Smells like a Jew

Man on a Tel Aviv street  (Mor Levy)

I'm in the car, and we're travelling along, Zahi, Karim and me, up to Yafa cafe. We've just been to a solidarity meeting with Arabs and Jews where they read poetry in Arabic and Hebrew, and people from the Jaffa community came. It started with a minute's silence for those who died in Gaza. Mohammad, who was leading, had to stop two or three times because he couldn't talk, because he cried.

Jews and Arabs stood in a line on the stage and held each other's hands. System Ali rapped their poetry without music, to mourn. 

And now we're going for something to eat in Yafa cafe.

What no car, Zahi? What happened to your car? Zahi always used to come by and pick me up in a little white car. I don't remember the make. He'd come by when he didn't need to, even, just to be nice. Like, if I could walk there, if it wasn't even far, he'd come by just to take care of me. But anyway, now we're in Karim's car, working out why Zahi doesn't have his.

'Did you write it off?' I ask, turning to Zahi in the back.

'No – it was stolen.' Karim answers for him. Zahi's slow off the mark, he must be tired.

'Stolen–'

'Yeah, stolen. By some Jews.'

What do you mean some Jews? I don't say this. Because I remember the other day, the first day I met Karim, in fact, when we were sitting down to a dinner at Yafa cafe. A dinner with music and oud, and everyone gets up to dance, like Michel the owner and a beautiful girl. And Zahi's asking me if I recognise that kind of dance, if I know what it means, and I say, Zahi, you know some things we have everywhere, and he's, oh you have Arabs in London? And I say, no Zahi – some things are universal. Like what? OK, do I have to spell it out? Some things are universal, like sex.

Karim's to my right at the table, and opposite there's this Jewish woman with very short hair. It's grey and short, and she's always smiling with crinkly bits around her eyes. I think she's the only Jewish woman there, apart from me. This woman asks if we'll light the Hanukah candles. Michel looks around, and there's a menorah, but candles are nowhere to be found.

'Never mind.' Karim leans into me. 'Let's burn some Jews.'

I'm like, what? I don't know what to say. I need some time. Let's burn some Jews. He has a merry twinkle, the kind of goatee you'd find in Shoreditch, and American hip-hop clothes. 

The conversation has moved on slightly. The Jewish woman's spooning up kubbe and smiling again. And I still don't know what to say. OK, now I do. 'I think you meant that as a joke,' I tell Karim, 'but I found it offensive.'

'Why? Are you Jewish?' he says.

'I am, but even if I wasn't, you know, I'd still say it's wrong.'

'But I think it's funny!' the Jewish woman says. 'Don't you see? The power imbalance. Between our two groups. It's funny because of that!'

OK. So you feel better if you get the shit ripped out of you. Somehow, that way, you pay.

Back in the car with Karim, and he's still on his Jewish trip. I'm kind of tired. 'Listen,' I tell him, 'don't do that. You know it feels bad.'

'Jews – yeah, Jews are everywhere. They stole his car.'

I turn my face away. We're still driving, up Yehuda Hayamit. 'Enough,' Zahi says, but he's laughing and it's not enough, yet, for Karim.

'There's a Jew in the car! I can smell a Jew.' He's staring hard ahead. 'Smells like a Jew in the car.'

I slam out as soon as we arrive. Karim follows me and we're both pacing up the hill. We go into the restaurant and sit down – there are five of us at the table. Four men, and me.

'You're not still mad at him, are you?' Zahi asks.

'Why? What happened? What did he say?' Abed wants to know.

So I'm sitting here at this table with these guys in the restaurant where they always go, and I have to say it. 'We were driving in Karim's car, and he told me ... he said ... Smells like a Jew.'

The whole table bursts out laughing. Abed's laughing. Zahi's laughing, Mustafa's laughing. Karim looks around, then bursts out laughing too. I'm just sitting there and I really wish to be swallowed up by the ground. Instead, I push back my chair, and I go to the bathroom and all of it, Gaza, Jericho, East Jerusalem, the death and the killing, all of this hate, swells out of me, and I cry.

Comments

[Nilly, Israel]

Oh babe, it saddens me to see how the roughness people have to put on to survive in this rough place, gets u down.

Yes, it’s atrocious, yet we live in a place where atrocities take place on a daily basis, and some people here developed a certain humor, to let off steam, which may make your blood crawl.

The thing is, for me, since I’ve been living here for most of the 35+ years I call my life, I’m used to living in a place where horrible things happen on a daily basis, and there is nothing much I can do to stop it, so I probably would have reacted to this horrible sense of humor more like your friends did, than u did.

But u made me rethink it, and this vicious circle is indeed very ugly and sad, as you portrayed so beautifully.

[Mor]

Thank for the pic :)
xxx

[Uri Zackhem]

It's very important this post. Not an easy read. What disturbed me was that I am an observer (a person who reads) but I can't do anything to help you. I'd curse them and take you to stay with us.

[Lisa Goldman]

I remember how upset you were when you told about this incident, shortly after it happened. It is an ugly, sad story.

Like you, I do not accept this twisted idea that oppressed minorities have a license to make vile, racist "jokes" about others.

Also like you, I find it sad that Jews who would condemn racism amongst their own, are unwilling to condemn it in others.

I really loathe moral relativism.

And you are brave for putting all this raw emotion on display.

[Joel Schalit]

What a great piece of writing. Such willingness to represent all of the contradictions, too. I will remember this for a long time.

[Kathryn Worth]

Cor blimey.. that was a hard one to deal with Leila. Paints a vivid picture of the ways things are, and the delicacy of shades of abuse - dealing it out and taking it. That by soaking it up in a complicit and understanding sort of way, as a sort of scapegoat, you're supposed to be atoning for the rest and deflecting the aggression from the general. It's not nice. Can't quite imagine how you managed to carry on eating afterwards.

Hope to see you soon. This week?

xxKate

[May]

Argh! Similar things have happened to me and I just don't know what to do. These situations put you in such an awkward position. I liked your sentence about just wanting to disappear in that moment--it's hard to know what to say back in that kind of situation. You just want to not exist.

This was an important post. Thanks for writing it!

[Madeleine Strindberg]

a really haunting piece, kept on thinking about it since I read it yesterday, thanks Leila for writing it. Also: really enjoyed our meeting the other day!- see you soon, hopefully we'll both have a bit longer,love, Madeleine

[Karen McCarthy]

Glad to see this piece here. Great reportage. For me the point is two wrongs don't make it all right.

[Yishay Mor]

wow. so powerful. you know, strange how I think I can understand how you felt, but I also think I can understand how the other woman felt, and why they laughed for that matter. Just think how many times in their lives they heard someone say "it smells like there's an Arab here", without even thinking there may be something offensive about it. I mean, he was an asshole treating you like that, but the joke was not on you.

[Jasmine]

Leila...xxxxxxxxx powerful and honest.

[Guy Gutraiman]

The problem starts when people have the notion of being wrong or right. Some parts of our existence doesn't make a sense to us, and we are all the victims of our inability to figure out the current reality we live in.