According to the Wall Street Journal, the NYPD monitored Muslim students at numerous universities, including Yale and Penn.  The presence of Muslims at an Ivy League college is, of course, fishy.  As everyone knows, one must be able to speak English in order to attend such a dignified institution.

The NYPD even sent an undercover agent on a student whitewater rafting trip in upstate New York.  Muslims going whitewater rafting?  Very shady.  I mean, there’s no whitewater rafting in Saudi Arabia… there’s no whitewater in Saudi Arabia… there’s no water in Saudi Arabia!  But then I remembered my uncles telling me stories about how they used to dream of coming to America when they were kids… just so they could go whitewater rafting.

On that rafting trip, the undercover officer reported that the students spent a lot of time “discussing Islam.”   Creepy.  He also noted that they “prayed at least four times a day.”  Only four?  Not only were these Muslims meeting in the wilderness, they weren’t even getting all their prayers in.  Muslims are supposed to pray five times a day, not four!  Maybe they weren’t praying as much because they were spending too much time rafting.  And by “rafting,” I mean “scoping out the whitewater rivers to see how they can secretly transport a dirty bomb.”

The NYPD’s efforts, thankfully, reached far and wide.  They were keeping tabs on students in New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania.  I did some of my own investigative journalism and found that they were monitoring Muslims everywhere.  I came across a particularly illuminating report about some Muslim students from Dearborn, Michigan.

We observed three Muslim Lebanese students for six months in 2011.  Each morning, Ali, Mahmoud, and Mohammad each buy a cup of coffee.  They purposely avoid the local Starbucks establishment.  They then go to class (usually arriving ten to fifteen minutes late).  They confidently raise their hands, even though they often have no idea how to answer the question at hand.  After school, they meet at the same café at 4:00 pm everyday.  They spend 2-3 hours talking loudly and waving their hands in explosion-type motions.  The three suspects smoke an unknown substance from a single stemmed metal instrument through a furry house.  Occasionally, they suspiciously eject the smoke from their mouths in order to form perfect circles.

Every Wednesday, the three men spend two hours meeting with many other Muslim men at Cool Blue Salon.  This salon is specifically known for eyebrow waxing and hair removal.  As the “attendees” are all men, we can only assume their presence at the salon is evidence of a terrorist cell meeting.

Perhaps most disturbingly, during the entire month of August 2011, the three men would awaken themselves at 4:30 am, eat an entire meal, go back to sleep, wake up again at 9:00 am, continue their day, and only eat again at 9:15 pm.  Clearly, they were training their bodies to endure long periods without food in order to be prepared for any potential future mission.

As we can see, Muslims are doing all kinds of suspicious things.  So for those good, vigilant Americans out there, make sure you report all dubious activity to your local authorities.  Pick up the phone whenever you see a Muslim going whitewater rafting, or going to college, or watching a football game, or eating a Big Mac.  And definitely speak up whenever you see a Muslim trying to get a driver’s license, or trying to vote, or trying to become president (well, it’s too late for that one).

I can completely understand what the NYPD is trying to do.  After all, as their spokesperson noted, some of the people arrested or convicted on terrorism charges since Sept. 11 have been former members of a Muslim Student Association.  I know… chilling.

In all seriousness, of course it was the NYPD, and not the Muslims here, who was acting in a frightening manner.  In an apparent attempt look even sillier, the agency said that it was observing MSAs because they attract “young Muslim men, a demographic that terrorist groups frequently draw from.”  Again, MSA stands for “Muslim Student Association.”  It has the word “student” right in the middle of it.  So, yes, they are attracting young Muslim men.  But they are also attracting young Muslim women.  And if the NYPD would have asked me, I would have happily told them that this is all done in order for the MSA to achieve its true goal: creating young Muslim couples.

A particular favorite of mine is “House Hunters.”  In this show, the cameras follow an individual, couple, or family searching for a home.  As a Palestinian, I am familiar with this concept.  We have been searching for 64 years.

