by Adam LeBor
This stream of hate has an effect. Jaffa’s Arabs have become angrier and more confrontational, says Khamis Abulafia. ‘Even the children are asking, where is the Arab world, where are the supporters of peace? These questions were not asked two or three years ago. When the planes crashed into the twin towers, people here were shocked, they were very upset about Bin Laden. Now, they still don’t support what happened, but they start to say they understand what Bin Laden did. They do not distinguish between Bush and the Israeli government – for them they are one body.’ Suad Andraus has also noticed the growing Islamisation. ‘I have never seen so many women and young girls, even school girls, wearing the hejab [Muslim headscarf] as now. The Muslims and the Christians in Jaffa are friendly, there are no conflicts. But they don’t mix much except in school or business, or when there are important social and political issues relating to the Arab community.’
For Jewish community leaders, the growing Islamisation is profoundly unsettling. Sami Albo claims the call to prayer in the nearby mosque is getting louder and louder, as a political statement. ‘For over ten years we have been asking them to reduce the volume. In the evening we like to sit on our terrace. But you cannot rest, all you hear is “Allah howa Akbar” [God is the most great]. Every year we have the day of remembrance for the Holocaust, with a siren at 11 a.m., then two minutes’ silence. This year they started to recite the Koran through the siren and afterwards, because a religious leader had died. They couldn’t wait half an hour. We were shocked. Is this the kind of relationship of someone who wants peace? It is louder than in Ramallah. I am not saying don’t do it, just please turn down the volume.’
There is yet another ingredient in this simmering and volatile mix: the rise in violent crime across Jaffa, from petty robberies to shoot-outs between drug mafias. Half of Jaffa’s Arab population is under eighteen years old. Few have jobs, and their problems begin at an early age. Jaffa’s Arab kindergartens and schools are underfunded, with poor facilities in comparison with their Hebrew equivalents. Anxious Arab mothers send their children to Hebrew-language schools, but many youngsters drop out because they are not fluent in the language, further increasing their sense of alienation. Many Arab teenagers leave school without being able to read or write properly, in either Arabic or Hebrew. With few options for work or further education, young males are easily drawn into the lucrative drug trade.
‘Jaffa is a high-crime area, with many problems and poor socioeconomic conditions. There are many Jews who don’t feel safe here. But they don’t get robbed because they are Jews, but because they have more money,’ says Yaron Kaldes, Jaffa’s chief of detectives and criminal intelligence, in his office at the Ottoman kishle. Jaffa’s location makes it a central node of Israel’s drugs trade. Certain side streets in Ajami are known as drug purchase sites. Groups of young Arab men drive up and down in dilapidated Subaru cars, blaring out Arabic music. The vehicle is dubbed the ‘Subaru Crime’ model by the police: the car is worth £500, the stereo several times more. When buyers slowly progress up the narrow alleys, heavy-set men in mirror sunglasses track their progress. The buyer then leaves the car, and enters a house where the deal is done. Heroin, hashish, marijuana and cocaine are easy to obtain – as simple as ordering a pizza. Regular customers do not even need to leave home, explains Yaron. Like pizzas, the drugs can be ordered for home delivery. ‘You call a dealer and he will deliver what you need by messenger.’
Jaffa is bedevilled by feuds and vendettas between three Arab criminal families, harking back to a dispute over a divorce and property which began in 1987. It has claimed the lives of between twenty-five and thirty people, and many shops are forced to pay protection money, as much as 15,000 or 20,000 shekels (£2,500 to £3,300) a month. When one owner came to the police for help, Yaron sent in an undercover officer for six months. Eventually the racket was broken up, but the owner had to have police protection for some time afterwards. Like police officers all over the world, Yaron says he is understaffed and underresourced. But he has an extra drain on his resources. ‘If I get a call that two bombers are on their way to Tel Aviv, I have to send officers there. That leaves me without enough manpower for everyday operations.’
