The other Israelis
Even successful, well-integrated Arab Israelis don’t feel they fully belong here
I was overjoyed because Khaled appeared overjoyed, and I love him. His face rarely shows such happiness. Yesterday, two weeks after the big celebration, I called him and told him that. He responded with the perfect Hebrew of a wise student - “What can we do, Yaron. One is born to suffer” - and laughed.
Fifty five years have passed since we became best of friends at boarding school. We shared a room with three more boys. He was the only Arab in our class. A strong village boy. In order to join our school, he needed a permit from the Western Galilee’s military administrator. Before that, he never left his village, and he spoke no Hebrew. You can imagine how hard it was for him to adapt to our company. The effort required of him was no less difficult than that required of an immigrant to a distant land.
He quickly found his place among the other youths, as he was a serious student, a hard worker, and a pleasant conversation partner. He was the first Arab who earned an Israeli high school diploma after the State’s establishment. He later studied medicine and became a reputable doctor. His wife is a history teacher, one of his sons is a doctor, and the other two are lawyers. They did their internship at the High Court of Justice and with the most well known attorneys in the country.
Two parties were held in honor of his son Alaa and the happy bride. One was held in Nazareth and the other in a banquet hall near Tel Aviv. This constituted a major expenditure, but the parents and their children wanted to share their joy with their many friends residing nationwide and did not wish to make the travel difficult for anyone.
Life marred by insults
On the lawn outside the banquet hall, I chatted with Muslims, Jews, and Christians. There were even a few Baha’is there. The men drank a little, while the women avoided alcohol altogether, but not because of their faith, but rather, so they can drive their husbands home safely. Almost all guests had high education – attorneys, doctors, engineers, and merchants – and most of them had three children, a bourgeoisie present, and bourgeoisie dreams.
Of course, this marked the elite of Arab society in Israel, but there are tens of thousands of people like that. They are both secular and traditional in their religious views, energized and alert, involved in the country’s economic life, speak Hebrew, and have Jewish friends. This image is hidden from most of us, because the Hebrew press is uninterested in our Arab citizens, who constitute one fifth of the country’s citizens.
I often try to convince my colleagues, the Hebrew-speaking journalists to change that. “Cover the Arab community,” I plead with them, “cover the Arab community.” Yet to no avail. They are more interested in Afghanistan than in the northern Israel town of Shfaram.
Khaled wanted to be Israeli. He relinquished his forefathers’ land, which was confiscated, and his wife relinquished her family’s wealth, much of which was taken by the State. They are successful and their bright children will be even more successful. Everything is alright, sort of, yet their lives here have been marred by small and large insults that made it clear to them they will never be wholly Israeli.
I’m insulted with them, yet there is a difference in the way we respond. A Jew like me, with crude manners, is allowed to get angry and curse. Yet Khaled is a second-class citizen. He taught himself to hold back his insults, and this restraint comes with a price in terms of health. So Mazal Tov, my friend, and stay healthy.
