Ismael - Part II

So we reconnected with Ismael a little bit. A couple days after the previous conversation, we called him the night before we needed a ride, but in the morning we had to cancel it because of a change in our plans. But I felt really bad about it, so I asked him if he wanted to stop over for some tea or coffee. He kindly declined that day.
A few days after this, Stacie and I were going to the airport to pick up the Swan family. We could have taken a 10 person taxi for cheaper, but we wanted to spend some quality time with Ismael in a 45 minute ride to the airport.
I called him and scheduled the ride from our house to the airport. He said,

“Ok, but I want something from you.”

“Sure, what do you want?”

“I want to come by and drink some coffee.” (Taking me up on my previous offer).

“A cup of coffee will be ready for you.”

He arrived to our house about fifteen minutes early, came to the door and drank some Starbucks – “American Coffee.”

Some of you might be thinking, that’s a little bold isn’t it, asking for something like that. Well let me assure you, it’s not. Besides, he was a bit confused and thought Stacie and I were going to the airport because WE were moving back to the States already and wanted to spend a few extra minutes with us.

Soon, on this warm, sunny afternoon, we were on our way to Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv. The first half of the ride was conversations in English, talking some of the modern political situation involving Israelis and Palestinians, President Bush’s visit, etc. Ismael knows we are Christians, and he spent a considerable amount of time teaching us some things about Islam. At one point, he reached into his glovebox and pulled out a copy of the Quran, and read a couple sections to us, first in Arabic, then translating it into English.

He said the term Islam means “Peace.”

Stacie says back to him, “If Islam means peace, then why all the violence surrounding Islam?”

“They aren’t really Muslims.”

It was fascinating conversation for sure. The second half of our ride was a little less intense as he spent time teaching us some new Hebrew vocabulary and we were teaching him some things in English.

Upon arriving at the airport, you need to drive through a security checkpoint. Often these “checkpoints” don’t even involve a complete stop…for Americans. But because we were riding with an Arab, this was no drive through for us this time.
One of the security guards and Ismael begin a conversation in Hebrew and soon they ask him to pull his car over to the side of the road for a while. Then he comes over to me and asks me to step out of the car so he can ask me a few questions. I’m not intimidated at all by these two guys, or their big guns. I know what’s going on here. I’ve done nothing wrong and I’ve got nothing to hide.

“What is your relationship with Ismael?”

“He’s our taxi driver bringing us to the airport.” Then a slight pause, I had a choice to make, but I knew in my heart I needed to say it. “And he’s our friend.”

I knew he wouldn’t like that we were friends, but I didn’t care. Ismael hasn’t done anything wrong and doesn’t deserve to be treated like this either. I told this security guard why I was here, where I was studying and where I was living. Our neighborhood is half Arab, half Jewish, but the Jews use the name “Givat Hananiah” so not to be associated with Arab. I knew that would be another red flag, but again didn’t care.

“I live in Abu Tor.”

“You live in Abu Tor?” In disbelief. “Why do you live in Abu Tor?”

“It’s a nice neighborhood.”

Friends with an Arab taxi driver, live in an Arab neighborhood, this guy didn’t seem to like my answers. So they proceeded to do a very thorough check - including checking all three of our phones, walking through a metal detector and went through every square inch of Ismael’s car – under the car, under the hood, in the trunk, and even the “magic wand” treatment inside. How embarrassing and humiliating for Ismael. And that is exactly what they were trying to do. They hate it that Americans would befriend the Arabs. What they were trying to do is give us a miserable experience at the airport so next time we need to go the airport, maybe we’ll call a Jewish taxi driver. Trying to run the Arabs out of business. If we weren’t friends with Ismael and just needed a ride to the airport, I can see why people wouldn’t call him again for a ride next time.

So the security guards felt good about flexing their muscles for us. And about 20 minutes later we were on our way. I am about to go crazy, I’ve got smoke coming out of my ears at this injustice, how dare they treat this good friend of mine like this!” It’s racism disguised as safety or security. Or maybe we could use the term “politics.” Call it what you want. I call it wrong.

The three of us get back in the car. Nobody says anything. Nothing but silence for a few minutes. Then Ismael, with utter peacec, kindness and a smile in his eyes,

“Do you have any questions?”

We talked for a couple minutes. Told him we’re sorry about all of that. He felt bad for US because he wanted us to be at the airport on time…not with a 20-minute delay.

Stacie and I vividly remember watching his response to all of that. The whole time he was very relaxed. Didn’t put up a fuss or protest any of it. Never a moment of frustration or anger. That’s just the way his life is.

After saying goodbye, we got out of the car. I’m still raging inside. Stacie starts crying.

The security guards at the airport greeted us by saying “Peace.”

Ismael claims that Islam means “Peace.”

I believe Jesus to be the “Prince of Peace.”

The people here need some peace.