it happens that I like people, and I like joining in.  When I was in college I used to go with friends to an old, traditional Hofbrau house where we spent at least part of the evening introducing each mug of beer with a song, refrains and all.  The owner had a big easel with pages of the words.   “Ist das nit ein Shnitzelbanl?   “Yah das is ein Shniztelbank….”  

I made no connections between these sentimental German-Americans and the people who destroyed my family, and we bumped glasses together with each song.  I feel that way about most of the people I meet in Berlin.  Once in a while something reminds me of another Germany, or racial paranoia in general.  Like sometimes someone will remind me that Israelis get beaten up for speaking Hebrew in front of the wrong people.

And sometimes it’s a driver.  Almost all of our meanderings around town have been with Arab drivers – and we usually shut up for the ride, while the driver checks us out in the rear view mirror. The other day, however, I got fed up with silent rides, and I decided to sit up front and talk to …Jamal.  

Yes, I disguised my identity – because the first thing he asked me was ‘where you guiys from?’  and I came out with NY.  And then we began to talk about his medical school studies – just beginning = and his desire to return to Syria.  

I’ve been a teacher for over 50 years.  I know how to talk to students, and I love it.  Even though his story had holes in it – big holes – I went on with great delight asking him about Syria, about languages, study habits, etc.  And we left him with a big tip.    

Then I began thinking about the holes.  And what if my partly deaf friend in the back had leaned over to ask me a question in Hebrew.  She was not beyond that, and = like most hard-of-hearing people – assumes that everyone is as well.

Where would this ride have gone?