“Never trust an Arab—even when he is dead!” So said Abu Musa
to my husband some 40-plus years ago. Abu Musa was a shyster contractor who knew
how to overcharge his Jewish customers and get away with it. Dov was a student in
the yeshiva under the tutelage of the man who was currently being ripped off by
Abu Musa. Sometimes Dov, not long in Israel, would chat up Abu Musa to learn a
bit of Arabic, and something about Arab culture, too.
Well, Dov learned something, all right. He learned from an Arab, never to trust an Arab.
It’s a difficult lesson for people who grew up like me and
my husband; that we dare not trust a certain, specific people. We were raised
to believe that this is wrong. Our parents taught us to judge people on the
content of their character and to be polite and respectful to people no matter
what they look like or believe.
For example, there was a home for disabled children located
not far from my childhood home. Sometimes, a caregiver would take two or three
children for a walk in the neighborhood. My mother taught me that if we passed
them on the street, not to stare, and to smile and be polite the same as with
any other passersby. These children had obvious, moderately severe
disabilities. So my mother was preparing me for a shock, at the same time telling
me not to show the shock because it would be rude and hurtful to do so.
The first lesson happened in real time. My mother explained things
to me quietly, as we were about to pass by some of the children with their
caregiver. There was no need for a second lesson. The next time we saw a group
of kids and their caregiver up ahead, my mother didn’t say a word. She gave my
hand a subtle squeeze and that was a sufficient reminder and review of what—and
what not—to do. Lesson learned.
There were other lessons I learned from my parents. My late
father loved to quote Dale
Carnegie, “Don’t criticize, condemn, or complain.”
But most of these lessons were taught without words. My
parents treated the few black people they knew, the same as everybody else. No
one had to brief me on the subject, or nod at me when we were about to
encounter someone with skin a different color, or eyes a different shape from
my own. I learned by example that someone’s appearance is not a reason to hate.
This is what I was taught it meant to be a nice person. To
understand that people come in all shapes, sizes, and colors, and to refrain
from judging them on these things. To treat everyone as you would want to be
treated, with respect.
That is how I was raised as a Jewish American from a middle
class home. I know that my peers, and certainly my husband, from a remarkably
similar background, were raised the same way. And still, here I am, someone who
doesn’t trust an entire people, specifically the Arab people. It’s not about
their ethnicity, or their color, but the fact that the Arab people have earned
our mistrust. Too many times, it was that nice Arab worker who came back to
rape and murder their employer.
I don’t trust Arabs and it’s not only about October 7. I
didn’t trust Arabs long before that black day. I know of too many examples of trusted
Arabs who proved to be terrorist monsters and of too many horrendous examples
of Arab terror.
I no longer have to explain this to friends who once said, “I
can’t be friends with anyone who says they ‘hate’ Arabs.”
It is sad really, how many of us Israelis feel sad that when
it comes to Arabs, we are not able to apply what we learned in our homes about
being nice people. We distrust Arabs, even if we don’t know them as individuals
and there are no outward signs of anything amiss. With good reason. October 7
being the turning point for many good people.
The Arabs give us no choice. It’s a matter of life or death,
this lack of trust. At the same time, not every Arab is untrustworthy. The
problem is, there’s no way to know. And if you want to stay alive, it’s better
to be safe and mistrust, than trust and be dead.
I have exactly two Arab
friends. Or “had.” One of the two is now dead, and still I trust him more
than most living people, despite Abu Musa. He found a way to prove his loyalty
to me and my people. The other Arab friend is thankfully alive, and has proven
his loyalty to the Jewish State a thousand times over (as did his father before
him).
The others? In some cases, “trust, but verify” works.
For example, the nice, normal Arab clerk at the desk in
dermatology at Hadassah. She’s wearing a hijab, which could be a sign of
extremism, but we’re only going to have limited interaction, so I can be “normal”
with her. It’s a question, I guess, of good faith. She’s being polite and
professional, and deserves to be treated like a normal human being. Sure, she
could self-detonate and kill herself and every Jew in the waiting room at any
given moment, but me being rude to her probably wouldn’t change her mind.
Two months after October 7, with all of us more suspicious
of Arabs, an Arab woman knocked into my husband and made him spill hot coffee
on himself. He brushed off his clothes and muttered something under his breath
and that would probably have been that. Except that the woman ran after us to
apologize profusely, rummaging through her handbag and offering up a package of
wet wipes. (I can still see the package in my mind’s eyes, it was an Arab brand
of wet wipes we don’t see in our stores. They were lemon-scented.) She was
really sorry and she was kind. And she, too, was wearing a hijab.
We would never have seen her again. She didn’t have to run
up to us and apologize a gazillion times and try to give Dov her wet wipes. The
possibility occurs that in the wake of October 7, she was trying to tell us, “Not
all of us support terror. Not all of us are filled with hate and trying to kill
you/rape you/torture you/kidnap you/shoot missiles at you/,” and etc.
Or maybe she just wanted everyone in the vicinity to see
that, “Oh, look. Here’s a good Arab. They still exist.”
How can I know? How can I possibly know? The answer is I can’t,
and that answer comes straight from the lips of a shyster Arab contractor, “Never
trust an Arab. Even when he is dead.”
For all I know Abu Musa himself, is dead. But take his advice to heart. Be he live or be he dead, he’s not to be trusted if you value your life.
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