It's People Who Kill, Not Language

Suicide Bombings, Terrorism, Death and Terrorists are automatically associated to the Arabic language, some will say rightfully so, and some who will say its wrongful. Daniel Salame written about the suspicion he encountered as an Arabic speaker, with mixed emotions

During operation “Protective Edge” I was officer in active duty in the Air Force. A year after the operation, a special event was held in the Western Wall to give Torah Books to the families of fallen soldiers, donated by buisnessmen from North America. It took long time to plan this event, and it cost a fortune. The one who initiated and driven it was a Jewish buisnessman from Canada. I was invited to the event as an honorary guest of this dear, kind-hearted Jewish man, and it moved me very much.

Of course I had to send my personal details a month early so I will pass security checks by the American security and the Shin Bet (They secured the event tightly. God knows where my passport number and visa are passing now. Visa to the U.S okay? I am not dumb enough to give away my credit card details. I only keep them on my phone and various websites that no one has access to. Please don't tell anyone).

Embarassing, I don't know Jerusalem at all. I parked near the Ammunition Hill and from there I took the light rail. I was lost very quickly in the market near the Western Wall and arrived to place that was empty except for Arab merchants. One of them noticed I was lost, and asked me in Hebrew if I need help. I answered in Arabic that yes, I do need help, and I hesitated for a moment because I didn't know if it will be smart to tell him in Arabic that I'm going to a ceremony in which Torah books will be given in the Western Wall. If I still was on active duty they would make inquiry about it.

In the event I was sitted near many officers and IDF top-ranked officers. The IDF chief of staff and the director of the Shin-Bet sat in a row in front of me, the President of Israel and the chief rabbis where there, and other senior figures from politics and security, ambassadors of various states, and many donors and buisnessmen. I set with all of them in the VIP section, about a meter from the stage. I admit, it was one of the most touching moments in my life.

Next day's morning, on my way to work, I called my mother, excited to tell her about last night. I told her how it has been, she asked me when I returned back to Tel-Aviv, why I didn't call yesterday to say I got back home safely. I didn't spare any detail, after all I was excited to be a part of it. And as everytime we talk on the phone, we spoke in Arabic.

Before me a woman who walked down the street and she turned her head back to me every 4-5 seconds. She stared at me very rudely, and accelerated her steps to get further. For her dismay I walk in the speed I talk, so even though she tried to avoid me we both stood, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the traffic lights to change so we can cross the road. I meant to stand near her. She moved to the other side and looked at me like I might jump on her and kill her. Just because I spoke to my mother in Arabic.

Many thoughts raced through my mind. I admit, I was angry, but I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to tell her “You shouldn't be afraid, I speak Arabic, but I'm not a terrorist”. I wanted to tell her where I was less than 12 hours ago, about all the honoraries from IDF, Shin-Bet and the Ambassadors I sat with, that she probably wouldn't get to be in their presence, or to get in. I wanted to tell her that I was an IAF officer (and still am in reserve duty). I wanted to calm her down and tell her everything is fine. I wanted to tell her that only few hours ago I was deeply moved when I saw parents who lost their children in the war, getting Torah books in their children honour with teary eyes. I wanted to say I wore the same uniform as they wore, and took part in the same war.

But I didn't say anything. Haven't said a word. I knew it wouldn't help. I thought that I didn't really need to explain myself to someone choose to be scared of me without knowing me, just because of my language.

To this day I'm not sure how I feel about it – angry at her, feel sorry for her, sad for her, sad for me. I don't know if it's racism, ignorance or fear from a language that directly associates to bombings and death.

In the first vist of Germany's PM in Israel in 2014, there was a huge discussion about if she should speak at the Knesset in German, and thus allowing the language of the Nazi's to be heard in the heart of one of Israel's most important institutions, Israel that rised from the ashes of the victims of the Holocaust. After considerations, Germany's PM read her speech in German and said that the atrocities were comitted by the Nazis not by the language.

I understood that I wasn't offended personally from this occurrence, after all she doesn't know me, she has no clue who I am. She head Arabic in a street in Tel-Aviv, and she might not be used to it. She wasn't scared of me, she was scared from my language and what she associates it with: Murder, Death, Bombins, Terror. Maybe she witnessed a terror attack, was present in a scary situation or lost a person dear to her in one. With all my justified anger, I thought to myself, how can I judge her?

The following day I went down the same street and went to buy coffee on my way to work. The clerk is an Arab and knows me for a long time. “Good morning Ahmed, my regular, please”, I said. “Why suddenly you ask your order in Hebrew and not Arabic?” he wondered. “I don't know”, I replied in Arabic, “I didn't even notice”.

Daniel Salame is an Israeli of Druze origin, he is a columnist in NRG and Social Media entertainer. He has given me permission to translate to the best of my ability this column. The original coulmn in Hebrew can be found here.