notes of a non-combatant

departure; part 1, tony

The calm sea comfortably undulated, its waves circling past the large stretch of breakers and heading towards the shore. We were at least fifty meters from the shoreline, yet the water was still shallow enough to stand in while we walked and floated around the shadow of a breaker. The giant jumble of boulders kept us company as we talked and swam in the empty sea. Although our time together was winding down, each passing moment bringing him closer to the last bus out of town, we stopped paying attention to the time and just relaxed in the sea.

We conversed the whole time, though sentences needed repeating every few minutes when one of us would spontaneously dive or submerge in the cool, clear Mediterranean water. Our conversation reflected the landscape, bordering worlds, lifestyles, and issues. As we stood out in the empty landscape of the sea with nothing but the breakers to punctuate our view, it was too easy to turn around and be forced to remember where we were. Behind us at all times, the Tel Aviv skyline blocked out half of the sky, hotel and high rise after hotel and high rise crowding the water’s edge. The beach was moderately populated with sunbathers laying about while games of frisbee or badminton raged on around them. All we could do to forget that we were indeed not in paradise was to simply turn our backs and let the breeze drown out the sounds echoing from the beach.

Some of the most interesting conversations came up, such as when Tony was intrigued at the amount of mosques sitting on the shoreline in the distance. In disbelief that he did not know about Jaffa, I explained the history of the city and its blatant juxtaposition to Tel Aviv. As the city from which a significant amount of refugees hail from, Jaffa has taken up the archetype of the typical destination where a Palestinian refugee yearns to return to. Having just visited the house that his father had fled from when threatened by Zionist militiamen nearly six decades ago, Tony was entirely familiar with what the return entails. Knocking on the door of his father’s old four-story white, stone house in West Jerusalem, we had been welcomed into the home that Tony’s uncle had built for the entire family, a home that had been hastily fled under threat of violence or death by the Zionist Irgun militia. Despite the bitter history of the Nakba and Tony’s own connection as a refugee from West Jerusalem, we still smiled at the sight of Jaffa and all her minarets piercing the afternoon sky.

Tony speaking with Jacob, the current owner of the house Tony's father fled from in 1948, West Jerusalem.

The entire afternoon was timeless. It is extremely rare for me to build a solid friendship so quickly. It usually takes much more time to identify just how well-meaning, intelligent, caring, forward thinking, honest, and respectable someone is, but it was a matter of days with Tony. We’ve only known each other for several weeks at most, but there has not been a wasted moment when we were in each others’ company. Whether acting like absolute fools, hiking across the Palestinian back country, exploring the intense local conflict as it rages on, or just swimming in the sea, we have not let a dull moment go by.

Once the sun dipped below the horizon and we found ourselves meandering around Tel Aviv, making our way to the bus station, we knew it might be a long while, if ever, until we meet again. Regardless, when Tony stepped onto the last bus headed out of town, I realized that it’s certainly not the departing moments that define periods of time, rather the timeless moments that give them definition.

Tony standing in front of the house his uncle built.