I would unfortunately be hard put to exaggerate the extent to which the terms “Jew,” “Israeli,” “America,” and “conspiracy” flow in an interchangeable and constant ring of fire from the mouths of even the most educated Egyptians.
The worsening situation in Lebanon has only served to exacerbate these feelings. Conversations in the streets of Cairo revolve around little else.
Aaron, my male consort in travel, discovery and linguistic advancement here in Egypt, is Jewish. Caught between the pressures of a pro-Israeli family and his empathy for the Arabs amongst whom he lives, the constant recurrence of this conversation weighs on him more than I can claim to imagine. But I feel compelled at least to capture some of these exchanges, as I believe that we have a unique chance to record how this piece of a long-embattled historical narrative is being lived. After the weekly searches for “the voice of the common man” in my “ethnography of the Middle East” class last semester that ended fruitlessly and pretentiously, I cannot let this opportuntiy escape. I must emphasize that I am not trying to speak for Jews, nor for Arabs. I am a close and interested observer and here is my shot at thick description.
1. Aaron’s Sheghala
The only Egyptian to whom Aaron has revealed his religious identity is his sheghala, Mouna. Throughout the summer, their conversations led Aaron to feel true compassion for her plight: a mother of three with a worthless husband, she felt obliged to put her children through private school lest they fall to a lower level of society than their more fortunate cousins. As his compassion and respect for her grew, it pained him to hear her lambast Israel with the same abandon as taxi drivers. He decided to own up. Two hours of discussion later, she still showed little progress in discerning between “Jew” and “Israeli:” “But are you American or are you Israeli?” she persisted each step of the way. I am American. I am Jewish. I am not, and have never been Israeli. I do not vote in Israeli elections. I do not pay Israeli taxes. Therefore I am not an Israeli citizen. Judaism is my religion, American is my nationality.
Aaron thought he had broken through to her at last with a relevant metaphor, unfurled in expert Socratic method:
“Are you a Muslim?”
“Yes.”
“And who founded Islam?”
“The Prohet Mohammad, peace be upon him.”
“And the Prophet was an Arab, right?”
“Yes, he was.”
“So are you an Arab?”
“Of course not! I am Egyptian!”
“But if the Prophet was an Arab, and he founded Islam, and you are a Muslim, does that make you an Arab?”
“Well . . . no.”
“So being a Jew by religion does not attach me to Israel either, or any other nation (Q.E.D.)!”
I hold my reservations as to this argument’s soundness; while ancient Israel may be the cradle of Judaism, the modern nation-state of Israel certainly is not, nor was it founded on religious grounds alone. This makes equating it with the Prophet’s Arabia a bit problematic to my thinking. Allow me to add here that “my way of thinking” regarding this subject lacks extensive exploration and reflection; I consider my opinions in no way formed. Aaron’s sheghala seems not to have the same reservations about voicing her unexplored opinion. She is now suspect of spreading her confused notion of Aaron’s identity throughout al-Dokki (our neighborhood). A few days later, Jen reported that an employee in a koshery restaurant where Aaron never eats had asked her if she knew “Haroun the Israeli, who lives right here in al-Dokki!” Err, didn’t know he was, um, what you said, her flustered response. YIPE, Aaron’s terrified one. In the end, despite resolving to fire Mouna, confront the koshery guy and clarify the entire neighborhood on the difference between religious and national identity, Aaron did nothing and nothing more has come of it. Besides a slight residue of paranoia, we carry on as before. However, Aaron deemed the experience sufficient to give him pause when making any further confessions of Jewishness.
No comments:
Post a Comment