An Arab Home

I remember visiting an Arab family in Bethlehem. I apologize for not having any concrete memories. Just some feelings, which are all that remain after the facts have all evaporated. Just feelings remain.

I remember a little house. Arabs liked houses, however small or close together. Jews liked apartments. I visited both and was always made welcome.

I went up a staircase to a living room. I remember children. Children playing, smiling, laughing. Our hosts friendly, welcoming, familiar. Warm. Home.

I don't remember any other details. What we ate or what we did. What we talked about or how we agreed or disagreed. What games we played or how we shared our shared humanity. Who we were or what our grievences were. What were our feelings for the greater world. I just remember feeling welcome. Open. Equal. Home.

Four decades later I still regard them as friends.