Words of Hope or Hopelessness?

It was the three minutes when the allusion that I could trap the moment belied its transient properties and a time when I thought I held the solution to things and deemed the complexities of life to be mere misunderstandings.

I was nearing Jaffa Gate on my way to the Old City and I passed him. He was the waiter at the local café—the one who would ask if everything was okay and if he could clear my mug. We knew each other by face. We always acknowledged each other with a smile. And that was all.

This time though it was different: there were no tables surrounding us and no dirty plates waiting to be removed and it was just me and him. Out of context, it demanded more than a smile and he initiated conversation.

Where are you off to?

The kotel. And you?

Home. I live here.

And so the conversation continued. We spoke of nothing lofty and remained in the realm of the mundane but beneath the surface our mingling words were creating something extraordinary: dialogue between Arab and Jew. During those few moments we were crossing boundaries and signing a personal peace treaty. Everything seemed so simple for a moment; there was no tension lurking at our words and no definitions seeking to categorize us.

We could all get along so well, I thought. It’s only a matter of extending the smile to encompass words of conversation. There is no reason that they must all be grouped together as They and us as Us. We can all function as a We, can’t we?

But as we passed through Jaffa Gate and he continued walking in the direction of the Arab Market, I betrayed the We and told him I was turning right. The simplicity of the comment, though, clashed with the fragility of that which took only six minutes to create because I wasn’t just circumventing the Arab Market—I was circumventing the greater issues as well, the real issues.


It was as though our relationship immediately retreated to what it once was and non-verbal conversation replaced language as the mode of communication. My decision to turn right answered all the questions hiding in the alcoves of our previous conversation. It expelled all simplicity and temporarily voided the peace treaty. It exposed our conversation as brief chatter, fleeting with the moment that nursed it. Because suddenly I wasn't so willing. Suddenly I wasn't so comfortable. I was scared. And while I was willing to walk with him, I wasn't willing to walk amongst his friends and brothers and parents.

It was then that I questioned the nature of our short meeting and wondered whether my fear of pushing the limits contradicted the motive of a genuine conversation. But then again, while we did not speak of the controversial issues that inundate our cultures and divisive matters that permeate our societies, we did speak. We spoke a language that recognized and respected the presence of the other. We spoke words that concluded an informal conversation but may lead, one day, to the commencement of formal discourse.

It makes me wonder, though, which words retained greater influence—those which were spoken or those which were left unspoken?