Wonderfully moving account by a non-Jewish Lebanese on a visit to Israel of his unexpected encounter with a former compatriot.
The inevitable question came. The question that I hesitate to answer honestly when I’m unsure of my own personal security. “So then, where are you from my friend?”.
I gauged the situation. He didn’t seem like a fanatical person. He seemed friendly. His eyes spoke softly. He cared to know. I told him.
“I’m Lebanese.”
I felt that he wanted to lurch to the back of the car and grab me. But not in an aggressive manner.
“Inta Libnanae? Ana Libnanae” (You’re Lebanese. I’m Lebanese.)
I was stunned. Speechless.
A Lebanese Jew. A Lebanese citizen who practiced Judaism. I’ve never met one before. I should have known he was Lebanese from the beginning. It was after all the nicest Mercedes taxi I’ve been in since coming to Tel Aviv. We have a weakness for brands.
He went on to tell me about his father and his grandfather before him. His youth in Lebanon. How his family still owns a house in Baabdat*. He talked warmly of his family’s business partner, a Lebanese gentleman, whom they still have relations with in Lebanon. This man who opened a bank account in Cyprus after they fled so that the financials can be shared by all shareholders. This man who ensures that their house in Baabdat* remains untouched by intruders. The man who saw beyond the politics of the day and did the right thing.
We arrived at my destination. 20 minutes late. And I didn’t care.
He turned around to me, gave me his personal mobile number and said “I always tell my son that one day he will return to our house in Baabat*. He must. It’s his country”.
His country, I pondered. This country that forced his family out. That looked down on them for nothing more than their faith. Then I realized that he was no different than me. I too was forced out, due to the civil war. I too was categorized by my faith. I too wanted to return to my home in the foothills of Lebanon’s mountains.
I wanted to say something smart. Something eloquent. But I couldn’t. I was still dazed by the short experience. I felt guilty, since my government doesn’t. So I smiled, and he understood.
He understood that as long as we maintain the dream, we maintain that hope.
And he understood that this Lebanese man of a different religious faith sitting across from him also identified with his longing. And that I didn’t categorize him by his faith. My God is his God. My country is his country. My land is his land. And my house is his house.
May I live to see the day his son returns. And greet him.
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Hello, Batatween!
ReplyDeleteI am writing not in response to your blogs, which are very interesting, but because I am looking for information on Sojod and the Oholiav shrine which was reputed to have been destroyed by the IDF.
A Lebanese contact through Shalom-Salaam got me very interested in the site, and a thread has developed on the forum;
http://shalom-salaam.net/index.php?t=msg&th=3828&start=0&
I'm hoping for any information you may want to share, if you have any knowledge of it. I post as Beitcafe. The thread on which this subject is posted is open for anyone to respond, but it is moderated and there will be a delay before your comment is posted. My best guess is that the thread may interest you quite a bit!
Hello Beitcafe
ReplyDeleteThis is fascinating, thank you! I will try to do a blog post about this shrine soon.
Bataween
Hello Bataween,
ReplyDeleteOh, that would be amazing! I guess the history of this little place really piqued my curiosity, right from the notion that it's a shrine to a biblical figure we are told helped to build the Mishkan, to the Jewish pilgrimages and the Islamic interest in the place, the IDF soldiers using it for worship, its difficult recent history and very sad demise.
Do you also have any information about the surrounding village you would be willing to share? Is it abandoned? If so, why? Who lived/lives there? Thank you so much!