JERUSALEM — So I was standing in front of the McDonald’s just on the outskirts of the city, waiting for a bus back into town. I asked the guy next to me when it would arrive, and then we started talking.
As it turned out, he was a thirtysomething Palestinian who works at the McDonald’s each day. I had only met Israeli Arabs before — and not any Palestinians — so I introduced myself as a reporter from the United States (not exactly a lie) as an excuse to talk politics with him. After all, it’s not very often that I have this chance. East and west Jerusalem can be like old Berlin, but without the law. Jews in west Jerusalem and Arabs in the east tend to stick amongst themselves.
The man seemed excited to talk to me. (Which was a change — most people hate talking to reporters.) But in a city like Jerusalem in a country like Israel in a region like the Middle East, everyone loves to tell his side of the story. Since I only know a few words in Arabic from a trip to Egypt and he knew little English, we compromised on Hebrew. It was my first interview in a foreign language, and my questions were in basic Hebrew (which, in retrospect, might have been better since the they were simple and direct). I’ll paraphrase the crux of the conversation, which was short since the distance was not that far:
Me: What do the Palestinians want? Is is true that half of them want two countries for the Jews and Palestinians [the two-state solution] while half of them want one country without Jews [Hamas and their sympathizers]?
The Palestinian: Many Palestinians have little food and water. Many of them have no work. It is hard to travel in the West Bank. Life is hard. What they want is a life with food, water, and work. Most are sick of politics; they want food, water, and work.
An interesting thought. It is reasonable, of course. Israelis want to live in a stable, secure state. Palestinians want the same thing as well as what the man was describing. The hard part is figuring out a way to get there.
After we got off at the central bus station, the man made sure that I knew where I was going and which bus to take to my home. (Perhaps he thought I was fresh from Boston.) Of course, he also wanted to leave an impression of Palestinians in a reporter’s mind that was other than bombs and rockets. Still, it was a nice gesture.
As I walked away, I wished him a “Lilah syeeda” (“good night” in Arabic). He smiled, laughed, and shook my hand. “Lilah tov!” he responded in Hebrew. “If want to come by the McDonald’s, we can talk more!”
Earlier: Me and the Israeli Arab.
