From gloom in Amsterdam to hope in Beirut

Dear language-speaking friends,

It is one of those weeks again when it feels profoundly pointless to be learning a little known Austronesian language spoken in faraway Indonesia.

I know you’re not here to read the latest news but there was a Jew hunt in Amsterdam last week, which the mainstream media predictably blamed Israelis for, and/or presented as a mere squabble between fans of opposing soccer teams. All of that left me feeling, well, especially hopeless.

My friend’s daughter’s boyfriend was there, narrowly escaped the violent mob and had to shelter in his hotel for many hours.

There are videos of Israelis being kicked and beaten, thrown into the river and forced to say “Free Palestine.” In one video, a guy is pleading “Not Jewish, not Jewish” to protect himself. That one especially took me back in time.

I thought about my father who experienced anti-semitic harrassment his whole life back in the Soviet Union.

One day, he was at a train station at night, when a Russian thug approached him and asked him “Hey Vasia, do you have a cigarette?” using “Vasia” as a generic Russian name. My dad said he didn’t.

At that moment the light of the approaching train illuminated my dad’s Jewish features and the thug erupted in a diabolical laughter “Hey, you’re not a Vasia, you're Abram!! Abram!!!” My father, who always wore a fedora and a polite briefcase, and was 5’1” on a good day, threatened to call the police — an empty threat, as protecting Jews from antisemitic thugs was the last thing that interested the Soviet police.

Thankfully it was his train so he was able to board it and leave unharmed.

I shudder to think what would have happened if it wasn’t his train.

The Israeli in Amsterdam who was screaming “Not Jewish, not Jewish” was beaten anyway.

These are very dark times and this is just the beginning.

Meanwhile in the Middle East

Last Friday, I talked to a guy in Beirut.

I found him on iTalki¹ it’s a platform where you can find language tutors or just someone to practice speaking with. I just wanted to practice speaking.

The dialect spoken in Lebanon, unlike say, in Egypt, is Levantine Arabic, i.e. the same dialect as in Israel in Palestine. This is important because different dialects of Arabic are not mutually intelligible.

I had talked to this guy (let’s call him Sam) once before, at the end of September. It was a little bit strange to talk to someone in Beirut at these tense times, maybe even a little bit risky, but I decided to do it anyway.

Back then I asked him where he was and if he was safe. I said, “I hope you’re not in Dahieh.” (Dahieh is the suburb of Beirut that was the stronghold of Hezbollah and that was being bombed by the IDF.) He replied he was a short drive from Dahieh and could hear the booms, but that he was safe.

This Friday, I was relieved to see that he was still ok.

We talked about the usual stuff people talk about when they practice speaking a new language. Like, what we like to eat and drink, and what we like to do in our free time. He helped me with words I didn’t know.

We were both drinking coffee, and I found out that the Arabic word helu which generally translates as “nice,” means “sweet” when applied to ‘coffee’ or ‘tea.’ I kept saying that my coffee is very good using helu and he thought I like it sweet, until we cleared the confusion.

He asked what hafukh means in Hebrew. He knows a little bit of Hebrew, and he knows that hafukh is a coffee-based drink popular in Israel. I explained that hafukh literally means ‘upside down’ or ‘reverse’, but kafe hafukh or simply hafukh is just what Israelis called cappuccino. It’s a name that probably originated in the 50s, and refers to the fact that the relationship between coffee and milk in it is reversed (more milk than coffee) compared to traditional coffee drinks.

He said it's too bad he couldn't visit Israel and I said it's too bad I couldn’t visit Lebanon because there is no peace between our countries.

Then he said, “You know what? I’m optimistic.” He continued, “For 40 years, here in Lebanon, we have been living in fear.² But now that Hezb is nearly crushed,” he made the universal sign for ‘wiped out’ or ‘no more’ with his hands in case I didn’t understand the Arabic word, “I have hope.”

“Maybe it sounds weird” he added, “but I’m glad that the IDF finished them. They’re the only ones who could do that.”

I was thinking how easily he was stating a simple truth that many polite people in the West have been tiptoeing around. Maybe only people who have seen evil up close can do that.

“Me too, I’m so glad…” I replied — cautiously because even though I am glad, I’m also acutely aware that I’m on the safer side of this conflict.

“I’m certain that soon there will be peace between Israel and Lebanon,” he added.

“In our lifetime?" I asked.

This is the only question I asked in English (up until then we spoke only Arabic) because it would have taken me too long to figure out how to say it in Arabic and I wanted to hear his answer urgently. You see, I’m not an optimist myself, so I desperately need other people's positive attitude. It is my job to keep expecting the worst to protect all of us from disappointment, and it is other people's job to keep hoping against all odds.

“Yes,” he said confidently. “In our lifetime.”

So there. I don’t know about the Netherlands, Europe, and the rest of the world, but there will be peace between Israel and Lebanon and maybe in the entire Middle East in our lifetime.

Because Sam said so.

A random graffiti somewhere in Tel Aviv. This is me trying to be optimistic.

1. If you sign up through this link you’ll get a $5 iTalki credit and I will too.

2. If you’re curious about the history of Lebanon’s internal conflict, I learned a lot from this interview with Gad Saad, a Canadian professor of Lebanese descent.