On a sunny winter morning, I went to Zichron Ya’akov for a business meeting. Visiting the Zichron Ya’akov pedestrian mall is like taking a little vacation. Cute stores with fun merchandise one doesn’t need… houses from the 19th century… residents and tourists speaking foreign languages… good ice-cream…

I was early for my meeting at Tishbi restaurant, so I asked the waitress if I could leave my black briefcase by our table while I went out for a stroll until the meeting. I said there was no bomb and nothing of value inside, only papers. “We’re not responsible for it, but as far as I’m concerned it’s OK if you leave it,” she responded.

After about 10 minutes of walking around the mall, I returned to the restaurant. Even from a distance I could see there was a problem. The server was waiting for me outside the restaurant, flustered and embarrassed. “You have to take your briefcase! People here are hysterical, they already called the police! Please, take it away quickly!”

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I went over to the table and picked up my briefcase. Two older women were sitting at the next table. I felt as if they had been waiting for me to turn up so they could berate the person responsible for causing their distress. One scolded me loudly: “What on earth were you doing putting your case down here and then leaving? At a stressful time like this! It’s totally irresponsible!”

I apologized for the unpleasantness and explained that the server had given me permission to leave the briefcase next to the table. “In that case it’s her fault!” declared one of the women, while other diners nodded in agreement. “Why did you leave a briefcase here and terrify everyone?” the hysterical woman kept asking.

I tried another tack. “Do I look dangerous to you?” I asked.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” she answered, “Terrorists don’t look dangerous either.”

I took my briefcase and went out to continue my stroll. Five minutes later, I returned, this time accompanied by the two women with whom I was scheduled to meet. I had already warned them the other diners were liable to give me strange glances.

When the hysterical woman spotted me, she renewed her attack: “You again! Back and forth, back and forth… Maybe you’re from the income tax authority!”

This was too much. “It’s bad enough you thought I was a terrorist. Now you’re accusing me of being a taxman?”

Right now Israeli nerves are stretched to their limit. One cannot blame that hysterical, impolite woman. When from every alley and corner Palestinians are popping up, some mere teenagers, brandishing knives to fulfil the dream of killing a Jew, one can only be rendered speechless at the intensity of the hatred and animosity behind those knives. It is equally impossible not to wonder whether we can ever live here together – and if not together, then how?

And yet, Israel has known worse times. Thugs will not break us, not with knives and not with bombs. Strain our nerves? Yes. Postpone the dream of peace for generations? Yes. But break our spirit? Never.

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We must remember that ultimately, the key is not what our enemies do, but what we do. Whether the attacks and hatred will divide or unite us. To quote my friend Ram Shmueli, who, following a career as an air force pilot and senior commander, now devotes his time and charisma to building unity in Israel and strengthening the ties between its different components: “We must create a new ‘national hope’ in the social realm as a vital complement to national security.”

So to the woman who was angry with me and yelled at me because of the briefcase: On edge – understood. Stressed to the limit – naturally. But let’s avoid hysteria and try not to take out our anxieties and stresses on each other.