Anyway, each show features three properties, and at the end of the broadcast, the buyer chooses one as his new residence.  The show is extremely popular and has produced an interesting spinoff, “House Hunters International.”  In this version, the buyer looks to buy a home in a different country.  A few nights ago, I happened to be watching when a very interesting episode aired… “House Hunters International: Jerusalem.”  A very nice Orthodox Jewish woman named Hayley was looking to relocate from New Jersey to Israel.  She wanted her children to have the experience of growing up in the Holy Land.

Hayley arrived in Israel to look at three houses. I imagine she had an easier time getting through Tel Aviv airport security than I do. She made her way to Jerusalem and began her search.  The first house Hayley looked at was in the “fashionable neighborhood of Baka.”  Wealthy Muslim and Christian Palestinian families established Baka in the 1920’s.  After 1948, Baka ended up in West Jerusalem, inside Israel.  As a result of this development, in Baka, “the population changed.” (Wikipedia)  “Changed” is a nice way of putting it.  In reality, the Arab families who built those houses were expelled.

The second and third homes Hayley looked at were located in the German Colony, what the narrator referred to as a “pre-war neighborhood.”  Before 1948, affluent Arab families who had built mansions there called it home.  After 1948, “the abandoned homes were used to house new immigrants.” (Thanks again Wikipedia)  “Abandoned” is a nice way of putting it.  In reality, the German Colony was ethnically cleansed of its Arab population.

All three houses were brimming with Arab architecture. As Hayley walked through the homes, I heard things like:

“She wants a traditional, old Jerusalem home.”
“This house was built in the 1920’s.”
“It’s got the tiles, built in the old style.”
“The arches… love it!”
“This is authentic.”

For those of you don’t speak “Israeli,” let me translate:

“Traditional, old”: Palestinian
“built in the 1920’s”: Palestinian
“Tiles in the old style”: Palestinian
“Arches:” Palestinian
“Authentic”: Palestinian

I guess that even though Israel definitely didn’t want us there, they really liked our style. And I don't blame them.  We Palestinians are pretty cool.  They even made falafel and hummus part of Israeli national cuisine.  It’s not that surprising actually.  When you can steal someone’s home without thinking twice, stealing the food is really easy.

After the 1967 war, Israel “united” East and West Jerusalem. The Palestinian residents who remain hold Jerusalem ID cards.  They are “permanent residents” of Israel, pay Israeli taxes, are citizens of no country, and do not vote in national elections.  We have “permanent residents” here in America, but they came from Mexico.  The “permanent residents” of Jerusalem came from Jerusalem.  They must periodically renew their status, and if they are absent for more than seven years, they forever lose their “right.”  Of course, Jews can become full citizens of Israel whenever they like.  And they can buy abandoned homes with authentic tiles and arches.

Israel looks to rid itself of all Palestinian presence, and nowhere is this more evident than in Jerusalem.  All Israeli politicians proclaim that Jerusalem will remain the “eternal and undivided capital of Israel.”  Simply put, it is Israel’s view that the city cannot be Arab in any capacity.  It’s as if we were never there. But the authentic tiles in Baka don’t lie. They tell the world that Palestinians walked atop them. The stones of the walls don’t lie either.  They tell the world that they were set by Palestinians who call Jerusalem home.  And the arches don’t lie.  They tell the new residents, as they peer out onto the Old City, that no amount of denial can erase their Palestinian creators.

As that episode came to a close, another one immediately followed.  It was a “House Hunters: International” marathon.  Again, an Orthodox Jewish American couple was looking to relocate to a new country.  This time, they were searching for a house in Costa Rica.  Before I turned off the TV, I wished them the best of luck.

But my mom is different.

My mom always made sure we did our homework. She let us know that “good enough” would never be good enough. Today, three of her four children are independent, dynamic individuals who command and give great respect. And I’m a law school graduate who became a comedian. Three out of four isn’t bad. She’s pretty awesome.

