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Food wars
When I was in my teens, I visited relatives in Israel. My cousin, five years my junior, went on a drive with us, exploring the tiny country’s core.As with most Mediterranean countries, there is a lot of grime, especially in the more impoverished areas, and in the heat, the smell of garbage and animal refuse, combined with the freshly baked treats from the street vendors can create a pungent and confusing odour. One that grows on you, over time.
The most common foods are what tourists are told is Israeli pizza, a doughy pita topped with zaatar and olive oil.
We went to a local restaurant, one that served the same types of food as any other small food store in the area. Along with ‘Israeli pizza’, they offered kebab, shawarma and falafel served with a variety of salads; tabouleh, a parsley base with finely diced cucumber and tomato; labaneh, a strained yogurt; babaghanoush, a smoky blend of roasted eggplant and garlic with tahina; and of course hummus. It’s the Hebrew word for chickpea, and a highly regarded little legume.
On our way back, we passed a group of Arabic women, Muslims. My cousin, still young, made a comment expressing her thoughts on Arabs. It was judgemental, racist. My blood boiled. My cousin’s family is Iraqi and Iranian. She has dark skin and hair. She could easily be mistaken for the people she was denigrating, and I told her so. No one in the car said a word.
To this day, I don’t know whether I spoke out of turn. I grew up in a cultural melting pot. My friends came from all over the world, and conflicts like the one my Israeli relatives live in the midst of are a distant, confusing mess I honestly don’t understand all that well. My skin is white, my features more ambiguously caucasian. I’m lucky.
To my cousin, when she was young and unfiltered by experience, Arabs were simply the enemy. This might be a dangerous way to think, but it’s a natural one. To see the one fighting against you, in general, as evil. Isn’t that why a group of white supremacists marching in Virginia, at least one in their number willing to kill a counterprotester, could see the victims as evil? Or am I trying to hard to understand something I can’t see, because I’m not in their position?
I was delighted to see some of my favourite foods from back home for sale at the Wellington Farmers’ Market. Mama Ghanoush and Papa Hummus can cook up an amazing meal. I know that for years, the Lebanese and Israelis fought, sometimes literally, over who owned hummus (pronounced KHOO-moos if you’re speaking Hebrew, and hUM-muss in Arabic). The Syrians have it pretty down pat if you ask me.
But if we’re being honest, we’re all the same, when it comes to enjoying a meal.
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