During our trip to Rome in December, my dear friend and I entered a small shop in the neighborhood in which we were staying. As we wandered around to look at the beautiful items on display, the handsome young shopkeeper approached us from the back room, speaking to us in Italian. In my frustratingly rudimentary Italian, I asked if he spoke English. He replied in hesitant, broken English that he didn’t, saying a few more words before his face lit up in a big grin and he told us in near perfect English, with a twinkle in his eyes, that he had been joking. Utterly charmed, we all laughed, and Dani and I commended him for his sense of humor.
As we spoke, I could hear in his voice that he wasn’t originally from Italy. When I asked where he was from, with his cheeky grin still firmly in place, he asked us to guess. From his accent, I assumed that he was from the Middle East and guessed Lebanon. “I’ll give you a hint,” he said. “I am from the country whose government was just toppled.” Our new friend was from Syria, and we met him only two days after Assad’s government had fallen.
Our conversation continued to be cordial and his joy was palpable, and I debated whether or not to tell him where I was from. I was enjoying our exchange and his happiness tremendously, and wondered whether his tone would change if I disclosed that I live in Israel. As I was going back and forth in my head, his friend and colleague came out to join the conversation, and he was wearing a Keffiyeh. Game changer. I kept my origins to myself and let them think I was simply the American I knew I sounded like. Some might say this makes me a coward, but I was on vacation and enjoying myself, and more than that, I was trying to take a break from everything happening “back home”. Revealing to two young Syrian strangers that they were conversing with an Israeli felt like it might be the opposite of “taking a break”.
As we talked and they shared their feelings, I was very aware of not wanting to sound “too” knowledgeable. I wanted to understand what these men were feeling about their homeland. I wanted to hear their stories and feel the joy and optimism they were expressing. One of them was so excited that he hadn’t slept in two days, sharing in disbelief that a loved one who everyone had presumed to be dead suddenly appeared at the front door of his home, having been “released” from prison. They acknowledged that the road ahead would be long and not without its challenges, and when I asked if they were worried about what was happening in the Middle East and how the new conditions in Syria might be impacted, I quickly realized how different our worldviews were when they suggested that Israel was the biggest obstacle and Iran was not the problem that everyone claimed it to be.
Moments later, Dani looked at her watch, showed it to me and reminded me that we needed to leave. We had no place to be, of course, but despite how fascinated we were by this unexpected encounter, we were both on edge as well. We said our goodbyes, and I remember telling them how happy I was for them – that I absolutely felt their joy in my heart. And it was true. I genuinely loved seeing how happy they were, and they responded by saying they could feel my joy for them.
Several days later, we walked into a store across the street from the first one and were surprised to see our “friend” who had been wearing the Keffiyeh the first time. He greeted us warmly, and for the most part, our conversation this time was far more inane and superficial – we talked about the cats and dogs of Rome. Before we exited the shop, he and I shook hands and smiled, and I thanked him in Arabic for his kindness and our conversations – which delighted him.
I love learning people’s stories, and despite moments of discomfort (including a few that bordered on annoyance), listening to these two tell their stories was no exception. Having the opportunity to talk about what had transpired in Syria only days before with two Syrians who loved their homeland felt like I’d been given an unexpected, precious gift to hold and cherish. And these days, with the current instability and deadly violence in Syria tearing away at their hopes and dreams for a better future for their country, I can’t stop thinking about the young man with the twinkle in his eye and the one who couldn’t sleep because he was so excited.
