The Diaspora

The Diaspora

Part One
Isaac

I am overjoyed as I wait impatiently for my train to stop in my comfy, familiar and slightly upper class community known as Lincoln Park. I am listening to a song that has carried me through the last three months. Knights of Cydonia by Muse blares in my ear drums as I fidget with my IPod. I feel these lyrics can be applied to the question of Israel and of Jews in general. Yes, I agree with Muse, no one is going to take me alive and the time really has come to make things right. I am not yet late, but I cannot help being a bit anxious. The truth is that I haven’t seen Kamal in 6 months, winter break being the last time we got together. It had been bitterly cold and I was in no shape to have a truly meaningful conversation when I ran into Kamal at a bar near Rush and Division. As the train comes to a halt, I consider a couple of things I believe will serve me well before I am to have lunch with my old friend. First, as far as I am concerned, there should be some things that Kamal and I should avoid discussing. Anything involving the Middle East for example; we definitely cannot have a discussion about the Middle East. Kamal and I have known each other since the 7th grade when he moved to Chicago from Los Angeles. He and I grew close as we shared a mutual adoration for cinema, particularly that of the Mob based genre. We used to sit in the back of our Algebra class quoting Scarface till the teacher would tell us to keep it down. This is the image I must remember to keep in mind when I consider my friend Kamal, I have to reiterate this because things have changed in my life and according to some of our mutual friends, things have changed in his life as well.
The train stops at the Belmont station and I proceed down the platform stairs until I am at the street level. I take out my ear phones and proceed west toward my favorite pizza place, which Kamal and I used to love, Lou Manatti’s. The walk should take me about ten minutes so I have a bit more time to contemplate things before dinner.
Work was challenging today, not just because it was a Friday, but because today everyone at the Jewish Philanthropic Agency of Chicago was reminded of how important our collective mission is in the 21st century. I say this because today we received a bomb threat that was serious enough for the entire building to be evacuated. 43 floors were all instructed to evacuate the building when the receptionist at our office called the police, notifying them that a man who called himself The Grand Mufti of Chicago had phoned the office in the morning and had said, “I have rigged your building with explosives and at noon today, the liberation of Palestine will commence, Allah Akbar.”
When I first started working with the JPA, I was told such events had taken place in the past and to be on the alert for them to transpire in the future. I am not scared by all of this because our community has always had enemies, will continue to have enemies and nothing can ever be done to alter this incurable disease dubiously dubbed anti-Semitism.
But Kamal is not going to know about any of this from the perspective of being my friend. He will expect me to tell him about my newest screenplay, my job as Northwestern’s head of the campus sports radio station. He will expect me to tell him about these pursuits because 6 months ago, I was on track to becoming a sports broadcaster. I had always held a passion for sports and my aim in the first three of college had been to blend my love and knowledge of sport with my inane understanding of the verbal process. Yet, as had been the case in the past, I had lost interest in the radio station, turning my attention to world events. I then thought about my love of film, more specifically, the love of a film with an interesting, multi-faceted story. I decided the most interesting, multi-faceted real example of such a story was that of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. I held a slight stake in the matter as I subscribed not whole heartedly to the religious principles of Judaism, but rather to the traditions, values and culture that went along with the religion. This led me to quit my job, change my major and begin a journey of personal discovery that led me Full Square into the world of Jewish philanthropy. But Kamal knows nothing about this new chapter in my life and I am honestly scared to tell him about it. I am also scared because Kamal has recently updated his Facebook page, changing the status of his religion so that it now reads, Muslim-Sunni.
After eleven minutes, I arrive at Lou Manatti’s to find Kamal standing outside having a cigarette. The last time I saw him, he had weighed what looked like about 300 pounds. He looks decidedly different, appearing to have lost the equivalent of a Samsonite suitcase. He sees me, smiles, takes a puff of his cigarette and proclaims,
“Wow, I never thought I’d see Jackson Shapiro become a suit, my, my, my.”
Kamal then tosses his cigarette to the curb and I go to embrace my friend. I hug the man we all used to call, “Big Jo,” and we walk inside. I realize that I can no longer refer to him as Big Jo in good conscience because it simply is no longer the truth. In retrospect, calling him Big Jo, which we had done to immortalize the obese female side character from, The Perfect Storm, when Kamal was dating a severely overweight girl was an act of juvenile cruelty. The inside of the famed restaurant looked like it did when Kamal and I were in high school. A very inviting cascade of red and white adorned each booth and table cloth with photos strewn across the walls depicting notable Chicago athletes such as Michael Jordon and Ryne Sandberg. Kamal and I grab a booth close to the rest room and sit on opposite sides. After we quickly order our customary pizza, the Hawaiian, we launch into conversation.