I love my mom because she taught me how to appreciate food. She didn’t boil hot dogs for dinner. When my mom complained that she was slaving all day in the kitchen, it was because she was actually slaving all day in the kitchen. And we ate like kings every night. She always made everything from scratch. Hamburger Helper was not welcome in our home. I think the list of things never allowed in our house went something like Ariel Sharon’s picture, the Israeli flag, and Hamburger Helper. Her cooking has become the stuff of legend in the Philadelphia Arab-American community. Sure, every now and then she took a little break and made us something a little less laborious, like spaghetti… with homemade meatballs, of course.

I love my mom because she taught me how to be resourceful. We always had more grocery bags than the rest of the neighborhood combined. White people throw away their bags. We didn’t. Ours were stuffed in that little space between the refrigerator and the wall. White moms asked their kids if they wanted turkey or roast beef for lunch. My mom asked me if I wanted paper or plastic.

In 1965, at the age of 11, my mother came to America from Palestine with her parents and three sisters. Her father ventured here with the intention of studying and returning to a job in Israel. My mom got here by taking a boat from Haifa to New York, then a bus from New York to California. That was a long trip. She survived. I love her.

Due to some horrible (but typical) actions by the Israel government, my grandfather was stripped of his job back in Israel and forced to stay in America to sustain a livelihood for his wife and four daughters. Of, course being forced to stay in America is not that bad. I guess I’m glad he didn’t decide to study in Russia. But, of course, America wasn’t home. I’m sure it was hard to adjust. As a teenage girl in California in the sixties, my mom must have gone through lots of growing pains. She didn’t freak out. I love her.

My mom fell in love with my dad while she and he were at the same university. He was Christian. She was Muslim. She knew that marrying him would not be an easy thing to do. But she saw a proud Palestinian man, and not simply a man of a faith different than hers. She had the courage and strength to marry my dad despite the odds. Only when I got a little older did I understand what that truly meant. I really love her.

I love my mom because she made me into the Palestinian I am today. Every now and then she would wake us up early on a Saturday morning, stuff us in the car, and take us somewhere fun like New York or Washington DC. When we arrived at our destination, we would be in the middle of a demonstration. Being Palestinian is only partly genetic. You get the important stuff when your mom tells you about it over and over and over again. And if there’s anything Arab moms are good at, it’s saying something over and over and over again.

I love my mom because she showed me what it means to be generous and gracious. My parents have always been very active in the community, and have always been overly giving and kind. The long line of Arab and Arab-American students who have come to study in Philadelphia and found a second home with the Zahrs could attest to this fact.

Today is my mom’s birthday. Yes, my mom. My loving, supportive, demanding, hard-working, resourceful, determined, strong, generous, gracious, and courageous mom. My Palestinian mom. I have tried to learn from her example. Mom, I’m doing my best.

My dad grew up on UN rations, living hand to mouth.  As a Palestinian refugee, he had nothing in the way of luxury.  Now, after long struggles, he has settled into a middle-class American lifestyle, and he always has taken very close care of his possessions.  It's not too surprising.  He grew up with nothing, so he always knows where all his stuff is.  He keeps everthings organized and doesn't take his precious effects for granted, as his children sometimes do.  In fact, he couldn't understand how I could lose anything when I was a kid.  I remember what he used to say:

Me: "Baba, I lost my toy truck."
Him: "Well, where was the last place you left it?"
Me: "In my room."
Him: "So it used to be there right?"
Me: "Yeah."
Him: "And now it's just gone?"
Me: "Ummm... Yeah."
Him: "Well, I guess we should call the news then."
Me: "Huh?"
Him: "Yes, we should call the news... I think they would be very interested to know that a toy truck can just get up and walk away."

I think I might have gotten my sarcasm from him.

My dad definitely encouraged us to appreciate what we had.  And he taught us to take responsibility for both our actions and our possessions.  But this routine of his sometimes made it hard to talk to him.  It was difficult to share some of my struggles with him:

Me: "Baba, my girlfriend just dumped me."
Him: "But she used to be there right?"
Me: "Yeah."
Him: "And now she's just gone?"
Me: "Yeah."
Him: "Well, I guess we should call the news then."

