Inhumane Society

It began with a faint scratching sound in the attic. This was enough to cause Hannah- a textbook Manhattanite and an only child- panic and squeal. Her roommate had a family emergency and had flown back to Knoxville for a few days. Sadly, her grandmother had passed away. Not that she would have been fazed by these recent scuffling noises as she had grown up on a Tennessee farm and had a more robust view on life, creepy crawlies and things that went bump in the night.

Hannah wished she were more like her roommate and immediately began to re-think her decision to move to the wilds of Indiana. But who would pass up such a hefty scholarship at Notre Dame? It wasn't that she disliked animals but the closest she had ever come to any wildlife was her fourth grade trip to the Central Park Zoo where she ogled primates and marsupials with a hefty 8 inch glass wall protecting her.

Hannah went from denial (Maybe it's a fallen branch or neighbors re-modeling.)to attempting to ignore the increasingly loud thuds by keeping the television on all night. The next night she wore headphones in bed. It began to sound as though there was a party going on up there. If these were mice, they were certainly obese. The owner of the house could not be reached as he was vacationing in the Maldives.

"Oh why am I such a wimp?" she finally asked herself after hearing a particularly loud crash upstairs. "I could never make it here in the Midwest"

Ironically, her commitment to Notre Dame was growing. She was becoming something of an interfaith queen on campus now.

It had all begun when she tried to revive the waning Jewish Student's Society. A few harmless get-togethers at the campus bar or rowdy-ish board game nights in the common room. Then came Jewish Heritage Fest. Hannah and an enthusiastic band of followers had walked around the campus grounds handing out flyers and putting up posters on key pillars and trees calling out:

"Join us in the gym for Heritage Fest."

It was to be a day full of story-telling and latke tasting. Nothing political. Dreidels and matzo balls over Gaza or Zionism.

The festival ended up being a successful day of discussion, games and eating.

As Hannah cleaned up, vowing to make this an annual event, she spied a young woman in a headcovering next to the recycling bin staring back at her. Hannah tossed some unused flyers into the crate, unperturbed.

“Do you KNOW how many Palestinians have died in the conflict?” asked the young woman, her eyes flashing as Hannah began to walk home.

“Excuse me?” asked Hannah.

Hannah was taken aback. Was this young woman really going to blame her for centuries of conflict: British rule, the Ottomans, the Suez canal? Just a tad unfair.

Hannah calmly explained that this was not supposed to be Zionist rally. That they were just going to have some fun. The Pakistani Society had their bhangra night. This would be the Jewish equivalent.

The girl’s headscarf had a black and white dogtooth design. Hannah recalled seeing images of young Palestinian men on the news with the same bandanas around their necks. There had been a controversy with that TV Chef, what was her name, Paula, no, Rachel, Rachel Ray?

“My name is Marwa. I grew up in a refugee camp called Burj Al Kefiyya . I watched my entire family die in front of my eyes. Every night we slept stacked up against a wall. It was hard to fall asleep so I would imagine myself near the beach, the waves splashing over me.”

Marwa pronounced these words as though she had been rehearsing them for years.

Hannah began to fiddle with a tiny star pendant she was wearing. People of different faiths were not supposed to have these types of conversations. They were supposed to marvel at their similiarities, proclaim themselves the children of Adam and break bread together.

Hannah remembered having Muslim classmates in high school. They used to talked about Algebra homework, crushes on the math teacher and toenail polish.

She had never been put in such an awkward position.

“I’m really sorry” she began knowing how absurd she sounded apologizing for 60 years of war.

But Hannah was a journalism major. She was up to date with statistics and trends.“It is a tragic situation but people are dying on both sides every day. She tried to recall a few recent ‘Economist’ tweets.

Marwa’s eyes widened. Was this infidel really going to tell her how the enemy was suffering. Fill her with lies? But there was something about Hannah, the earnest way she was explaining everything. The way she tossed back her blonde hair, her smile. Who did it remind her of?

Of course; her beautiful Aunt Khowla. She was the one who had insisted that Marwa go to the United States, that she become educated. That it would free her of her demons. Marwa moved in closer to hear what the infidel had to say.

Marwa and Hannah ended up talking all night long. And for a few more evenings after that.

Soon they had it all figured out. They were going to single handedly solve the Middle East crisis, change the world, attain global peace and unity. They were both 21 years old. There was nothing they could not achieve. They would form a coalition. It would be known as The Jewish and Muslim Students for Peace Collective or JAMPAC. They would get together weekly for discussions about serious solutions. Stories about Muslims who had harbored Jewish folks during World War II or information about ‘Jews for Palestine’

JAMPAC was controversial yet began to gain popularity. It even received a small mention in the Sacred Heart Gazette with a tiny photo of Hannah and Marwa sharing falafel together.

__________________

Hannah was woken up by the shrill sound of her cellphone at 6 am. Anything startled Hannah recently since she had been hearing sounds in the attic but now she began to panic. Her family would never call her this early unless something was wrong. As soon as the phone rang, the attic symphony began again.

It was Mr McKenna, the owner of the townhouse. He was calling from the Maldives.

