“This country is al ha panim,” said Roy, sipping his latté in a downtown Jerusalem café. Roy, a student at Hebrew University, complained that, lately, he often did not feel comfortable at the café, or at many other places in Jerusalem. Not because of terrorism, but because they have become the domain of Orthodox Jews. Roy ran through a list of problems—the economic inequality, the Arab-Israeli conflict, the lack of leadership, the divide between the Orthodox and secular streams of Israeli society—that were making Jerusalem an increasingly difficult place to live. I noticed he left out the suicide attacks that over the past six months had devastated both his school cafeteria and a café he used to frequent.
Roy was one of many young people I spoke with during a visit to Israel in January who felt their country, for reasons other than just the conflict with the Palestinians, was al ha panim. The term literally translates to “fallen on its face,” but its meaning is closer to “in deep shit.”
Marcelo, a plump twenty-something who works as a security guard, told me that he is more concerned about Israel being al ha panim than any terrorism threat. Ironically, I met him on the day of a deadly attack. He broke the news to me of the double suicide bombing in Tel Aviv’s old bus station. “I am supposed to be there tomorrow,” I exclaimed in shock. “My girlfriend works next door,” he responded, his voice agitated. “I didn’t know where she was for hours.” I realized how selfish I must have sounded.
Marcelo moved to Israel from Uruguay because he wanted to live in a country where he would not be under threat as a Jew. He served as a soldier in Lebanon and the occupied territories. Now he protects groups of South American Jewish students traveling around Israel. He loves to see the students learn about Israel and their Jewish heritage, but when they tell him that they want to make aliya, Marcelo informs them that living in Israel is very hard. He warns them about the economy, not terrorism. Since the beginning of the intifada, Israel’s economy has crashed and for the first time in 50 years is experiencing negative growth. “It’s starting to seem like Argentina,” Marcelo told me.
The following day I took a bus to Tel Aviv. Next to me sat a skinny border police officer who sneered while he played with his cell phone. He inquired if his rifle, lodged against the seat in front of me, was a problem. I shook my head no, and asked him if he was ever scared to take this bus. He laughed. Taking busses, he said wasn’t something he thought about. He just got on them.
The border police, historically one of the least respected units in the military, have a reputation for excessive violence. “It’s shitty work,” the officer told me. He took the job of patrolling roadblocks as a case in point: “Nobody likes you. You make people stand in the hot sun for hours.” The officer said he was just biding his time until he could make a pile of money and move abroad. He bragged to me that his plan was to “steal from the government.” “It’s the only way to make money in Israel,” he said.
My friend Polly wasn’t quite ready to resort to corruption, but she was worried about Israel’s leadership and its economy. Polly, a 24-year-old unemployed artist, emigrated from the Soviet Union when she was 12. For six months she searched for a waitressing job in Tel Aviv. But she had moved there just after a wave of suicide bombings struck Tel Aviv cafés. Nobody was going out. Polly said the suicide bombings only scared her once: Her best friend was working as a waitress when a bomber struck a café, and Polly couldn’t locate her for hours.
With all her frustrations, I was surprised that Polly didn’t plan to vote in the upcoming election. She said that there was nobody she believed could alter the situation. The only party she might seriously consider voting for is the Green Leaf, whose distinguishing objective is to legalize marijuana. Polly doesn’t even smoke pot. Like other young people, she had ridiculed the party during previous elections. But now she saw the Green Leaf as a way to express her dissatisfaction with Israeli politics.
The day before I flew back to the States, I sat and talked with another friend, Ariel. “The economy sucks, the conflict sucks, the social situation is awful,” he summed up. Utterly disillusioned with the political process, he said he too was going to vote for the Green Leaf. I couldn’t tell whether this was a joke, but his despair was genuine. “Basically,” said Ariel. “The country is al ha panim.”
