Arafat didn't demand that every Palestinian refugee be allowed to live within the borders of the proposed Palestinian state. He didn't want those millions to join him in building a nation within the borders of his new country. Rather, he wanted to force Israel to accept a number of Palestinian immigrants that equaled about half the Israeli population. Expecting Israel, a democratic nation, to absorb the influx of millions of Palestinian immigrants, all of whom are hostile to the country's Jewish character, indicates Arafat's clear desire to remake Israel in his people's image.

After Camp David, people like me -- educated liberals who believe the Palestinians deserve a state of their own -- understood that we needed to take Arafat and the Palestinian leadership at their word when they called for the destruction of Israel in Arabic after smiling nicely for the cameras and mouthing platitudes in English. Viewing Barak's offer as Israeli capitulation to the violence that preceded Camp David, Arafat must have figured that increased violence would lead to even more concessions. He was wrong, because people like me changed our minds. An overwhelming majority backed former prime minister Yitzhak Rabin's decision to arm 50,000 Palestinians with automatic weapons as part of the Oslo accords that required the Palestinians to police the areas under their control. And most of us were even willing to give the Palestinian Authority the benefit of the doubt every time Hamas or Islamic Jihad blew up a bus. But after Camp David, we all realized that right-wing politics aren't always wrong. People like me concluded that if the Palestinian leadership preferred a strategy of terror to extract further political concessions, then Israel was going to have to find ways to endure the attacks while summoning the power to neutralize terrorists wherever they hide.

I still want to see the establishment of a Palestinian state, and I am still willing to exchange territory for peace. But I no longer believe that the Palestinian Authority, under the leadership of Yasser Arafat, is interested in peaceful relations with Israel. As a result, I've come to the hard conclusion that Israel must focus on protecting its citizenry. And I am hardly alone. When the military reserves were called up to enter the West Bank in Operation Defensive Shield, the Israeli public backed the mission overwhelmingly. I certainly question some decisions Sharon made regarding Lebanon 20 years ago. However, it is important to note that despite Palestinian portrayals of him as a warmonger, this is the same man who made sure the Jordanians continue to receive millions of cubic liters of precious water from Israel every year as part of a peace deal he helped broker. Sharon is also the man who negotiated wide-ranging Israeli concessions at the Wye Plantation in 1998. Even now, in the heat of battle, the Likud Party's recent decision to reject the idea of a Palestinian state was passed in spite of Sharon's best efforts. Far from a being warmonger, Sharon has shown willingness to negotiate and has committed his government to a policy that includes establishing a Palestinian state.

Because my people have had to endure an increasing number of craven attacks that have been organized, directed, financially supported, and openly praised by the Palestinian leadership, I am only too happy to go when my team is called up for military service. I trust the decision made by the Israeli government, under the leadership of Ariel Sharon, to attack the Palestinian terrorist infrastructure. I don't believe there is a military solution to the larger Israeli-Palestinian conflict, but I know that every terrorist stopped in the West Bank will save lives in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.

April 8, 2002

Boarding Swissair Flight 257, I'm feeling anything but neutral. During this 11-hour flight, I'm not thinking about politics. I'm remembering Jerusalem, the city I have called home most of my adult life. When I left, it was a boisterous, thriving, cosmopolitan city teeming with students, travelers, and young Israelis who start the evening at 11 p.m. and stay out until 4 a.m. -- and that's on a weekday. I know from news reports and conversations with friends that Jerusalem has changed more than any city in the country. I'm very anxious, not because I'm worried about my personal safety, but because I know that what I am about to see in Jerusalem will make me feel guilty for not having been there to share my people's pain, and I'll be sad to see the community I love now suffering a form of group depression.

My adoptive mother, Nili, picks me up at the airport in Tel Aviv. A nation of immigrants, many of whom arrived without family of any kind, Israel has forged a wonderful tradition: established families regularly adopt new immigrants after they arrive in the country. It occurs naturally and informally, but Israeli culture takes it very seriously. Nili and her family adopted me over 12 years ago. It wasn't a formal adoption; they just decided to make sure I had a place where I could enjoy a home-cooked meal, a reliable support system, and friends who cared about my happiness and health. They are the only family I have in Israel, and even though I'm neither son nor brother, they all take care of me, worry about me, and make fun of me as if we were all raised in the same home together.

