Oslo

Jefferson Mays’ Terje Rød-Larsen overseeing negotiations between Israeli diplomat Uri Savir (left, portrayed by Michael Aronov) and senior member of the Palestinian Liberation Organization Ahmed Qurei (right, portrayed by Anthony Azizi).

It wasn’t so much the play itself which drew me to Broadway than the chance to dress up, a tightly fitted black dress and dangling earrings that made me feel like a gypsy crossing into territory never meant to welcome her. Lincoln Center in the nighttime always makes me feel like Cher walking up the steps to meet her one-handed date, makes me expect to hear Gene Wilder and Zero Mostel shouting over the fountain roar at any moment.

My date was Leah, a good friend whose multiracial ethnicity rivalled mine. We determinedly walked in like we belonged, like there weren’t any nerves ricocheting off our insides. The audience milling in the building were far older than us, far wealthier, far whiter. Broadway could be about anyone, but the audience always looked the same, with a smattering of exceptions. But a growing hum of excitement and the tiny plastic cups everyone sipped wine from levelled the playing field. However the roundabout way we’d gotten tickets, we were there, that’s what mattered. Imbibing the same anticipation, even for a play we knew nothing about. Licking wine off the plastic rim, our nerves settling.

The doors opened, our tickets were scanned, and we trickled deeper inside the theater, the light of an usher’s phone guiding the way. Squeezed in between two sets of somebody’s grandparents, we crossed our legs and straightened our spines, holding the pose until the lights on stage rose, our elbows silently dueling over the shared armrest.

“Oh my god,” I breathed into Leah’s ear, my nose tickled by loose curls. “That’s Jennifer Ehle.”

“Who?”

“Pride and Prejudice!” I received a low grunt of affirmation that told me she had no idea who I was talking about and just wanted me to shut up. Leaning back, I watched the play enraptured, not understanding yet what it was about, simply excited to watch the OG Elizabeth Bennet perform not fifty feet away.

The longer the three hour performance went on, however, Elizabeth Bennet disappeared, sinking into the role of Mona Juul, a Norwegian diplomat working with her husband, Terje Rød-Larsen, to orchestrate the secret, unofficially sanctioned negotiations between Israel and Palestine in 1993. Primarily representing each nation were Uri Savir and Ahmed Qurei. Though the play delves into office politics, the enduring love between Mona and her husband, and rehashing the complicated history between Israel and Palestine (alongside the complicated role interfering foreign nations played into it such as Britain and the United States), the focal point of the play is the method of negotiation Terje has developed.

Secretly hosting his guests in Oslo, Terje instructs both Israeli and Palestinian representatives to join him in a common room where they get to know one another as if they are simply people, not enemies. There cannot be any talk about negotiations. All they are allowed to do is eat waffles and tell stories of their childhood, of their families, exchange bawdy jokes.

Stripped of their Palestinian and Israeli obligations for these hours of chatter, Uri and Ahmed become nothing more than a pair of Middle Eastern men fighting only over who can tell the better joke, who can get the bigger laugh out of their hosts. As time passes, they shift from fighting in jest to confiding the longing they have for young daughters and estranged fathers. The longing they share for peace.

All that is separate from what occurs in the adjoined room, where Terje and Mona cannot cross. Behind closed doors the Israeli and Palestinians argue back and forth over Palestinian elections, withdrawal of Israeli forces, economic cooperation, and regional development. Frequently, these arguments are interrupted by shouting matches about which side is the victim, which side suffered more. When these arguments grow too heated, they trudge back into the common room, back to waffles and drinks and sharing personal stories, learning to look upon their enemies as friends.

These same arguments and struggles to see one’s enemy as human have occurred thousands of times out of Oslo, outside of 1993, well into today’s era, even with the constant barrage of fresh new insanity currently dominating the news. In Brooklyn College, take any Judaic studies course and the topic will come up. Sit in the Boylan cafeteria with muslim students long enough, you’ll hear it.

The beauty of the play is that, like Mona and Terje, it remains neutral, and it accomplishes that without compromising historical fact. It acknowledges the hurt felt on both sides, acknowledges that both side feels it has been victimized by the other. Its mission is not to assign blame, not to judge who is in the right and who owes reparations. Its mission is to press forward, to achieve peace with the first step being that those who have a seat at the negotiating table can look their opponent in the eye and see a human being, if not a friend. It sounds simplistic, but to see one’s enemy is human is a necessary first step, and one many students at Brooklyn College have yet to take.

At the end of the play, Mona and Terje more or less ask the audience if these Oslo Accords accomplished anything, if the negotiations were worth it. After all, Israel and Palestine are still locked in a brutal conflict. At Brooklyn College, where enemy lines have been drawn between students existing in a shared community, where blood pressure runs high whenever the names of the two nations are simply mentioned… what could talking possibly achieve other than fraught nerves and splintered feelings?

I doubt that even if the toxicity which does generally exist between muslim and jewish groups on campus, between those that align themselves with Israel or Palestine, were to be assuaged it would solve middle east peace. But if talking helps only one person hate their enemy a little less, for me that would be worth it.

Love to all,

~Amanda Jerido-Katz