The television keeps interviewing Bedouin who keep denying any connection with the perpetrator of the murder three days ago.   My grandson at lunch today spoke of the highlight of his high school trip to the south this week was the visit to a Bedouin village.  Bedouin hospitality is famous, but this week our suspicions have been aroused because one mass murderer was influenced by Isis.  We must always be on guard against the generalizations we make about people and individuals.  Even though it helps us cut through so many complexities.  Sometimes it even saves our lives, and sometimes it damages our lives.

Here’s an admission –    years ago I wasn’t too happy when I heard my cleaner was Ukrainian.  I had heard such terrible stories from survivors about the kind of glee the Ukrainians took in their participation in the Holocaust, that even though she had converted decades before upon her marriage to a Jew, it took me ages to be comfortable with her.  I’ve long since learned to double my instincts, to multiply my desire for connection with my stereotyped fears.  For example, a few years ago we were with friends at the Sachne, a natural swimming hole which is often people with local Arabs.  I think the men we were with disappeared for a swim, but the woman with me would not go near the water.  Most of the females in the pool were children anyway – the other women were all in hijabs and seemed to think it was unfitting.  So when I entered the water, I was mobbed by girls who wanted me to judge their races.  I knew very little Arabic and what I did know I forgot in the excitement, but I found myself declaring winners, encouraging losers, coaching style, and, ultimately, teaching diving.   It was a world I remembered from my days of camp counseloring, and the afternoon gave me particular pleasure, especially when I encountered the disapproving looks of the woman I was with.