Less than 72 hours ago I was in the city of Dahab, Egypt. I am writing now to shed some light on the recent bombings there based on my personal experiences in the region.
Before hearing the news, I had considered myself pretty accustomed to the gravity and prospects of such events. Now I find myself asking the "what-if" questions that plague so many others in similar circumstances.
After spending these past few months in Israel, I felt pretty unfazed by reports of violence in the region. Since I arrived in January, two suicide attacks have occurred near center-city Tel Aviv (an hour and change from where I live), and an unknown number have been thwarted. Nonetheless, there is a degree of resolve that builds up while living in Israel for an extended period of time. Israelis are unwilling to give in and succumb to fear and intimidation. Bars are packed, restaurants are filled and tempered optimism prevails. Again, even at the height of the second intifada, more Israelis were killed in traffic accidents than by acts of terror. You come to assume that riding a bus is probably safer than crossing the street. I've also taken the opportunity to travel throughout the region as well, making trips to Istanbul, Jordan and the West Bank. At no time have I felt my personal safety
threatened.
However, from the beginning, travel to the Sinai Peninsula was different. Almost every Israeli I had spoken with prior to my departure had responded with virtually the same response:
al-t'eesa, zeh mesoukahn (Don't travel there, it's "dangerous"). For a people known, if not notorious, for their diversity of opinions and said resilience, such a unified voice probably should have been a warning for me. Instead, I went forward with my plan, spending 10 days of the Passover holiday racing through Egypt trying to make the most of my break. The last few days were allotted for a relaxing time in Sinai, a place renowned for its pristine beaches, coral reefs, and some of the best diving in the world. You could not have picked a better location for a Corona commercial. When I arrived, what I found exceeded my already high expectations. Dahab was a little slice of heaven.
Sadly, the different news reports about the bombing have read like eulogies to this beach-side haven. Before Monday, Dahab had been spared from the attacks that had crippled the tourism in other places in Sinai. Dahab is the "budget" destination on the Sinai, lacking the refinement of Sharm el-Sheikh, yet still imbued with so much character and natural beauty. What happened in Dahab after I left, therefore, is all the more incomprehensible.
I've seen it before. It's fair to say that we've all seen it before. The pictures of dazed Westerners sitting on the beach in places like Bali or Sharm el-Sheikh, consoling one another in the paradise-gone-inferno. However, upon arriving in Dahab after a grueling 20 hour bus ride, the thought of such a scenario could not have been any more distant, as was the case of most tourists who visit this serene place. When I arrived back to Israel on Sunday, I laughed up my trip with my Israeli roommates, almost mocking them for their paranoia about the dangers of Sinai.
Then it happened. For me, this scene of carnage came to life. As the news reports kept streaming in, the details made me realize how lucky I was. The New York Times carried a picture of my waiter bearing a makeshift stretcher, his arm bandaged and bleeding. The blast sites are all too familiar: a seaside restaurant where I ate with my friends, the supermarket where I picked up snacks and bottled water for my ride home. Both sites are now just shattered ruins. The pain has set in, accompanied by indescribable anxiety. Travel friends from the bus ride into Dahab, my dive instructor, shop owners who had extended their hospitality to me. Their fates still remain unknown to me. Their fates could have been mine.
These scenes are being repeated throughout the world, with greater and greater frequency. My story is a fortunate one. One story among many that do not normally have such a positive resolution.
It has not been my intention to merely describe my experience to impart fear or to elicit sympathy. Rather, this event has heightened my awareness of personal as well as communal vulnerability that I had previously disregarded or downplayed. Clouded by hubris, it took such a stark and horrific event to open my eyes to reality. My calluses developed during my time in Israel immediately withered. And this tragedy, this scourge, appears to continue unabated.
What are its root causes? What are its limits? How do we combat, mitigate and eradiate it? These have been the perennial questions tossed around as comfortable abstractions in countless classes and lectures. Seeing its manifestations, its raw, unfettered chaos and destruction, sheds new light on the daunting task that awaits us in definitively solving these problems.
Alex Zerden is a junior majoring in international relations.
