The Foreign Service Journal, March 2004

76 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / M A R C H 2 0 0 4 M y house in Jerusalem over- looks the Peace Forest, which is not particularly peaceful. Not that there are open hos- tilities, although the booms in the night make me wonder at times. But you don’t get the sense that the Peace Forest is working to bring together Israelis and Palestinians. So I have begun to rely on a more modest symbol of intercommunal harmony. A few months ago, shortly after I arrived here, I was walking to work down Hebron Road and passed a wrought-iron furni- ture store with attractive table bases, minus tabletops. A few weeks later, I was shopping for pottery on Nablus Road when I noticed some nice tile tabletops. I decided to marry the two. It did not immediately occur to me that the wrought-iron store was Israeli and the tile store was Palestinian, but when it did, the project became in my mind the Peace Table. At first I was charmed by the idea. But almost as quickly I imagined a string of complications: endless shuttle diplomacy between the table store and the tile store, arguments over who was responsible for what, boycotts and cur- fews and a self-destructive cycle of fur- niture madness. I envisioned that I’d pay too much for a table that would collapse in acrimony. But, what could an American diplomat do except forge ahead? The tile guy was delighted to sell me the tile, but he declined to build the tabletop. It might not fit, he said; bet- ter that the table people make the top. And to my surprise the table guy pleas- antly agreed. He told me it would be ready in five days, so I expected two weeks at best. But five days later, he called. I picked up the Peace Table, and it now has a place of honor on my balcony. The bigger issue — peace in Jerusalem — is proving more elusive. Sometimes I try to imagine Jerusalem as a normal city, with ATM muggings instead of bus bombings, gang wars instead of God’s wrath. Give it the kind of low-level urban anarchy that passes for normal in less biblical places, and it would be an easier place to get used to. But it would not be Jerusalem. At night I’ll sit on my balcony, set a bottle of wine—occupied grapes from the Golan Heights — on the Peace Table, and look out past the Peace Forest to fireworks exploding on the horizon. There’s a startling amount of fireworks in Jerusalem, fromboth Arab and Jewish neighborhoods, for wed- dings and bar mitzvahs and any other excuse. I cannot imagine how people in this city get entertainment from booms in the night. But they do, and many nights from my porch I can see fireworks, soaring and exploding bou- quets of red, green and blue. And then sometimes there’s a sharp retort, but no colorful bouquet in the sky, just a thudding echo that reminds me of deer season in the woods at home. And twice since my arrival I’ve heard a thunderous boom rumbling down the wadi (dry riverbed). There was no light, only silence, and then the sirens, one after another screaming toward the latest bombing until their warbling echoes converged in a bestial wail. Jerusalem teeters between anguish and epiphany. Catch it on an upswing, and it is a delightful place — concerts and plays, cafes and restaurants, kids in the park, all backlit by the orange-pink limestone buildings that glow every evening at dusk. But then it topples back into madness. It is a special place. To live here is to hope that it will become a little less different, a little less special, a little more peaceful. Meanwhile, perhaps I’ll invite the tile guy and the table guy over for a drink. We can sit around the Peace Table and watch the fireworks exploding in the sky. Sometimes I try to imagine Jerusalem as a normal city, with ATM muggings instead of bus bombings. John Buzbee joined the Foreign Service in 1998. He has served in Riyadh, Tunis, Jerusalem and Wash- ington, D.C. He is now in Iraq on TDY. The stamp is courtesy of the AAFSW Bookfair “Stamp Corner.” R EFLECTIONS The Peace Table B Y J OHN B UZBEE