I n the middle of the night an explosion shook Jerusalem out of its sleep. The city woke up terrified. This wasn’t just another dumpster set on fire. It was a massive conflagration roaring at the eastern end of Rechov Haneviim near the Old City. Three cylinders of gas — usually meant to supply cooking fuel to the tenants — had exploded one after the other with a sound like echoing thunder and nine people living on the building’s first floor were killed on the spot: old Hammed who used to sell his wares in the Arab shuk his young daughters Leila and Noor; and in the apartment next door the Al-Rawabis and all four of their children. As the flames devoured the rickety structure the building collapsed into itself trapping the dead and leaving the stores below in ruins.
The fire almost human in its cruelty slurped up the gas insatiably and spread to the next building. By the time the firemen arrived the gas cylinders outside that building too had exploded in a mighty burst of flame. The cool night breeze played with the sparks tossing them this way and that way and the quiet street filled with a cacophony of screams and fearful cries.
Everyone blamed old Hammed who had hooked up an unauthorized gas line to his kitchen. They said that Moiz Al-Rawabi must have gone out to the balcony to smoke as he did every night and a spark from his lighter must have ignited on a whiff of his neighbor’s illegal gas supply.
But the fire investigators sent by the city police drew a different conclusion: arson.
