Gaza Airstrikes

Well, if you woke up this morning and thought of us when you read today's unsettling headlines about Israel's deadly attacks on Gaza, then I thank you for your concern.  Of course we are fine, but I'd be lying if I said that it didn't put a whole new spin on reading about the violent Middle East while *living* in the violent Middle East.

The irony, for us, about this unexpected and escalated wave of Israeli-Palestinian aggression is that it falls squarely in the middle of our own personal struggle with being Newish in the United Arab Emirates during the Festival of Tights.  Just last night over dinner, we had a lively debate over the pros and cons of officially "coming out" to our (Christian, Filipino) housemaid and, more critically, our (Muslim, Pakistani) driver.  Daddy prefers not to make any formal statement, erring on the side of "don't ask, don't tell" (his preliminary research into Dubai suggested to him that many Muslims who are anti-Israel would be quick to conflate "Jewish" with "Israeli," and they would not afford any distinction to an American New who might not necessarily agree with all of Israel's foreign policies).  I, on the other hand, bristle at the thought of in any way having to hide in my *own* home (it's what we tactlessly call "Anne Frank-ing it"); and I would rather make a full disclosure to Zia now than after we become his official state sponsor, which will likely happen next week when Daddy finally gets his visa.  PopPop's take is that he is proud of his Newishness and doesn't care who knows about it... though when Zia surprised him by walking in on Christmas to find the Festival of Tights candles burning and asked PopPop of the (let's call it) zenorah, "What's that?", PopPop simply replied, "We just lit the candles" (notice the vague omission!), to which Zia said, "Oh. Well, Merry Christmas."  (I sympathized; for as often as I had sworn that I was going to raise the issue with Zia and just get it over with, somehow I always just ended up talking to him about the weather.  "Never expected it to be this chilly in Dubai!")

Wanna know something else really crummy?  A few days after we arrived here, and I saw how Western everything seemed and how international the people are and how friendly the atmosphere is, I decided that there wasn't really anything scary about being Newish here, much to my relief.  And then, a few days ago, my visiting friend (we'll call him Seacrest) told me about the following passages from the 2007 edition of the popular travel guide, "Time Out Dubai":

"PROHIBITIONS.  ... Israeli nationals are not allowed into the United Arab Emirates; however, following a recent change in policy, other nationalities can now enter the UAE with an Israeli stamp in their passport."

"RELIGION. ... Islam is the official religion on the UAE.  Around 16 per cent of the local population is Shi'a Muslim and the remainder Sunni Muslims.  Dubai is the most multicultural and therefore the most tolerant of the emirates and other religions (except Judaism) are respected, but it is still a Muslim state."

When Seacrest told me about that last parenthetical, I refused to believe it until I saw it with my own eyes.  How could this be written?  And could it possibly be true?  Suddenly, all of my initial trepidation came rushing back.  What would it mean for us, in terms of actual consequences, if the state-sanctioned position of this country is that News are officially not welcome here?  Isn't that the implication to be drawn from the assertion that Nudaism is not "respected"?  Or could I make any legitimate case that perhaps Dubai is evolving so rapidly that a publication from 2007 is, here on the eve of 2009, already out of date?

Last night, I tried to articulate my fears.  Was I concerned that, should our Newishness go public, someone would spray paint our house?  Ridicule my children?  Slash our tires?  Did I worry that kids would not want to play with Sushi and Screamer at school?  That Raquel would worry for her safety and quit?  Or--and this is my big one-- that Zia would tell some nefarious Muslim acquaintances of his who would then perpetrate some violent act against us??  

No, no, no-- I had to stop myself.  There was my vivid imagination running away again.  If violent acts were being committed against Americans in Dubai-- Newish or otherwise-- it would certainly have been picked up by the U.S. media by now.  Certainly.  Furthermore, Zia has lived with us for over a month and been nothing but kind to us: he carries my children to the car, and gives them hugs when they fall, and has never indicated that he has any intention other than being the best at his job and keeping a watchful, helpful, guiding eye over this family as we learn the ropes of the UAE.  Any presumption that our relationship would instantly deteriorate upon The Disclosure would be an unfounded, unfair offense against him.  Just because he is Muslim does not change the fact that he has, unquestionably, been our friend.

But then I woke up this morning.  And despite attempting to avert my glance, I caught a glimpse of the bloody photograph on the front page of the paper.  And I saw the headline that this was the deadliest attack in years, and that there's no end in sight, and that, according to one reporter, the "Muslim world" is outraged.

And I felt my heart pound a little bit.

Again, I had to talk myself down.  Hey listen, Mommy, there are random acts of violence everywhere.  We could move back to the States and find ourselves in the middle of a bank robbery.  And there are no guarantees in life at all: we could be hit by a bus anywhere. Besides, Gaza is 1300 miles away.  It's not like we're going to be hit by shrapnel-- I mean, it wouldn't even occur to me to worry about flurries in Miami, Florida, if I heard that Bangor, Maine was being hit by a snowstorm.  No, I look out my window and the sun is shining and the kids want to go to the park and the baby needs a nap and, aside from the horrific images and headlines jumping out of the newspapers, for the most part it's just another day.

Another Festival of Tights day, no less!

And so, like the proud and scrappy little News we are, we set up the zenorah (amidst increasingly noisy pleas from the children, who have come to expect candle-lighting in the mornings so that new presents do not interfere with bedtime) and we soldiered on.  We lit those candles just as we had the day before there in the kitchen, in plain view, and we said those prayers out loud, not even visibly flinching when Raquel passed right through the kitchen, mop in hand, just as we were hitting the high notes.  Overall I would give the adults' performance a solid B+/A- this morning; even though Gaza was on all of our minds, we rushed through the prayers only a teeny bit, and our volume was decreased only ever so slightly.  So what if our thoughts were elsewhere and we lacked some of our usual gusto-- what's important is that we got the job done, and that the wide-eyed, precious, so-excited-to-be-Newish children never suspected a thing.  After all, we're just the latest additions to a time-honored tradition of being doggedly Newish in less-than-ideal circumstances... there's nothing "New" about that!

I did, however, take particular note as we recited the last prayer, the Shehecheyanu, which is only required on the first night but which I insist we do on each of the nights.  It says: "Blessed are you, our God, creator of time and space, who has supported us, protected us, and brought us to this moment." 

I'm not a big believer in God, but I am a big believer in carpe diem.  And so, standing in my pajamas in the kitchen of a rented house in a foreign land where maybe, just maybe, I don't belong, I looked at my three children and my husband and my dad and the lit candles of that danged zenorah-- wait, menorah-- and I smiled.