“All right, so, please, I am dying to hear about the Albion co-eds,” I start, referring to the small liberal arts college Kamal attends in the middle of nowhere in Michigan. Kamal grins and responds,
“JS, you always start in with this bullshit and I never have anything to say that you want to hear,”
“My man, what I want to hear is that you are meeting and having sex with good looking ladies, now is bringing this up really such an imposition?”
I had made a habit of poking fun at his love life as well as my own during conversations. But, it was obvious Kamal was uneasy with this topic, so I did my best to move the discussion along.
“Fine, fine, fine, no women…okay, so then, my next move is to ask about the family? So how’s Tarik? Is he taking his medication yet?”
“Well, dude, I know this will shock the shit out of you as it did my dad, well my whole family, but my dad especially, but Tarik went to live with our cousins in Nablus…He has gotten really into the cause and so he lives in Palestine now, where my dad used to live.” My face turned white before I spoke,
“But you are Jordanian.” He had always told me about his Jordanian heritage so I assumed this to be true.
“No, I am Palestinian, my father moved to Jordan in 1948, so he says we are Jordanian, but we are really Palestinian.”

Part Two: Ishmael

I am on my way to meet Mr. Shapiro this evening. It had been quite some time since we last spoke and I think we both felt it was the right time to get together. Our history, our shared foundation is just so strong and uncompromising that it does not matter what we do for a living. I am a Muslim and he is a Jew, fine, let’s not spend forever talking about it. Jackson knows full well where I stand on the issue. He would tell me it is a bullshit cause, that Arabs represent 1.4 billion in statistical data and with that immense majority comes an obligation to have Islamic countries act in ‘appropriate’’ ways. This content races through my head as I take the beyond convenient El from Merchandise Mart, the nearest stop to my office to the Belmont stop. Jackson lives in Lakeview, I live in the Loop, I am taking it upon myself to get this friendship back on its feet.
The El today is crammed with an eclectic mixture of human trash and the smartest people we all knew in high school. In practicum, this means that I am surrounded by businessmen, bulls with their briefcases and shaved faces. I sport a beard, this has nothing to do with religion, but I do notice that they stare at me as if they asking, “Are you a fucking terrorist?” with their eyes. The human trash I mentioned wear Chicago White Sox apparel, I guess they are coming back from a day game? It is a couple, a man and his girl and they are obviously drunk, racist and I am in no mood to be reminded that people like this have the same right to vote as I do. But I concentrate on the meeting about which I am to enter. Jackson and I have been friends forever, but yes, it must be said, since he became a hardcore Jew, it has been an issue. I do consider myself a religious person; I guess I am what someone else would refer to as a hardcore Muslim. I abhor Osama Bin Laden, the Taliban, Al Qaeda and all the backward ass cave dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. When I am at work, at the Muslim-American Society of America, this is what I constantly have to reiterate. People have, and this is especially true in America and the West in general, the wrong impression of the Islamic faith and those who practice it. But, about two years ago, I started reading about the Nakba, the catastrophe born when Israel became a state in 1948. It really was a catastrophe, what is my evidence for this conclusion, I tell people constantly to simply look at the last 60 years of history and tell me that Israel has not been the world’s biggest troublemaker. The Jews want to say that Muslims treat their women unfairly, treat their people unfairly really and that all Muslims support and embrace religion in the name of violence. This is a grand myth exacerbated by the media which is largely controlled by Jewish people. I look at a list of movie studios, television stations and I don’t see too many Muhammad’s, but I do often see some Shapiro’s.
I am listening to Knights of Cydonia by Muse as the movement of the El reverberates throughout the train. We have reached Belmont, I exit to the left, saying fuck you to the White Sox fans in my head both because they root for Chicago’s bastard child sports team and because they exemplify the kinds of people who hate Muslims and don’t even understand why. The lyrics to the song make a great deal of sense to me. First of all, the beat makes the song like a battle cry for us Muslims and when I apply the lyrics to the issue of Palestine’s right to exist, they really make the situation come together in my head. “I’ll show you a god, falls asleep on the job…how can we win…Don’t waist your time or time will waist you…No one’s gonna take me alive, the time has come to make things right…you and I must fight for our rights, you and I must fight to survive.” These lyrics are followed by a pummeling guitar riff and thus, this is Palestine’s struggle personified.
