June 1, 2001, Friday. International Children's Day. An Arab suicide bomber from the "Islamic Jihad" group, Said Khutari, 22, from the city of Qalqilya, tries to penetrate the "Dolphin" discotheque on the Tel Aviv promenade. The guard at the entrance noticed his strange appearance and asked what he was going to do there. "Dance," the terrorist replied. He was not searched, as they have no right to do so, but he was not allowed in. And then he blew himself up in the midst of a crowd of children at the entrance to the disco...

You have seen television reports full of screams and horror. You have seen photographs of this bloody massacre. You have read newspaper articles. But, I can tell you - it means that you have seen almost nothing. It only means that the correspondent visited this place on that fateful midnight. There is not a single article, not a single report that would bring you fully closer to the real picture of what happened.

I wander aimlessly, clutching in my hand shards of display glass and pieces of metal I picked up from the asphalt. Sharp screws, bolts, steel balls. Hundreds of deadly objects that burst from the explosive device, taking 21 lives and mutilating everything alive within a radius of 300 meters.

Driven by blind hatred and possessed by religious fanaticism, the young Palestinian approached the area in front of the discotheque, calmly carrying a load of explosives and deadly metal objects on his shoulders, and headed into the midst of a crowd of teenage girls waiting their turn at the entrance to the discotheque. A handsome guy, the girls would have been happy to dance with such a nice, симпатичный guy, catching his smile with their eyes.

Approaching the discotheque, you notice numerous indelible bloodstains on the asphalt. These spots are covered with bouquets of flowers. Among the flowers, you see photographs of children, toys brought by some parents. Flickering lights of candles. Looking up, you notice numerous holes knocked out on the concrete walls of the discotheque. And you realize that if you were standing in this place - one of these death-carrying pieces of metal would have pierced your body, head, or legs.

I approach the wall of the discotheque, touching the indentations on the concrete with my fingers, and by these indentations, I try to understand where the explosion occurred and try to imagine its monstrous force. I find this spot on the asphalt with my eyes and suddenly distinctly feel the rupture of space in this place. Strong summer sunbeams only enhance this effect. The intoxicating smell of burning and the smell of blood. Something happened here that the mind refuses to comprehend...

The mournful silence is broken by the voices of people. One person says: "It was an act of barbarism." Another replies: "Even barbarians are not capable of this."

Across the road and a little further away, you can see the Arab Hassan Bek Mosque, its round brick tower standing in the darkness against the backdrop of the shining hotels on the Tel Aviv promenade. You imagine how one of the visitors to this Holy place told Hamas militants: "We have an address for you." You try not to jump to conclusions too quickly - but the physical proximity of this gloomy building to the disco - everything is too damn clear.

Leaving the blood-stained discotheque parking lot, you cannot help but wonder how a person can commit such a cold-blooded and cruel atrocity. You part with this memorial site, leaving this horror film on your own, and come across several inscriptions in English. Black marker on white cardboard. One of the inscriptions reads: "We Ask For Peace, They Ask For Blood." The inscription carries no hatred. It only clearly reflects the essence of two different and dissimilar cultures. One, exalted, to love and multiply life, the other knowing no mercy and destined to destroy and hate.

Words take on new meaning. And you now know that it will take a huge number of years to achieve mutual understanding and an objective worldview of both sides in order to use the word "trust" and shake hands. You wonder how many more human lives will be wasted and irretrievably swept away in this whirlpool of historical events.

You look down at the white sandy seashore, at the crests of waves breaking on the breakwater, at a flock of noisy and bustling gulls soaring nearby and knowing for sure that beauty and peace are eternal and indivisible. You ask, you pray to God for wind... A wind on whose wings this world of natural beauty could penetrate the souls of Israel's neighbors...