Moments of Normal
Travel Stories: Jenni Kolsky struggles to make sense of the photographs she took at a peaceful beach in war-torn Israel
My anxiety felt palpable, yet I felt oddly alone in my perception of danger. The mantra of the Israelis goes something like this: One must live for the moment and not dwell on fate. And the possibility of crossing the path of a Palestinian on a suicide mission was appreciatively hidden for most by the routines of daily life. It would only surface in the moments when kissing a loved one goodbye became an essential ritual. For me, it was all I could think about.
On Sharon Beach at sunrise, surrounded by a people who live for the moment, I was just a few miles north of Tel Aviv in Herzliya. It was too early in the morning for security to be checking bags or for the lifeguards to be on duty. Yet there were throngs of locals walking up and down the beach, exercising, surfing, playing makot (smash ball), and kibitzing. Here it felt safe, in the moments when life is about the pursuit of pleasure, in the moments when you can forget that you are in the midst of war.
I photographed all that was expected from any beach: young families playing in the sand, teenagers worshipping the sun, pensioners spending time with friends, an abundance of recreation and relaxation. It was easy to lose myself in the visuals: lovers entwined and asleep on a restaurant’s chairs as the sun rises. Three generations of women playing in the sand as the tide goes out. Local boys taking a break from surfing during their last summer before entering the army. Teenage girls smoking rose tobacco from a hookah on the sly from their parents.
By 9 a.m. each day, the light changed from soft and magical to harsh and unforgiving. One day, so similar to so many others, I sat in a café on the boardwalk and had a typical Israeli breakfast of eggs and salad and cheese. I then bought a newspaper. Two suicide bombs. One at a neighborhood supermarket, the other at a crowded intersection. Ten miles separating Sharon Beach from moments of normal and moments of horror.
Now home again in America, I struggle to make sense of my experience. How could I justify the portraits I recorded with my camera? I remind myself that I am not a war photographer. Human suffering causes my hands to tremble, a liability when trying to focus a camera. So I offer this explanation: My experience in Israel made me aware of the untimely potential for death, especially my own. So I chose instead to focus on the realization of life, at a sun-drenched beach, with portraits of hope and of humanity, of moments we all live for and take for granted: moments of normal.
Email to friend
Twitter
del.icio.us
Digg
Facebook
Furl
Ma.gnolia
Mixx
Reddit
StumbleUpon
Yahoo! Buzz