Yes, I was there. My photos of today's suicide bombing in Tel Aviv are here. A description of the day's events and some photos are below. I don't usually like to write raw reportage, but it takes a rather unique mind to step back and offer insightful observations on the same day of a bombing, while the adrenalin is still flowing and the facts are still coming in. And I don't have that kind of mind. So...
Raw reportage.
Noorster and I were sitting outdoors at a cafe on Yehuda Halevy Street, just two minutes' walk from my apartment, when we heard the explosion. By coincidence, I happened to know all the people sitting at the tables near us. In fact, we'd worked together a couple of years ago, in a nearby office tower. We all remembered the time we'd been sitting at our desks on the 26th floor when there was a bombing just below our building, and there was a distinct sense of deja vu as we looked at each other and chorused, "Pigua?" (terror attack?).
Today's explosion was so loud and so strong that we thought it was just down the street. But it turned out to be at the old central bus station, a seedy area of cheap shops and food stands about 15 minutes' walk away. It's a place where poor people, junkies and foreign workers live. Incredibly, the bomber hit the exact same shawarma stand that another suicide bomber had exploded himself in just three months ago. That time, no one was killed. This time the bomb was a lot bigger - and it was packed with long nails.
The suicide bomber, 16 year-old Sami Salim Hamad, from the village of Qabatya, near Nablus.
Two years have passed since suicide bombings stopped being a near-daily occurence, but as far as our reactions were concerned - well, we fell right back into routine: don't get too excited, maybe it was just a gas explosion; oops, there are the sirens; how many?; a lot, must be a pigua; start making phone calls ("did you hear? Are you near a television?" How many dead?"); and then go on with what you're doing. Nobody ran away, nobody yelled, nobody even looked worried or excited.
But I figured I'd better get over there, just in case one of the journalists I work for needed some on the scene reporting.
The problem was, I didn't know exactly where the bombing was - just the general direction: "thataway."
So I called Rinat, knowing she'd be able to get all the details from the news desk at Ynet, where she works. I caught her at the hairdresser's waiting to have her hair cut. She hadn't yet heard about any bombing, but said she'd check and get right back to me. If it was a bombing, she'd have to run over there to cover the story for Brazilian television.
The first person to call me was actually my friend Samer, who lives in Ramallah and works for a major North American television news station.
Samer
"Lisa," he said. "There was an explosion in Tel Aviv. Did you hear?"
Yes, I'm waiting for details, I answered. I'll get right back to you.
Then I laughingly told Noorster that the Palestinian journalists have better information about what goes on in Israel than I do. My friends at the next table were amazed. How do they find out so fast? they asked. C'mon, I answered, they have access to the same beeper services that we do. What did you think?
Rinat called back and yes, it was a major pigua. She picked me up in a taxi, and we drove over to the scene.
Rinat (red shirt) with Brazilian TV
By then, 10 minutes after the explosion, the wounded had already been evacuated to the hospitals. There was police tape around the immediate area of the bombing, and the place was packed with jostling reporters, cameramen and photojournalists. And the morbidly curious, of course. As usual, we all kept arguing with the border police, soldiers and policeman who wanted to keep us away from the site while we wanted to get closer to take photographs and interview the rescue workers. It's a small country and there are a lot of bombings, so the reporters and the cops know each other. When one photojournalist tried to duck under the police tape a border policeman grabbed his upper arm and shoved him back, saying, "Nir, you do this every damned time! Get the hell back! Now!"
And as usual, reporters and photographers greeted each other with openings that might have sounded bizarre to others - "Hey, what's up? Haven't seen you since Sharon's stroke!"
I took photos and talked to eyewitnesses. One man told me he'd seen the bombing happen right in front of his eyes, but he couldn't bear to go near the wounded. "I felt so bad," he said. "But I just couldn't stand it. There were body parts and blood and screaming people and it was just horrible. I didn't think I could do anything for them. I ran away."
Others were in shock. One woman collapsed on the ground and began retching uncontrollably. Another woman told me that there had been long nails in the bomb and they flew everywhere. A man who had come to look for a relative found out that he was dead and began to cry on the shoulder of a policeman.
As I stood taking pictures of the forensic investigators in their white coveralls collecting evidence, I saw rescue workers pull a lifeless body out from under the debris of the shawarma shop and heave it onto a stretcher.
Then the chief of police arrived to give the standard post-attack press conference, so we all crowded around - with me and Rinat just behind his right shoulder. Suddenly my mobile phone, set on silent and stuck in my back pocket, vibrated. I pulled it out and saw a text message from Diana: "You're on Channel 2. You look very serious. xoxo." I looked into the Channel 2 camera and smiled slightly for Diana. Later we spoke on the phone and she said her twin girls had insisted that I was smiling at them, but she hadn't been sure. I was, I was, I told her.
Moshe Karadi, Chief of Police
Rinat (far left) and me - live, from your local suicide bombing, as seen on Channel 2
I took some more photos from just behind a police barrier. A lot of morbid people were crowded around, looking on curiously. Just behind me were two small boys - about 9 years old, I guess - speaking Arabic to one another. The man standing next to me, a rough looking character, turned around, looked at them fiercely and said aggressively, "Are you Arabs?!" The boys looked at him fearfully and shook their heads negatively. I looked at the man and said, "You know what? Shut your mouth." Later, when I got home, I turned on the television to watch the news and discovered that one of the wounded was, in fact, an Arab. His name is Rami Biara.
Rami Biara
Between calls from the BBC (guess who's gonna be on the radio again tonight?), calls from Samer and a couple of other Palestinian reporters in the West Bank, and calls from correspondents I work with, I uploaded my photos and started to write this post.
Then Allison called from Eilat, where she's on vacation with her family. "Hey," she said breezily. "I'm in La La Land down here. What's going in the real world?" I actually thought she was joking. But she wasn't. Read about her take on our conversation here.
As for all the politicians' bla bla, well I really have nothing to say. Islamic Jihad took responsibility. Hamas refused to condemn the bombing (such a surprise!). Saeb Erakat, the Palestinian Authority spokesman, condemned the bombing in the name of PA President Mahmoud Abbas (also a huge surprise!). Ehud Olmert said there would be an Israeli response. (I'm shocked. Not.)
And so it goes on. Nine dead, 68 wounded. And it won't be the last bombing, of course.
For a sober and intelligent take on today's bombing, I strongly suggest reading this post by Arash, an Iranian who is currently working on his doctorate at the University of Manitoba in Canada.
