Uprising Has Been a Call to Arms for Nervous Israelis

West Bank settler Yossi Klavan exchanged his Smith & Wesson handgun for a more powerful Glock pistol. City dweller Shira Hoffman attends twice weekly target practice at a shooting range. Erez Kreisler sent hundreds of automatic rifles to Jewish residents in the northern Israeli municipality he heads.

They, like many other non-Arab Israelis, are growing more nervous each day about becoming victims of the Palestinian uprising. It’s a fear heightened by repeated sniper attacks in the West Bank and Gaza Strip, as well as daily gunfire exchanges between Israeli soldiers and Palestinians.

Just as many Israelis have lost faith in caretaker Prime Minister Ehud Barak’s government as the crisis drags through its third month, they are uncertain that police or military patrols can adequately protect them.

So they are building personal arsenals to protect themselves, reversing a four-year decline in gun ownership nationwide, government officials said.

Thousands of Israelis seeking gun permits have flocked to the Interior Ministry since the uprising began in late September. These days, Israelis openly tote weapons in cities and settlements, much as they do pagers and cellular phones.

Others, like Rachel, 39, who asked that her real name not be used, say they don’t plan to buy a handgun but will pay as much as $50 to learn how to handle the weapons “just in case.”

“People feel less safe. It’s like wartime,” said Yael Dayan, a liberal member of parliament who spearheaded stricter gun ownership laws in the 1990s but also owns a .22-caliber Beretta. “It doesn’t mean that it’s useful to have a gun. It’s just a question of feeling safer.”

Amit Yaacov, who heads the firearms licensing department within the Interior Ministry, reports that more than 2,000 applications for gun permits were filed by private citizens in October, a 100% increase over the previous month, and the most recent figure available. Gun shops also report a substantial rise in sales of weapons and ammunition, and shooting ranges are packed day and night with new clients or old ones seeking to refresh their skills.

“What has changed is the demand, obviously a result of the situation,” Yaacov said.

At the Krav--Hebrew for Combat--gun club in west Jerusalem, for example, manager Ronen Rabani reports a doubling in sales in the past two months, mainly to people seeking more powerful handguns. The reason, Rabani says, is that the violence is happening too close to home; not just in remote settlements but in city neighborhoods like Gilo in southern Jerusalem. The neighborhood, located in disputed territory across from the Arab village of Beit Jala, has been fired on almost daily by Palestinians, who in turn draw retaliatory Israeli shelling. Even municipalities such as Misgav, once havens of cooperation between Jewish and Arab residents, have turned into armed camps, with each side eyeing the other warily.

“We know with violence you accomplish nothing good, not for Jews, not for Arabs,” said Kreisler, 44, who heads the Misgav Regional Council. “Now people feel their own security is not the same, not as it was in the past 20 years.”

Rock-throwing demonstrators in Misgav early in the uprising fueled such fears, Kreisler said. Community leaders, in turn, approved sending about 300 weapons to the 28 Jewish villages within the municipality’s boundaries.

Before the uprising, there were about 10 rifles among residents in all of Misgav, Kreisler said. “We can’t live here [relying] on our guns. We can’t live behind fences,” he said. But for now, there’s little choice.

Kreisler is not alone in voicing reluctance about the arms buildup among private citizens. In a country where serving in the army after high school is mandatory for men and women, Israelis have developed a healthy respect for weapons. There is no powerful pro- or anti-gun lobby; weapons are seen as a necessity of life in a hostile region.

While Israeli police refuse to release numbers on crimes committed with guns, firearms are rarely reported as a factor outside the uprising. Jewish settlers have repeatedly exchanged gunfire with Palestinians during the conflict, however.

The licensing process remains stricter than in much of the United States. Before buying a gun, an Israeli citizen must be at least 20 years old to apply for the three-year permit and must appear in front of an Interior Ministry clerk, who may reject an applicant on subjective grounds.

Those applying also must submit their identity card, proof of residence and proof of military service. Their requests can take up to two months to process.

If approved, the new permit holder must go through a 90-minute training session and then register his or her weapon before taking it from the store.

The process is so strict that only 370 of the more than 2,000 applicants in October were approved, Yaacov said.

There are 270,000 licensed private guns--down 10% from 1996--in a country with 5.8 million residents, he added. In addition, 17,000 unlicensed handguns are believed to be in circulation, Yaacov said. That means that there is one private gun for every 20 Israeli residents.

By comparison, there are as many as 225 million privately owned firearms in the United States, according to U.S. Justice Department and National Rifle Assn. estimates, which translates into about four guns for every five residents.

Unlike their Jewish counterparts, Israeli Arabs are not stocking up on weapons, as far as officials can tell. Yaacov said authorities do not discriminate against non-Jewish citizens seeking gun permits and thus have no way to differentiate among applicants.

But Arabs interviewed in Jerusalem say they would not carry a gun, legally or otherwise. The reason, they explain, is their belief that Israeli police and soldiers are more likely to shoot an armed Arab man than ask questions about why he is carrying a gun.

Klavan, the 32-year-old settler, says he decided to upgrade the gun he carries in his car after being hit by stones in recent weeks while driving between his home in a West Bank settlement he declined to identify and his work in Jerusalem.

“I’ve never had to use it, but I’m glad that I have it,” he said. His wife also knows how to shoot, he said, adding, “My mother-in-law is a real crack shot.”

Israelis who live or work in West Bank settlements have long been allowed to carry a gun for protection; many do so as a symbol of power as well.

“We are not vigilantes,” said Hoffman, founder of Victims of Arab Terror International, which has set up two evening trips to the Krav gun club each week in response to the increasing requests for target practice.

“This is a legal and moral way to protect ourselves,” said Hoffman, who adds that she is a follower of the late Rabbi Meir Kahane, the founder of the Jewish Defense League who was slain in 1990.

The growth in gun ownership is not likely to make it easier to own one, however. Even Eli Suissa, a conservative member of parliament who, as interior minister four years ago, lowered the minimum age for ownership from 21 to 20, said he is opposed to any change in the existing laws.

“I do not think that restrictions should be eased every time a security situation develops,” said Suissa, a leader in the religious Shas party. “We cannot have this turning into a Wild West.”