Sunday Politics

I took Nadush to the Petit Cafe behind my house. We found a nook between the display oranges and lemons. We ordered the same salad and started catching up after not seeing each other for couple of months. Between her young baby, my work and travel, life had gotten ahead of us. I knew that her younger brother had made it back to France from Lebanon. Her parents and an older sibling and his family were still there though. I asked how they were doing. She rolled her eyes in a way that showed both helplessness and acceptance of the way things are. She told me about her uncle's near escape from death, the hospitals shutting down and the collapsed bridges. I listened with empathy, wondering if she realized I had family in the Israeli army.

With each interruptions from the waiter, asking how we were doing we switched topics and felt better and better. We left for the park.

While lying under the sun, conversation was about the ephemeral: beauty tips, suburban living, friends and pet dramas. I was amazed how she could distract herself with life in New York. When I was younger, I would read about beauty contests taking place in the midst of Yugoslavian civil war. Miss Sarajevo, first runner up, second runner up ... Lying on our mats, focusing solely on our tans, we were just as removed from reality. Was this the strength of survivors? Did people shift their minds to small, inconsequential events to numb their pain and shake away their worries?

I told her about the New York Times magazine story I read about the Israeli mother who draws a parallel between the number of people dying on both sides of the border and her little son's quest to learn to count. She looked down with a bitter smile, chose not to speak. She yanked some grass and tossed it to the side. She had lived through it and she was going through it again. I was, at best, producing armchair politics.

We rolled up when the clouds came over our bright sun. Walking down the main street, we pointed each other brownstones we liked and exchanged fantasies about living in multi-million homes. Before she got in her car, we goofed about how many times to kiss on the cheek. We decided to upgrade from both cheeks to three kisses. Why not? It's warmer, nicer that way.