We Palestinians watch the news so much that we think we actually know the anchors.  I think I was the only kid in the fourth grade who actually knew who Tom Brokaw and Dan Rather were.  Other kids might have called Superman if they needed help.  I was supposed to call Peter Jennings.

But we didn't only watch the news.  My dad let us watch a couple other shows too.  On Thursday nights, we all got together and watched "The Cosby Show."  My dad loved that show.  We Palestinians identify closely with blacks and their struggle.  Like they once did, we are now fighting for recognition in the face of a structure built to defeat us and silence our narrative.  I actually almost checked "African-American" on the census form last year.  We Arabs are, indeed, very similar to black people.  We get profiled.  We get blamed for stuff we don't do.  And white people cross the street when they see us coming.  Also, like black people, we have Sunday dinners and large families.  Our families are so large that an Arab is sometimes older than his uncle.  You know you're an Arab if you've ever taken your uncle to Chuck E Cheese.  Finally, our cuisines share a lot in common.  Go to an Arab barbeque and you'll see it... There are watermelons everywhere!

The other show my dad always watched with us was "MacGyver."  MacGyver could make anything out of anything.  My dad used to say he was our cousin, though I've never seen him at any family functions.  My dad was just as resourceful as MacGyver was.  I'm sure that came from his tough upbringing.  My father can make a pair of shoes with four rubber bands and two pieces of cardboard.  Now that I think back about it, there was one thing MacGyver made in almost every episode: a bomb.  He was blowing stuff up all the time.  Maybe he was my cousin.

I have kept the lessons I learned from watching TV with my dad.  He, like most Palestinian parents, instilled in me and my siblings a deep appreciation of our past and an acute desire to announce and defend the justice inherent in our struggle.  We were taught to be proud of of who we were, just like the Cosbys.  And now as an adult, I have my own house, and I'm renovating the whole thing.  I'm being inventive and enterprising as I move along, and I'm doing my best to creatively solve the problems I encounter, just like MacGyver.

My father's lessons have proved useful to me, like during the last time I arrived at Tel Aviv's airport:

Israeli soldier: "How long will you be staying in Israel?"
Me: "You know what?  I'm not going to Israel... I'm going to Palestine!"
Soldier: "There is no Palestine."
Me: "Yes there is!"
Soldier (pointing to a map on the wall): "Look, there is no Palestine on the map!"
Me: "... But it used to be there right?"
Soldier: "Yeah."
Me: "And now it's just gone?"
Soldier: "Yeah."
Me: "Well, I guess we should call the news then."

To kick off the event, a young Arab-American girl from the community sang the national anthem.  Yes, Bill O’Reilly, the United States national anthem.  They asked everyone to stand up.  So I stood up.

Oh, say can you see, by the dawn’s early light

I thought to myself, “I hope these immigrants don’t mistake that for the call to dawn prayer.”

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming

Then I thought, “Wait a minute, why are we all singing the national anthem? Is there about to be a baseball game I don’t know about?”

Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming

Me: “OK, there’s no way that 90% of these people even know what ‘perilous,’ ‘ramparts,’ or ‘gallantly’ mean.  They can’t even pronounce ‘perilous,’ ‘ramparts,’ or ‘gallantly.’ But everyone is singing along! Maybe it was part of the citizenship exam.”

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air

Me: “Maybe a roomful of Arabs shouldn’t all be saying ‘bombs’ at the same time.  I actually see a few white people looking around.”

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there

Me: “Wait, I don’t want to be singing this song right now! This is what they sing at the beginning of every Republican debate!”

Oh, say does that star spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And then it was over.  Everyone clapped and cheered.  I had a sick feeling in my stomach.

We Arabs and Muslims in America live a weird existence.  We walk on eggshells, making sure to seem “extra” American whenever we can.  Some of us even change our names so we don’t seem too scary.  It never works.  I don’t think white people are fooled when an olive-skinned hairy guy who sounds like Jafar from Aladdin says, “Hi, my name is Mike.”

