Children of Dust_ A Memoir of Pakistan - Ali Eteraz [110]
The congregants looked uncertain. They had never before heard of anyone utilizing fasting as a form of defiance—but when I got back the sheet I noticed that many of the MSA members who hadn’t participated in activities before had signed up to join in the fast.
At the appointed hour, lots of people came to the café. Some had woken up specifically to get together and eat. Others had simply packed up their books in the middle of an all-nighter at the library and come to see what was up. Some came to support Palestine. Some came for the free food. Some came for the white armbands. Some came out of a sense of obligation or shame. Others came because of the novelty of it all. In the end, however, they came to stand around and listen to me speak.
I was the center of the spoke.
As tensions between pro-Palestine and pro-Israel students mounted over the passing weeks, various religious figures on campus became concerned. One of these was Rabbi Aaron.
After I was elected president of the MSA, he was one of the first people with whom I became acquainted. Since then, we ran into one another routinely at interfaith meetings. He had a position of well-established authority, and I wanted to emulate him. Often I would take walks with him and watch the way he invited reluctant Jewish students to shabbos. He had mastered the art of persuading impressionable youth. As I listened to the rabbi, I was spurred to learn more about Judaism, turning at his suggestion to the works of Martin Buber and Emmanuel Levinas.
Now Rabbi Aaron was troubled by my use of my position as a religious leader to advance a political agenda. He took me aside in the chapel where we met weekly and asked me about my beef with Israel.
I felt like I’d been caught red-handed. I couldn’t admit to him that my pro-Palestine stance wasn’t based on facts (except those that Sam fed to me) or even principle. I couldn’t enunciate a reasonable, justifiable position, so I hid behind abstraction.
“There’s a war, Rabbi. War is a state of nature. Hobbes says that in a state of nature peace can be achieved only if the more powerful put down their weapons first. Israel is the powerful party in its relationship with the Palestinians. Therefore, Israel must put down its arms. Then we will have peace. So to answer your question: I just want peace.”
Rabbi Aaron opened his mouth and replied. I could see his lips moving, but I didn’t let myself hear a thing. I was afraid that if I started talking things out with him, I’d start considering the alternative opinion—and that would make me less inclined to side with the Palestinians as zealously as I now felt I needed to. I had to remain closed to counterargument. I had to practice what Nietzsche, the grandfather of postmodernism, called the “will to stupidity.”
As the rabbi spoke, I imagined putting my fingers in my ears and saying, “La la la la la la la la la la.”
A few days later I heard about a pro-Palestine demonstration that was being organized by the local Arab and Muslim communities. It was scheduled after Friday prayer and was to be held in front of the CNN building in order to highlight media inattention to the plight of the Palestinians.
The rally was loud and full of young Arabs. They had with them all the items necessary for a good protest: Palestinian flags that they wore as capes; kafiyas in various colors and patterns; banners that could be carried by one or two people; and girls in hijab walking around forming human chains. When cars passed by, the protestors ran into the street. The atmosphere made me feel giddy. I belted out Arabic slogans, yelling them despite not knowing their exact meaning.
Various Arab guys heard me and asked me where I was from. When I replied