Israel

You think you know Israel?

If you have never seen the sun rise on a clear morning above the buildings of Tel Aviv, then you do not know Israel.

If you have never touched the world’s holiest and most sacred places in the streets of Jerusalem, then you do not know Israel.

If you have never prayed alongside Muslims and Christians and Jews for the same peace, for the same love, for the same forgiveness and redemption and serenity while the world scoffs and shoots and ignores, then you do not know Israel.

If you have never done the very thing you were told not to do because it was asked of you, and because your people relied on you, and because it was the heat of the moment and you saw no alternative even as children and their mothers cried, then you do not know Israel.

If you have never touched the hand of a man who survived haSho’ah, looked into his eyes, listened to his story, mourned with him the loss of his wife and children and family in the death camps of a cold, cold Poland, then you do not know Israel.

If you have never fallen over laughing at a European or an American visitor who attempts to eat Tahina dry, then you do not know Israel.

If you have never taken your Shakshuka to the Mediterranean beach and enjoyed it as the water makes your toes chilly and salty, then you do not know Israel.

If you have never mourned the loss of your brother or sister, or someone else’s brother or sister, in what the rest of the world calls a Jihad, and then asked why over and over and over, then you do not know Israel.

If you have never listened to your mother or your grandmother recount stories of how it was when they were young, or how things are so much different, or how this is not the way life was intended to be, then you do not know Israel.

If you have never faced the uniquely crushing, infuriating, and bitterly heartbreaking effects of an international anti-Semitism, then you do not know Israel.

If you have never found yourself laughing and chatting with an Arab employee only to realize he is Palestinian and intent on the demise of your people, then you do not know Israel.

If you have never taken Shabbat with an empty stomach, and vowed never to eat again in a few short hours, or feasted on a holiday with the vigor of a large animal, then you do not know Israel.

If you have never heard the explosion of a suicide bomber while you enjoyed your coffee, heard the screams of passerbys, and seen the dark crimson blood sprinkle the streets like rain, then you do not know Israel.

If you have never seen the sun set and counted the stars above Gaza or Nazareth or Hebron, and were thankful for the moon and for the night and for the chance to star humbly up at them, then you do not know Israel.

We are an arrogant, insufferable, opinionated, cold, and sarcastic. We are European, American and Arab, and we pray to a spirit that we have never lost faith in. We are Jews, yes, but we stand every day beside Muslims and Christians, and we do not judge them. We are weak, but we are always, always strong. We do not falter. We do not hesitate. We do not forget.

And if you listen to us, and if we listen to you, and if the world listens to its neighbors, then we will all know one another. And then, perhaps, we will know peace.