The quake has exposed a massive chasm between the clumsy, plodding government and a population desperate for assistance. At one point the minister of health suggested the country could do without foreign assistance, only to face outraged calls for his resignation. Islamic groups offering aid are viewed with suspicion by the fiercely secular regime. But foreign-aid workers who’ve stayed on the job have earned debts of gratitude from both the government and the victims they helped.
Few teams from overseas have won so many plaudits as the Israelis, who arrived early and plan to stay late. The first 180 rescuers sent by Tel Aviv were on the ground in Turkey–a key regional ally of Israel–nine hours after the quake. Eventually they rescued 20 people, including 4-year-old Ismail Cimen, the last person to be found alive.
“We’re good at winging it,” says Israeli Vice-Consul Benjamin Krasna. But this was hardly improvisation. The Israeli search-and-rescue teams are part of a government organization with the somewhat misleading name of Home Front Command. In fact, since it was formed in the aftermath of the gulf war to cope with potential missile and terrorist attacks, the command has been deployed as far from home as Armenia, Kenya, and Macedonia.
The Israelis bring military precision to the task of saving lives. When they decided to airlift a hospital to the Turkish city of Adapazari, where 300,000 were without water, electricity or phones, the Israelis planned the whole operation in less than a day. From the Tel Aviv headquarters of the Israel Defense Forces, Capt. Moshe Meyouhas used the Internet to research Adapazari’s terrain, water and energy sources. He drew up a list of supplies for the first few days, which included 1,000 diapers, 28,000 liters of water, oxygen, asthma inhalers, women’s underpants, even kosher meals for his troops. “We didn’t take any chances,” says Meyouhas.
Three days after the quake, the hospital was operational at an old forestry building. Even as soldiers unpacked, patients flooded in, seeking treatment for trauma, fractures, suicidal impulses, dehydration. The first night the building was shaken by aftershocks. The mission leader, Col. Paul Benedek, ordered the hospital transferred to tents on the lawn. Then driving rain flooded the pediatric tent. Doctors had to carry sick children through the storm. Sgt. Yossi Lancino, who’s been with the Israeli rescue team in Armenia and Rwanda, says that Turkey’s high standard of health care makes this the toughest assignment yet. “There it was just epidemic-style diseases,” says Lancino. “Here it’s everything–cancer, heart problems, headaches–so it’s 24 hours a day of work.”
Beyond the hospital, Turkey grieved for its dead. Inside it were hints of new life. The hospital’s first operation–20 minutes after setting up–was the delivery of a new baby.
