this evening there was a terror attack in tel aviv. it was at a popular open market and food hall. i have been there often. one of my close friends, who some of you know as @frightenedĀ nearly died.
i have no words. i have never in my life been so close to terror before. i am so deeply shaken by what i have just read about lindaās experience. i want everyone in the world to read and understand and have compassion. but failing that, i will share it with you all.
I want to tell you about my night. Itās going to be in the news for a little while, and I want to remember it as it happened, not as the security camera footage shows. This is for me, but itās also for you. Especially if you live in a place where these things barely make the news.
I was supposed to stay on base all weekend and for the holiday, so I wanted a night out with Jordan. We settled on Benedict at Sarona, a 15-minute walk from our apartment. When we got there, they asked if we wanted a table outside or inside. It was hot, and we decided on inside, even if it meant waiting an extra couple of minutes for a table to clear out. We were seated by the wall, glass from ceiling to floor. It was nice.
We sat, we ate. It was good. We heard this popping noise. At first, I thought it was an electrical problem. Then the screaming started, and the people running past our window. I saw a man. I do not remember the man, but I remember the gun held by the man. It was bright silver, and because I worked on a video about them once, I knew it was a Carlo Gustav rifle. There was fire coming from the barrel, and it was red, and it made the gun even more silver, and I did not notice that he was wearing black and white. He was on the other side of the window, four feet away, separated by glass. Very quickly, everyone at the restaurant either ran or fell to the ground. Jordan ran, I fell to the ground. You donāt coordinate these things.
I lied there, facing away from the window. I really hoped he wouldnāt come into the restaurant or shoot at the glass wall. If he did, I would die. My breathing was steady, and I noticed that the floor was wet, which was unpleasant, but not, you know, the worst part.
After the sounds of the shooting grew softer, someone from the restaurant shouted that we all need to run to the back in case they return, or enter the restaurant. I did. I ran, and I hoped he wasnāt still there outside, the gun and the man holding it. If he was, he could shoot me.
The people in the back of the restaurant - everyone who had been in the restaurant - were staring at me, and I looked down and saw that I was covered in blood. I had fallen on my chin. It was my own.
Jordan found me and cleaned off the blood. We hugged a lot. We told each other āI love you.ā We called our families. I left a lot of voice messages.
When the police and Magen David Adom gave us the all-clear, we started to leave. We were āin shock,ā which we didnāt feel like we were, because shock is a very calm feeling, actually. They loaded us onto an ambulance. They took us to the hospital. A physicianās assistant took my vital signs. He had an Arab name. A doctor glued my chin back up, and they had us see a psychiatrist, who was very nice and made us laugh.
I saw that theyāre handing out candies in Hebron. Iām scared to read the American headlines, or any news at all. They kept playing the footage in the hospital waiting room. The terrorists are younger than me. Theyāre heroes back home.
Iām thinking about all the ādevilās advocatesā Iāve known, the āthey have no other venues for protestā camp, the āitās justifiable in a conflict like thisā college students I shared desks with. Please consider, if youāve read this far: if we hadnāt sat outside, if the shooters came into the restaurant, if one had turned slightly to the left and fired, I would be dead right now. I donāt care what āsideā youāre on. I donāt care about your politics. If you care about me, call out terror for what it is. Call men shooting at screaming civillians who are running for their lives terrorism. Tell the people you know that itās never okay to target innocent men, women, and children, even if you donāt like where they live. Stand up for the people who didnāt want to wait, for the people who said āthe weather is nice, letās sit outside,ā for the four people who will never come home again after tonight. Stand up for the workers, the parents, the grandparents, the friends, the off-duty soldiers who laid there on the floor and breathed softly, praying the glass would hold. Stand up to anyone who says my life isnāt worth it. Because when they say it, Iāve learned, they mean it.
Iām alive. Iām alive. The world is beautiful, and Iām alive.
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