TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/020491/02049910.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 6.7 KB | 137 lines

                                                                                THE GULF WAR, Page 40

CHILDREN

Crying Under Iraq's Siege


With Saddam Hussein's missiles roaring overhead, Palestinian and
Israeli youngsters in the Holy Land share the same dangers but
not the same fears

By ANASTASIA TOUFEXIS -- Reported by Robert Slater/Jerusalem


    When the air-raid sirens wail, Tali Rubin, 9, dashes to the
"sealed room" in her home in the middle-class Jerusalem
neighborhood of French Hill, quickly dons her gas mask and,
along with her mother, brother and two sisters, waits nervously
for the missiles to roar overhead. Her first experience with
wearing the protective device was distressing. "It was hard to
breathe," recalls Tali. "The mask was too tight. I just wanted
to take it off." As the attacks on Israel intensified last
week, misery turned to anger. "I'm mad at Saddam Hussein," she
declares. "He has no right to attack us. He's just a bad man."

    Just a 10-minute walk from Tali's home lies the Palestinian
village of Issawiye, home to Shirin Abu-Humos and her family.
Psychologically, it is another planet. When the sirens sound,
Shirin, who is just 5, remains serenely unconcerned, though the
missiles could as easily fall on her home as on Tali's. She
huddles with her parents and three siblings in a sealed-off
room, but no one reaches for a gas mask. "I'm not afraid,"
brags the young girl. "It means that Saddam is throwing
something at the Israelis. That's good."

    For the 1 million Jewish children living in Israel and the
500,000 Palestinian children under Israeli occupation, the gulf
war has added a new twist to the ongoing cycle of violence in
the Holy Land. Youngsters of both communities face injury or
death from Iraqi missiles, or even bombs dropped from planes,
but the reactions have been vastly different. The Scud attacks,
which so far have primarily hit the Tel Aviv area but pose a
threat to the whole country, have left Israeli children feeling
fearful, frustrated and helpless. Palestinian youngsters, by
contrast, appear relaxed and resigned. Sometimes they are even
proud that an Arab -- Saddam Hussein -- has been able to
strike at Israel.

    The responses reflect personal history as much as political
philosophy. Most Israeli youngsters have remained relatively
sheltered from war. The 1973 and 1982 conflicts were fought far
from Israel's civilian population. When the Israel Defense
Forces began to distribute gas masks to citizens last October,
few parents expected they would ever need to be used, a view
they conveyed to their offspring. Now, with air raids sounding
almost nightly and schools closed as a safety measure, many
children feel a sense of betrayal. "You told me we would never
have to go into the sealed room," said an 11-year-old in
Jerusalem to her father. "And here we are in the sealed room.
You said we'd never have to wear the gas masks, and now we're
trying them on. Why should I believe anything you tell me from
now on?"

    Many children have trouble sleeping. Others say they hear
sirens all the time. Little ones are afraid to lose sight of
their parents. And there are complaints about the
foul-smelling, claustrophobic gas masks, which have caused
children to vomit. Families are haunted by the fact that a
toddler suffocated to death in her mask. Talma Rosen, a Tel
Aviv mother, faces a torrent of questions from her sons
Jonathan, 6, and Daniel, 10, who ask about weapons systems and
moving to a safer place. "I have told them that the chances
statistically of us getting hurt are very small," she says. "As
for military questions, I refer them to their father."

    Most Palestinian children, on the other hand, have been
inured to violence through Israel's occupation of the West Bank
and the Gaza Strip and the three-year-old intifadeh. Arab
youngsters have been in the vanguard of the uprising, burning
tires, hurling stones -- and dying violently. They see little
to fear from the Scud attacks. If they are hit, it will be by
accident. And whether they die by Israeli guns or Saddam's
missiles, they will still be martyrs to the Palestinian cause.
Says Zobaida Abu-Humos, Shirin's older cousin: "I've seen so
many Palestinians die. It doesn't make any difference to me."

    Not all Arab children are so impassive at the prospect of
death. One Palestinian mother from Beit Sahur in the West Bank
acknowledges that "when my children hear the siren, their whole
bodies start shaking." Says Ziad Ahmed, who with his six
children lives in a refugee camp near Bethlehem: "My children
have picked up my fear, and there's no way now to calm them
down." Because of strict U.N. curfews, Palestinian youngsters
in the occupied territories are cooped up at home most of the
day. Another source of outrage and anxiety: a shortage of gas
masks. Israeli authorities initially refused to issue the masks
to Palestinians to ensure that they would have no protection
against tear gas used to quell demonstrations. The Supreme
Court has overruled this policy, but mask distribution is
lagging.

    Arab families faced with terrified youngsters have been left
to muddle through on their own. The curfews have made it hard
for welfare agencies or the mosques to offer communal
assistance. In contrast, Israelis are making a major effort to
help ease rising anxiety among their young. Newspaper columns
are offering helpful hints to parents. On the Israeli edition
of Sesame Street, a porcupine named Kippi admits that he is
frightened of missiles. A new hot line started by the Ministry
of Education handles about 1,500 phone calls a day. Some
youngsters simply seek a friendly ear in which to confide their
fears. Others, however, want practical advice. Can I chew gum
while wearing a gas mask? asked one. Answer: yes.

    Slowly, children are learning to handle the pressure. Some
have decorated their gas masks with feathers or flowers. Daphna
Glazer, a four-year-old from Jerusalem, asked her father to
make a mask for her teddy bear. Elihai Radzinski, 15, has
volunteered to stay up most of the night listening to the radio
so he can quickly alert his family of government warnings.
Others take a stoic view. "I'm not frightened anymore. Once I
get the mask on, I spend the rest of the time in our sealed
room playing Nintendo," says Yoni Radzinski, 10, of Herzliya,
a town just northeast of Tel Aviv. "By and large, Israeli kids
are coping very well," says psychologist Robert Asch of the
Ministry of Education. He predicts that tensions and boredom,
a growing problem, will ease still further once children begin
returning to school. But a residue of fear and bad dreams is
likely to remain even after the gulf war ends.