On the morning of Monday, November 1, as Tel Aviv shoppers browsed the colorful stalls of the city's central Carmel market, 16-year-old Palestinian Amer Al Far was on his way to the market with one intention: to become the latest in the chain of suicide bombers to target Israeli civilians.
Just after 11 am, the boy from the Askar refugee camp near Nablus entered the crowded marketplace, carrying a small explosive device filled with fragments of metal. He walked to a kosher cheese shop, located in the heart of the market which was now beginning to fill with the lunchtime office crowd, and detonated the device. Amer, along with three Israelis aged between 32 and 67, was killed instantly. Later in the day, the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine took responsibility for the attack, and the teenager, apparently the youngest suicide bomber so far, became another footnote in the bloody conflict blighting the region.
Less than two weeks have gone by since the attack, and Tel Aviv's Carmel market remains subdued. "It's been quiet," says one stall-holder as he passes a bag of oranges to an elderly shopper, "but in the last couple of days, people have started to come back." Certainly, the market is not deserted; groups of young people cluster on the steps, eating pastries and falafel from the market's numerous food stands; soldiers browse the pirate DVD movie stalls; old ladies pile herbs and vegetables into their shopping bags.
And, with no visual evidence that a suicide attack was even ever mounted here, the stall-holders themselves are in place as always. "I'm not scared," says one trader, his stall full of cigarette lighters, incense, candles and cheap battery packs. "Lightning never strikes the same place twice." A middle-aged lady of Russian origin stops to examine the wares of a bread-vendor, picking up pita breads to check them for freshness. "I like it here when it's not crowded!" she jokes. Then, seriously, she continues, "I won't let such a thing as a bomb stop me from shopping here. This is my city and I'm going to carry on coming here."
It seems that such an outlook is becoming more widespread among the Israeli population, in sharp contrast to public reactions to acts of terror toward the beginning of the current intifada. When, for example, in June 2001, a suicide bomber detonated his explosives at a nightclub on Tel Aviv's seashore, killing 21 young Israelis, the nationwide sense of disbelief and outpouring of grief continued for several days. Subsequent attacks in public places throughout the country left civilians uneasy or unwilling to patronize cafés, bars and shopping malls, never knowing which venue might be targeted next.
Now, however, life seems to return to normal much more quickly. The dead are mourned with just as much sorrow; the condemnations are cast with just as much anger and recrimination. But Israeli citizens then simply get back to the business of everyday existence.
So why do suicide bombings seem to be losing their power to terrorize the Israeli public? Scrolling down the list provided online by Israel's ministry of foreign affairs which details bombings - suicide and otherwise - launched against Israelis since November 2000, it is clear that such attacks have been relentless: a total of 121. But perhaps this sad statistic holds the key to the lessening in the impact on Israeli citizens' everyday lives. More than a decade on from the first-ever suicide bombing in Israel, the public - while still horrified by the effects - is no longer shocked by the actual act of the suicide bombing itself. As French author Antoine de Saint Exupery once said, "Only the unknown frightens men. But once a man has faced the unknown, that terror becomes the known."
Perhaps a further reason for suicide attacks losing their shock-value also lies in the increasingly swift and open condemnation of the bombings from various Palestinian sources. When the 'enemy' loses its appearance as a united front, a window for understanding and dialogue - however small - is opened. In the case of the Carmel market bombing, Amer's parents were quick to condemn the organizers of the attack. Speaking in an interview with the Israeli newspaper Ha'aretz, Amer's father said, "God will curse those who recruited Amer. I had heard the stories about recruiting children in Nablus but I didn't think they were true.... Yes, it is difficult here for everyone because of the occupation, and life in Nablus is intolerable, but children should not be exploited in this way."
Back at the market, security guards stroll calmly along the main entrance points to its narrow alleyways. There are, however, no more guards evident than before the suicide attack; and while there is always a security presence, there are plenty of entrances to the market through which one can pass unchecked.
Next to one such entrance, a group of men are hard at work erecting a sign for a newly fitted-out shop. One of the men, hoisting the heavy sign into place above the shop's front door, stops to take a breath. He grins down from his ladder, wiping sweat from his brow, "Business as usual!" he calls cheerfully to the passersby.