An Arab student born in East Jerusalem explains why there's nothing funny about the hatred that drove Jews out of Europe.
By Nuzha Nusseibeh
The Atlantic - Apr 3 2014
It happens every time I visit the U.S., and it’s happened
increasingly over the last five years. I say I’m Palestinian (usually
after trying out the less inflammatory “I’m from Jerusalem” and then
being pressed for detail). There’s a pause, and then—“Oh, so... is it a
problem for you that I’m Jewish?”
There it is. The assumption that because I am Palestinian, I harbor
animosity toward Jews—and not just Israeli Jews, but all Jews, all the
time, everywhere. It was one of the first questions I got asked when my
new roommate met me at the beginning of my college career, and again as I
mingled at my first-ever internship lunch. It was what made a Jewish
kid switch seats and move across the room from me during a seminar—he
was worried, I was later informed, about sitting next to a Palestinian.
It’s happened time and again, yet it still takes me by surprise.
Despite this initial hurdle, I’ve formed close relationships with
many Jews—and that, in turn, often inspires condescension from others.
It’s adorable that one of my closest friends is Jewish; it’s inspiring to
see us eating together and making jokes. Such comments may be meant
benignly, but they deftly reduce a 60-odd-year struggle for political
independence to a squabble between siblings.
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