Avi Melamed - Inside the Middle East: Making Sense of the Most Dangerous and Complicated Region on Earth

Copyright 2016 by Avi Melamed

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Rain Saukas

Print ISBN: 978-1-63450-572-7

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63450-976-3

Printed in the United States of America

I dedicate this book to my children: my daughter, Sapir, and my son, Nimrod, who are two Israeli, Jewish young people in the Middle East of the twenty-first century. I do not know where their paths will lead them, but I hope that they will have the privilege of seeing a new, better Middle East in which everyone can look forward to a future of hope.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

FOREWORD

T HIRTY - FOUR YEARS AGO I WAS BORN in Dimona, a small, predominately Jewish town in southern Israel. Ten years earlier my parents had made a very courageous decision. Theyd decided to leave their home, their family, and their familiar environment in Nazareth, a predominantly Arab town in northern Israel with a large Muslim and Christian population, to move to Dimona to build a new and better life for their family.

Growing up as the only Muslim girl in school was not a walk in the park. One of my earliest memories is sitting with my mother in our small living room the night before I went into first grade. She told me something Ill never forget: You are an Arab, a Muslim Arab, you are not Jewish. But that doesnt mean that you are less than anybody else. You have different beliefs and different customsbut you are a human being. Always be proud of who you are and what you represent, and dont let anyone tell you otherwise. It was an important conversation for me and especially for my mother, because that year I had a school vacation that will leave a scar for the rest of my life.

It was in 1987, a very hot sunny Saturday morning. My uncle came with his wife and their two sons to visit us, and they really wanted to travel to the Gaza Strip. My father hesitated, knowing that the security situation was not very good there. After some persuading, my father relented and my mother, my father, my aunt and uncle, my cousin, and I set out for a Saturday drive.

I used to love those trips to Gaza. It was so different than Dimona. But so familiar at the same time. The beautiful coastline was pure and blue and I can still taste the kebab sandwich

But that day was different. All the shops that we used to buy from were closed and the old man that used to sell us fish was sick. Before we started heading back, we made one last stop in Bambino, a childrens clothing store. The owner of the shop was on his way out and wanted to close but decided to stay open when he saw us pull up. He told my father that the business was slow because of the situation. They are calling it an intifada , he said, it doesnt look good. Before we left he leaned toward my father and said: Do me a favor. Until you leave Gaza keep your windows closed or just give a sign so they know youre an Arabhold a newspaper or something My father waved at him and said in Arabic, Leave it to God. My father owned a yellow three-door BMW with no air conditioning, and because it was so hot the windows were open. The road was packed with cars. I looked outside and I saw a man holding something in his hand coming toward us. There was something about him that really scared me, so I started squirming my way down the back seat. My mom noticed and yelled, Lucy, sit up straight! I kept watching the man getting closer and closer and looking at me; our eyes met and in the background I heard my mom again saying, Lucy, sit up straight! The third time I heard her voice, I heard a big explosion. It started getting hotter in the car and then suddenly my face hit the ground. I looked to the side and I saw my mother laying on the ground, holding my aunt and crying. I saw my father pointing a fire extinguisher at my uncle who was holding my cousin who was on fire. My father yelled, HELP US! at the people who had gathered to watch the horror. WE ARE ARABS JUST LIKE YOU! But they just stood there. And in a few minutes two Israeli Army jeeps arrived and rescued us.

After a series of surgeries, my cousin healed. But the scars in my head are still there. I hated the Palestinians. I didnt want to understand them. I wanted them to vanish. When my father heard me saying things like that he used to say to my mother, Shell grow up and shell understand that the world is not black and white. Today I understand that that was one of the reasons my mother had that conversation with me the night before I went to first grade.

The kids in school knew that I was Arab. Because I had nothing to be ashamed of, I proudly shared my identity with all my friends. But then I started getting picked on and beaten up almost every day. And I understood that it was because I was different. I was not the fat girl. I was not the girl with the braces. I was not the girl with the glasses. I was the Arab girl. And the Arab girl understood very quickly that she needed to excel in everything she did in order to survive. And so I did. I had no choice. My parents made it very clear that a failure was unacceptable. I participated in every school activity. I sang in the school choir. I played the flute in the citys orchestra. I participated in every single ceremony. I finished first in my class every single semester. In high school it was even harder. It was the 1990s and Israel was shaken almost every week with another suicide bomber that blew himself up on a bus and murdered tens of people. After every terror attack, all I wanted to do was stay home. I didnt want to face my schoolmates who blamed me because I was one of them. My friends never looked at me differently, but others did. I remember them standing right in front of me yelling, terrorist, filthy Arab get out of here, and we dont want you here.

Despite their words, or perhaps because of them, I finished first in my class, graduating with honors and majoring in theater and Middle Eastern studies. I wanted to be an actress. I wanted to make people laugh, to make them feel, think, and express themselves. So I went to the university to study Theater Studies and Political Science. Why? Because I was once told that in order to be a good politician you need to have good acting skills. But I really only wanted to be an actress.

I moved to Jerusalem in 2000, the beginning of the second intifada. It was my first encounter with Palestinians since that day in Gaza. It was in this chapter of my life that I discovered how and why its not black and white. My mothers wise words proved true.

I have always asked myself what would have happened if I had not been born a woman. If I had not been born an Arab woman. If I had not been born an Arab Muslim woman. If I had not been born an Arab Muslim woman in a small Jewish town in the south of Israel. If I had not been born in the Middle East. These questions have become even more relevant with the tremendous chaos surrounding us here inside the Middle East.