I disembark the train station, heading south on Belmont until I hit Clark, the street occupied by Wrigley Stadium. Jackson and I are meeting at the Cubby Bear across the street from Wrigley. Even though the Cubs are currently on the road, the Cubby Bear is still a place where he and I both have some sense of nostalgia and tradition. Jackson and I last met at Lou Manattti’s and well, the Israeli-Palestinian issue dominated everything. I mean I had so much I wanted to talk about with my old friend, we had life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, but no, he just HAS to be one of those Jews who actually steers public policy on the one issue that pisses me off the most. His face turned white when I told him I had started identifying myself as a Palestinian. He, and I have no idea how he had never put this together, failed to grasp that Jordan and Palestine were once both part of a greater Palestine until a small emirate called Transjordan was created after World War I. It is so funny that the Middle East, the Arab region, has had its modern history shaped by Western countries like France, England, the US and of course, the Jews of Israel. I don’t think its fair and this is the overriding reason why I chose Islamic studies as my major at Loyola. But Jackson should understand the relatively simple fact that most Jordanians are Palestinians who were forced to move when Israel became a state in 48. Oh, but fuck this issue, I want to talk about Derrick Rose. The Bulls just landed the first pick in the draft and I want to discuss Vinny Del Negro, our new coach and our probable first pick, the Memphis Tiger Derrick Rose, the natural, our savior, not Jordan but maybe Pippen.
The walk along Clark Street takes me past some old haunts. For one, there is the Barleycorn, where I got into a fight with a bouncer over a girl who turned out to be a prostitute. There is also Jack’s on Halsted which is not on this street but the Barleycorn makes me think of this place. It now displays, rather prominently, a Gay Rainbow Flag on the front Marquee along with the title, Jack’s on Halsted. On a dare, I went to this place with Jackson and a few of our other friends. This guy in a biker’s outfit, a latter day homosexual Hell’s Angel type bought me a drink and handed me a napkin with his number on it and the inscription, “I can pound the brown all night baby.” I assume this is because I am an Arab, wow, the memory of the Homosexual creativity shakes me to the core. I really don’t understand how Gay people don’t feel like their missing out, how are they so fucking happy about what they do, nobody else is.
I reach the Cubby Bear at 5:45 PM on the dot, the time we had planned on meeting. Jackson looks reasonably well, maybe he’s lost seven or eight pounds and he no longer wears a goatee. I have lost 80 pounds in the past two years, so my new weight and the fact that he can’t call me Big Jo anymore have both been established as of the last time we met at Lou Manatti’s.
“Big Jo, long time man, brothers don’t shake hands, brothers gotta hug.” I bypass the handshake in favor of the suggested hug and Jackson and I reignite the friendship that began years and years ago when the world looked a lot less complicated and judgmental.
The Cubby Bear is sort of a Chicago landmark and inside the walls are flooded with pictures of Cubs greats like Ernie Banks, the Hawk Andre Dawson, who was a favorite of mine and Mark Grace who really belongs to the Diamondbacks after 2001 and I don’t claim him as a Cubs fan anymore. The Cubs Blue burns a hole in my eye as Jackson and I follow and above average looking server to our destination, a table on the patio since it is not fucking freezing in Chicago.
“So, where do we begin Mr. Shapiro?” I ask as I begin to peruse the menu, I know I am on a lifelong diet now but I really am fiending for a Bacon Cheeseburger. Jackson is also looking at a menu although I can tell he is not thinking about the food so much as what he wants, and what he feels comfortable, talking about with me.
“Let us start with Jesus Shuttlesworth, also known as Derrick Rose, is he our savior?” Jackson and I always did stuff like this where we would bring up movie quotes just to basically see if the other person was game enough to pinpoint the movie which they were from. In this case, he was comparing Ray Allen’s character in He Got Game to the man who is supposed to save the Bulls.
“Rose is a freak bro, but Beasley, Beasley is really, really good, I don’t know what I would do, probably Rose, but dude, what do you think of Beasley?” I had to ask him about the Kansas State product who had just had an amazing freshman year and had declared himself for the 2008 Draft. It was a tough choice, after all, theoretically we should have been set at both positions for years with Kirk Hinrich at the Point and Joakim Noah at the 5, even Tyrus Thomas was already supposed to be the answer at the 4.
“Rose is so much better than Beasley, think about him as compared to like, well Chris Paul for example. He has every skill CP3 has but he has the added bonus of being someone who just took his team to the NCAA Finals as a freshman like Carmelo.” I could not hold my tongue, “Yes, but look at Melo, he had been a disappointment as a pro, so you know what, I worry about Rose’s lack of experience, but it is down to Rose and Beasley and we both know Rose is better in the long run.” Jackson nodded, set his menu down on the table and looked directly at me.
“So, you know, let’s get some bases covered here, I know we love sports, but let me ask you, how is your family, you know, how are friends, job, life basically?” Jackson asked this all in a very respectful manner as if he were deliberately trying to avoid even having to say either the word Israel or Palestine. He knew I would rather just not talk about it as well so I am thankful he brought the more common place issues up so we can have some civil interaction.
