The expectation of instant reporting, instant analysis, instant takeaways, makes us all shallower. But that’s the era we live in

I

’ve learned to ignore the sounds of ambulances, at least most of the time. My living room overlooks a busy Jerusalem highway, one of the main arteries leading to Hadassah Hospital’s Mount Scopus location. Along with the cars, trucks, and rumbling buses, ambulances regularly wail along this route.

But this Monday morning, the shrieking sirens just wouldn’t stop.

I went over to the window and took in the sight of ambulance after ambulance speeding down the road. A quick check of the news confirmed my fears: There had been a terror attack at the Ramot Junction.

I pass the Ramot Junction often enough to know the deadly potential of those words. This bus stop is the point where residents of Jerusalem’s northern neighborhoods can easily hop on a bus toward almost anywhere in the city. There’s always a crowd of all ages, types, and stages there as buses continually pull up and pull out.

Over the next two hours, I couldn’t do much work. I just sat in horror as the facts of the attack and its aftermath streamed forth — from reporters, analysts, eyewitnesses, politicians, experts, and various official spokesmen. Everyone had their moment. And everyone had a take.

Here are some of the takes I heard.

“This is what happens when you announce your plans to declare sovereignty over the Arab population of the West Bank. People who feel that they’re about to lose their land become desperate, and desperate people do desperate things.”

“This is why we have to declare sovereignty. Fast. For every casualty, take another hilltop. They killed six Jews? Establish six more settlements. That’s the only way to make them realize it’s not worth it.”

“The lesson here is obvious. We need more citizens carrying guns. Ben Gvir’s law relaxing the restrictions on gun ownership is what stopped the attack from getting worse. To my fellow citizens, I say: Get a gun! Learn how to use it! Keep it on you at all times, even when you’re taking out the garbage. That’s what I do.”

“All the victims come from the same demographic. The chareidim obviously have some Big Things to fix.”

“You know what’s going to happen to these terrorists’ families? Maybe one floor of their homes will be knocked down. But for the rest of their lives, they’re going to be getting fat checks from the PA. Why would those mothers and fathers discourage their kids from becoming terrorists if it ends up paying their bills? We have to get rid of the PA. That’s the real source of the problem.”

“The terrorist was neutralized by a commander in the new chareidi Hashmonaim battalion. It just proves how important this battalion is and how important it is that more chareidim join it.”

“My heart is with the captives in Gaza. I pray for them every day. But you realize what we’ll have to do to get them out? We’ll have to release thousands of terrorists. Terrorists like these, who just killed innocent people in cold blood. Does that make any sense to you? Do you want more attacks like this? Of course we care about the captives. But we need to know the price of the deal all those people in Tel Aviv keep demanding.”

“Yesterday the Supreme Court announced that we have to give the Nukhba terrorists more food in prison. You think the terrorists didn’t hear that? You think they don’t realize what kind of delusionary, lily-livered people they’re dealing with? Maybe we should offer five-star hotel accommodations to people who want to kill us, that’s definitely going to deter terror attacks. I hope the Supreme Court realizes that they played a role in this carnage.”

“We need better security for our public transportation system. Every bus, every bus stop, needs security. Okay, so maybe not every bus stop in the entire country. But busy ones like this, for sure.”

“We have a problem of leadership. Every time there’s a wave of attacks, we put our best heads together and come up with yet another way to improve our defenses. After the car-ramming attacks, we put concrete barriers at bus stops. For the missiles, we built the Iron Dome. We have to stop thinking about defense and move to offense. Raid those villages and remove all the illegal weapons. That’s the lesson here.”

I get it, sort of. I’ve been working in the media industry for 20 years. I know how your inner lens narrows and sharpens when you have to process breaking news under pressure. And while my experience comes from a weekly print magazine, I’m sure the pressure is stronger, more immediate, when the media is digital rather than print and when the turnover time is just minutes — or, as in the case of live broadcasting, nonexistent.

When a microphone is thrust in your face and the cameras turn on you, you have to say something. Hopefully something smart and incisive. Or strong and passionate. The whole country is plugged into the news and they’re waiting and hoping for someone to put this in context, give it a framework that neatly encases it with some practical takeaway or wise lesson.

It’s especially true in Israel, a country that’s learned, sadly, to quickly wipe away the stains of terror and get right back on the bus. People can’t afford too much time to absorb the sorrowful facts. The window to respond is a small one. Tomorrow all eyes may well return to the Gaza City offensive.

But when you don’t have time to think, to process, to let the names and faces and grieving families sink into your consciousness — to wait to even hear those names — then you tend to fall back on your underlying agendas. And then what should be a moment (or an hour, or even a full day) of grief and loss becomes a quick, handy springboard for your personal advice to the powers that be.

I don’t know who’s at fault here, or if anyone is at fault. The media keeps shoving their microphones in faces because they have an audience waiting for coverage. The audience keeps tuning in because they’re desperate not just for updates, but for context — for some way to slot the horror into a narrative that makes sense. The expectation of instant reporting, instant analysis, instant takeaways, makes us all shallower. But that’s the era we live in. I don’t know that anyone can stop it or slow it down.

I do know that amid the passionate sermonizing and quick scoops of those first hours, one of the news sites played some footage in the background of an official interview. The clip depicted a small taxi — blurry, but it looked like a Skoda — skidding to a stop as it approached the bus stop-turned-warzone. To the taxi’s left was a #72 bus which had also halted. The digital “72” display on the back of the bus was blinking crazily. Clearly something was wrong.

The taxi driver opened his door and exited, so we could all see his big, beefy build, the black T-shirt and denim shorts. He cocked his head and listened to the telltale sound of shooting, watched the streams of people running desperately past him, trying to escape the bloodbath.

He could have joined them. I’m sure his wife would have begged him to run.

But instead, he very deliberately walked around the back of his car and opened the right-side passenger door. And he helped his passenger – an elderly woman with a tight tichel over her head and cane gripped in her hand — exit the car, gently directing her to what he hoped was a safe spot.

Over the next few days, I’m sure I’ll think and rethink the quick takes offered by all the talking heads. I’ll discard some, mull over some, consider the value or maybe even wisdom of the others. But years from now, when I remember the scene of the attack and try to recall the emotion that turned me cold and shaky that summer morning, it won’t be the smart quotes that do it. It will be the faces of those precious Jews gunned down so cruelly — and the scene of that taxi driver in his T-shirt and shorts, urging the kerchiefed grandmother toward safety.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1078)