I was walking down Bethlehem Street in Jerusalem late on Shabbat afternoon, heading home after a long and leisurely lunch on the other side of the city. I heard someone approaching from behind, and male voices chattering in Arabic. I instinctively began to tense up. Without turning around, I slowed down to let them walk past me, and as they did, I saw two older Arab men in colorful sportswear power-walking their way toward the old train station. As I watched them walk jauntily down the street, I leaned against the crumbling wall of my building. My heart was beating furiously, and I couldn't help but feel guilty about the instinctive immediacy of my reaction. Over the last week, Israel has hotly debated an issue involving new mothers, security, privacy and policy. It all began with a radio report last Tuesday suggesting that certain hospitals around the country have been separating Jewish and Arab women in maternity wards after Jewish mothers asked not to share rooms with Arab women and their visiting relatives. A war of strongly worded op-eds erupted, followed by shouting matches that led to the inevitable accusations of everything from apartheid to apathy. After the story had made the obligatory rounds, it eventually was distilled down to the facts, but by then everyone had already moved on to another delicious piece of hysteria. As it turned out, the hospitals in question did not have an official policy of segregation, but rather a policy of accommodating women's wishes, and the requests to be segregated apparently came from both Arab and Jewish women alike, contrary to the initial reporting. Public figures who came out in support of women asking to be separated were pounced on with a vengeance, described as racists and bigots. While some doubled down and some apologized, few seemed to get at the crux of what such a request symbolizes. I felt guilty when I feared those anonymous Arab voices behind me, and fear quickly shifted to blame. I blamed myself because that's what we Jews are trained to do. But why was my heart pounding? Why did I feel the need to let them pass? Because I did not want my back to them, as they might put a knife in it. That fear was not a result of racism, but a conclusion based on far too much experience and far too many bodies piling up after being stabbed by Arabs while going about their daily lives, just as I was doing that sunny Saturday. The Jewish women asking not to share their maternity ward rooms with Arabs are not villains, they are victims. They are not tyrants, but deeply traumatized. The hours and days after giving birth to a child are the most vulnerable time in a woman's life, and anyone who has been in that position should understand why a woman would not want to share a small space with people who methodically try to kill her and her people. The terrorists attacking us in the streets, on our roads and in our homes make a point of generating fear, putting us in an anxious space where we do not know who is an enemy and who is a friend -- that is how terrorism works. So how can we be expected to feel certainty toward them? After the 2014 massacre at the synagogue in Har Nof, if not before, it became very clear that the terrorists do not have any sense of restraint or human boundaries when it comes to cutting us down. If they are willing and able to murder Jews during prayer in a place of sanctity, they are certainly willing to do so in a maternity ward, open to all. To chastise mothers for their instinct to protect their children is outrageous, and to put the blame on us for reacting to what they do to us, is everything between unfair and immoral. I know that the intellectuals, the media and the political elite like to debate the world on the basis of fantasies and wishes rather than reality, but there are times in our lives when we are confronted with the danger of blind piety and stubborn idealism. Many critics of this "hospital segregation" have pointed out that babies are born pure and we should not poison this beauty with our cynicism, but once again they are blaming the victim and in doing so, missing the mark. I did not ponder the optics of my fear that day, and neither should the mothers doing their best to protect the new lives they have chosen to bring into this world despite violence, fear and gut-wrenching uncertainty. These women are not asking to be segregated, they are asking to be protected and for help to keep their helpless children safe. That is not a political stance, but an act of survival, and instead of blaming those who react to terror we need to point the finger at those who cause the pain. Annika Hernroth-Rothstein is a political adviser and writer on the Middle East, religious affairs and global anti-Semitism. Follow her on Twitter @truthandfiction.
Fear and loathing in Jerusalem
מערכת ישראל היום
מערכת "ישראל היום“ מפיקה ומעדכנת תכנים חדשותיים, מבזקים ופרשנויות לאורך כל שעות היממה. התוכן נערך בקפדנות, נבדק עובדתית ומוגש לציבור מתוך האמונה שהקוראים ראויים לעיתונות טובה יותר - אמינה, אובייקטיבית ועניינית.
