شكرا يا فرعون! --Reflections

For the past eight weeks I've been volunteering at an NGO in Heliopolis teaching upper-level English to Egyptian university students around my age. We just had our last class and presentations, and I've gotten a taste of what it's like to be a real teacher, designing my own curriculum and guidelines for the final exam. I didn't expect this at all when I signed up. Other classes had their own complete packet of curriculum materials, but the level I was placed in had virtually nothing except the goal of a final presentation on "some topic."

Combined with school, traveling, and other activities...I'll be honest, taking the 3:30 bus from campus and arriving at 6:15 to teach for 45 minutes every Wednesday was really taxing. But I don't regret it. If I hadn't forced myself into this environment I most likely would never have made contact with so many normal Egyptians. I know plenty at AUC, but no offense, those are not normal Egyptians (just the topmost, thinnest layer of icing on the disturbingly-fast expanding cupcake of the Egyptian population).

Some students had an inner drive to study and worked hard in my class, some did not. I'm sure I could have done much better as a teacher if I'd had the planning skills and experience to teach effectively by setting a goal every week, and they might have progressed much more than they did. That said, some of them really enjoyed the class and hopefully I inspired them to work hard and learn about those around them.

Just showing up to class every week gave me an alternative to some of the negativity that's so easy to pick up around here. You know...the crowdedness and smell of the Metro as you're pushed and shoved into an already-packed car that reminds you of sardines...the manipulative theatrics of some cabdrivers and guides at tourist sites...the cigarette smoke, (thankfully infrequent) racism, and late-night, raucous partying that are so ubiquitous in Cairo's society.

All this will eventually take its toll on the hapless American tourist or study abroad student. What's kept me going, though, is being able to break down all the stereotypes that accumulate so rapidly like the clothes on my floor week after week when I teach my class and get a chance to interact in a low-key environment with normal Egyptians. (Don't worry, I do wash my clothes. Enough.) When I explain difficult concepts like American elections or English grammar, the fact that most of them try to put themselves in my shoes is a refreshing change from me having to constantly put myself in their shoes as an American living in Egypt.

It's been doubly tricky as an American Jew. One of my students, a Coptic Christian, pointed out, "Why would you come here if you're Jewish? So many Egyptians hate Jews, it's dangerous for you." She has a point, at least when we're talking about the "Jews = Israel" idea that likes to hang around in too many Egyptian minds, brought on by a biased media and the extreme difficulty for an Egyptian to actually see what's going on in Israel themselves by traveling there.

In a lot of ways, though, I came here because I am Jewish. This land wouldn't hold nearly so much meaning or importance to me if I didn't have a sense of Egypt's historical and present importance as it relates to the Jewish people, and I hope I could in some small way show people here an alternative to the extremists they see every day in the news. For me, I feel like living here has been comparable to being a Muslim in America, just less obvious since I don't go around wearing a kippah.

Since Nasser kicked out most of the huge Egyptian Jewish population in the 1960s on charges of sedition and betrayal of the Egyptian state, only about 100 Egyptian Jews remain in the country, largely under the radar--a shocking decline that mirrors what's happened in other Arab countries since Israel's founding. Egyptians can't put a face on Jews other than what they see Israel doing in the media, and that is dangerous. On so many cab rides the driver would innocently ask me my name. Then it would go something like this:

"Ismi Ya'qoub." (Jacob in Arabic)
"Ah, Ya'qoub! Enta Muslimi, Masihi?" (Are you Muslim, Christian?"
"Ana yehudi." (I'm Jewish.)
(pause, driver looks at me) "Isra'il...ta'arif mesh mushkila ma'a al-yehudieen, faqat Isra'il. Kul al-adyan yu'min b'Allah." (Israel...you know, we have no problem with Jews, only Israel. All the religions, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, believe in the same God.)

There's always this association with Jews and Israel. Sometimes they'd ask me if I was Israel and be confused when I said I was American, or just guess from my first name (and excellent nose) that I was Jewish.

The above example is one of the better ones I had, and it's good that at least some people try to differentiate Zionism from the Jewish people, a political idea from a religiocultural one. Even Zionism itself has its own hawkish and dovish variations, and each individual has his or her own interpretation of it. Every discussion, then, becomes an opportunity to put a face on the other. Maybe it's a lot of pressure, but the alternative is perpetuating racism and stereotypes. Why hide your faith when you can be an ambassador to it?

It's clear both from my interactions with Egyptians that just having regular contact with normal people from another culture can prevent the insidious seeds of fear, suspicion and hatred from growing too large in the mind's fertile soil.

Yes, I am aware that this is sappy writing. I blame poetic license.

And I guess I ultimately have the Egyptians to thank for making my people who we are today. (They can interpret this as they like.)