When the Palestinian terrorist opened his shirt to display the explosives taped to his chest, the Israeli shop owner pointed to a large cast iron pot simmering on the stove. It contained cabbage, potatoes, green onions, and--unmistakably--a tiny human hand.
***
When the Palestinian opened his shirt to display the explosives taped to his chest, the Israeli shop owner on the crowded Jerusalem street pointed to the old pot simmering on the stove. Cabbage, potatoes, green onions, and a tiny human hand.
The Palestinian was young, slender, with black eyes and the tracings of a black mustache.
The shop owner was wiry with bloodshot eyes and a once black now grey and white mustache.
They glared into each other's eyes.
Then, as the young Palestinian raised his fist, the old man raised his arm with numbers tattooed on it.
The young man pronounced the word Palestine even as the old man uttered the word Auschwitz.
Each in his own tongue.
***
When the Palestinian opened his shirt to display the explosives taped to his chest the Israeli shop owner pointed to the large pot simmering on the stove. It contained cabbage, potatoes, green onions, and--conspicuously--a tiny human hand.
Palestinian, --I know that hand. It is my sister's hand.
Israeli, --You are wrong. It is my sister's hand.
--The hand is tiny. You are an old man.
--I was young then as you. In another country.
***
--So you are a suicide bomber.
--Freedom fighter.
--Murdering hundreds of anonymous Jews will provide this freedom?
--It is the only way left.
--You have heard of the word genocide?
--Every day of my life I hear this word.
***
When the Palestinian opened his shirt displaying the explosives taped to his chest the Israeli shop owner on the crowded Jerusalem street pointed to the large pot simmering on the stove. Cabbage, potatoes, green onions, and a tiny human hand.
Glaring into each other's eyes.
--What is it that you want?
--The Jews to give us back our land. That we can live in peace.
--And if I tell you that this land in Jerusalem and beyond is not yours but ours. Historically ours.
--Let the United Nations decide.
--And the Jew-haters in the UN. What about them?
***
--You are prepared to murder yourself and hundreds of ordinary people you do not know who happen to be Jews. Why? Because of a principle?
--If this principle means truth, then yes, God willing, I am prepared to join my martyred freedom-fighting brothers and sisters.
--There are many others who feel as you do?
--I cannot give numbers. But I have never met a Palestinian who was not prepared to die for freedom.
--And if you did meet one?
--I would refuse to shake his hand.
***
When the Palestinian opened his shirt and displayed the explosives taped to his chest the Israeli shop owner pointed to the large pot simmering on the stove. It contained cabbage, potatoes, green onions, and--unmistakably-- a tiny human hand.
--You Jews are cannibals.
--The opposite is true. We have been cannibalized.
--You are talking about Nazis. You cannot stop talking about your Nazis.
--No.
--That is the problem with you Jews. You live in the past.
--No. We live in the present under the weight of the past. There is no other way.
***
--These Nazis that so obsess you. You have become them.
--What are you saying?
--Just that. You Israelis in your crisp uniforms with your advanced weapons slaughter us and degrade us as the Nazis did you.
--What you are parroting here I have heard before. It has become fashionable. It is an unspeakable slander. And coming from you with genocide taped and strapped across your body!
***
When the Palestinian freedom fighter opened her blouse to display the explosives taped to her body the Israeli shop owner's daughter gestured to her breast then pointed to the Palestinian's breast.
They gazed long into each other's dark eyes.
Then the Palestinian jerked her head to the side, reached under her blouse, detonated.
That is one version. The other version follows.
After looking long at each other, the Palestinian freedom fighter nodded her head once, slowly.
Carefully, she disarmed the explosives.
Then she and the shop owner's daughter embraced and arm in arm stepped out into the turbulent Jerusalem street.
from False Positive