Healing in the valley of Jezreel

Any history of the Holy Land will contain many references to the valley of Jezreel. Many battles were fought there when ancient Israel struggled against its enemies. Gideon won a great victory over the Midianites and the Amalekites in the valley, as did Jehu when he overthrew Ahab's dynasty. Deborah, Saul, and Josiah also fought their enemies there and it is said that more battles were fought in this place than anywhere on earth. Unfortunately this trend continues in modern times.

The Israeli town of Afula is situated in the middle of the valley. A glance at a modern map reveals how close it is to many northern Israeli centres of population and to major towns on the West Bank, including Jenin. Its hospital is called Ha'emek, “The Valley,” a nod to the local geography. The hospital's ethic echoes the local ethnicity—there is a large Israeli Arab population within its catchment area and Nazareth is easily visible from its windows. Like most Israeli hospitals, Ha'emek admits patients of all religious and cultural backgrounds and treats them equally in both social and medical terms. About half of its patients are Muslim and half are Jewish.

I already knew about this cultural mix of patients when I visited Afula as part of a group that had donated funds for a new surgical recovery ward. What I did not know was that the multicultural ethic was also reflected in the medical, nursing, and therapeutic staff.

A stronger image of cooperation would be difficult to imagine

As a cardiologist, I was interested in the hospital's new cardiac unit, where I had the opportunity to watch a mitral balloon valvuloplasty. The hospital is a national referral centre for this as well as other procedures in Israel and a regional referral centre for many specialties and therapies. The procedure was accomplished smoothly and successfully with two inflations. The consultant cardiologist operators were Dr Yoav Turjiman and Dr Haled Sulliman, Jew and Muslim, Israeli and Arab working, almost literally, hand in hand. A stronger image of cooperation would be difficult to imagine. Around 16% of departmental heads are Muslim and 15% of the whole workforce are either Muslim or Christian.

The hospital styles itself as “Israel's Hospital of Peace” and sees itself as a model of cooperation which, if replicated throughout the Holy Land, could help to end the conflict that generates so many patients for its emergency department.

This department itself is headed by Dr Azziz Darowshe, another Arab Muslim, who showed me its facilities. In spite of willingness and ability to bridge the racial and ethnic divide the hospital has to have the capacity to turn itself with extreme speed into a unit that can deal with what is known as an MCE (mass casualty event). I was shown how the double doors could be closed and the whole department hermetically sealed. In the car park outside there are facilities for triage and decontamination, to be used in the event of biological or chemical attack. There are many other areas in the hospital that can hermetically seal themselves and decontaminate water and air. So many resources must go into defence when what really drives the hospital staff is their desire to heal.

I visited the hospital only six months after an MCE filled the emergency room—more than 70 casualties from a major suicide bombing in Afula's shopping mall. One of the victims was the hospital's vascular surgeon, Dr Shmuel Yurfest. He was close to death and even his colleagues failed to recognise him when he was brought in. He did recover and I sat with him at a dinner to celebrate the inauguration of the new surgical unit. I wondered what I should talk about. But it turned out that he did not mind talking about the attack, which has taken away the sight of one eye completely; the other is in doubt as is, of course, his career. He remembers details of the bomber, what she was wearing, and how she was red in the face. Can one possibly expiate such an overwhelming event in one's life by talking about it? Perhaps he preferred to talk about the future. He wants to get back to work and, somehow or other, is even able to cope with the idea of treating patients who might have been his attackers.

There are fewer patients now from the West Bank. Before the intifada there was no shortage of custom from Jenin and other West Bank Arab towns. Now the Palestinian authorities strongly discourage people from coming. Some still do come, however, albeit secretly.

The name Jezreel may be translated as “May God make Fruitful.” Now more than ever before, we need this hospital's work to be fruitful enough to influence those who come within its orbit or who learn about its work.