Shattering of Jerusalem’s illusion

The pizzeria blast killed 16, including the bomber, and wounded nearly 100

By CNN's Paul Sussman

LONDON, England -- Among the many reactions to Thursday’s suicide bombing in Jerusalem -- horror, revulsion, despair -- one emotion predominated: a sense of inevitability.

The area around the Sbarro pizzeria is one I know well. A couple of weeks ago I was sitting outside a café just three doors away from the epicentre of the blast, sipping coffee and enjoying the early afternoon sunshine.

This is the very heart of Israeli west Jerusalem. A small triangle of upmarket shops and boutiques, bounded by Jaffa Street, King George Street and the pedestrianised Ben Yehuda Street, it has an overwhelmingly Western feel to it.

VIDEO CNN's Mike Hanna reports on the psychological trauma that continuing violence is causing families in the Mideast (August 10) Play video (QuickTime, Real or Windows Media)   EXTRA INFORMATION In-depth: Mideast struggle for peace   Map: Location of bombed pizza restaurant   Gallery: Scenes from the aftermath of the bomb

There is a McDonalds and a KFC, bars selling Guinness and Carlsberg, a hubbub of voices chatting in English, Spanish, French and Italian.

It is a place where young people hang out, families eat and drink together, couples go on dates, buskers belt out Beatles and Bob Dylan numbers.

The only indications that it is the Middle East rather than Europe are the fly-posters in Hebrew, and the signs offering such quintessentially Levantine delicacies as falafel, humus and halva.

This is where secular Jerusalemites go to enjoy themselves, to make out that their city is no different from London or Paris or any other bustling metropolis.

It is a symbol of cheery cosmopolitan normality, a place where you can indulge the illusion that everything is OK and that despite the violence flaring elsewhere across the region, here at least you can enjoy a meal and a drink like in any other metropolis.

It is for this reason that it is was inevitable it would be targeted, just as it was in September 1997 when a triple suicide-bombing on Ben Yehuda Steet killed seven and injured 200 others.

By striking at this particular corner of the city, it seems to me, the bombers weren’t just seeking to destroy Israeli lives, but also any sense that Israelis can maintain a normal, peaceful existence.

There was already a vague feeling of unreality about the area prior to yesterday’s bombing.

Behind the façade of laughter and chit-chat and colourful boutiques there has, since the start of the current intifada, been a palpable air of unease, an expectation of impending violence.

It was evident in the suspicious glances at anyone of even vaguely Arabic appearance; in the groups of flak-jacketed soldiers and policeman standing on every street corner; in the frequent cordoning-off of streets to examine suspect packages.

Now that undercurrent of fear will be redoubled. The bodies may be removed, the debris cleared up, the juice-bars and ice-cream parlours re-opened for business.

What cannot be brought back, however, is that sense of somewhere to get away from it all, of at least one tiny island of normality amidst a rising tide of violence.

How the attack impact on the wider politics of the region remains to be seen.

What is clear is that a corner of Jerusalem that once symbolised Israeli efforts to ignore conflict will henceforth be remembered not for its nice shops and swish cafes, but for bloodshed, pain and death.