There is often a ‘national aspect’ to crime, says Yaron. ‘When someone is killed in Gaza or Nablus, sometimes they have family in Jaffa. There are terrorist sympathisers here. Sometimes the Shin Bet takes them away. I see that many Arabs hate me if I arrest them. They look at me with real hatred. They say to me, “If I was not an Arab, you would not be doing this to me.” It’s not pleasant. But I have many friends among the Muslim Arabs, and they know that I treat them the same as Jews.’ Respect and the principle of ‘saving face’ are crucial when arresting an Arab man, says Yaron. ‘The criminal gangs here are concerned about money and respect. For the Arabs, respect is very important. They have special customs, and if you don’t know them it is very difficult to deal with them. It is very important how you act with a suspect, especially if he is with his family, his wife and children, or his friends. You must be polite. If you need to search him you must take him outside. I tell young officers, if you need to search a drug dealer, show full respect to the family. But the criminals know this, sometimes they hide the drugs with their wives, because we are reluctant to search women.’
Jews in Jaffa fear that the police cannot control crime. When the Israeli artist Gili Mitchel told a local youth to leave his car alone, he was stabbed to death. Sami Albo’s son was robbed at knife-point by two Arab youths who stole his watch and his mobile telephone. ‘People are frightened,’ says Sami. ‘If you find the courage to say something, you can get killed. One of my neighbours saw someone breaking into her car. She called the police. They just told her to come in and make a report. But she is frightened she will be attacked if she does.’ In fact crime is probably the only area in Israeli society where the Arab-Israeli divide is no obstacle, says Yaron Kaldes. ‘We are seeing increasing cooperation between Jewish and Arab criminals. If there was cooperation like that in the peace process, we would have peace by now.’ Yet despite Jaffa’s problems, after seventeen years Yaron still loves working there. Jaffa’s edgy ethnic mix, the beauty of its surrounds and its perpetual challenge are a seductive combination. ‘We have plenty of action, all kinds of crime, the best restaurants and the sea. I like the Arabs and their way of life. It’s not north Tel Aviv, but it’s not the Bronx either.’
Nightlife in Tel Aviv starts late and goes on until dawn. At 1 a.m. on 30 April 2003, Mike’s Place was crowded with revellers, spilling out onto the beach promenade, enjoying the sea breeze. Over-looking the Charles Clore Memorial Park that covers the remains of Manshiyyeh, Mike’s Place was a fixture of Tel Aviv nightlife. That night a British Muslim called Asif Mohammed Hanif detonated his nail bomb by the entrance, killing himself and three others, and wounding dozens more. The death toll would have been far higher but the courageous security guard Avi Tabib blocked Hanif’s path. Like the September 11 hijackers, Hanif and his accomplice, Omar Khan Sharif, came from comfortable, middle-class backgrounds, in their case in Britain. They had not grown up in the slums of Gaza or Jenin, been beaten by Israeli soldiers or seen their homes demolished. Sharif did not complete his mission, and mystery surrounds his death: his body was washed up on the Tel Aviv shore several days later.
It is impossible to overstate the impact of suicide bombings on Israeli public opinion. If the intention of Islamic radicals is to sabotage the peace process and smash any consensus for compromise, they have succeeded. Suicide bombings have pulled Israeli public opinion substantially to the right, dramatically increased support for the fence that cuts off the West Bank, and poisoned communal relations inside Israel for many years. In March 2002 alone there were nine suicide bombings, almost one every three days, killing seventy-eight people and injuring hundreds. Over the years, the bombers have honed their technique, to cause maximum death and injury, say security sources. Bombers pack their explosives with nails and jagged shards of metal,
and survivors often need repeated operations to remove dozens, sometimes hundreds of pieces of shrapnel, from their bodies. Shrapnel embedded very deep inside tissue is sometimes left, as it is too dangerous to extract. Once the bomb goes off, medical staff fall into a well-honed routine. Ambulances and paramedics rush to the scene to provide immediate first aid, coordinating with the local hospitals who prepare their emergency rooms and operating theatres.
‘Suicide bombers are a new kind of weapon,’ explains Dr Moris Topaz, who has treated many victims. ‘They are guided human missiles, bringing a huge amount of explosives to a specific target. They cause battlefield injuries, but in a civilian context. Most soldiers with these injuries would not survive, because of the distance to the hospital. But our medical services are very efficient, we do the minimum needed on the scene and rush the victims to hospital. We can have four teams within minutes working simultaneously in the operating room on a single patient,’ he says, with a kind of weary pride in his voice. The general surgeon assesses the extent of the trauma and deals with chest and abdominal wounds; the orthopaedic surgeon focuses on limb and spinal injuries; the vascular surgeon closes the major blood vessels that are often severed, while the plastic surgeon deals with burns and soft tissue damage.
