Middle Ground in the Middle East

Once upon a time, Sam Cooke crooned “don’t know much about history.”  Sandy and Sonny fell in love over the same words, bridging their differences by looking forward and finding common ground.  I do not know enough history to be scholarly, or enough politics to be unifying.  I do know, however, that when I visited Israel back in the 90s I met a lot of different types of people who just want to get along.

There is something in Middle Eastern DNA that polarizes.  I see it in my own family’s nature.  Being Jews of the Diaspora, at some point we must have originated in that region before going forth, being fruitful, and multiplying.  There are two residual attributes that stand out among members of my family: the need to cling to our own kind in a tribal sort of allegiance, and the need to be right with a vengeance.  An eye for an eye in every sense of the word.

In Middle East politics, any sort of confrontation predictably provokes an equal and opposite reaction.  For this reason, government actions—particularly those presented as lines in the sand or ultimatums—perennially backfire.  Diplomacy is challenged by non-negotiation doctrines that operate around the idea that “I only win if you lose” or “you first”.  These official fronts seem impenetrable, and they are.  This is why we teach the opposite to our children.

It is true, especially at this time of year, that we steep ourselves in our history in order to appreciate our freedom.  At the same time, we also reflect on those who succumbed so that we might rise.  Peace, however, is not modeled in the past; we cannot look for it there.  It can only be achieved by looking into the future and imagining what has never been.  One must let go in the hope that others will do the same.  It is no different for great nations than it is for the most petty and selfish of children.  Or estranged spouses.  Or political parties. 

That’s why I was so pleasantly surprised to visit Israel.  I rode in cabs driven by polite and charming Arabic-speaking natives.  I met people who lived comfortably in ethnically diverse neighborhoods.  Israelis and Arabs slipped back and forth into each other’s languages and shared the common ground of commerce and family and peaceful co-existence.  Both sides spoke of their fear of extremists—a fear that each side would only visualize a peace wherein the other side perished.   As if in defiance, my Israeli host shook hands with our Arabic taxi driver.  “We are brothers,” the driver said.

Of course, peace on a national or international level is much more complicated than this and all citizens of any nation are not of a single mind.  It makes me wonder:  If we spent more time thinking about what peace would look like and how it would make us feel, would we all be more inclined to compromise something to have it?  I look at the leaders we choose as our face to the world and ask: “Are these people whose words and actions reflect a vision of, and desire for, peace?

Like I said, I don’t know much about this sort of thing.  I certainly cannot solve that which has eluded the greatest of diplomatic minds for centuries.  But as a mom, I do know a few things with certainty—that the only thing you can do to water under the bridge is let it go, that you cannot force people to do something they are not inclined to do, and that to drive people to a new place ideologically you have to sell it with a compelling vision.

I’ll also bet my life that every nation is made of mothers who love their children as much as I love mine.

Tomorrow's blog:  Groovin' to my Own Soundtrack