Confident, Confident, Dry and Secure

Following the barbecue yesterday, I got a ride to Beit Shemesh where I was meeting up with an old friend at a concert. The concert was pretty lame—American-born bands like Schlock Rock and Shlomo Katz playing to an audience of mostly American olim and yeshiva students, a slice of Five Towns NCSY in Israel—but what struck me was all the security I see.

We leave Alon Shvut through a manned security gate, and we nod to the guards on our way out. On the road, we go through two army checkpoints and they give us a once-over to make sure we’re not Arab (in which case they’d ask some questions and maybe search the car if they think something is suspicious) and wave us on. A bridge in the road has a concrete wall on one side to prevent snipers on the hill opposite from taking potshots at passing cars. I get dropped off outside the venue (a stage set up in the park) and the armed guards look me over and search my backpack. I get a ride from the concert to Jerusalem, passing more checkpoints, and meet my brother at the bus station. My bag is x-rayed and I walk through a metal-detector on my way into the station. The bus has bullet- and stone-proof windows, which makes them cloudy and nausea-inducing (think driving a windy road in a closed box with no windows). The Wall is ever-present in the distance, and each town we stop in on the way has a manned security gate. We get dropped off by the old gate in Alon Shvut, which we find out is locked after 10:30 or so. We call Micah to come pick us up and he takes in through the new gate which closes around 2:00 am. Every home is built with a bomb shelter or safe room. Bags are searched at the entrance to the mall. The synagogue has a guard with an M16 standing outside. The rabbi carries a handgun—even on Shabbat and holidays—when he walks to neighboring Efrat. I feel safe, and question the society that makes these steps necessary.