But it’s hard to blame Mike.  After all, who wants to be an Arab in America?  If I were Italian, people might tell me, “Hey, were you on ‘The Sopranos’?”  If I were Greek, people might tell me, “Hey, were you on ‘My Big Fat Greek Wedding’?”  But I’m an Arab, so they say, “Hey, were you on Fox News last night?”

I don’t think anyone would trade places with an Arab guy.  No one wants to be one of us.  Sure, the stuffed grape leaves are great, but the strip searches are an acquired taste.

So that song is not for me.  I’m not standing up for it.  At least not for a while.

Maybe I’ll stand up for the anthem again when bashing Palestinians is not cool anymore.  Newt Gingrich called us “invented.”  Eric Cantor said we were “full of resentment and hate.”  Bashing Palestinians has become all too fashionable, and it occurs without anyone getting too riled up about it.  So I’ll stay seated for now.

Maybe I’ll stand up for the anthem again when celebrating the deaths of Arabs and Muslims stops.  Just yesterday, footage emerged of some U.S military personnel urinating over the dead bodies of Taliban fighters.  Last year, when an American drone assassinated Yemeni-American Anwar al-Awlaki (a pretty bad guy), news outlets called it a “victory.”  Republican candidates are scoring points by saying their first act as president will be to bomb Iran.  So I’ll stay seated for now.

Maybe I’ll stand up for the anthem again when white people stop asking me, “So, what did you think of 9/11?” Or when they stop saying, “Yeah, I know you said you’re from Philadelphia, but where are you from-from?”  Or when they stop saying, “So are you with us or with the terrorists?”  Or, “Why do you eat leaves?”  Or, “So, where does the beard stop and the chest begin?”  But I’ll stay seated for now.

Our presence here seems almost paradoxical.  Our parents and grandparents came to this country to enjoy the very freedoms that the American military has been bombing our ancestral countries to “protect.”   Since 9/11, we Arabs and Muslims in America have struggled to re-define ourselves and our rightful place here.  How we do exist in a country that sees us as enemy number one?  How do we succeed in a country that tells us that we are foreign?  How do we show our patriotism in a country that makes us apologize whenever a crazy person who says he's one of us does something crazy?  I’ll tell you how…  We sing the national anthem as much as we can.

Today, hearing the anthem reminds me of something.  When Osama bin Laden was killed in May, thousands congregated in New York and Washington, DC, where they were dancing at Ground Zero and the White House.  I was actually glad he was dead.  Then I saw my fellow Americans break out into a choir of unified voices.  Guess what they were singing...

In fact, we made it onto the newscasts even when we had nothing to do with the news. When the tragic events occurred in June in Norway, where a Norwegian terrorist killed 78 people, including detonating a car bomb in downtown Oslo, news outlets quickly reported that the explosion “didn't seem to have any signs of Islamic radicalism.” I listened to that report, wondering exactly how an explosion could have signs of Islamic radicalism. Does the smoke form a crescent? Do the fumes smell like garlic? But Muslims are always the first suspects, so they're even mentioned by CNN to declare that they probably didn't do it.

But not all the news coverage about us was bad, though. The Arab spring dominated the news for months. After massive demonstrations in Tunisia led to the ouster of Zine El Abidine Ben Ali on January 14, 2011, popular protests followed in Egypt, Libya, Yemen, Bahrain, and Syria. Arab citizens were reclaiming their societies and reasserting their pride after decades of corrupt and brutal dictatorships.

In Cairo, Husni Mubarak was pushed out, and the struggle for a new Egypt continues, as the people are moving to bury their past and forge a brighter future. In Libya, Muammar Qaddafi was driven out of power after a more bloody revolution, with the help of American-led NATO airstrikes. In Yemen, protests swept over that country, leading to a sort of soap opera where Ali Abdullah Saleh was out, then in, then out, then in again, then finally out. In Bahrain, a sustained campaign of civil resistance led to a government crackdown. There's been no real change there yet, but the people did speak with a loud voice, leaving King Hamad to issue a report admitting that torture was used against the protestors.