“Well good, my parents are chilling, Tarik’s in Palestine, you know where I work and that is going very well, so yeah, on the whole, I don’t have a hell of a lot to report, I mean, yeah, no girlfriend for the moment, just following sports, just read Fareed Zakaria’s book, things are well.” I felt responding in this way would probably be best for everyone. I did not need to tell him that Tarik was very active in the Palestinian cause or that my father had recently gotten into a religious squabble with a neighbor who Jackson knows. I certainly did not need to tell him that I was in charge of monitoring five different charities who funnel money to the Palestinian Authority. I do not like Hamas and thankfully our organization does not provide them with funding, but it cannot be ignored that people chose them to be their leaders and so yes, we do maintain a healthy dialogue of which I am a part with some of the more liberal minded members of Hamas. They need to know they are not alone.
“That is great man, I mean, you look fantastic, you are probably just killing it out there, so yes, I mean, okay you don’t have a girlfriend, fair enough, but have you been getting laid?” Jackson loves asking about women.
“Now and then,” I tell them and then change the subject as quickly as I can because I do not discussing my love life, it is my business, “What about you? What is new?”
Jackson leans back in his chair, begins to laugh, he puts his head down and then raises it to look directly at me again. He is big into eye contact.
“Well, Big Jo, I am moving to Israel in the fall.”

Part 3: Abraham
The Desert and the Deserted
By: Thomas O’Reilly
April 19, 2009.
GENEVA, SWITZERLAND- Today at the UN’s General Review Conference on Racism, I saw something that disturbed me more than anything I heard from Mahmoud Ahmedenehad. I will describe what I saw and I think this will provide those of you who have spent any amount of time studying the Israeli-Palestinian conflict with an appropriate and bi-partisan understanding of how that conflict on the other side of the world has impacted Americans.
The scene played out today at a café in the heart of Geneva’s cosmopolitan Downtown district. Out of respect, I will withhold both the names of the Café of the specifics of this location. I sat down yesterday morning before the conference was set to begin and I set out to read the day’s edition of the New York Times. I was reading the sports page as a diversion, flipping through a story on how the off-season signings of CC Sabathia and AJ Burnett would impact the Yankees 2009 pitching staff when I heard someone yell out, “IT IS YOU WHO ARE THE WORLD”S PROBLEM!” I turned around to see man with a large beard and who looked to be of Middle Eastern descent shouting at a man who looked to be from Jewish or Israeli descent. The Jewish man started crying and then shouted even louder, “IT IS YOU WHO CAUSED THIS CRISIS BECAUSE YOU ARABS WANT EVERYTHING AND YOU HAVE THE WAY TO GET IT, YOU ARE ALL SITTING ON THE BLACK BLOOD OF ALLAH AND EVERYONE HATES IT!” The two obviously has known each other, the pain in their eyes was identifiable despite their harsh words. In other words, it was obvious the two had a history. The Middle Eastern man got up and left following the comment and the Jewish man sat alone, with everyone staring at him in the café. I decided to talk to the man and investigate what had just happened. He explained to me that he worked for an Israeli based Jewish agency and was on hand to be a voice of reason to any country willing to listen at this conference which he termed, “an Israeli hate fest.” He told me he had friends with the man who had just left his entire life, but ever since he has moved to Jerusalem from Chicago, things had dramatically changed. He indicated that his friend worked for an Islamic agency in Jordan and he had been there for the conference with the large Jordanian delegation.
The man, named Jackson, told me he used to be able to discuss sports for hours with his friend Kamal. Now, they are shouting at each other about broad, abstract and impossible issues in café’s. Jackson lamented allowing things to decline to this level, but he does not know whether the two will path things up in the near future. The politics are too rancid, the situation too tense, the religious obstacles too many. This is one in a long line of indirectly related conflicts which have impacted the lives of people the world over.
See, even though Bibi Netanyahu would like us all to believe in Israel’s economic peace offering to the Palestinians, we know the truth. Even President Obama, who obviously does not understand the concept of money, understands that this situation requires a new direction from where the situation had stood under the rubber stamps of the Bush Administration. The situation is destined to remain tense until either one of two things happens. Either Israel vacates the West Bank, Golan Heights and East Jerusalem and Israel’s boundaries are defined, smaller, but defined and legalized. The second and more terrifying option which is obviously on the table is that Iran send a nuclear bomb into the heart of Tel Aviv, the Jewel of the Jewish state and World War III begins in the Middle East. I do not believe that the Persians would sacrifice the Dome of the Rock or the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem, but I do believe that a nuclear bomb into Tel Aviv is a possibility/ But for Kamal’s sake and for Jackson’s, I hope the world can find its way toward a peaceful solution to this never ending saga. I am not an Israeli, I am not a Palestinian, I am not an Arab, I am not a Jew, I am a human being and this had to be solved.