On the way from the train to the language center, I was happy to meet Shahed, whom I knew from the previous course. We entered the class late, almost missing the round of introductions. This time there were fifteen students: Turkey, Syria, Egypt, Afghanistan, Afghanistan, Iran, Brazil, Syria, Tunisia, Iran, Syria, Syria, Finland, Nigeria, and Israel. Despite the many students from Arab countries, there was some diversity, but what does it matter? After all, we are all people, and we are all here to learn German. Although the older Syrian man I sat next to was quite surprised by the look in his eyes when I said I’m from Israel. "But now I live in Tyrol," I added.
"How old are you?" he asked me.
"Twenty-six."
"Oh, you are like my son." I believe he meant in age, but it was still nice to hear the comparison. He took out herbal candies for both of us. He told me he was a sports teacher in Damascus and is now retired, and that he and part of his family moved to Austria. He seemed to struggle with the language a bit more than the others, but he talked and joked a lot.
The course teacher was much more relaxed and friendly than the one in the previous course. The homework was more of a recommendation, and all mistakes were accepted with understanding and encouragement to continue with slight corrections.

At the end of the day, I planned to go to the bookstore to buy the appropriate textbooks. So did Shahed, who asked the teacher where the store was.
"I’m going there now, we can go together."
And so we did. We talked more than usual and got to know each other a bit better. I was surprised to find out he was only seventeen. "There's a beautiful view in Innsbruck, right?" I tried to talk to him about the beautiful girls in the city, but he didn't seem to understand. I reminded myself that I have a girlfriend and that women are not scenery, so I dropped it. The walk to the store that didn't have the books and then to the one that did, connected us a bit more. It was a fairly ordinary thing, but I was happy we were together without any conflicts.

In the mornings, I noticed when I took the train that Mustafa, the Egyptian guy from the course, got on and off at the same station as me. Sometimes we sat together on the way there and walked together to the language center. I also connected with him, and we ended up talking a bit about Egypt, Israel, and Austria, in German and English.

At the end of one lesson, we had a discussion about the differences between countries, here and in Austria. Some countries are more open, some less, some are still led by religion, and some follow traditions. After most of the students left, the teacher, Emma from Finland, and I stayed to expand the discussion, among other things, on how people are divided today, even within their own nations. "Everyone is sure they are right and not willing to listen or make concessions toward the other side."
"It's a shame people always look at which side or party to belong to, instead of seeing the common good."
"Yes... I saw an excellent documentary called 'The Social Dilemma,' where they explain how big the media's impact is on the division."
Emma and I left the building together and continued talking.
"It must be funny for you to be the only student from Europe," I asked, thinking I might relate to her, as I am an Israeli among a mostly Arab majority.
She laughed and added, "Yes... it's pretty funny, but I'm used to it. Somehow, most people I know here already learned German, or it’s not important to them. By the way, there's sometimes a gathering at the old bakery for German learners. The evening is organized for refugees, but it's open to everyone. I met some really interesting people there. I think you’d like the place too."
"Yeah, sounds cool."
"Sometimes they host various workshops on a pay-as-you-can basis."
We rolled into talking about the master’s degree she just finished, in sociology combined with sustainability and urbanization.
"When the last tree is cut down, the last river is poisoned, and the last fish is caught, people will realize we cannot eat money. It's an Indigenous quote I really like."
"Very powerful. I'll use it."
We talked about what each of us is doing here, and why here. I shared with her my dilemma about my studies and whether to pursue a science or social degree.
"Especially now, I think we need people who can connect the fields, not just specialize in one thing. To find solutions from the full picture through the perspective of science, humanities, engineering, and law."
"Wow, totally."
"But it's pretty hard to find a job that way," she joked.
In relation to the class discussion, I added, "I think it's important to maintain the balance between modernization and tradition."
"I agree, but many people are afraid of change and resist things changing..."
"Also true... Listen, I really enjoyed talking about these important and interesting topics, but I need to go."
"See you tomorrow!"
I checked the time and found out I had six minutes to get to the train. With a tremendous effort, I arrived just as the train doors were closing. But it wasn't too bad; I had more time to delve into my thoughts and new ideas.

