Every morning at the office, I eat matzah for breakfast. I'm not sure if anyone realizes that this is a very Jewish food. Considering the response Majd received when she returned from the supermarket holding a coffee package containing Hebrew writing, I doubt it. (William chased her around the office as she insited, “Made in Turkey! It's Turkish!” Eating Matzah in Palestine is ironic, but it might also be fitting—the food of an oppressed people, the food of exiles.
Shortly before leaving the US, someone asked me, “What do they eat for breakfast in Palestine?” I had no idea, but my mom suggested, “It's probably the same as Israeli breakfast.” I don't know much about Israeli breakfasts, but I suppose she's probably right. Much of the same food is shared between the two countries, sometimes referred to identically and sometimes differently. When I visited my friend in Jerusalem, she wanted to make sure I tried all her favorite foods. I had eaten nearly all of them already.
It's rather funny to me how the two groups have so little casual human interaction in daily life, but also share so much. One day, driving by the checkpoint bus stop, Majd thought it odd that the groups of settlers and Palestinians stood side by side. I thought it odd that they most likely waited side by side for the bus every morning, and yet apparently kept to their segregated groups standing ten feet apart and had likely never said a word to each other.
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