At these interfaith dinners, Palestinians and Israelis share hope for peace
My phone has been pinging all morning as we prepare for tonight鈥檚 feast.
What time do we start?
Does anyone have an extra prayer book?
Why We Wrote This
Even during the thorniest of times, when deep divisions and hopelessness threaten to overwhelm, our writer reminds us that change and agency begin at home, at the dinner table.
Everyone brings their favorite dessert.
Every year, I get together with a group of Jews, Muslims, and Catholics for the Jewish holidays. Our connection to Israel and Palestine brings us together. We鈥檝e all lived in one or the other at some point, and now we live in Salta, Argentina, where we gather each year to celebrate.
This year, I鈥檓 bringing a brisket. Grandma Ruth鈥檚 recipe simmers in the oven. She passed away years ago, but the rich scent of her Boca Raton holiday kitchen now fills our house in South America.
鈥淭he secret ingredient is ketchup,鈥� she always said. It鈥檚 not a flavor Argentines are accustomed to, but we all bring foods that aren鈥檛 from here. Honey cake. Hummus. Falafel. The tastes remind us of home.
In spite of what鈥檚 happening in Israel and Gaza, we rarely talk about war or politics at the table. Instead, food and family fill our conversations. The best hummus is from Nablus, in the West Bank. Our parents are getting older. Our children are leaving home 鈥� some to Israel, others to university in Argentina.
Though we may not say it aloud, the faces celebrating with us reflect our shared belief that Israelis, Palestinians, Argentines, and Americans have a right to live free from pain and harm.
When I look around, I see Rinat and Yuval, who moved from Israel to Salta after falling in love and marrying their Argentine partners. They鈥檙e very Israeli, expressing strong opinions in definitive voices.
Not once in 15 years have I heard Gustavo or Eleanora, the Salte帽o other halves of Rinat and Yuval, speak about Israel or Palestine. Instead, their actions speak for them as they support their spouses and adopt the Jewish holidays as their own.
Fayez is the only Muslim at the table this year. He moved from the West Bank to be with his Salte帽a wife, Mayki. Fayez speaks loudly and laughs easily and often, but underneath his joviality lies concern for his family. Are they all right?
My daughter Lila was 8 years old the first time we joined these families. She was shy and refused to talk to Fayez and Mayki鈥檚 son, Nasim. Our kids sat beside each other during dinner, mostly ignoring one another for years.
It wasn鈥檛 until they were ready to graduate from high school that they connected. Instead of sitting quietly staring sideways at each other with suspicion, they finally talked.
鈥淲e were scared of each other,鈥� Lila told me. 鈥淚 thought he didn鈥檛 like me, and he thought I didn鈥檛 like him.鈥�
鈥淲hy did you think that?鈥�
She shrugged as if the reason for their distrust was irrelevant.
鈥淚 was an anxious kid,鈥� Lila said. 鈥淗e might have seen my anxiety as hostility, but it turns out we have a lot in common.鈥�
鈥淟ike what?鈥� I asked. They like the same music. They鈥檝e both traveled outside of Argentina. They love spicy food.
鈥淲e both have parents who aren鈥檛 from here,鈥� she said. 鈥淲e understand each other.鈥�
If I only listened to the news about Israel and Palestine, I鈥檇 believe that this tiny piece of land, around 11,000 square miles, exports war, hatred, and death. When I watch people throw cruel barbs and accusations online, I wonder how we can expect to find a solution to a centurieslong battle between two communities when individuals can鈥檛 find a way to talk.
If we truly want a lasting peace, we must seek common ground. The grief and loss both sides have experienced make it harder to see. Each of us wants to protect ourselves and our families. No one wants to let down their guard. The fear of losing even more after so much has already been lost looms large for us.
Religion and place of birth alone are not reasons to hate each other, particularly when you break matza together year after year. Hate can鈥檛 survive across a dinner table you build together.
Is that naive? Maybe. I say it鈥檚 those small moments of humanity that bind us. We all eat bread. We all love our children. We all want a place to call home that is free from bloodshed and bombs.
Peace doesn鈥檛 begin in a boardroom, on social media, or on a politician鈥檚 agenda. It begins at a shared table eating hummus with your children beside you.
