I is for Israel (wait, it's not what you think)

Yesterday, Erol asked me what letter I’m up to in the blog. When I told him, he said, “So wait a couple weeks and write about our trip to Israel.” But hey, why wait?!

Let’s get one thing out of the way: I have no intention of writing about the ceasefire collapsing or the current political shitstorm. Instead, I want to share a glimpse of an idealized Israel—one we unexpectedly encountered right here in Freiburg.

So far, Erol and I have managed to schedule only a few date nights, but one in particular stands out. A friend had told us about Freiburg’s one and only Israeli restaurant, which opened in mid-January, right around the time we came here. But here’s the kicker: it’s owned by a Syrian Kurdish refugee. I had to see it for myself. So we ventured out on our bikes, undeterred by a freak hailstorm along the way.

Jaffa Restaurant occupies a sleek, modern space in a new development—a stark contrast to the 19th-century Altbau vibe of our neighborhood. The first thing we noticed upon entering were the cookbooks on display, including one by Uri Buri, whose eponymous restaurant in Akko is considered one of the best fish spots in Israel. Erol, amused by the Israeli seafood king’s bushy white beard, refers to him as Poseidon.

The restaurant felt vibrant, splashed with color. We scanned the menu—hummus, shakshuka, Jerusalem mix grill—all authentic, save for the Jewish stars emblazoned everywhere. Then, over my shoulder, I saw it: a neon sign glowing Am Israel Chai—the people of Israel live. Only days before, we learned of the return of four dead hostages, among them Shiri Bibas and her two young sons. The sign caught me so off guard that I had to excuse myself to the bathroom, fighting back tears.

But really: How does a Syrian Kurd come to back such a sentiment?

As is often the case in the Middle East, it all started with an eggplant…. 🍆 Bilal Aloge, a seasoned restaurateur, had previously owned two establishments specializing in Arab cuisine, including one named Damasko’s—a nod to the capital of his homeland—which became a popular gathering point for the Syrian refugee community. One day, a seemingly harmless Instagram post featuring Israeli chef Yotam Ottolenghi’s baba ghanoush recipe ignited a firestorm. Within an hour of posting, Bilal’s wife was fielding threatening phone calls. From one day to the next, the Aloges lost virtually all of their Arab patrons.

As Sigmund Freud famously observed, an eggplant is never just an eggplant!

In response, Freiburg’s small but engaged Jewish community rallied behind Bilal, frequenting Damasko’s in solidarity. Their support moved him so deeply that he decided to open an Israeli restaurant. This is one meshigener Kurd!

Thanks to Jaffa's open kitchen, it was easy to spot Bilal. He personally cleared our appetizers, proudly pointing out that the red beets in one dish grow in northern Israel, as if he were reminiscing about home. But here’s the thing—he’s never visited Israel! And given the current state of affairs, he likely never will.

When I told him my family is Israeli, his eyes lit up. “How can you not love Israel?!” he exclaimed. I was taken aback. Um… what world is this guy living in?

But Bilal’s Israel is something else. It’s a dreamscape. He proudly showed us the restaurant’s hanging plants, equipped with a built-in irrigation system—because, he pointed out, drip irrigation is an Israeli invention.

When we mentioned that we’ve met Uri Buri and plan to go to his restaurant again, Bilal grinned and pulled out his phone to show us his ongoing WhatsApp chat with the chef. Uri Buri, as it happens, whose real name is Uri Jeremias, grew up in the German-Jewish enclave of Nahariya and speaks perfect German. Imagine: a German-Jewish refugee in Israel exchanging coriander- and cumin-infused recipes with a Syrian Kurdish refugee in Germany.

Small aside: A beautiful aspect of the connection between the two chefs is that Uri Buri is a true advocate for Arab-Jewish coexistence. His restaurant and his boutique hotel, Efendi, both located in the historic, diverse port city of Akko (57% Jewish, 33% Arab), employ staff from both communities. In May 2021, during violent unrest over an Israeli court case concerning Palestinian evictions in East Jerusalem and clashes at Al-Aqsa Mosque, his restaurant was set on fire by Arab rioters. Despite the devastation, he chose to rebuild, and the local community, including both Jewish and Arab residents, rallied around him in support.

Then came the hummus. Was it an Israeli recipe? A Syrian one? Who could say? It was rich, creamy, and familiar—a dish that has traveled across borders and everyone likes to claim as their own.

Well, the world is definitely upside down… but sometimes in a nice way.