Nili, who once made a valiant attempt to teach me Hebrew, has a hair appointment with a trendy stylist. When we arrive, there is an armed guard at the entrance. Two years ago, guards would check bags at the entrances of malls, government buildings, and movie theaters. Now a Tel Aviv hairdresser feels the need for extra protection -- not a good sign.

By the time we make our way back to Jerusalem, it's 5 p.m. The highway is packed with cars heading home from work. It feels like business as usual, but I do notice that the cafés, which would normally be packed with customers at this hour, are almost all empty. And this is Tel Aviv, a city that has suffered few attacks. If Tel Aviv feels empty, I don't even want to think about Jerusalem.

April 9, 2002

During dinner, my cell phone rings. It's my commander. He tells me where to meet my team tomorrow. After watching these terrorist attacks on CNN for over a year, I'm sick of being a bystander. I look forward to doing my part.

April 10, 2002

I've packed socks, boxers, a T-shirt, and a toothbrush in my computer bag, and I'm ready to go. Before I leave, I meet a good friend for an early breakfast. I had hoped to spend endless hours hanging out with her, but there isn't time for that now. We've got about an hour. We don't meet downtown, because she feels that eating on Ben Yehuda Street is now an invitation for trouble. Once, people selected cafés based on the quality of the food and the kind of clientele they attracted, but now it's all about the quality of the security and whether it might attract the attention of a suicide bomber.

Amy and I plan to meet on Emek Raf'i'im Street. Emek Raf'i'im means "Valley of the Ghosts." Taking a cab, I pass a line of once-bustling cafés, and in spite of the bright sun it looks like a ghost town. When I arrive at Café Aroma, an armed guard checks me out. I tell him why my computer bag is filled with socks, so he pats me on the back and tells me to be careful. Smiling back, I say, "You too" -- thinking his job is probably more dangerous than the one I'll undertake for the military.

Walking in, wearing a jacket that makes me look bulkier than usual and carrying a well-packed knapsack slung over my shoulders, I could swear that everyone is looking me over. They aren't in awe of my rugged good looks or any fashion statement I'm failing to make. They are trying to figure out if I'm going to kill them. I remember the days when I'd enter a café and my only concern was that someone would notice that I wore the same shirt two days before. Amy is already there. We hug, we order, and the first thing she says as we sit down next to the window is, "Glass. I'm glad this place is covered in glass." Recognizing that flying glass will cause extra damage if a suicide bomber gets past security, she uses sarcasm to acknowledge her fears. I smile and ask her if she likes her sandwich.

Amy has been a professional tour guide for about eight years. It's only April, but the tourist industry has already written off the rest of the year. Most of her colleagues have been out of work, in what was once a lucrative profession, for over a year. Luckily, Amy found a desk job developing educational programs. She has always been left-of-center politically, but unlike most people, the upsurge in violence hasn't changed her views all that much. She's not convinced that Operation Defensive Shield will get us anywhere. Mostly she's worried about her friends in the army and wishes everyone would just grow up. When I leave, she tells me, "Don't do anything stupid."

At the central bus station, I buy a paper. As if things aren't bad enough, I read that CNN is looking to rent a rooftop in Tel Aviv in order to film all the SCUD missiles everyone expects Israel to endure when the United States attacks Iraq this fall. I roll my eyes and tell myself, "First things first." Before I know it, I'm back in the army. I'm in uniform, with the equipment I'll need for the field. I'm also given weapons. Usually I hope I won't have to use them, but I can't say that's true this time. When I arrive, there are lots of pats on the back. My teammates are shaking their heads, saying, "You're crazy. You should have stayed in America." Looking at the hours of tedious preparation ahead, I think they're right.

April 17, 2002

We've completed the first part of our mission. As much as I'd like to discuss what we did, our actions are still considered secret. If you're annoyed by that, just think how my family and friends feel. All I can say is that I'm sure that our activities saved the lives of many people on both sides of the conflict. There is a follow-up job on the books, but we've earned 48 hours' leave.