The next day, we continued the discussion about the differences between countries. I was with Badia from
Tunisia, Ibrahim from Syria, and Nelly from Nigeria. We quickly moved on to talking about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Not in depth, but enough for Badia to ask: "I don't understand why babies die as a result of the war?"
"I was born in Damascus, but originally I'm from Palestine, my family is from Palestine, and we are Palestinians," Ibrahim said to me, more than to the group.
"Really."
"Yes, yes, I have family in Tiberias, Nazareth, and Acre. Do you know these cities?"
"Of course, of course... yes, there are many places in Israel where everyone lives together." Much of the discussion was in Arabic between Badia, Ibrahim, and the Syrian neighbor, but I still tried to understand.
"Do you understand Arabic?" Badia asked me.
"No... only a few words. What I remember from school. Sabah al-noor, keif halak? Youm asal youm basal..." avoiding saying what I learned in the army.
Since then, I have asked her to translate one sentence for me into Arabic every day.
Badia translated for me what Ibrahim talked about the difficult situation in Syria and the complicated move of his family to Austria, not everyone had the right documents but still made it. He added that Israel provides medical treatment and even takes care of food and shelter for injured Syrian refugees who reach the Israeli border.
I was careful with my words, as this is a very sensitive topic, especially from Ibrahim's side. "Can you visit your family in Israel?"
"No, no, of course not. If in Syria they see you have an Israeli stamp on your passport, you can't go back there, and that's the best-case scenario."
"Wow, yeah... I can't enter most Arab countries either..."
"And besides, if my family in Syria knew I was sitting in a class and learning with an Israeli... wow wow. I can't tell them such a thing."
"But Ran, do you want the war to end?" Badia asked me.
"Yes, I think most people want it to end," I answered and responded to what she said earlier: "The situation in Gaza is very bad, and also in some places in the West Bank." I wanted to add that it's because of small groups of people, like terrorist organizations and extremists, but I didn't know how they would react, and it seemed that most of the Arab students in the class were listening to the discussion, so I didn't add it.
Ibrahim stood up and said to me, "I'm good with you, you're good with me?"
"Sure."
"So we're good, that's it, enough."
His simple and honest response moved me a lot. I was filled with hope that more people would overcome their feelings of hatred and see the person sitting in front of them.
"What is this, you're like my son," he said to me when he returned to the class. Then he gave me an herbal candy, like every day.

In one of the lessons, the teacher asked who played any musical instrument. Nelly from Nigeria told us she is a member of the Nigerian church choir. She even sang for us. I said I know how to play the cajón, but I'm just starting. For a long time now, I've been just starting... I wonder when I'll be able to confidently say I know how to play the cajón... When I add that I built that cajón and a few others, people are sure I'm going to burst into a Flamenco rhythm.
At the end of the day, when everyone left, the teacher turned to me: "I play the double bass, together with a Spanish guy who plays the guitar and sings, and another guy on the keyboard."
"Cool."
"The guitarist hardly speaks German or English, but somehow it works well."
"Yeah, well... music connects."
"If it suits you, you're welcome to join the jam; we need a drummer."

In another exercise in the German course, we practiced a dialogue between a dinner host and a guest. Badia from Tunisia was the hostess who invited me to dinner at her place with her husband and kids.
"Do you know couscous?"
"Of course, we have it in Israel too!"
"Really! What? With vegetable soup and chickpeas?"
"Yes, if you want, I have another new recipe I recently learned - couscous with tomato sauce and onions fried in butter, do you know it?"
"No, sounds delicious."
The next day, before class started, I showed her the recipe in a cookbook.
Later in the lesson, we had a discussion about taboos. Each country and its taboos, which are acceptable in other countries, or vice versa. We also mentioned many norms and traditions. The comparison of halal food in Islam to kosher food in Judaism. LGBT to hijab. The big difference between the commandments and traditions in some cultures to those in Austria.
"In my culture, it's forbidden to leave the house without being covered, and suddenly here I see girls in tank tops and shorts... but that's okay, they dress like that, and I dress like this," one of the Syrian girls added.
The teacher responded: "Nice... very interesting... Ran, do you want to say the final word?"
"Wow, big honor... in one word? That's hard..."
"No... I mean to summarize the discussion in a few sentences."
"Oh, okay... um, I think as has already been said, even though people come from very different cultures and observe different traditions, it's important that everyone accepts each other and is tolerant."
"Well said. Anything else?"
I picked up a pen and dropped it on the table.
"Actually, yes! I brought this cookbook to show Badia a couscous recipe, never mind... It's called 'Jerusalem' and was written by Sami Tamimi, a Palestinian, and Yotam Ottolenghi, an Israeli, together..." The class was amazed, and the book was passed around, sharing the recipes, some of which they recognized from their home kitchens.
My girlfriend bought it for me, translated into German.
Together...