Violence trumping words in Mideast

The bombings have left Israelis chilled. In Jerusalem's German Colony neighborhood, where Café Hillel once drew crowds, the streets were unusually quiet Wednesday, and uniformed policemen stood alongside private security guards outside a few cafes.

This well-to-do stretch of cafes and shops relies on crowds, but many residents see a long, slow period ahead as Israelis try to hibernate their way through any coming hostilities.

"We knew this was coming," says Eli Spoor, who sells school supplies a block away from the cafe. He mentions an Israeli attempt to kill Hamas's spiritual leader on Sept. 6. "For sure we know there's more trouble ahead," he adds.

It's the kind of trouble Mr. Spoor knows about firsthand. In the first Palestinian uprising, from 1987 to 1993, his sister-in-law was stabbed to death. His father was recently injured in a Jerusalem bus bombing.

Standing outside his shop in jeans, sandals, and a white shirt, he is matter-of-fact about living in this kind of environment.

"This is a time when you don't go out to shop, to eat, to sit outside," he comments, watching a border police patrol roll slowly by.

The people in Café Hillel were taking an unnecessary risk on Tuesday night, he says.

"They should have been inside," he says. "You have to change your life a bit. So you drink your coffee at home, you get your groceries delivered, you don't go to crowded places or on the bus. You just stay home."

But for those who don't have the money to get groceries delivered or take taxis, these are extremely stressful times.

"I hate this, I really hate this," says Betty Alampay, a Filipina aide to an elderly woman in the neighborhood. She is out running an errand and clearly doesn't like standing still on the street. Ms. Alampay fidgets, her eyes darting from pedestrians to the bus rumbling by. Her morning commute has become an ordeal.

"I know all the people on my bus in the morning and when someone new gets on, I get so afraid," she says. The security guards that sometimes ride on public transport make no difference to her.

"What can they do? They're human just like me. They can't stop someone and why should they, when they're paid nothing to be like a soldier in Vietnam? What sort of job is that - [four dollars] an hour and you can die while doing it?"

For other Jerusalem residents from overseas, there is the challenge of calming their families' fears. Some call it "pigua etiquette," using the Hebrew word for terror attack. "I always grit my teeth before those calls [after an attack]," says Mark, a Chicago native here for a year of study. "You never know who you should call first and then how to deal with your crying mother."

He's headed for another cafe. "Out of the way places are key," he says, "I scope things out, I'm very careful."

Spoor, the Israeli shop owner, might approve. He says living in Jerusalem these days is all a matter of self-reliance.

"The Torah says to trust in God," he says, "but first, we have to take care of ourselves."

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