The human missile sometimes also carries a chemical and biological payload, says Dr Topaz. ‘When the explosives detonate the head and upper torso remain in one piece, but the rest of the body is blown apart. The perpetrator’s body fluids penetrate anyone nearby. This is exacerbated because the bombers usually choose an enclosed space, such as a bus or inside a building, so the blast is contained. In one case we removed a piece of the perpetrator’s bone from a victim’s limb. In another we found a piece of bone in a victim’s neck. Tests showed it contained Hepatitis B, so the victim had to be vaccinated.’ Dr Topaz treated many of the victims of the March 2002 attacks. The rows of casualties are seared onto his memory. ‘Kids, old people with their holiday clothes on, all appeared suddenly, dozens of them, just lying there on stretchers, waiting for help.’
Bars, hotels, shops and nightclubs are all protected by armed security guards, who check everyone going inside. But the seafront is open and crowded, providing good cover for would-be terrorists. On 1 June 2001 twenty-one were killed and a hundred and twenty wounded by a suicide bomb outside the Dolphinarium nightclub, further up the coast from Mike’s Place. Two days later a furious crowd of Israeli demonstrators attacked the Hasan Bey Mosque, and threw stones at the Abulafia bakery. Riot police were deployed to prevent the mob rampaging through Jaffa. The Dolphinarium bombing was carried out by Said al-Khotari. His father then appeared on Life is Sweet, a Jordanian television show, to explain how he pacified Said’s siblings after his death: ‘We said, he is a martyr, “Do not consider those who died for the sake of Allah dead, but alive and sustained by their God,” and we calmed the children. When they came from the television channel, the Abu Dhabi channel I think, or another channel, we told them: “We are willing to sacrifice our four children.” Then our smallest child said: “Why can’t I?!”’5
Israelis now take a stubborn pride in trying to live lives as normal as possible, says Dr Topaz. ‘No society can bear a situation where there is no basic security, where you cannot feel safe when you send your kid on a bus to school, or to the cinema. Suicide bombers are a constant threat: you don’t know where or when it will happen. It’s like something falling from the sky into the centre of Israel’s cities. But even after an attack, people still go out to cafés, to football matches. I think this is incredible.’ The stress and tension caused by suicide bombings are making many Israelis, both Arab and Jew, ill. Jaffa’s doctors report increases in heart-attacks, psychotic episodes, outbursts of crying, panic attacks and depression. Many patients cannot bear to get on a bus, and have developed a phobia about public transport. Domestic violence is also increasing as husbands turn their anger inward, against their wives.
Each time a bomb exploded, Khamis Abulafia despaired. Eventually he pulled his two sons out of school in Tel Aviv. The teachers were supportive, but life in the playground had become intolerable. Once again Khamis wrote an article for the newspaper Maariv, explaining that Islam was a religion of mercy, not wanton killing, with rules for waging war. ‘My heart bleeds when I see these bombings. It makes me very uncomfortable. I am part of the Palestinian people, and what is happening to them hurts my soul, but I do not accept this. It is not the right way. The Prophet Muhammad told his soldiers before they went into battle, do not harm pregnant women, elderly people, children, trees and animals. And if you take prisoners, deal with them humanely.’
There is no fence dividing Jaffa from Tel Aviv. But Jews and Arabs are instinctively turning inwards. Personal friendships are stretched, sometimes almost to breaking point, or are somehow restructured. Michal Meisler-Yehuda, daughter of the sculptor Frank Meisler, recounts how she was shopping in Jaffa together with her baby son when she bumped into her old friend Yosi. He invited her for a coffee. ‘We went to a place at the Arab end of Yefet Street, just as we had a hundred times before. For the first time, I did not feel safe. Not because of Yosi, but I was thinking, what if there is a drive-by shooting? We sat at the back, and I put the baby under the table. I realised that I do not have the right to put my baby in this kind of danger. Yosi had been shot at before.’ Nothing happened, and Michal passed a pleasant, if slightly nervous, twenty minutes. ‘Yosi is a nice man, whatever his business is. Since then I always say hallo when we meet, but I don’t go for coffee. For me the innocence is gone.’
