Muslim Encounters
"Sir, can you please chaperone these two kids from Israel to Cleveland? They are unaccompanied minors, one is 15 and one is 17."
"Oh, and before you decide, just so you know," and at this point the United Airlines representative pulls me to the side and whispers in a thick Israeli accent, "they are Arabs."
Whoa, talk about a game changer. Here we were, my friend Ron Fleeter and I, at the airport in Israel, waiting to board our flight to Cleveland, and we're asked to chaperone two Muslims teenagers, named Mohammed and Hakim. They both grew up on West Side of Cleveland, in the Seven Hills neighborhood (John Demjanjak came to mind).
They had spent their summer visiting their grandparents in Beit Hanoun, a town on the edge of the Gaza Strip that is administered by Hamas - a town whose name I recognized from news reports as a hotbed of terrorism.
Ron and I were understandably nervous to commit, but after we were reassured by the United agent, again in her rich Sabra accent, that "they are not carrying any explosives," we agreed to take responsibility for their safe passage across the Atlantic, and hopefully ours as well! We felt that it was the right thing to do.
So, I'm hanging out with them at the gate in the airport, with their Semitic features, baseball caps, and western attire, when some fellow trying to put together a minyan (prayer quorum) sees them sitting with me and mistakenly counts them as fellow tribesmen and as numbers 9 and 10 for our minyan. I had to sensitively pull him aside and "'splain it to him."
The rest of the trip was uneventful and we all made it home safely together.
Earlier the very same morning, my last day in Israel, I flagged down a taxi in Jerusalem, outside the Kotel. I saw right away that the driver was an Arab, and, ignoring the warning from my Israeli-born mother ringing in my ears, I figured, "business is business," and I told him the address and asked him to turn on the meter and begin on our route. He refused to turn the meter on, and insisted that I pay him 50 Shekel (it should've been no more than 30).
Desperate to arrive at my destination on time, I had no choice but to capitulate to his demands. Turning out of Jaffa Gate, he made a left turn instead of a right, and drove straight through East Jerusalem, instead of West. Before I knew it, all the signs were in Arabic, and we were knee-deep in an unfriendly-looking Arab neighborhood. I protested but he insisted that he was simply taking a "safe" shortcut to get to my destination in a timely manner. At that point I was stuck, scared and vulnerable, totally at the mercy of this Arab driver and his co-religionists, on their home turf.
Thank G-d we exited Little Ramallah and arrived at my destination in one piece.
I have to admit that I struggle with my feelings towards Muslims. While I recognize that clearly not every Muslims is a terrorist, practically every terrorist is a Muslim; It troubles me to see Arabs roaming freely through Jewish neighborhoods in Israel and around the world, while at the same time, Jews are scared to walk through Arab neighborhoods; I am greatly bothered by the double-talk of Arab politicians, by the lack of condemnation of terrorism and Jihad by the Arab community, and by the hatred and anti-antisemitism being passed down to Arab children. On the other hand, they are still G-d's children and deserve the love, respect and empathy reserved for all mankind.
I'm not sure exactly what G-d's message was for me, but I couldn't help contrasting these two encounters. The descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Yishmael respectively, interacting and intersecting in the land of our mutual birthplace. In the morning, I was the one who felt vulnerable and at their mercy. In the evening, the tables were turned.
On Rosh Hashanah, the Torah portion recounts the story of the origins of the struggle between Isaac and Yishmael. It's both fascinating and prophetic to see how this story and this struggle continues to play itself out on. May the upcoming Rosh Hashanah usher in an era of peace and harmony, speedily in our days!
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Koval