Yesterday was Israel's Memorial Day. I was glad to be in uniform. I think it was the best way to honor the memory of those who gave their lives protecting this country. Last night, my team celebrated as a group by lighting candles, reciting poetry, and singing songs. On our own, in quiet solitude, many of us think about the friends we've lost over the years.

Today, I'm traveling to Eilat with my best buddy, Uri, and his pregnant wife, Tali. Uri, a cadet in the Foreign Service who has nearly finished his doctorate in Middle Eastern studies, is also serving in the reserves. We both have time off for good behavior, and we plan to make the most of it. On the way, there is little talk about the army or the political situation. Mostly, we reminisce about a road trip we took to the American Southwest several years ago. He remembers a daylong water hike in Zion National Park, and I remember a tremendous gal I met briefly in Santa Fe.

By the time we check into our rooms, it's nearly midnight. In Israel, that's considered the optimal time to go out, since people play until dawn. I'm especially curious to see how Eilat, a remote southern city built for those who love the sun and thrive on decadent behavior, has weathered the storm. Eilat has long been a playpen for both Israelis and Europeans. Set on the gorgeous waters of the Red Sea far from all the politics up north, it has always served as a sanctuary for those seeking escape. I am reminded of Key West. The city usually has a cosmopolitan feel, with all the Scandinavians, Germans, Brits, and Americans who come to swim, scuba, drink, hike, and dance. Many of the hotels appear packed and lots of people are walking about, eating in restaurants and sitting in pubs. But we don't see a single foreign tourist. Eilat hasn't been the target of a terrorist attack, but obviously the situation has caused tourists to look to other warm ports for relaxation by the beach. Too bad. I'm partial to Scandinavians.

We end up at a place called the Monkey Bar. At the entrance are wooden carvings of three monkeys that bear no resemblance to Curious George. They are my old friends See-No-Evil, Hear-No-Evil, and Speak-No-Evil. Of all the pubs on the seemingly endless boardwalk, this is the only one filled with people. Considering the totems outside, it seems appropriate. The customers range in age from 18 to 55, and everyone seems to be having a good time. In general, Israelis aren't big drinkers. They love to hang out in pubs, talking with friends and dancing until dawn, but they are more likely to drink plain orange juice than a screwdriver. The band features local bad boys and a British good girl playing the kind of mix that keeps Israelis on the dance floor. In Israel, ABBA, house, Billy Joel, Madonna, and trance live together in harmony. We have lots of fun.

The next day, the fatigue from all that walking in army boots and sleep deprivation takes its revenge. I nod off for 10 hours; usually I sleep five. I'm hopeful that the success of our operation will enable us to finish up in a matter of days, not weeks. After I wake up, we spend the rest of our time in Eilat sitting in the sun. I lose at backgammon, Uri loses at cards, and Tali wins a massage. Everyone is happy. Too soon, it seems, we have to return to Jerusalem. We need to get back to the army early the next day.

April 19, 2002

In the morning, we put on our uniforms and boots, feel our knapsacks press against our backs, and sling our weapons over our shoulders. Uri kisses Tali goodbye and we are off. He and I part at the central bus station. We give each other a hug and promise to be in touch via cell phone.

I buy a paper and am upset by news that the Europeans have eagerly embraced the unfounded Palestinian claim that there was a massacre in Jenin. The facts speak for themselves. Only 95 out of more than 1000 homes were destroyed. About 50 Palestinians were killed in what even they characterize as fierce fighting. But the Palestinians' accusation doesn't surprise me. They have continuously lied to their own people in order to incite violence against Israel. And I'm never surprised when they employ lies and exaggeration to provoke the Arab states, the Europeans, and the Americans into pressuring Israel. I reserve my anger for the international media and the European government officials who accept patent lies at face value. As a matter of course, the Palestinians make obscene accusations. Then, as a matter of course, the world press, European government officials, and the UN are all too happy to treat every unverified claim as if it were true.