“I got your texts. It sounds like there’s an animal up there. Find the cheapest pest control service, get it sorted out and I’ll reimburse you when I get back.”

Clearly everything seemed that simple from the Maldives.

Hannah finally plucked up the courage to do an on-line search for a local pest control service. Even this caused her shudders as tiny graphic possums and rats danced across her Dell monitor.

"I do know what these awful rodents look like" wailed Hannah as she dialed the 800 number, pouting like Paris Hilton.

"Why do they have to post little pictures of the vermine?"

The next day a white van pulled into the tiny driveway. ‘Do It Right Pest Control’ Two men emerged in grimy overalls.

"Hi" said the taller one with a slight Latino accent and a broad smile. "I'm Angel. Tell me what the problem is".

Fifteen minutes later after a thorough inspection of the two bedroomed house, Angel and his cohorts greeted her with the following announcement.

"You have raccoon droppings in your attic”.

Hannah was devastated. She had harbored a faint hope of being able to solve the problem with a couple of glue traps and a piece of moldy cheese.

Angel explained in alarming detail that they would be laying a series of traps that would lead to a cage. The offending raccoon would then enter said cage in a mildly sedated state. Angel and his pal would return the next day and take away the intruder and free it into a nearby forest.

Angel was very emphatic about one point.

“We have to follow strict guidelines from the Humane Society” and he produced a document with several bullet points. Hannah scanned them disinterestedly while Angel began his pledge:

“We never harm or maim the animal. The sedatives used are all natural and only induce the animal into a temporary torpor.

Hannah wondered if she would drift into a temporary torpor herself while Angel regurgitated his memorized script. She badly wanted to be rid of this awful animal at any cost but needed to feign joy that they would be treating the animal kindly.

It would un-American to appear otherwise.

But Hannah had no plans of sticking around the town house with all this night life going on. She was to spend the evening at Marwa's dorm, crashing on a sleeping bag. Not only did she want to avoid the entire raccoon-trapping process, but there were also some pressing concerns. JAMPAC had a brand new project.

The Arab Spring.

Marwa was unable to sleep at night because of the current political climate. She had turned into a facebooking, tweeting automaton and Hannah wanted to be there for her in her time of need. JAMPAC had collaborated with the Muslim Student Association and had been led candle-light vigils, rallies and fund-raising drives for Yemen, Libya, Syria and Egypt.

Hannah heard whisperings in her head that she had to ignore.

"Where were all these Muslims when there was a civil war in Darfur, turmoil in Tiananmen Square, Kashmir and beyond ? Had they ever stepped up in droves to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina, ever shown any kind of collective grief for anyone but themselves?

But now was not the time to speak of such things. We hurt most for those with whom we identify. Her good Jewish side told her that maybe God was sending these calamities to all the Arab nations in order to inspire a broader sensitivity in them.

Besides, when she even hinted at such an idea, she would be shouted down with:

"Well you guys can never get over the holocaust."

It was time to move on from name-calling.

Hannah found Marwa in her dorm room in tears. A color printer was churning out a picture of a young girl who was covered in severe wounds and gashes. Hannah guessed everything. This was the latest torture to emerge from the Middle East.

"They took this girl and did terrible things to her and returned her to her parents"

sobbed Marwa.

Where would it end? Hannah was still reeling from an email she had received this morning from her mother about a distant cousin who had been killed in Iraq.

The two college students spent an unusually quiet evening together, talking minimally; a wordless grief nagging at them both.

When Hannah returned to her home the next morning, she noticed something different about the little town house.

It was completely peaceful. Had the pest control technique worked in one evening?

Angel and his men came back later that day after Hannah came back from school. After inspecting the attic, he delicately mentioned that the problem had been solved but that he would take away the animal discreetly as she may not want to stare at a raccoon too closely.

Hannah was ready to hug him despite his filthy overalls for understanding her pampered ways:

"You are...." she searched for the right word.

"An ANGEL?" her savior responded grinning.

Hannah almost cried with relief. It had been a rough week. Globally and locally.

In her joy, Hannah forgot to get a receipt from Angel. She ran out to the van

where she almost tripped over the cage containing her former furry tenant.

She finally faced her little tormentor. Its face looked like it had a Harlequin mask on it. Hannah stared back wondering if the stiffened tail meant that the raccoon was feeling afraid. She tried not to look too menacing.

Angel came out of the van and slowly picked up the cage with the gentlest of expressions on his face, coo-ing and comforting the animal the whole time. Could this man really have such love for a rabid animal that ate its food from garbage cans?

Angel said they would be driving to a forest preserve about three miles away where it could roam freely without fear.

Suddenly images from last night’s CNN special on recent wars flashed into Hannah’s head. Libya, Yemen, Iraq. Afghanistan. Slogans flashed before her.

Body bags, collateral damage, amputations, widowhood.

Hannah had an idea.

All she needed to do was to gather together the Department of Defense, Palestinian and Israeli leaders, the key players in the Arab revolution,and sit them down with the Humane Society. Then they all needed to have a very long talk.