From the looks of it, yes
By Adam Chandler for Tablet Magazine
Back
in October, Carol Ungar profiled Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi, two men who
grew up in different halves of Jerusalem, met in London, and eventually
co-authored Jerusalem: A Cookbook, a book that has become something of a holy
text for kohanim of the kitchen. Ungar described their chance encounter thusly:
The 1990s found Tamimi in London, cooking at Baker and Spice, a gourmet food shop run by Tel Avivi Yael Mejiya. One day, Ottolenghi came by the store looking for a job. In a 2009 Gourmet magazine interview, Ottolenghi recalled that their initial conversation took place in English and was about the horrors of English food—especially mince pie. “We couldn’t get over it,” said Ottolenghi. Realizing that they were both Israeli, they soon switched to Hebrew. Since Tamimi has no Arabic accent in Hebrew, Ottolenghi initially mistook him for a Jewish Israeli. To this day, the two still use both languages to communicate.
Let this be a lesson: The makings of any Arab-Israeli love story should immediately begin with mutual disdain for the British. Here this applies to the culinary realm, but could also apply to the historical one.
In the months following the book’s publication, a cardamom-scented fog of love descended upon the masses, making Jerusalem not only the “it” cookbook, but something of a roadmap for peace.
You think I’m overreaching? This morning I finally stumbled cautiously into a New York Times forum about the cookbook, which is still on the Times homepage after two days.
Now apparently there is no such thing as sparse, measured praise for Jerusalem: A Cookbook; its fans are actually fanatics. But as I read through the comments thread, I was bowled over by the effusiveness of the love:
“I just can’t help picking up an extra copy of this to give away any time I’m in a bookstore.”
Say what, MB from Vermont?
Continue reading.
On Friday, the Tribune Media Services published a
crossword puzzle with the clue “Shylock, e.g.” in several of its newspapers. The
corresponding three-letter answer: J-E-W. Jew. Within hours, Abe Foxman of the
Anti-Defamation League had written a letter in protest calling the clue
“insensitive,” demanding an apology, and frustrating crossword enthusiasts who
hadn’t yet done their puzzles.
For one year, between the time they were rounded up
and their final transport to concentration camps, all the Jews in the city of
Vilna lived in a ghetto—a tiny, squalid neighborhood blocked off from the rest
of the city. But contrary to what we tend to think about ghetto life, the area
was bustling, as residents learned how to live in terrible conditions, support
themselves and each other, and create some culture and hope as they did so.