Today, one of my dearest friends from East Jerusalem had a meeting in West Jerusalem (yes, the same city, but totally different realities), so he had his meeting with someone who runs a dialogue group, because he wanted to take part on it. Out of it, he volunteers in an organization that promotes dialogue and coexistence for kids, in the same Jerusalem. The same Jerusalem were I was born, the Jerusalem to which I, following my ancestors, turn when we pray, the Jerusalem I miss and will never forget.
Then five soldiers stopped him, asking for his ID. One checked it, while the other four, pointing their weapons, shouted at him. Of course, he was a suspect, right? He told me he tried to keep calm and only looked to the soldier who was still calm, checking his ID. He was liberated.
Arriving to the cafe where they had this meeting, while waiting for the other guy, two waiters came to check about what he was doing there. His friend arrived, they had the meeting, and he left to the second one, at the organization where he volunteers. I followed his anxiety for this meeting. Holidays, not a good moment, then, the day finally arrived. He was wearing his african print t-shirt, kept for special occasions. He just sent me the photos. Good people. Israeli Jews and Palestinians dedicating themselves to build a better future.
Guys like him keep me hopeful. These guys teach me every day that there is always a good reason to honor life. They are my compass, not those who already gave up.
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