My Brother

 

The Fatwa against nuclear research made it forbidden for Muslims to engage in it. As long as they obeyed it. Of course, many people doubted that it did anything more than throw sand in our eyes while Iran pursued a nuclear program anyway. But they put their fatwas where their turbans are by joining the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, which subjected them to the rigors of inspections, regulations, surveillance, protocols, checks and double/triple checks, and bureaucracy. Trust but verify, as Ronald Regan liked to say. These are things that our friends, the Greatest Democracy in the Mideast, declined. Politely, of course.

When I lived in Israel in the 1970’s, the region was populated by a mix of Israelis, Palestinians, Jews, Christians, Muslims, and vagabonds like myself, living in… not exactly affection… But in a quasi-state of enlightened self-interest… with benefits. I saw lots of examples of people working together. And maybe even liking it. Shhh! Don’t tell any of them! They wouldn’t like to hear that. That would be like telling a black man who is a shoeshine boy and a white man who is a taxi driver that one liked driving the other to the city and the second liked shining his shoes when they got there. Familiarity may breed contempt but sometimes it breeds cooperation.

I believed in Zionism back then. I saw it as a positive force, with tempests along the way. And wars. But I hoped that, along the way, they might find a way to build a better life together, driving taxis and shining shoes for each other. For the same reason I refuse to take a narrow and insulting demeanor toward people who I disagree with. TDS, Trump Derangement Syndrome, disturbs me.

I consider myself a lifelong LWS: Liberal with Sympathies. Many of my fellow liberals today are LWH: Liberal with Hostility. I started seeing the liberalism I grew up with plummet into a self-righteous, contemptuous, hypocritical, Wokier-Than-Thou, group of busy-bodies yammering about everything and nothing without doing anything useful about it. Today’s liberals are outraged about everything and have more chips on their shoulders than Frito Lay.

This is Faux Liberalism. Fascist Liberalism.

If you are one of those, do you know what you look like? How you sound?

You would make a very good Fundamentalist Evangelical Christian.

Am I naïve?

Gullible?

Easily duped?

Sure. Why not? I’ll take it.

But like Winston Churchhill said:

“It is better to jaw, jaw, jaw than to war, war, war.”

After the Six Day and the Yom Kippur wars in the 1960’s and 70’s, one Knesset member made it his cause to reach out to the Bedouin people living in the occupied territory. He learned their language (they said about him that he spoke Arabic with a Bedouin accent.) He had water piped in, gave assistance wherever he could, and circuited medical teams to meet the health needs of the numerous tribes living under what was now Israel’s jurisdiction. He made of himself a voice on their behalf in the Israeli Knesset. He made a difference, of sorts. He was sort of an Israeli Lawrence of Arabia.

Oh, and he forbad their practice of periodically raiding and robbing each other. Play nice, boys.

One day he brought my group to visit one of them, bringing with him a gift of a brass serving dish. You never arrive at a sheikh’s village empty handed. The sheikh greeted him as a brother, kissing him on both cheeks. He wanted to slaughter a goat for us and serve us a meal, the sharing of which is a very big deal for every tribe of people. Even ours! Don’t take it frivolously! Our guide forbad it because they are a very poor people. A single goat means a lot to them. He let us know what an honor it was for him to make that offer. We asked him to convey our gratitude.

Instead, the sheik made us coffee as a sign of respect and hospitality, which are important features of desert life. We gathered in his tent around a charcoal fire for the ritual he provided us with, roasting the beans, grinding them, brewing them, sweetening them exquisitely, and serving us each a small amount in a demitasse cup. A Japanese tea ceremony could not have more gravitas. Or sincerity. We all tasted it with Arabian delight.

They showed us some of their village, a very little bit-these people are very private and respect is essential. Goats followed us around. Their cistern was clogged with sand from lack of care. Their water comes through a pipe running along the desert floor which shows its own kind of respect.

It is experiences like these that have shaped me as the man I am today. Understanding, empathy, trust, and dialog are the tools of bringing oneself into harmony with others. And above all: Respect. I have made this my mantra which I repeat every opportunity I get. If an MP of a country at war can call one of his enemies, “My brother,” certainly I can call a political opponent, “My friend.” Hey, why not? It might work.

It’s worth a try.