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ARNA MER, the daughter of Gideon Mer, a distinguished Jewish professor of medicine, was one of the first Israelis to ignore parental warnings when she married Saliva Khamis, an Arab and one of the leaders of the Israeli Communist Party, in the 1950s. They were wed in a Catholic church by a priest who was drunk at the time. But Mer wouldn't realize how deep the divisions ran until 1958, when she joined a protest against the imposition of martial law on Arab villages in Israel. Mer was pregnant with her son Juliano, and went into labour. She was rushed to the hospital, "but the doctors refused to stitch her and she nearly bled to death," says her son, Juliano Mer-Khamis, 45, a well-known actor living in Haifa. "They knew she was married to an Arab. I experienced this racial lunacy from the day I was born."
As he grew up, Mer-Khamis says, he constantly asked himself: "Do I hate Arabs and love Jews or do I love Arabs and hate Jews?" That question was on his mind when he met the parents of a Jewish girlfriend. "I was sitting with her translating an Arabic movie," he recalls. "Her father walked into the room. I eluded his questions, but he researched about me and forced her to leave me."
To compensate, Mer-Khamis for a time adopted his Jewish maternal name and joined an elite fighting unit of the Israeli army. "For a whole year my father wouldn't talk to me. He simply kept silent," he says. But he soon had to face his Arab heritage. The confrontation came in 1978 when he was stationed at the West Bank town of Jenin and a car arrived with three young passengers and their grandfather. When he refused an order to remove the old man from the car, he ended up in a fight with his commander and was imprisoned for a few weeks and left the army. "It was then that I realized," he says, "that I don't belong on the Jewish side."
Mer-Khamis has spoken out publicly on a number of occasions in support of mixed marriages. But he and his Jewish partner, Mishmish, decided to avoid the uproar their marriage would have caused by living together. As he watched his own daughter frolic outside their home in Haifa, Mer-Khamis told Maclean's she is free to marry whomever she wants. Rosenblum, for one, thinks Mer-Khamis's vow not to interfere in his daughter's future is courageous. "These mixed couples have a social mission," says Rosenblum. "I believe the future will show us that those who dared follow their hearts are the true leaders of a quiet course to peace in the area."
Perhaps, but love often vanishes under the stress of straddling two cultures, and the children of divorced parents can face years of emotional upheaval. The situation is complicated because religious courts decide custody. According to the Jewish religion, if the mother is Jewish, then so is the child. But according to Islam, religion is determined by the male and custody is given to the father. "Children are torn by the conflict," says Salah Tahaa, a programs inspector in the Arab educational system in Israel. "They are in a terrible internal struggle."
Sometimes the struggle is so painful children grow up hating their parents for marrying outside their race. Suad is one of those: walking on a beach at Tel Aviv, the 30-year-old woman admits that she once became so angry, "I imagined taking a knife and killing my mother." Her father was Arab and mother Jewish; Suad is beautiful with long black hair. As two boys on the beach stare, she looks down, saying bitterly, "If they knew, they wouldn't be wasting their gazes on me." Suad believes her parents should never have wed. "My only consolation," she says, "is that I was born out of love."
Given the emotional upheavals, Andraus's and Lavan's relatives are trying to convince them not to marry. "You're still young," Andraus recalls Lavan's uncle saying. "If you can't understand the importance of values, understand the importance of your children growing up with values." But Andraus says their children will learn the value of tolerance. "Life will put them to the test," she says, "but they will know that there is no such thing as good Arabs and bad Arabs, just as there are no good Jews and bad Jews. There are only good people and bad people."
Weddings on the Front Line | Macleans.ca - Canada - Features
As he grew up, Mer-Khamis says, he constantly asked himself: "Do I hate Arabs and love Jews or do I love Arabs and hate Jews?" That question was on his mind when he met the parents of a Jewish girlfriend. "I was sitting with her translating an Arabic movie," he recalls. "Her father walked into the room. I eluded his questions, but he researched about me and forced her to leave me."
To compensate, Mer-Khamis for a time adopted his Jewish maternal name and joined an elite fighting unit of the Israeli army. "For a whole year my father wouldn't talk to me. He simply kept silent," he says. But he soon had to face his Arab heritage. The confrontation came in 1978 when he was stationed at the West Bank town of Jenin and a car arrived with three young passengers and their grandfather. When he refused an order to remove the old man from the car, he ended up in a fight with his commander and was imprisoned for a few weeks and left the army. "It was then that I realized," he says, "that I don't belong on the Jewish side."
Mer-Khamis has spoken out publicly on a number of occasions in support of mixed marriages. But he and his Jewish partner, Mishmish, decided to avoid the uproar their marriage would have caused by living together. As he watched his own daughter frolic outside their home in Haifa, Mer-Khamis told Maclean's she is free to marry whomever she wants. Rosenblum, for one, thinks Mer-Khamis's vow not to interfere in his daughter's future is courageous. "These mixed couples have a social mission," says Rosenblum. "I believe the future will show us that those who dared follow their hearts are the true leaders of a quiet course to peace in the area."
Perhaps, but love often vanishes under the stress of straddling two cultures, and the children of divorced parents can face years of emotional upheaval. The situation is complicated because religious courts decide custody. According to the Jewish religion, if the mother is Jewish, then so is the child. But according to Islam, religion is determined by the male and custody is given to the father. "Children are torn by the conflict," says Salah Tahaa, a programs inspector in the Arab educational system in Israel. "They are in a terrible internal struggle."
Sometimes the struggle is so painful children grow up hating their parents for marrying outside their race. Suad is one of those: walking on a beach at Tel Aviv, the 30-year-old woman admits that she once became so angry, "I imagined taking a knife and killing my mother." Her father was Arab and mother Jewish; Suad is beautiful with long black hair. As two boys on the beach stare, she looks down, saying bitterly, "If they knew, they wouldn't be wasting their gazes on me." Suad believes her parents should never have wed. "My only consolation," she says, "is that I was born out of love."
Given the emotional upheavals, Andraus's and Lavan's relatives are trying to convince them not to marry. "You're still young," Andraus recalls Lavan's uncle saying. "If you can't understand the importance of values, understand the importance of your children growing up with values." But Andraus says their children will learn the value of tolerance. "Life will put them to the test," she says, "but they will know that there is no such thing as good Arabs and bad Arabs, just as there are no good Jews and bad Jews. There are only good people and bad people."
Weddings on the Front Line | Macleans.ca - Canada - Features
