“So, where are you from?”
Silence.
During my seventh grade, after four months of acquaintance with AR, he finally asked me the question I had been dreading most.
“From the Mediterranean,” I evaded.
“I am from Pakistan,” he added encouragingly. “You look Egyptian to me. Really now, where are you from?”
An even longer silence.
Hearing my next answer, his visage suddenly froze, bearing the same stunned fear mine undoubtedly radiated.
For most western-world dwellers, this conversation would have seemed either insignificant or inconsequential. But not to me. I was born in Israel and moved to the United States in eighth grade. As an Israeli who spoke fluent Hebrew and no English at all, I retained my Israeli culture, with all of its nobler and less proud sides. This culture, driven by constant news updates of missile bombardments and terror attacks from neighboring nations, taught me to fear and always question the motives of Arabs and Muslims. The stories from relatives who had been drafted to the mandatory army servitude oftentimes cast Muslims in a negative light as well. This is not the extreme propaganda used in dictatorial regimes; it is a negative undertone that was nonetheless instilled in me from a very early age.
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Pakistan, a Muslim nation with nuclear weapons, has been known for its open hostility toward Israel and its support of Israel’s enemies during war. This background, however, did not once come into my mind when AR helped me with English homework, trying to define words I did not know in simpler English. It did not come to my mind when I was looking for someone at lunch who did not play American Football, happy to find him doing impressive tricks with a soccer ball. I did not think of it either when we shared our lunches, each having a taste of the other’s culture. To me, he was just