Michal does not take part in the continuing Jewish boycott of Arab Jaffa, and she still shops there. But she is the exception among her peers. ‘To this day most of my Jewish friends do not buy from the Arab shops. Many of them won’t even drive down Yefet Street any more. Recently I was in a humous restaurant with a friend. We were the only Jews, everyone else spoke Arabic. I felt safe because I have known the owner for ever, and he came out of the kitchen to say hallo. I saw an Arab guy I know on another table, he shouted at me in Hebrew: “Michal, what are you doing eating here? Don’t you know Jaffa is Arab now?” He thought it was a joke, but it was a bad one.’
The Muslim community leader in Ofer Aharoni’s home was not joking when he gave his opinion about Ofer’s and his friends’ gentrification drive. Ofer’s group spent years restoring Rabbi Hanina Street, a small lane behind the flea market, where the fine old Ottoman buildings had been piled high with debris. They cleared away the rubble, often by hand, and forced off the drug dealers and prostitutes. They commissioned architects to painstakingly restore the houses and lobbied the municipality to spruce up the surrounds. A small part of Jaffa’s architectural heritage had been saved, but Ofer’s guest was not happy. ‘He told me that he would prefer that Jaffa would be home to junkies and whores, or that the city would be destroyed, rather than the Jews come and live here. He said that in my house. In a way I was glad that he said it. Now I know what he thinks. I don’t have any personal feelings against him, but there are many Muslims who think like that.’
In Jaffa’s zero-sum game of Arab-Jewish relations, even renovating a house was a political act. But like his father Yoram, Ofer believes in straight-talking. He is one of only two Jews in the street who hang out the Israeli flag on Independence Day. ‘The other families don’t want to “provoke” anything. I don’t want to sound anti-Semitic, but the Jews always have this “don’t make trouble” mentality. In my experience I think Arabs would rather talk to me than someone more left-wing, because I speak openly and frankly about what I think.’ Ofer’s home cost $20,000. It is now an airy and spacious apartment spread over three floors, worth perhaps $500,000, and he lives there with his wife Irit and two young children, Gidion and Avigil. Ofer was a pioneer, risking his savings to live in a place that most Israeli Jews could not wait to escape from. But money was not his main motivation. ‘I grew up in a small street in Tel Aviv, and we had a wonderful childhood. My dream was to make the same kind of place
for my kids here in Jaffa. I believe, really in my soul, that it is better to grow up in an area that is not homogenous. Here in Jaffa you have Jews, Arabs, Christians and Muslims. You have the Mediterranean culture, the Italian and French influences on the architecture. Everything is a big mix and I think that’s great.’
Despite the mixed welcome Ofer and the renovators received, Rabbi Hanina Street is an organic part of Jaffa. But Old Jaffa did not live up to the hopes of those who saved it from the demolition balls. This was partly due to its geography, and partly because of the inherent contradictions of trying to construct an artists’ quarter instead of letting one develop naturally. ‘Old Jaffa never did become an area blossoming with art,’ says Frank Meisler. ‘It’s nice to come to Jaffa, have lunch by the sea, experience a different kind of environment, but most gallery owners were in Tel Aviv and did not want to set up shop here. It’s out of the way, and there is no passing trade. It was a well-intentioned idea. But the consequences are that there is almost no new generation of children who will live in Jaffa.’ There are other problems, he explains. ‘I own a house in Jerusalem, in the Yemin Moshe quarter. The criteria for buying there was that the buyer had to be an intellectual, a man of the spirit. One neighbour owns hotels, another a chain of bookmakers in Britain. So these are intellectuals: it means anyone with money,’ he notes dryly. ‘But the beauty of such intellectuals is that they maintain their homes. My upstairs neighbour in Jaffa is an artist who cannot even pay his alimony and has been repeatedly sent to prison for that. And he certainly can’t retile his roof, which is the ceiling of my dressing room. For the last twenty-five years I have been paying for that while he sits and plays backgammon. So it’s no joy having Van Gogh as a neighbour. It’s nice to read a book about him, or admire his paintings in a gallery. But never have an artist next door.’
