By Elisabeth Hinze
Doing your grocery shopping at the shuk (market) in Jerusalem can be quite the experience. Because the shopkeepers are inquisitive about their clientele. Especially if the smattering of Hebrew you speak comes with a strange accent. The questions are usually pretty standard. Where are you from? Are you married (I know! Odd but true). Are you making aliyah (immigrating to Israel)? And that’s where the conversation turns interesting. Because no, I’m not. I’m not Jewish. I’m merely visiting. “What are you doing here then?” asked an ancient gentleman the other day. “I love Israel,” I explained. “And I love the people of Israel.” He looked at me strangely for a moment, like I was an oddity, something completely foreign. And then blurted out his surprise, “You love us? But why? Nobody even likes us.”
I’ve been thinking about his reaction for some time now. Because it speaks of his belief, moulded by many years of experience. See, to the best of my knowledge, foreigners have never described the Israelis as a warm, fuzzy nation. Yes, I’m sure you can find dozens of warm, fuzzy ones, but in general, or more to the point, from a Western perspective, they aren’t known for their polite ways. And I can see where that perception comes from. Because the culture is different. No polite standing out of the way to let you pass. Or get on the bus. Standing in line is optional. Which is why I get nervous at the prospect of any possible queuing situation. See, I’d rather let half of Jerusalem cut in than fight my way to the counter. Oh it’s not a physical thing. It’s more a resolution of wills, a determined look, a standing-on-your-rights. Because if you don’t… If you fail to defend your position, to match the determined attitude or give an inch, you’ll never get to the front of the line. You’ll never get on the bus. Basically, you’ll never get anywhere. And you’ll be the one to blame. Because here, you learn from early on to defend what’s yours, to match any attitude thrown at you and to never, ever give in.
Little time is wasted on excessive niceties or pleasantries. In general, you’ll never have to wonder what an Israeli thinks of you. He or she will let you know very quickly and even more directly. When an Israeli has an opinion to express, it will be expressed immediately and at maximum volume – even if it’s 2:00 in the morning and nobody could care less about the opinion being expressed. To Westerners, Israelis often appear aggressive and well, tough.
It’s to be expected, many argue. Just look at the history. And look at the present situation. If you were surrounded by enemies baying for your blood, wouldn’t you want your children to grow up tough, knowing how to defend what’s theirs? And I agree. I would. But there’s also something else, something more than the harsh environment and the terrible shadow of history.
See, if you make an effort with the majority of Israelis, you’ll find a warm, fuzzy person under the rough, defensive shell that we so often perceive. Granted, maybe not warm or fuzzy according to a Western standard. No, they won’t go for excessive niceties or pleasantries. Because it’s fake. They generally won’t step aside politely to let you pass. Or get on the bus. And you can rely on the fact that what pops into an Israeli’s head is bound to come out of his mouth. Because that’s what he thinks and he isn’t going to hide it from you.
It’s not aggressive then. Or tough for that matter. It’s just that there isn’t anything superficial to placate you. It’s genuine and real. Amongst the Israelis I have found the sharpest people with the best sense of humour imaginable – often hiding behind a deadpan face. They are cheerful, entertaining and funny – with a spirit that makes them break out in spontaneous song and dance – in the middle of the street, at the dinner table, the setting is irrelevant. They argue with one another with a fierce passion, like life and death hinges on winning the argument. Only to embrace and part as friends minutes later. Because they said what they wanted to. And now it’s over.
It’s that element of passion that Israelis bring to whatever they do. They eat passionately, sing passionately, disagree passionately and, if you make the effort, befriend you passionately. They’ve mastered the art of living out loud – and they do so unapologetically.
But you have to make the effort. Because all too often, the rough, defensive shell is about more than history, countless wars, radical neighbours or culture. It’s there because of a resignation to the fact that the rest of the world points a finger no matter what Israel does. It’s there because the years of justifying every action only seemed to have resulted in more condemnation. It’s there because they read the newspapers and see the accusations. While their sons and fathers and husbands are dying in an effort to preserve all innocent life. So some of them just stopped. Stopped justifying, stopped trying, stopped making an effort. Because the world would condemn regardless.
Which is why we can never stop speaking, never stop writing, never stop loving. Because the people of Israel has to know. That there is a different voice to the one they’ve heard for years. Even if it takes one ancient shopkeeper in the shuk at a time.
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