Fifteen minutes in a bomb-shelter does not an Israeli make, any more than fifteen minutes of dancing makes you a ballerina (otherwise, I’d be in Batsheva). But having had a taste, what mostly strikes me is the usefulness of detachment: the ways in fear and threat sap your ability to reason critically.

In part, that’s just because helplessness breeds false knowledge. We all suddenly become, as Ami Kaufman says, “ballistic experts,” speculating about which buildings will be hit first—because it’s unacceptably frightening to admit you don’t know. We notice the extra green uniforms on the bus to Jerusalem, and we wonder if it’s the normal pre-Shabbat surge, or if this signals reserves being called up. We listen to Galei Tzahal (army radio), because even though they’re independent of the army’s combat wing, as an Israeli teacher said to me, “well, you know”—maybe they get leaked extra tidbits. The contexts that actually cause rockets to fall and bombs to drop (politics in Israel, Gaza, the West Bank, and Egypt; a mishmash of armies, terrorists, and “security forces”) are so enormous they dwarf the individual. Reasserting your own knowledge—that you can draw conclusions from what you see and hear, that you have some agency—probably keeps you sane. …

I am thinking now of the horrible and ubiquitous Kadima billboard ad I saw Thursday morning, featuring the line, “Bibi will entangle us” and a brilliant red mushroom cloud. Now, I agree that Bibi’s Iran policy is foolish and dangerous, and that there’s what to be terrified of, and still—the mind reels at the chutzpah. On a day when little girls (and callow Americans) are terrified by rockets, it’s worth noting that there are politicians waiting to exploit that terror. It’s worth thinking about how negotiating their own physical and psychological safeties can make it harder for Israelis to see the more impersonal, more cynical political stories behind the sirens. It’s worth remembering that “living in it” isn’t always the best preparation for “making sense of it,” and that American Jews’ safety, comfort, and detachment doesn’t disqualify their analyses: sometimes, it helps us see more clearly.

Sarah Topol takes a somewhat more reportorial approach in “The Gaza Prison,” giving us the perspective of two young people in Gaza.  One, a young man who studied airport management in a territory with no airport, despairs of ever leaving Gaza, even though he dreams of meeting “flawless” Spanish women.  The other, a young woman, travels frequently to Egypt and relishes her experiences.  Wonder what the difference is between the two?

The two men blame both Israeli and Hamas for the deteriorating state of life in Gaza. Their families are Fatah supporters, the rival Palestinian faction that controls the West Bank, a place they are also barred from visiting. …

Yazouri is against normalization of relations with Israel. She is a strong advocate of what she calls the armed resistance movement. She says she has no problem with Israeli citizens, but doesn’t acknowledge their government or state.

People can travel out of Gaza, as long as they get a visa from the country they wish to visit, and get permission from Egypt and Hamas.  Although Topol doesn’t mention it, it sounds as if travel is accessible as long as the traveler supports Hamas and not Fatah.  That’s one way of forcing people to support the cause of those who hold power, and it calls into question just who is the jailer in the Gaza prison.

That doesn’t mean that the dangers of producing a generation of despair aren’t real, however:

Instead, Manshawi and Farra do the kinds of things most single young men do: they watch TV, they hang out with friends, and they crack jokes constantly. Though life has lately improved somewhat for the middle class in Gaza—there are now functioning coffee shops and small shopping malls—living in the strip is living in a different kind of prison, the kind that jails the mind.