Finding Family in Philistine

By Lydia Cawley

The Coral Beach was one of our first stops in Al-Quds. The inland city, known to the West as Jerusalem, is not known for its proximity to water, or even a beach. Rather it’s home to the glittering oasis that is The Coral Beach, a decades-old handmade jewelry shop. Ibrahim Bader is the shop’s distinguished owner and technician.

           After working as a professor of mechanical engineering and technical drawing for thirteen years, Ibrahim bought The Coral Beach in 1988. The shop is tucked away in the Christian Quarter of the Old City of Al-Quds, steps from the imposing Damascus Gate, built in the 1500s. It’s typical to pass tour groups chanting prayers as they trace the Stations of the Cross on the way to the shop. The store is deeply entrenched in the local community, and itself has a storied history. 

I was visiting Palestine for the first time with my best friend Shannon, whose godmother was a loyal patron of Ibrahim’s shop—enough so to have merited a special discount named for her. Ibrahim embraced us just as immediately and completely as he had Shannon’s godmother many years ago.

We felt at home like we were part of the broader Coral Beach family. Only a few minutes into meeting Ibrahim, we were sitting and chatting with an esteemed Sheik. At the same time, Ibrahim tinkered with the amber necklace the Sheik had brought in. With Ramadan celebrations in full swing, he had come in to bejewel something beautiful for his wife. That same afternoon, we met Ibrahim’s brother, who owns another jewelry shop just a few steps away. We listened to Ibrahim speak fondly of his grandfather, who disappeared in 1967. His portrait hangs above Ibrahim’s vials of polish and tools, the central piece in his collection of family photos.

Ibrahim is a prolific and meticulous worker, and the shop, which is cluttered with his innumerable masterpieces, reflects that. Above display cases, the walls are decorated with historic “Visit Palestine” posters, film photos, foreign currencies, and letters of gratitude from Ibrahim’s past customers—Jimmy Carter, John Kerry, Condoleezza Rice, and Hillary Clinton among them. Shannon and I added ourselves to this illustrious list of customers. I bought a set of earrings for my mom (opal, her favorite) and a silver ring for myself. Shannon bought a delicate gold necklace, which she wears every day. The necklace was strung with five “olive seed” beads, evoking a Palestinian tradition in which husbands gift their wives a new bead to represent significant life events such as anniversaries or births.

           After working and fasting all day, Ibrahim closed up his shop and treated us to dinner at his friend’s pizza parlor on the opposite side of the cobble-stone alley. It was the first evening of our magical four-day stay in Al-Quds. Both Shannon and I tacitly knew we’d be paying daily visits to The Coral Beach. It had taken but one afternoon to become our happy place.

           We met Ibrahim during the first weekend of Ramadan—an especially holy time for Muslims. A couple nights later, he was kind enough to invite us back to his home for Iftar, to break the fast with him, his wife, and his 16-year-old daughter, Fadia. After yet another end-of-day visit to his shop, we drove home with him to his modest apartment in East Jerusalem. It was Saturday, and we passed through a couple Jewish neighborhoods on the way. Ibrahim, half-joking, hoped aloud that he wouldn’t have stones thrown at his car while we were in it. He explained that this has happened to him before, as driving is spurned by some observing the Sabbath.

           Once we were home, we gabbed and exchanged Instagram handles with Fadia, as we waited for the sun to set. She was one of the most mature, cool teenagers I’ve ever met. She lives and goes to school under the shadow of the Israeli occupation but chooses to focus on the smaller, more manageable daily elations and frustrations that make up the life of a 16-year-old. She lamented having French homework and annoying friends. She showed off the new pair of Vans she was going to buy and talked about the summer trip she was planning with her parents. Fadia was also planning to visit the States for the first time, but that trip was less school-girl fun than it was a patriotic duty. Fadia, some of her friends, and a group of Israeli Jewish teens would be living together in the woods of Maine as part of a youth peace initiative. She was solemn as she talked about the camp, nervous even. Then, she ran to her closet to model her BabyFist jacket.

           After a delicious Iftar, Ibrahim introduced us to the final important figure in his life. We were well-acquainted with his shop, his brother, his Sheik, his neighbors, his wife, and his daughter, but we hadn’t yet met his Mercedes. We took a spin in the hot rod with white leather seats that matched its gleaming exterior, before then saying goodbye to him, and to Palestine. But even once we were back in Amman, we continued to be immersed warmly within Ibrahim’s network. We enjoyed yet another Ramadan meal with his older sister.

           The unending kindness that Ibrahim and his extended family offered to me, a complete stranger, motivates me to overcome challenging encounters and inspires me to be a kinder person. When I think of the immeasurable resilience, magnanimity, and fellowship of the Palestinian people, Ibrahim stands out. Much like a glittering gold-plated necklace, or a rosy coral in the sea.