And then we have Syria. What's going on there would be funny if the human toll wasn't so tragic. Syria, home to some of the Arab World’s deepest cultural traditions, is now witnessing a bloody onslaught led by a ruler who had the audacity to tell Barbara Walters that he doesn't control the military. I know Arab men can tell some big lies to impress blonde American women, but that was unprecedented.

The Arab Spring was also the inspiration to the "Occupy Wall Street" movement that took hold in America in 2011.  As an Arab, I take pride in that influence.  As a Palestinian, I can't support anything with the word "occupy" in it.

Of course, President Obama was at the center of our year as well.  He spent much of it going after Arabs.  After hunting down and killing Osama bin Laden in May in Pakistan, he assassinated Anwar al-Awlaki (an American citizen, by the way) in September in Yemen, and then helped to finish off Qaddafi in October in Libya.  Watching Obama is like watching Michael Corleone in “The Godfather.” We thought Obama didn’t want anything to do with the “family business.”  As it turns out, he’s just like everyone before him.

As it turns out, the only thing that Obama was good at in 2011 was finding the bad Arabs and killing them.  And that means, since 2012 is an election year, we’ll be hearing about those accomplishments until November. Who would have ever known that a Muslim president would be so good at killing other Muslims?  Well, FOX News probably knew.

Of course, 2011 also saw the arrival of “All-American Muslim,” the reality show that follows five Muslim-American families in Dearborn, Michigan.  There were all kinds of debate about the show. First, some Muslims complained that the families on the show weren’t “Muslim enough.”  Then, the Florida Family Association complained that the families on the show weren’t “terrorist enough.”  Then Lowe’s pulled their ads.  Then I returned $2600 of appliances to Lowe’s.  Some Muslims grumbled that the show shouldn’t have profiled a young Muslim businesswoman who was trying to open a lounge with alcohol.  But after watching Muslims on TV my whole life, I was totally OK with this show.  I’d rather see a Muslim starting a nightclub on TLC than starting a terror cell on NCIS.

Now, we Palestinians had a kind of weird year in the news. Unlike every other year in history, we were not in the news for sabotaging negotiations or committing terrorist attacks.  First of all, President Obama said a final settlement would have to be “based on 1967 borders.”  That pissed off Benjamin Netanyahu, who promptly gave a speech to the US Congress telling them that Palestinians “educated their children to hate” and that Jerusalem “must remain the united capital of Israel.” He got a bigger ovation than the Pope gets in Rome on Christmas.

Later in the year, we created headlines in a different way.  Our biggest move was, of course, going to the United Nations to submit a proposal that was basically dead on arrival.  But it started an important conversation, and despite its material insignificance, it was probably the only good political move our leadership has ever made.  If I knew getting people to talk about Palestinian self-determination was as easy as waving a piece of paper at the UN, I would have done it a long time ago.

The Palestinian “ploy” at the UN led to a closing quarter of 2011 that thrust us into the spotlight in a totally new way. We discovered that our admission into UNESCO triggers the US Congress to cut off all funding to the agency.  I never thought we had that much influence.  Then, Newt Gingrich called us “invented.”  And not “good invented” like seatbelts, but “bad invented” like the Macarena.

Finally, to end the year on a familiar note, Republican Congressman Eric Cantor said that Palestinian culture is “filled with resentment and hate.”  He said that if Palestinians want a state, they must prove they are “worthy” of it.  Spoken like a true supporter of oppression. Someone should remind Mr. Cantor of our American ideals, like “unalienable rights,” including liberty.  Oh, and someone should tell him that America has been against slavery since 1865.

In any case, 2012 is here, and Arabs and Muslims are making the news already.  Fox News reported a very interesting statistic:  “According to studies, last year, 1 out of every 5 divorces were caused by Facebook. The other 4 were caused by Islamic radicals.” Damn.

On Christmas morning, I presented my sisters with their gifts. They didn't care for them too much. So they told me, “Thanks for the gesture, but just return them and get your money back.” I asked my mom if she knew anyone who might want the bags. She thought about it and couldn’t come up with any takers. I happened to think the bags were very cute.

