Jerusalem Hotel 2230

Today was another long, eventful day. The dance scene went well. The director was happy with my performance. The acting looked good because I was with a great actress. Playing off better performers always improves your game.

The dancing looked good because I exceeded the director's expectations. I did not do anything any trained dancer could not do with a little practice, but since the director is not a dancer, he was impressed.

Despite spending the morning dancing in front of a movie camera, dinner was the most unusual part of the day for me. I had Shabbat dinner with a Muslim family. It was not technically Shabbat since Muslims don't do Shabbat, but it was essentially the same thing. It was Friday dinner, which is more important to them than it sounds.

We all went to the family mosque, which was quite educational. For me, at least. The service was unlike anything I have ever seen. A synagogue or Christian church service is pretty much the same. They read from different books, but half of the Christian book comes from the Jewish book. People sit in pews and listen to the preacher. There might be a song or two, depending on denomination.

The mosque was unlike either. Everyone stood and sat on the floor and several different people spoke. Their book, of course, is very different. At the synagogue, I sat with everyone as if I was one of them. I was invited to participate, but not expected to do or understand anything since it was all in Hebrew. At the mosque, I had to stand in the back. I could watch, but I had to stay out of the way. Everyone knew I was not one of them.

The synagogue service was happy. There were bursts of laughter here and there, and everyone seemed to have a good time. The mosque service felt angry to me. I could not understand a word since everything was in Arabic, but my impression was that the speakers were yelling at the congregation. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe Hebrew sounds happy to my ears and Arabic sounds angry. I don't know. German always sounds angry to me while Italian sounds pretty, no matter what anyone is actually saying.

No one anywhere in that mosque did anything to make me feel unwelcome. It might have all been psychological conditioning from only hearing negative stories on the news. But I only hear negative stories about Israel, and so far, this has been an amazingly positive trip.

Then again, it could have been a case of authority. The main speaker at any Jewish or Christian service is a trained professional who was hired specifically to speak in front of that congregation. The speakers in the mosque were ordinary men who had something to say. They had no particular training to address any flock.

After the mosque, it was dinner time. This was similar to Shabbat dinner and completely different at the same time. Both houses smelled like herbs and spices as soon as I walked in the door. Both had tables full of exceptionally fresh vegetables prepared a million different ways. Both had hummus, made from completely different recipes, each of which was infinitely better than what I make at home. If there is one thing all Israelis can agree on, whether they are Jewish, Muslim, Christian, liberal, conservative, light brown or dark brown, it is that their hummus is better than mine.