on israel and lebanese family life

I should have written this over the weekend, but I’ve been busy and exhausted, so I didn’t. I am now, though, not to worry.

Nizar gave me the names and phone numbers of his closest friends here and I met up with Joelle and Tamara on Saturday night in Tamara’s apartment where she lives with her family. Joelle’s family lives next-door and the girls are childhood friends. Their families and, indeed, the whole building’s families, are very close because they all sought refuge together in the mountains during the war.

The three of us made dinner in Tamara’s kitchen and I felt so relieved at being in a “normal” environment again. The dorms here are nice, but living in a single-sex building with communal bathrooms and having to provide my own sustenance without my own kitchen is not my style. Not having a kitchen in particular is difficult because it forces me to spend more money than I otherwise would and prohibits me from engaging in a favorite pastime: cooking for my friends.

In any case, while we were cooking, Tamara, Joelle, and Tamara’s mother questioned me about where I live and what I’m studying, how long I’m staying here and how I find it so far. They were all impressed and surprised by my commitment to learn Arabic: the former because they recognize the inherent complexities in the language and the latter because Arabic here, while it is by far the most widely spoken, is not the language of academia. The best schools are either English or French.

I felt very much at ease and Joelle, Tamara, and I began discussing politics over dinner, a topic that many Lebanese can’t put out of their minds, but won’t speak about in public for fear that it is a potentially deadly liability. We talked about the situation here and they admitted that the last year has been difficult, though they did not fear for their own lives or those of their friends and families: “It’s the important people, ya’ani, the politicians and the important journalists.” They asked me what Americans thought of Arabs and I conceded that 9/11 had cultivated a strong suspicion of Arabs that is particularly apparent in the airports and in law enforcement. I mentioned that I had read that the prejudice against blacks and Hispanics was inversely proportional to what Arab-Americans face. We talked about Hezbullah’s place in Lebanon and Joelle responded saying, “Ya’ani, I respect them for what they did, bas I do not support a lot of what they do now.” What Israel did, as I found out later, was an unintentional massacre in the southern Lebanese town of Kana in 1995. According to www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org:

"In April 1995, the IDF mounted 'Operation Grapes of Wrath' to halt Hezbollah's bombardment of Israel's northern frontier. During the operation, Israeli artillery mistakenly hit a UN base in Kafr Kana, killing nearly 100 civilians. Afterward, a Joint Monitoring Machinery, including American, French, Syrian and Lebanese representatives, was created to prohibit unprovoked attacks on civilian populations and the use of civilians as shields for terrorist activities."

Judging by this conversation, Kana seems to be one of Lebanon’s major hang-ups as it grapples with what its relations with Israel should or should not be. As we edged closer to discussing Israel, they asked me if everyone in America supported the Jewish state. I confirmed that the government certainly does and always has and that the general sentiment was definitely pro-Israel, particularly among American Jews and evangelical Christians, both of which are powerful lobbies. I asked them what they thought about Lebanese relations with Israel. Tamara’s answer surprised me: “It is stupid. There is nothing wrong with Isra-ili and the government is ok – ” “What they did happened a long time ago,” Joelle interjected, nodding her agreement with Tamara, who continued, “There should be peace between us. There is no reason for not, ya’ani. And it is in Lebanon’s interests.” “Ay,” Joelle added, “bas some people think there is no peace because it ISN’T in Lebanon’s economic interests.” Tamara and I looked at her, confused. “They make better things than us. People would buy only Isra-ili things and not Lebanese.” Tamara agreed, but denied that that was the real reason for the absence of peace. “A lot of people don’t think like us, ya’ani. There are many who don’t agree because they won’t forgive and also they are like Palestinians.” Joelle finished her thought: “We care about Filisteen, bas as a human issue, ya’ani. The politics don’t affect Lebanon.”

Later, we got onto the death penalty. I said I didn’t agree with it and that the US was the only very developed country that still used it. Life imprisonment seemed to make more sense to me and Tamara agreed. Joelle’s eyes flashed. “It’s like Isra-il, ya’ani! You have to forgive!”

Her view struck me. Countries can forget the past and make amends with each other, but serious criminals and murderers do not get a second chance to walk free. You could argue that most of the time, countries don’t make peace with each other immediately after bloodshed, so there is a new generation of leaders in power, whereas the same person remains in jail. That logic, however, a) is not always the case, and b) puts a lot of faith in the uniqueness of each generation, implying that certain traits – here, the inclination towards violence and the perceptions that incited the violence – are not hereditary, nor are they ingrained in a country’s process of socialization. I believe that Lebanon and Israel should be at peace. Should I also believe, then, that people sentenced to life in prison should be offered the chance to repent? Are there exceptions to moral consistency?

My head was spinning by the time we finished dinner – at 1:30am. When I asked if they would be able to give me a ride back to AUB, Tamara inquired if I would rather sleep over since it was already late. Once again, the generosity of Lebanese people astounded me and I didn’t even know how to respond since my instinct was that it was inappropriate for me, a stranger, to sleep over, but that clearly is not the case here. Tamara sensed my uncertainty and assured me that it was not a problem. “My friend is coming for breakfast and you can stay. We are having kinaafeh, it is typical Lebanese.” She gave me satin pajamas and a new toothbrush and we went to sleep.

I spent the next day eating; the kinaafeh was delicious and then Tamara’s mother wouldn’t stop feeding me and sent me home with lentil noodle soup. We also watched the news and I listened to the disgusted reactions of Tamara and her mother and brother at the rioting outside of the Danish embassy. We watched movies and then I got dropped off back at school as the family was on their way to visit Tamara’s grandfather, which they do every week. I was, of course, invited to come with them, but I had dinner plans. Tamara’s mother gave me her cell phone number and told me to call her if I was in need of anything. She said that she hoped to see me soon.

“Goodbye, Ariana. Welcome to Lebanon.”

Welcome indeed. I have never felt so welcome anywhere in the world as I have in Beirut.