As anybody who knows me knows, before I came to live in Australia I
lived in Colorado Springs, a lovely city of perhaps half a million souls
nestled against the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains with Pikes Peak looming
above the city at just over 14,000 feet elevation. Geographically and climactically, Colorado
Springs has little in common with the Gold Coast, where Clara and I have made
our home for the past three-and-a-half years.
But the Jewish community is of a similar size: maybe 400 affiliated families plus the
legions of others whom all the local experts believe are present in the
community. But perhaps 400 families, and
a few more on the fringes, are all that one can document as being there.
There is a
restaurant in Colorado Springs, that the Levy family used to like to
frequent. It is called ‘Jerusalem
Café.’ I know, I know, it’s a no-brainer
that the Levy family would prefer to eat in such an establishment. But before you get carried away, let me tell
you that the owners of the Jerusalem Café are a Palestinian Arab family. Muslims.
I suppose they named their business ‘Jerusalem’ and not ‘Al Quds’
because ‘Jerusalem’ is more instantly recognizable. Not many Americans would make the connection
between ‘Al Quds’ – meaning ‘The Holy’ – and the city sacred to all three of
the ‘Abrahamic faiths.’
So the Jerusalem
Café serves up the sort of food that the Levy family enjoys eating. And we saw no contradiction to our Zionism
and eating where the owner wears hijab.
Where murals of the Dome of the Rock and Al Aksa adorn the walls.
One day I was eating
lunch there with a non-Jewish friend, introducing him to their delicious shawarma. And my friend, quietly asked if my loyalties
towards Israel made me feel at all conflicted about patronising the Jerusalem
Café. Without even thinking, I told him,
“Absolutely not.” And then I looked up
and scanned the room. It’s not a large place:
maybe a dozen tables. And this being the height of the lunch hour,
everyone was occupied. I pointed out to
my friend: Half the people here are
Jews…and the other half are military personnel, in uniform. Colorado Springs hosts five military bases, none
of them close to the Jerusalem Café.
Despite that, the tables not occupied by local Jews on that weekday,
were taken by military personnel. Many
of them had undoubtedly served tours in Iraq.
And were ‘supposed’ to be Islamaphobic.
Of all the places they could have been eating lunch, they chose to drive
some distance to a place that was conspicuously owned and run by a Muslim
family. And the half-dozen or so lunch
parties representing the city’s tiny Jewish community has also sought out, of
all the places where they could patronise, a Palestinian-owned business.
One time, there was
a rally by local Colorado Springs Christians in support of Israel. Some of the local Jewish community
attended. There was a pathetic little
demonstration across the street from the venue, with a handful of enemies of
Israel holding up signs with such slogans as ‘Zionism Equals Racism.’ A Jewish friend and I walked over to their
table to engage in a quiet and respectful dialogue with them before the rally
began. As a result of this, Clara and I
invited a couple who had been a part of the demonstration to our home for
coffee and conversation. The dialogue
produced nothing earth-shattering, but it was interesting. But probably the most interesting part of the
evening was when we welcomed the couple into our home and they presented us
with a gift: a bottle of Palestinian
olive oil. In doing so, they expressed
the hope that they hadn’t insulted us by bringing such a thing into our
home. Clara and I looked at one another,
dumbfounded by the suggestion that our guests bringing a Palestinian product into
our home would be offensive to us.
Rather, we thanked our guests profusely for the gift. Over the following weeks we certainly enjoyed
using the high-quality olive oil, the product of Palestinian villagers. We saw no contradiction between that, and our
sometimes-strident advocacy of Israel’s cause.
But later, when I had time to reflect, I realised that this represented
the same essential mindset that caused the tiny local Jewish community to
support a conspicuously Palestinian restaurant.
We don’t wish them ill. We want
them to succeed, and we’re willing to make our economic – and gastronomic –
choices to support them when we can.
This is in contrast
to the way that the Palestinian leadership, its population both indigenous and
expat, and their political allies behave vis-à-vis Israel and Jews, whom they see
as one and the same. They hate us
and wish us the worst. They expend great
energies, influencing the world to isolate and boycott Israel and its products
as an expression of that hatred. Now,
these others frequently accuse Israel and her supporters of likewise carrying a
deep hatred of the Palestinians. They will
point to the “heavy hand” with which the Israelis respond to Palestinians who
out of their frustration and continued disappointment with a dormant peace
process, pathetically attack Israelis with kitchen knives and household
scissors, and are shot deat by the Israeli Army and Police. But the Israelis are not responding out of
hatred. They are simply responding
decisively as a way of saying: We
will not let you terrorise us. A pair of
scissors is a deadly weapon, and when you use them, we respond as someone whose
life you’re threatenting…because that’s what you are doing. Come at me with scissors, and I’ll stop you
with deadly force if necessary. But
bring me a bottle of your fine olive oil and I will be happy to purchase and
enjoy it. And under the right
circumstances, I would love to sit down with you and dip our bread in it
together. And enjoy it together. And get to know one another and enjoy one
another’s company.
The other day I read
that the Palestinian Street is complaining.
Since the beginning of the latest wave of violence directed at Israelis,
in October, their economy has collapsed.
This, because Jews are afraid to step into Palestinian towns and
neighbourhoods in order to patronise their businesses. They would be very happy to give such custom
to their Arab neighbours. This, in
contrast to their neighbours and their supporters who want to bankrupt Israel
for lack of customers. Because the
hatred is, by and large, one way. When
Clara and I were in Israel recently, not a single conversation where the latest
wave of violence came up devolved into expressions of hatred for Palestinians –
except, perhaps their so-called leaders.
On the rare occasions where we even had such conversations, the
focus was more likely to turn to steps that we could take to prevent our
becoming victims to the violence.
Because Jews have been victims too many times in history and it is time
for a phase shift. The Israelis have
been working to make that shift for many years.
And the more they do, the more the world scorns them.
This week’s Torah
reading is Shemot, the opening chapters of the book by the same name or
as it is more popularly known, Exodus.
It begins with the change in fortunes of the Jews of ancient Egypt. The Pharaoh who knew not Joseph feared
the Jews as a potential fifth column.
And he oppressed them. But as the
Torah informs us: The more the
Pharaoh afflicted them, the more they grew and filled the land. So a positive response to persecution and
affliction, is hardly a new phenomenon.
Rather, it is the classical Jewish response. The ancient Israelites responded to Pharaoh’s
afflictions with a positive approach to life.
Not with hatred of Egypt. The
contemporary Israelis likewise respond to Palestinian hatred and violence, and
their supporters who would seem to want them to just go away, similar with a
positive approach to life. Not with
hatred. But with a positive witness of a
self-confident national life that defied the hatred by saying: We’re not going to succumb to this and
respond in kind. We’re going to
transcend your hatred. Come at us with a
blade, or a gun, or a vehicle wielded as a weapon, and we’ll stop you
decisively. Come to us with olive oil,
and we’ll buy and enjoy it.
This is our
way. This is the way of peace. Shabbat shalom.
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