COMMENTARY
Jerusalem: Is love the answer there, too?

By Yasmin Anwar
Advertiser Editorial Writer

In 1999, now considered Israel's golden era for its relative peace and economic success, I visited the Temple Mount or Haram as-Sharif, Jerusalem's most disputed holy site.

Now, as a Pakistani-German, I don't fit neatly into any particular ethnic or religious group, although Muslims have assured me that, technically, I'm one of them. So on this hot July day, I figured I'd take advantage of that.

Clad in a shalwar kameez and headscarf, I sailed through the Muslims-only queue and crossed the Muslims-only rope in the jealously guarded Al Aqsa mosque. As I sat down among the cool marble columns, I attracted the attention of a guard. "You're not praying," he accused. "Are you a Muslim?"

"That's what they tell me," I replied. He wasn't buying any of it, and once again, I was thrown out of the club. As I looked aggrieved outside the mosque, the head guard strolled up and asked me where I was from.

"England," I said curtly.

"You don't look English," he replied.

"My father's Pakistani," I said.

"So you're a Muslim," he said.

"Well, he doesn't seem to think so," I snapped, pointing at the guard who had evicted me.

The head guard scolded his underling and assured me that nothing would be off limits to me in the Al Aqsa mosque. By then, I was too emotional to go back inside. My Jewish husband had prayed at the Western Wall without his religious affiliation being questioned. Why was mine?

I was reminded of that incident last week when Rizek Abusharr, a Palestinian Christian and retired director of the Jerusalem International YMCA, came through Honolulu to offer insights into the conditions that perpetuate fear and violence between Jews and Arabs.

According to Abusharr, Jews and Arabs can live side by side as neighbors — separate but equal — but interfaith love affairs, marriage and procreation can only dilute religious identity and lead to heartbreak.

And that depressed me.

It would be absurdly naive to think that Israel could become a multicultural utopia after decades of war, occupation, terrorist attacks and the indignities that come with tight security.

But couldn't love and reconciliation eventually transcend that?

For years, my uncle Asghar, an avowed anti-Semitist, refused to meet my husband — until my father's funeral. Once they got talking, he concluded, "Our cultures are very similar."

There are oases of tolerance, such as Neve Shalom, or Wahat al-Salam, a small community in the hills between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem created so Arabs and Jews could live together in harmony. But Abusharr points out that these young people could fall in love. And so rather than risk intermarriage, some parents are sending their children to colleges abroad.

I suspect it will be hard to limit the affections of the children of Neve Shalom/Wahat al-Salam now that they've bonded across ethnic and religious lines. Integration has a habit of sneaking up on you.

You can reach Yasmin Anwar through letters@honoluluadvertiser.com.