There was a suicide bombing yesterday. It was in Dimona – which is a kind of depressing one-horse town, distinguished by high unemployment and a dearth of entertainment options, in the middle of the Negev.

“Only” one person was killed. I don’t have to make any effort to recall a time when I barely noticed a bombing that killed “only” one person. Actually, I still live with that feeling of waiting for the daily bombing to occur, of classifying my friends according to those who were afraid to hang out in cafes and those who were not, and of spending a lot of money on taxis because buses just weren’t worth the risk.

I stopped getting upset by suicide bombings more than five years ago. I didn’t have any energy left. And I still don’t. One of the things that really tired me out was the script: the initial reports, followed by the live feed, followed by the speculation (where was the bomber from and what group did he represent, etc.), followed by the rolling script at the bottom of the television screen, with the increasing number of dead and wounded, followed by condemnations issued by the Palestinian Authority, followed by a statement from the prime minister’s office, etc. etc.

It was always the same.

The Dimona bombing was unusual for three reasons:

1. Dimona had never been hit before;

2. A lot of people thought the bombers may have come from Gaza, through the Sinai (turns out they were wrong), which would give us all another reason to be hysterical about the Rafah border being blasted open by Hamas two weeks ago;

3. One of the bombers failed to detonate himself, and was subsequently “liquidated” by Police Officer Kobi Mor, a.k.a. The Hero of the South. The liquidation was caught on film, by a guy who just happened to be there with a video camera because he had been hired to film a bar mitzvah celebration nearby.

The film was first broadcast on Channel 2’s 6 p.m. news magazine show, Six With Oded Ben-Ami. Prominently displayed at the top of the screen was the slogan, “Courtesy of Elul Film Studios, Ronen Peretz.” You can see a bit of the footage here. After it was broadcast, Oded Ben-Ami interviewed Ronen Peretz. You did such a great job, praised Ben-Ami. Just like a real TV news cameraman. How did you know how to get the frame just so?

Oh, said Ronen. I’ve been filming weddings, bar mitzvahs and circumcision ceremonies for years, so I’m a real pro. I could come work for Channel 2 (he added, hopefully).

At the end of the interview, Ben-Ami expressed the common platitude that Peretz should only film happy occasions from now on. Yes indeed, enthused Peretz. I wish only happy occasions for you, too – and that you should have them all filmed by Elul Studios.

Gah!

I watched the footage of Kobi Mor shooting the wounded second suicide bomber – the one whose belt didn’t explode – about three times. It was a tricky operation, you see, because if Mor had missed he could’ve detonated the explosives belt. Or he might have given the terrorist another opportunity to pull the detonator.

Then I started to feel disgusted. With the coverage of the event. With myself, for watching.

This morning I read Assaf Schneider’s television review in Maariv, and discovered that I was not alone in feeling disgusted. Here is what he wrote (my translation):

** *

Bullets for the Masses

by Assaf Schneider (television critic)

Maariv newspaper/February 5, 2008 (page 22)

A suicide bombing is an emergency event – and also an unexpected event that upsets normal programming schedules in ways that are remarkably predictable. It is possible to predict, with mathematical precision, the length of time that will elapse before Eli Benn, the head of Magen David Adom, is asked, “Are there any injured still at the site?” It is possible to guess how Roni Daniel will analyze the event. It is possible to gamble on the precise moment at which Zvi Yechezkeli will show footage of candies being distributed in Gaza.

(AP Photo/Tara Todras-Whitehill)

And it is usually possible to recite in my sleep the words that I and my colleagues will write the following day. Who managed to get the first live feed from the scene. Who suffered the humiliation of being forced to use someone else’s footage. Who forgot to pixel out a corpse. And what incoherent nonsense was uttered by some eyewitness, while in the background ZAKA personnel were hosing away the bloodstains.

(AP Photo/Tsafrir Abayov)

I prepared myself to record the customary anecdotes that would invariably include “and suddenly I heard a boom.” And then, as evening approached, the hair-raising video footage documenting the liquidation of the suicide bomber who failed in his mission was broadcast. Roni Daniel*, Zvika Yechezkeli** and the incoherent guy who said, “suddenly I heard a boom,” were pushed aside. We’d never seen anything like this before.

Here are my reservations (or, should I say: ass covering): Police officer Kobi Mor performed his job with bravery and cool-headedness. It appears that he acted correctly, given the specific circumstances.

Police Officer Kobi Mor

A suicide bomber who is groping for a detonator is not the kind of person with whom you want to engage in soul-searching dialogue about co-existence and brotherhood. And an event like this, which is perpetuated in front of the cameras second by second, is news material that any editor would leap at. An editor who decided against using the material wouldn’t be an editor. But the quantities- oh, the quantities.

And the celebrations of blood, and the endless repetitions, and the pornographic details, and the “by the way” attitude with which the footage was presented. Hello dear viewers, come see how a man is killed. And because we know how much you love this style of snuff film, here – have some more. And hey, he’s dead again. Did you catch how his hand jumped? Here, we’ve got a close up for you. Look, you can see how his body jumps upward each time it’s hit by a bullet. You wanted reality? You got it. One bullet, another one and then another three. Pop-pop-pop. And those aren’t blanks, like the ones you used in basic training. Walla, too bad you don’t have HDTV, because you missed the blood spray.

How did we get to this point? How did we regress to the point of broadcasting the killing of a man so offhandedly, without even a warning that people with sensitive stomachs should distance themselves from the screen? Warnings? Who cares. Look at how the bullets are turning him into a pulp! And to hell with delicate stomachs and respect for the dead no matter who they might be, including animals.

And that’s before we even talked about the Catch-22 that accompanied the confirmation of the killing. Before some leftist lawyer could figure out what was happening, Police Officer Kobi Mor was already given a promotion. He stripped off his windbreaker, was outfitted in a properly ironed uniform and placed in front of the cameras. And everyone saluted.

This crude and vulgar behavior is not a passing phenomenon. It was not an outpouring of pain over the suicide bombing, or a reaction to the rare video footage. It has become part of our regular meal – for news editors and viewers alike. We are slaves of reality, addicted to bullets. For example: yesterday morning, immediately after the suicide bombing, Channel 10 spoke with Shalom Bar-Avi, an eyewitness whose wife had disappeared in the confusion that followed the explosion. Bar-Avi was torn between the need to perform as an amateur reporter, and his fear that the worst might have happened. It was terrible to listen to him. The reporters in the studio already knew that a woman had been killed. They didn’t miss the potential of the story. Poor Bar-Avi was kept on the line for a long time, probably considering himself a winner. Finally, he was informed that his wife was safe and unhurt. And what would have happened if, God forbid, she had been wounded? It would have been a fantastic human interest story, of course. And to hell with everything.

*Roni Daniel: Channel 2 reporter
**Zvi Yechezkeli: Channel 10 reporter