The day after a singularly divisive day in our country, I found myself on the road, traveling to Texas to give a book talk. I had been on the losing side of the divide. I was tired from lack of sleep, and worn from the previous day’s events. So I was glad to have a limo (well, at least a fancy black SUV) waiting for me at the airport after two flights.
My driver, it turned out, was from Jordan. He too was worried about the country. We were both glad for some like-minded company.
I asked him about Jordan, and whether he missed home. And what did he think of the US?
He told me.
I said a few words in Arabic, which prompted the reply: “Oh, you’ve been to Tel Aviv.” I guess my Arabic sounds Israeli.
We talked about travel. I hadn’t seen Jordan yet, but I wanted to go. I had lectured in much of Europe, and of course all over the US.
He had visited a few spots in Europe, and much of the Middle East, he said: “Jordan, of course. Syria. Saudi Arabia…”
I interrupted to ask, “What’s Saudi Arabia like?”
“Pretty much the same as anywhere else,” he said. “People are people.”
I nodded.
He continued his list of destinations: “Qatar. Egypt. Palestine… or Israel or whatever you call it,” he said, his words highlighting a deep divide between our peoples, as well as personal pain on his part.
We clearly disagreed about a matter of great importance to us both. My Israel was his Palestine. I knew it. And he knew it.
We moved on to other topics, and enjoyed the rest of the ride together, taking temporary solace in our comradery on a difficult day in our own lives and in the life of the country.
