Reasons Israel is different

#128 - Islamic terrorists might burn your cookies.

I suppose such bold statements require explanation, so let me tell you what happened to me today.

Several events have happened recently that inspired me to make a fresh batch of cookies. For one, my downstairs neighbor was broken into (the third apartment in my stairwell in the last 30 days) so I figured a few oatmeal cookies might be nice. We were invited for dinner at someone’s house who asked that we bring the dessert; well…I’ll just make a bigger batch. Oh, and I got a call just a few hours ago from our upstairs neighbor (who also got robbed a while ago) that Joe, her fiancé from England, just got his US immigration papers, he’s going to be an American soon (‘cept with a much cooler accent). So, I whipped up a big batch of oatmeal cookie dough and put a batch into the oven.

I had just closed the oven when I heard a loud (boom!). Now, despite my Mr. Mom lifestyle, I am a guy and have in the past been very familiar with guns. That boom sounded very familiar. In a few moments I heard it again. I started to patrol my windows and I heard it again. It sounded like a shotgun, very much like one, but it couldn’t be a gun fight for it was too spaced out and no sounds of gun fire (I have been in vicinity of a gun fight in the past while living in Monterey). Now, there is a ton of construction near my apartment, so maybe they are using small explosives to open up some rock. Or maybe the crane keeps dropping large objects. I’m puzzled and annoyed because the sound makes my cats jump a foot every time it goes off; so I figure I will take 3 minutes out and walk out to the construction and see what is making the sound of a shotgun.

I have excellent night vision, but in really bright sunlight I’m almost blind without sunglasses. Unfortunately I left in such a hurry that I had forgotten my sunglasses and my dim light adjusted eyes were not adapting well to high noon sun reflecting off the white Jerusalem stone walkway. I kept walking out, I figured I would just squint really hard - it can’t be that hard to find a loud booming object.

I walk all the way to the street and see a police car down the hill about 100 feet, I think “hrm… maybe they are keeping people back from the construction sight.” He takes notice of me and starts yelling at me in very animated Hebrew and waving a lot. Now, my Hebrew is pretty bad, I have a hard time understanding even bits of it spoken slowly, so I really had no chance of comprehending this long string of continuous syllables spoken at warp speed. I figure I would walk towards him and find out what the fuss is about. I knew I couldn’t have done anything wrong; I just walked out of my apartment.

I get closer and I can make out the words “POH, POH” (here, here) repeated again and again. “Oh," I think, "he wants me to come over to him!! I understand what he is saying!” I was very excited about my language breakthrough that I didn’t stop to understand why a policeman was running over to escort me away from my apartment. Suddenly realizing that something might be up, and English might be the better choice, I ask him, in Hebrew, to speak English to me. He then said, in a very thick Israeli accent, “There is a bomb! You have to stay away!”

He puts me behind a car about 100 feet from were I was and I squint real hard. My eyes are finally if painfully are adjusting to the light and right were I was standing is a mechanical robot with what appears to be a big mechanical arm and a top-mounted cannon. I literally was standing just inches from it when I stepped off my walkway.

I try not to dwell on my near life-endangering experience and watch the robot closely. It is in front of a satchel. I ask someone nearby and they tell me someone left a satchel unattended and the bomb squad is here to see if there is a bomb in it by detonating it with the robot. I watched as the robot shoots another round of compressed air, basically a blank shotgun shell, that hits it with such force that the bits of plastic shell are blown all the way through the satchel. That was the shotgun sound I had been hearing.

I admire the genius of the process; the hard localized concussion from the top-mounted cannon on the robot would set off any motion or shock sensitive explosive device. Then the robot’s mechanical arm rips open the hole it had made with its repeated shots and a mini-camera, also on the robot, peers into the sack. About 5 minutes later a man looking the part of a space marine in his heavy armor ambles to the satchel and examines it thoroughly himself (there’s a job I would never want). It appears to have been a harmless backpack that some absent-minded student had put down while talking to a friend and then forgot to pick up before going on their way. I ponder the look on their face should the police contact them.

The bomb squad wanders off with the backpack and I stand around bored, in the sun and blinding light, for what seems forever before I’m finally allowed to return to my apartment. I open my door to the smell of burnt oatmeal cookies. *sigh*

You see, in a country where Islamic terrorists aren’t trying to blow up any random Jews they can, that backpack would have just remained there for the absent-minded student to return. At the very worst, some backpack-deprived person would have donned it on as their new find. But, here, in Israel, where people have been blown up by random backpacks left behind by Islamic fanatics, we have to call a bomb squad to pummel it for 30 minutes with high powered plastic packed shotgun shells. Inevitably, overly curious domestic husbands wander out and get caught up in the mess, and end up with their cookies burnt. Damn those Islamic terrorists.

Oh, and for the record, I want to go home now.