So I went to get my money back. As I pulled up, I searched for my receipt. I had lost it. I entered Marshall’s, no receipt in hand, with the two beautiful, trendy bags I had bought. The manager was a nice 20-something white woman who couldn't have been more kind. She explained to me that without a receipt, I could only receive a store credit, in the form of a gift card. This was no problem. I would give the card to my father. He would appreciate my gift. He's a true bargain hunter, and he shops at Marshall’s almost daily. Where do you think I got it from?

As the manager worked through my transaction, I noticed a rack of gift cards on the counter with a few different designs. I asked her if I could have one of those nice-looking gift cards. She very politely obliged. One card in particular caught my eye. It was blue, contained the Marshall’s logo, and had written upon it a delightful holiday message: “Happy Hanukkah.”

I thought this was great. I would get my dad the “Happy Hanukkah” gift card. I thought it would be hilarious for a man who was kicked out of Palestine, grew up in refugee camps, and lived on UN rations to walk around with a “Happy Hanukkah” gift card. As a comedian, I was basically required to take advantage of this opportunity. My dad is a staunch lover of Palestine, but even he wouldn't turn down a $60 Marshall's gift card, no matter what was inscribed upon it.

I pulled the “Happy Hanukkah” gift card from the display and handed it to the pleasant young lady. Now, I should give a little note about where I grew up. I was raised in an area just outside of Philadelphia almost completely inhabited by very nice white people. I mean it was our family, an Indian family, a black family, and the rest were all white people. And we almost never had any problems. They loved us. They even elected my dad to the public school board. And this Marshall's manager was one of these very nice people.

I handed her the “Happy Hanukkah” gift card. She looked at the card, looked at me, looked at the card again, and looked at me again. Then she said, “You know this says ‘Hanukkah,’ right?”……… I paused, then said, “Yes, I know that.” She smiled, said “OK,” completed the transaction, gave me the card, and I walked out.

As I started to drive away, I thought, “Wait a second! That was messed up! What if I were a Jew? I would've been really offended! How dare she say that?” Then I realized something much bigger. I had just experienced real life anti-Semitism! I was a victim of rampant, ugly, disgusting anti-Semitism. This was horrible. I've experienced and seen lots of racism. But I've only read about anti-Semitism in history books, Wikipedia, and Palestinian textbooks.

But I was also thrilled to so glaringly discover that we Jews and Arabs share something very special. As it turns out, white people don’t like either of us. I always thought Jews were exaggerating about anti-Semitism. Boy, was I wrong.

I am not a Jew, but at that moment I felt the weight of thousands of years of persecution, discrimination, and oppression. I now know what it is like, in some small way, to be a Jew. Now, if only I could get through Israeli security with just a smile, I would be all set. I think I’ve earned my entry into the club. After all, I’m probably the first-ever Palestinian victim of anti-Semitism.

I mean, technically, we’re both Semites anyway. We both have big noses and neurotic moms. We’re both hairy and hate paying full price. The only real difference is that Jews are chosen by God, and we’re usually chosen by airport security.

I finally got home and gave my dad his gift card. He laughed. I get my sense of humor from him too. I also conveyed my experience of prejudice to him. I told him, “Can you believe she said that?” He replied, “Well, maybe she said that because Hanukkah is over.” I was shocked again. My dad knows when Hanukkah ends? I don't even know when it starts, or why it even exists. I know it's eight days long, but that's only because I heard it in an Adam Sandler song. If I were a Jew, I clearly wouldn't be a very good one.

As I thought about it, maybe he was right. I should give that Marshall’s manager the benefit of the doubt. After all, I could have been the first Jew she had ever encountered.

