Wemet
in Akko,
three hours,
north of Jerusalem
in the UpperGalilee.
I am an American Jew,
She a Palestinian
yetwe
were
so
similar:
we both had boyfriends,
mine Jewish,
hersPalestinian.
We both hated school,
could not wait to
graduate.
Iloved Israel,
saw it as a necessary place
one where everyone wasfree.
She hated Israel,
saw it as an occupying force
a place where shewas not free.
I left her that day
not understanding
how
she couldhate
The Land of Milk and Honey.
But now I
see the news
peoplefalling down
on the paved black roads,
dying.
Nine-year-olds throwingrocks
at the Israeli soldiers
and the soldiers firing back.
Little boysdying in their
fathers' arms.
She called me the other day -
aninternational call.
We talked for an hour.
Her brother had beenshot,
her twin brother
who once stood
six foot four
with brown hairand dark skin
shot
by Israeli solders,
by my brothers.
He tookcare of me
that day in Akko
when I was sick.
I don'tunderstand
how people can hate.
We met
that day
in Akko
threehours
north
of
Jerusalem
in the Upper Galilee:
Maya and herbrother Malcolm,
my Islamic friends,
Maya running inthe
sun-baked
cracking streets,
so excited to show usaround.
And
Malcolm,
bringing me
the Islamic equivalent
of chickennoodle soup.
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