Don't Go There

There are many conversations I can laugh off or ignore. When politics are referenced I can usually smile and move on. I know when a can is too big to open. The voice in my head may scream a little over some not so polite words that fall from other people’s mouths, but I’ve learned to let them go. After all, how many people have you really won over with your opinion or facts? None, I know. I’m in the same boat. So, I let it go. I move on.

Unless…

It began during a quiet time when it was just she and I. We’ve known each other for awhile and have worked on some of the same projects. I wouldn’t say I know her well, but she did invite me to join her churches sports team (I turned her down explaining that I’m not a “group sports” kinda girl). The times that we’ve been together have been pretty good and I felt pretty comfortable with her.

Until…

She shared with me that she’s also a published author. Small world, so am I. She shared one of her clips with me (it was good). The conversation continued; laughter here, commiserating there and then it happened. She said, “I usually don’t write stuff like this. I prefer to write about Bush and his crime family or about the Palestinian holocaust”.

Pause…

Inhale…

Exhale…

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…

האם אתה טמבל? (Are you an idiot?)

The silence settled between us as I looked into her eyes. My face hardened and I pressed my lips together. A sudden understanding flashed across her features as she nervously chuckled.

“Guess that’s not really your style, huh?” she chuckled

I continued counting in my head. Words that shouldn’t be uttered screamed aloud in my brain and I blinked.

“Would you like me to speak to you in Hebrew?” I asked quietly.

It was her turn to blink.

“No,” she answered.

“Do you really want to go here,” I asked, my eyes staring into hers.

My hand cramped and I realized that I had made a fist. I did not look away as I waited for her response. She didn’t know me well enough to know about Chabad. She doesn’t know about Dov Bar or Rabbi C. We haven’t known each other well enough for her to know about Wen.

“Uh… No, I don’t want to go there,” she said as she looked away.

We finished the project in silence; my heart beating in my ears. I left without saying goodbye. The rage I feel over the so called Palestinian Holocaust is immense. The words alone are an oxymoron and I find it hard to believe that thinking people honestly buy into that tripe.

She didn’t know .

This is my blog and my opinion. All I ask is that you keep your anti-Semitic opinions to yourself.

Don’t go there with me.