COMMENTARY: Jews and Arabs will stop this hatred together

At the outset of the recent events, when the riots were still taking place far from my city of Acre, I had a funny feeling in my stomach. I hoped it would all be over in a day or two.

After all, the Muslim and Jewish holidays of Eid al-Fitr and Shavuot were coming up, and who in their right mind would want to give up their chance of celebrating and enjoying the income those holidays bring. I was kidding myself. The difficult clashes made it to my city and, in fact, have taken place below the building where I live.

Following Tuesday night’s clashes in Acre, I decided to gather my courage and walk around the Old City, the gem of Acre, and its alleyways, market and seashore, where I have strolled with friends and guests, in particular Jewish ones, for years.

This time, though, the sights I encountered — the consequences of vandalism of Jewish-owned private property, businesses, restaurants and galleries — were too difficult to bear. Were these vandals my people? My fellow residents? I find it difficult to believe so much hatred has been festering under our noses. Following these terrible events, hundreds of Jewish youths organized, and on Wednesday night, tried to enter the city center to “take their revenge out on Arabs.”

From my seventh-floor apartment in a building in the city center, I see hundreds of young Jews approaching from the east, and hundreds of Arab youths approaching from the west, and a helicopter circling low above.

The police, standing in the middle, play a game of cat and mouse as they use their water cannon to spray one group and then the other. I hear the sound of stun grenades as the wind sends pepper spray in through the windows of our apartments.

All of my neighbors in the building, Jews and Arabs alike, peek out the window to see whether their cars in the parking lot below are about to be set alight. Suddenly, the building’s normally buzzing WhatsApp group is silent. No one dares send a message. I decide to gather my courage and write, just as I had during the coronavirus: “Dear Neighbors, It has arrived at our doorstep.” I remind them that “our neighborliness is stronger than anything. I am here to help and for any assistance at any time. Do not hesitate, especially the building’s older residents.”

And just like that, we had gone back to talking, expressing solidarity and mutual responsibility for each other. An evening that had started off with great desperation ended the next morning with renewed hope.

At the same time as my city saw two difficult beatings of Jews by Arabs that night, I was getting non-stop phone calls from friends, many of them Jews, asking how I was and offering to host us in their homes in Ein Hod, Tel Aviv, Yokneam and Gadera — another glimmer of hope in the darkness.

Seeing what is taking place in a city such as Acre, where it is difficult to differentiate Arabs from Jews or find a place where they do not coexist, hurts my heart. What did we miss in our mixed cities? What did we miss as a country? How have we stopped seeing others in our image? When did we stop seeing our neighbors as people just like us?

True, a handful of hooligans can be found anywhere. While they may seem like masses gathering in the streets, in reality they are but a fraction of a percent.

Unfortunately, they are succeeding in dictating the national agenda, and they are brimming with enough hatred to spark something far greater than fleeting clashes, and that may have the potential to spark a civil war.

In this war, though, there can be no winners. There is only one way to proceed: The sane, humane voices on both sides must raise their voices loudly and clearly against those who would like to take us light years back in time. We will not let them, not this time. We Jews and Arabs will stop this hatred together.

Jalal Bana is a media adviser and journalist.