Yassir and Yitzhak
On the West Bank lived a cat named Yassir. And a cool cat he was. Yassir had procured a very old, very beat-up alto saxophone from a very old, very beat-up hock shop. To get the sax, he had traded in his father's collection of catnip canisters. When his father discovered the transaction, he hissed, screeched, and meowed hysterically, but Yassir was unmoved. How could a can of catnip be compared to the wondrous wailings of an alto sax? Yassir prayed for his father's forgiveness and prayed for the fulfillment of his musical talent on his prized new instrument. And he practiced and practiced and practiced some more until his neighbors begged for mercy.
But after many months, the neighbors were no longer begging him to stop practicing. Instead, they begged him to play more and louder because his prayers and long hours of work had been rewarded. His beautiful playing had converted even his father.
"Play another song for me, my son," he demanded, and Yassir was only too happy to oblige. As a matter of fact, he shared his talent with all who cared to listen. He was soon deemed something of a prophet, a holy man of music, his incredible jazz artistry reflecting the beauty of God's will for him, his destiny.
"I am happier here and now than I could be even in paradise," he felicitously proclaimed to all his feline friends and followers.
One day, Yassir was sitting on a stoop in front of his tiny house, practicing and playing proudly to lift the spirits of his downtrodden neighbors. Suddenly, he spied a uniform heading menacingly in his direction. He sensed immediately that trouble was on the way to his doorstep. This most unwelcome visitor was certainly an Israeli-German Shepherd police dog checking out the source of the strange and surreal but hauntingly spiritual sounds emanating from the sax on the street.
He's going to shut me up and shut me off, thought Yassir as the frighteningly ferocious footsteps crept closer and closer. He'll probably try to take my saxophone, too. Well, I'll die before I will allow him to do that.
"Good day, friend," growled the police-patrol creature.
Hmmph, thought Yassir. Good day! Friend! This horrible hound is just prowling for Palestine pussycat meat. And I'm the first item on the menu. Yassir was indeed angry, but he was also, of course, scared out of his mind.
"Hello to you, officer," he mumbled, trying completely unsuccessfully to hide his fear and loathing.
"Please don't panic," assured the Shepherd. "I'm not really an officer. I'm just a plain old part-time patrol pooch. Actually, I'm a musician -- a violinist, to be specific. And frankly, I don't care if you're Palestinian or Polish or Pennsylvanian or pink or purple or puce. I've never heard music as glorious as the sounds streaming from your sax. I could listen forever, day and night. Please do not ever stop. You are a genius and an inspiration. God bless you."
"Uh...what?” stammered the stunned Yassir.
"My name is Yitzhak," said the kindly canine, "and I have a favor to ask of you, a large favor."
Uh-oh, thought Yassir.
Yitzhak continued: "I want to come here to hear you often. And I want you to invite me into your home. I want to play music with you. You, Yassir, can help me to become the kind of musician I never could even have imagined before. The inspiration that will flow to me from the beauty of your soul will make my violin sing. Can we do it?"
Yassir was unable to reply, stupefied into silence, but still suspicious. "You certainly need not answer this minute," encouraged Yitzhak, "but please believe, I mean you no harm. I simply want to bathe in the beauty of your music, as do your friends and neighbors. And I want to learn from you."
Yassir thought and thought. He does seem nice, but he's an Israeli dog. What would my friends say -- and do -- if I welcome him? What would my father say? Can any of us really trust this Yitzhak? But then again ... he does seem sincere. He certainly has good taste in music! I'm curious to see if he can really perform. And what if we could prove that a Palestinian cool cat and an Israeli hot dog could actually make beautiful music together? And get along with each other, like ... brothers?
Finally, he convinced himself: I'll do it! The next time Yitzhak came by while patrolling his beat, Yassir stopped him in his tracks and said simply, "Yes."
"That yes means everything!" happily howled the hound. "You will learn to trust me, to like me, and to make music with me. And I will learn from you, I will love our music, and I will love ... you!"
Yassir yowled, "Yuck!" But he bravely stayed doggedly true to his commitment. He did invite Yitzhak into his home. He did give himself wholly to his promise. And Yitzak and Yassir became friends and creators of the most beautiful and unique duets in musical history.
Yitzhak lovingly lapped up every bit of musical wisdom, advice, and spirit Yassir had to offer -- and proved no mean talent himself. In time, his own contributions to their creative constructs became as conspicuously well-crafted as those of his partner.
And despite these curious combinations of opposites, these apparently paradoxical pairs of conflicting cultures -- sax and violin; cat and dog; jazz and classical; Palestinian and Israeli -- the fame of the duo and their music spread, first to all of the West Bank and Gaza, then to Israel, then to Europe, Asia, and the Americas.
A magnificently-made documentary about them, produced by a collie and a corgi from Israel and directed by a calico from Gaza, won the Coq d'or at Cannes and cemented the coming together of cultural cacophony. A jazz cat and a classical shepherd had conquered fear, despair, and disillusionment and climbed to the very apex of the musical world.
Moral:
In this world of grief and affliction,
Remember this truth:
Truce is stranger than friction.
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