A Dish of Custard
He was probably no more then seven years old, carrying a plate with homemade flatbread and a dish of custard for dessert. His mother genteelly held his shoulders as he made it out of their home’s gate. He precariously walked down the steps and walked a little too quickly across the street to another neighbor’s home.
This second little boy, around the same age, promptly told this other child that he wouldn’t eat “their food,” spoke in a rush of insults, and pushed the first boy away.
Almost dropping the plates, he recovered. Looked sadly back to his home and wandered back… Only to be sent out again, but this time to the house I was visiting.
Two children. Same age. Same height. Wearing similar clothing. Living across from one another.
One Arab and one local.
It was the local boy who shoved the little Arab boy away.
There is history between these two people groups. Painful history still fresh in their minds… There is no forgiveness. Only hate, distrust, and disgust. I won’t speak to this. Honestly if this had been my people and my family that suffered, I don’t know how I would react. I hope I could forgive… But I’ve never had to experience such tragedy and loss.
I can speak though about my beautiful friend who took the plates from the little boy and profusely thanked him for the delicious looking food and thanked his mother.
I can share with you her gentle words as she held the two boys hands and told them that G-d had made them both and that they are only children. Neighbors. Not to hate each other. But to be friends and to love one another.
This was just one little snippet out of my day… My dear friend had me break fast (it’s Ramadan) with her and her family. As always, they are gracious and hospitable hosts. Making me feel like family… I have such a love for them and am so thankful for G-d providing me with such a sweet family and a place to call home.