As Ze’ev Avrahami talked with customers about the perfect consistency of hummus in his restaurant in central Berlin, a police car stopped across the street. After a short check to see if everything was fine, the police drove away way.
“They’re passing by more often these days,” said the 44-year-old Israeli, seemingly resigned to the fact that the conflict in the Gaza Strip had reached central Europe.
Police in Berlin have stepped up their patrols at Jewish businesses and institutions following several recent anti-Jewish incidents in the German capital.
Last month, Arab youths chanted offensive slogans in front of a synagogue in the German capital, including, “Jew, Jew, cowardly swine, come out here and fight by yourself!” Pro-Palestinian demonstrators attempted to attack a Jewish couple from Jerusalem. In recent weeks, other German cities have seen similarly troubling cases, sparking widespread concern in the country responsible for the Holocaust.
Though the anti-Semitic outbreak has scandalized Germans, images of the Star of David crossed out and blatant acts of aggression have thoroughly shaken Germany’s Jewish community.
“We’re experiencing an explosion of evil and violent hatred of Jews here, leaving us all shocked and dismayed,” said Dieter Graumann, the president of the German Jewish Council. “We never would have thought it possible that such vile and primitive anti-Semitism could be chanted in Germany’s streets.”
About 20,000 Israelis live in Berlin alone, many of them young students and artists from Israel.
“It’s unbelievable,” said Mr. Avraham, that people can shout “Jewish pig” at a demonstration and not be arrested.
Still, he refuses to be intimidated.
Not only does Mr. Avraham wear his kippah, the Jewish skullcap, when going to synagogue; he also refuses to ask for special police protection for his restaurant, protection his wife has requested.
Claiming that too many Jewish businesses were “barricaded” in Germany, he balked at the idea of police officers loitering out front or setting up security barriers. Mr. Avrahami said his shop would remain open to everyone. A patrol car swings by his restaurant each day, nevertheless.
“I’m an Israeli, I’m not afraid,” he said defiantly.
In his small restaurant hang large, framed photos of daily life in Israel: A pious Jew leaning on the Wailing Wall, sun-ripened olives in a stone bowl. There are no images of soldiers at war. The shaven-headed and burly Mr. Avrahami stood in the kitchen slicing vegetables as Israeli rap blared from a radio. He was preparing a classic Middle Eastern dish – tomato and cucumber salad.
“Palestinians and Israelis always argue about the name of this salad,” he said. “I’ve dubbed it ‘Peace Salad.’”
Mr. Avrahami came up with the concept of selling “peace food” three years ago. His restaurant mixes traditional Israeli dishes with recipes brought by immigrant Jews from the Arab world. He buys his olive oil from a Palestinian living in Berlin. Another Arab supplier brings fresh pita bread each morning.
“That way, I’m forced to look people in the eye and shake their hands,” Mr. Avrahami.
He has forged friendships with some of his business partners, but that doesn’t mean everything is just fine. Arab youths frequently shout insults as they walk by the restaurant.
Fear and Loathing in Berlin
By contrast, Yoav Sapir, a 34-year-old Israeli who has lived in Berlin for nine years and works as a tour guide, is full of fear.