Sayed Kashua

Split personalities

By Sayed Kashua

This week I was seized with a burning political fury. The kind of fury I didn't think I still had in me. An overpowering need to take action coursed through my veins. I could not just sit by in the face of the eviction of the two Arab families from their homes in Sheikh Jarrah to make way for settlers. I just had to find some kind of political outlet, a way to engage in some act of protest. After much deliberation about possible courses of action, I put on a Public Enemy CD and angrily smoked a cigarette in the living room.

"Don't be afraid," I tried to smile at them to allay their fear. "Daddy's not mad at you. Daddy's mad at the country."

My kids nodded automatically, agreeing with my every word. As a rule, my kids, quite surprisingly I have to say, have turned out to be pretty obedient, easy to handle - the salt of the earth. I must admit that I don't understand all those friends, neighbors and acquaintances who, at about this time of year, do nothing but complain about the unbearably long summer vacation, and about what torture it is for all these poor parents to have to watch over their bored children. Not that I don't know what they're talking about. I certainly do, seeing as how, with my wife being the civil servant, I'm the one who's considered unemployed because of my non-binding profession, and so naturally it falls to me to watch the kids during their school vacations.
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My kids are so well-disciplined, quiet and undemanding that one afternoon this week, I showered, dressed, left the apartment to go to an appointment, got in the car and turned the ignition before my wife called to ask how the kids were - which reminded me that I'd left them alone reading books in their room.

My babysitting style is pretty hands-off and requires no effort on my part whatsoever. In the mornings, the kids wash up and brush their teeth alone. My daughter makes breakfast after she asks my permission to enter the kitchen. She also takes care of feeding her little brother, who as soon as he's finished eating, takes his turn washing the dishes. My kids don't like to bother me. They'll never barge into my study. In fact, out of concern for my comfort and well-being, they always choose to leave whatever part of the house I go into. Say I go sit down in the living room, they'll immediately decide to go to their room. If I go into the kitchen when they're in there, they'll immediately leave the table and move to the living room.

But the theory about Eastern European influences on children's manners collapsed when observations of my kids' genuine Ashkenazi classmates revealed that for the most part, they are little savages with no manners at all. From that moment on, I realized that my children's model behavior had to be of wholly Arab origin. At the end of the day, it's a fact that there is something to be said for the Arab style of education; indeed, it would be no exaggeration to say that the notion of "Honor thy father and mother" is implanted deep in Arab genes.

On that particular day I was gripped with political fury, I felt an even more powerful need than usual to get out in the evening and blow off some steam. After a round of phone calls, conducted alphabetically according to my list of contacts, I finally managed to persuade a friend to join me for a little drink downtown. I shoved the same Public Enemy disc in the car's CD player, lit a cigarette and felt like an especially radical political activist all the way to the cafe.

My friend had already grabbed a little outdoor table and was puffing away on a cigarette, looking upset. "We're leaving the city," he announced to me as I shook his hand.

"What?" I asked, surprised. Only six months ago he'd realized his dream and bought an apartment in a great neighborhood in West Jerusalem. "Where are you going?"

"Home," he answered. "That's it, we're going back to the Galilee. We're not staying in this stinkin' town one more minute."

"I can understand how you feel," I said. "It's not easy for me either, with all this Bibi and Jewish fundamentalism around. But what about your job? And the kids - after you finally found such a good school for them."

"It has nothing to do with Bibi or any settlers," my friend replied. "It's because of the children," he paused abruptly, as if grappling with a weighty secret.

"Tell me," I said gently. "What's going on with the children?"

"You promise not to tell anyone?" He glanced left and right.

"No one," I swore.

"Ever since the summer vacation started, I noticed something strange was happening with the children. You know what I mean? They're little kids, it's vacation, you expect them to not give you a minute of peace, to turn the house upside down, to be whining all day that they're bored and demanding to be taken to the mall, the movies, the pool, the beach - right?"

"Right," I nodded, and a feeling of pride and happiness came over me as I thought of my own quiet and perfectly behaved little sweethearts.

"What?" I leaned back in my chair.

"Just what I said. With all this Hebrew-Jewish-Ashkenazi education, with all the piano lessons, ballet, swimming and children's movies, they've become convinced that they're Jews."

"But, it doesn't make sense," I shook my head, refusing to believe it.

"Not only that, they think they're Jews who were kidnapped by Arabs. You see what I'm saying? They think that I - me, their father - kidnapped them from a Jewish family."

"And that's why they're so well-behaved?" I asked.

"Exactly," replied my friend with a chuckle. "They think that if they don't behave nicely the Arab couple that kidnapped them might hurt them."

"Is that so?" I scratched my head. "Listen, I'm sorry but I have to run," I said to my surprised friend.

"Where are you going?" he called after me, but I didn't respond as I raced to the car.

"We wanted to tell you," said my daughter, hiding her younger brother behind her back, "that not all Jews agree with the settlement policies in Jerusalem."

"I don't believe it," I said, placing my hands on my head.

"Believe it, believe it! Please! We're not all like that. Please!"