I was out with a Jewish friend who was raised by Holocaust survivors. We were dancing, having fun. He went to the bathroom and I started chatting with a Jordanian man. The man had a big scar on his face. He said he got it from boxing. I tried to punch him, show off my newbie boxing skills, and the Jordanian didn’t flinch. After I was done trying to beat him up, he invited us to an afterparty.
My friend came back from the bathroom and I told him where we were going next. He’s Jordanian! I said, thinking of the interesting conversations we’ll have due to the current world climate. When my friend heard the “J word”, he did an about face and walked away.
I was pissed. I knew why he left. His parents and community instilled in him fear, and thereby hate, of anyone from the Muslim or Arabic world. I know. I’ve felt that feeling a hundred times before.
I also grew up Jewish. Most of the people I interacted with as a child came from the former Soviet Union. Russians hate us, I was told. Ukranians do too. And Austrians, Germans, Lithuanians, Spaniards, Italians and so many other nations are Jew-haters as well. We can’t forget to mention the Catholics, Christians and Muslims who destroyed communities and probably burned one of my great, great grandparents alive. When I was a kid, I thought it was me and my (tiny) family of 15 million Jews against the billions of people in the world.
I started letting go of that thinking when I was 17 years old. I fell in love with a non Jew. He turned out to be trans and gay, but that’s besides the point. As I considered (fantasized) being with him and loving him, I kept running into myself. BUT HE’S NOT JEWISH! My mind would scream. who cares? I whispered back. And so the inner dialogue began.
I started making it a point of talking to people. So what do you think of Jews? I was shy at first, or scared. I didn’t ask everybody, only when the intimate conversations came up. I remember the first Muslim friend I made. She was from Pakistan. I asked her the Jew question and she said she knows they live in Israel. Yup, period. That’s all. Nothing else. Oh, she might have mentioned they lived through the Holocaust too. I could not believe that a Muslim from Pakistan - a country I thought I’d be stoned for entering with my name1 - didn’t hate Jews.
I’m sure what my parents and community and so many other Jews told me is true too. Lots of people hate us. I mean, look at the news. I don’t want to change the truth. But you know what? There are millions and millions and millions and millions of people who don’t know what a Jew is. Millions and millions and millions more who have good feelings about us. Both the present and the history have its pains, but why must I live in them? I’ve never met someone who hated me for being a Jew. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who hated me for any reason, actually.
It’s been 10 years since I was in love with a non Jew. You know what still happens though? Despite all the people who have disproved the hate, 10% of the time I bump into a Muslim, I ask myself, does he hate me? When I meet a Russian man with blond hair and brilliant blue eyes, I wonder what his parents told him about Jewish Russians like me. Does he hate me? When a Ukrainian talks about his grandparents, I find myself asking, are these the same grandparents that killed my great grandfather’s wife and children? Maybe he hates me too. The only thing I could do every time these thoughts come is yell back at myself please rethink your inoculated instincts.
I don’t know how long it will take. Maybe another 7 years? 10 years? Perhaps a lifetime. I hope I keep bumping into people who don’t care about Jews, or maybe even love them. It’ll make it easier to rewrite my own beliefs. Just last week, I asked my gym mate her thoughts on my people. She laughed lightly, “my dad's a Jew!” and invited me over to try her mom’s Couscous after Ramadan. There goes all her supposed hatred.
Back on the dance floor, I ran after my friend as he walked away. I grabbed his shoulder and said “c’mon man! TALK to the Jordanian!”. My friend came back. They started a conversation. We got our coats and headed to their afterparty.
Something was strange though. We walked blocks and blocks past the center of town. There were few lights. The Jordanian’s scar started to seem sinister, not cool. As we reached their house, we didn’t hear any music. The lights were off. This was supposed to be a huge party at the biggest house in town. Our senses tingled. I wasn’t the only one feeling weird things. One of my other friends in the group said “guys, I’ve got really bad cramps. Let’s go home”. This time, we all did an about face and walked away.
I love that experience so much. It makes me laugh. We didn’t leave because they were Jordanian. We left because we weren’t sure they were good people.
The Arabic word for Jew is “Yahud” or “Yahudy”.
Amazing article. I'm glad that you are so positive about people and at the same time trust your gut instincts.
I've had the "do they hate me?" thought as an Indian Muslim too. 😅 It's so liberating to recognize the reality -- most people in the world are good-hearted, wonderful souls. Love this piece, thanks for writing!