When Israelis hear all the hoopla about Jenin, mostly coming from Europe and the Arab world, they shake their heads in frustration. Israelis figure that Europeans blame Israel for bad behavior because they want to create a sense of equivalence that will alleviate the guilt they feel about European atrocities committed during World War II. Most Israelis think that European leaders are hostage to Arab oil and money or are possessed by the residual anti-Semitism that has reared its ugly head over the last few weeks. Whatever the reason, the Europeans' eagerness to blame Israel is so knee-jerk that few Israelis take their comments seriously. When it comes down to it, Israelis care only what America thinks. That's due, in part, to American military, economic, and political aid, but the reasons run much deeper than that. Israelis feel a real bond with America. Not only are both countries thriving democracies, but both nations were created by immigrants who wanted to make new lives for themselves, free of persecution. As a result, both countries share common challenges, such as assimilating newcomers, and common strengths, such as building dynamic cultures that foster social mobility under conditions of complete political freedom. As with our personal lives, we really care only what our friends think. For this reason, when President Bush says he understands Israel's need to combat terrorism, many Israelis listen and are grateful.

April 24, 2002

I hear the first rumble of a happy rumor: "We're going home!" I'm glad that our efforts have paid off and that the quiet the country has felt over the last couple of weeks seems to be holding. Before I know it, we are all hugging each other goodbye, saying how much we hope we won't be seeing each other in green again anytime soon. If the terror continues unabated after the military leaves the Palestinian cities, we will probably have to return. But for now, I look forward to many hours in a real bed and several good meals. I've been living on cucumbers and vacuum-packed salami for the past couple of weeks, and I'm aching for a juicy steak.

APRIL 25, 2002

Staying again with my friend Uri and his wife Tali, I'm all about sleeping. When I arise, I coerce them to join me at one of my old haunts, a restaurant-bar called the Shanty. It has some of the best food in Jerusalem, it's patronized by some of the city's best and brightest, and its bar is stocked with a wide variety of Belgium beers. The Shanty, like so many other places, has an armed guard searching everyone who enters. I am surprised to see that the place is packed. We ask the waitress if the spot has remained busy in spite of the situation, and she tells us that even though it has fared pretty well all along, there has been a decided increase in customers since Operation Defensive Shield began. Going out, it's obvious that more people are venturing forth and feeling safe. For the most part, they don't have any illusions about their vulnerability, but they believe that the military neutralized many of those who threatened to kill Israeli civilians. Most think that posting the military on the outskirts of Palestinian cities greatly diminishes the Palestinians' capacity to strike. This conviction rings true when you consider that terrorist attacks have been attempted almost daily since the pullout. Luckily, almost all of them have been thwarted. Now in closer proximity to the terrorists, the military is better able to gather intelligence and create a buffer between Palestinian terrorists and Israeli civilians. Knowing that, people feel they can have a couple of drinks and enjoy a good meal without wondering if they are risking their lives. It feels good to know that I was a part of making that possible.

NOW THAT I'm back in the states, I am more confident than ever that the Israeli people will continue to thrive. In spite of all the violence, they are living full and productive lives entirely focused on the important things: finding and keeping a good job, great friends, and a loving partner. It will take time before Israelis feel completely comfortable going out, but they will resist Palestinian attempts to inflict the worst kind of damage. They will resist by enjoying the theater, meeting at cafés, and living the dream Jews have held dear for more than two thousand years: creating a vibrant Jewish nation in our ancient homeland, Israel. The Palestinians must accept that Israelis love their country and will fight, if necessary with bullets, to live in peace. The Palestinians' failure to understand this has led to two more years of conflict and death. All they have gained is further hardship for both peoples, and what they have lost is the trust of Israelis like me who hoped for the best and experienced the worst. If the Palestinian leadership does not change its fundamental understanding of Israel's place in the Middle East, then we can, unfortunately, expect further violence. The Palestinians will continue to attack, and Israel will continue to defend. And all that violence will be for nothing, because in the end, sooner or later, we'll find ourselves exactly where we could have been at Camp David two years ago.

Adam Harmon is senior copywriter for a large high-tech firm. He is currently working on a thriller based on his experiences as an Israeli Special Forces operator. He can be reached at adamdharmon@hotmail.com.

Issue Date: May 24 - 30, 2002