"Ask them where to find good hummus or falafel," my friend said as we strolled through the streets during our tour.
Salah al-Din Street was bustling with activity. Schoolchildren had already finished their day, and many workers were stepping out for a bite to eat. Cars were stuck in a traffic jam, some drivers honking impatiently at those ahead.
"Where can we find good hummus or falafel around here?" I asked a group of three women in hijabs walking in front of us in Arabic. One of them looked at me, seemingly trying to figure out who I was and what exactly I was looking for. She pointed across the street and told me there was a good hummus place over there.
I thanked her politely, and my friend and I crossed the busy road. We wandered around, trying to locate the place she had mentioned but couldn't find it. Glancing back, I saw the woman I had spoken to looking at me. I gestured with my hands that I couldn't find the spot she had recommended.
Without hesitation, she crossed the road toward us, her two friends following closely behind. The three women approached, and the one I had spoken to gestured for us to follow. We walked quite a bit down the street before she led us into a narrow alley and pointed us to a staircase that descended below street level. "The restaurant you're looking for is down there. Enjoy your meal," she said warmly. At the bottom of the stairs, I noticed a sign in Arabic that read, "Hummus Restaurant."
We thanked the woman and her friends sincerely and parted ways. My friend and I descended the stairs and entered a basement-level restaurant. We sat down and ordered hummus and drinks. My friend tried to order in Hebrew, but to no avail. We were, of course, the only Jews in the restaurant at that moment, and all communication was in Arabic.
We ate, drank, and then headed back on our way.
As we made our way home, I reflected on the encounter. On the one hand, the woman had treated us as her guests, taking us under her care and leading us to the place we were looking for—an act of kindness and hospitality, which is a core value in Arab culture. Guests are treated with the utmost respect, given the best experience possible.
On the other hand, I couldn't help but wonder how she perceived us. Were we just two lost tourists to her? Did she know we were Jewish, and did that influence her actions positively? Or, perhaps, did she see us as Jewish enemies, leading us to a secluded place underground in a hostile environment?
This fragile reality reflects the tension present in every interaction between both sides when there's no prior personal connection. Any encounter can end unexpectedly, for better or worse.
Such are our lives in the midst of this conflict.
Thank you to the woman and her two friends who took a few moments from their day to personally guide us to a hummus restaurant on Salah al-Din Street in East Jerusalem.
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