Now, for me, Christmas is really cool.  As I’ve mentioned before, both of my parents are Palestinian.  My father is Christian, and my mother is Muslim.  To some, this union might seem like it would produce some bizarre results.  It’s important to note, though, that all four of my parents’ children are great successes.  There’s a high school math teacher working at a prestigious school in Jordan, a management consultant working for a prestigious firm in Dubai, a music manager working for a prestigious artist in New York City, and me: a college student who started as a chemistry major, then received a degree in history, then a master’s degree in Middle East studies, then a law degree, and then became, logically, a comedian.  See, I’m not confused at all.

Growing up in my house was fun.  We celebrated everything: Eid, Easter, Eid, and Christmas.  One year we even celebrated Yom Kippur for good measure.  We moved to America when I was only three years old.  A few years after that, my grandmother moved here too.  And she lived with us.  Arab mother-in-laws are notoriously difficult.  They’re especially cranky when their Christian son marries a Muslim girl.  My grandmother came to this country because both of her children had moved here and my grandfather had passed away.  Unlike some others, we Arabs don’t leave our old people alone, and we don’t put them in retirement homes.  They live with us until we hang their picture on the wall.

I remember when my grandmother moved into our house, because she didn’t come alone.  She brought with her something extremely special.  She brought with her a memento of another famous Palestinian … a beautiful, huge portrait of the Virgin Mary.  That portrait stayed in our house until she passed away in 2005.  While I’ve been home for this holiday, I asked where that portrait was.  Only one person knew: my mom.  That’s right, my Muslim mom has been protecting that portrait of the Virgin Mary all this time.  She won’t tell anyone where it is… that’s how seriously she’s protecting it.  She won’t tell anyone… anyone.

My childhood was happy and fun.  And no time was ever more fun than Christmas.  My grandmother especially loved it.  She would get us lavish gifts, like homemade sweaters, striped socks, and collared shirts.  Hey, she lived most of her adult life surviving on food rations and donated clothes.  To her, new clothes were like a new Ferrari.  Actually, she had no idea what a Ferrari was.

My mom loved Christmas too.  She decorated the tree, cooked a great dinner, and made sure we got at least a couple of the things on our Christmas list.  My mom might be Muslim, but she definitely gets into the Christmas spirit.

Christmas for a Palestinian is bittersweet.  People around the world are celebrating something that happened in the place we call home.  And they visit Palestine to see things that we are proud to protect.  Remembering Jesus and Mary tells us once again that our history is deep, expansive, and proud.   It didn’t start in the year 1948.  It started before the years even had names.

But while Christmas allows us Palestinians to dwell on our treasured history, it is also a present reminder of where we are today.  Like Jesus, we have been told that we do not belong in Palestine.  Like us, he was told that his stories have no place there.  Like him, we have been driven out.  Like us, he fought against power.  Like him, we refuse to shut up.

Jesus is revered in both Christianity and Islam.  As my saying goes, “Muslims are nice, they love Jesus Christ.”  His tradition is protected by all of us, Muslims and Christians alike.  We Palestinians have always stayed linked by our common stories and experiences.  Since Jesus is one of us, Muslims and Christians among us have always gotten along in his backyard.  My house just happens to be a place where they actually sleep in the same bed.

Jesus once said, “That which you do to the least of my brethren, you do to me.”  Those words hold especially true for Palestinians, as rockets, bulldozers, and prime ministers don’t care whether or not their victims eat pork.  They want to do away with us either way.

Now, I’m not too religious, but I love celebrating this particular Palestinian’s birthday every December 25.  I particularly love remembering the truest parallel between him and us, his brethren 2000 years later.  Like him, we spend our days telling our stories to anyone who will listen.  We're protecting everything that belonged to Jesus, including the truth.

Now, to be fair to the FFA and its leaders, I can only assume they know little to nothing about Muslims, despite their best efforts to speak as experts on the subject.  But I can't blame them too much.  For years, all they have seen on TV and the news are evil and scary Muslims.  Maybe they’ve seen “True Lies,” where Muslims are screaming, murderous terrorists who want to kill Arnold Schwarzenegger.  Or maybe they’ve seen “The Siege,” where Muslims are screaming, murderous terrorists who want to kill Denzel Washington. Or maybe they’ve seen “Back to the Future,” where Muslims are screaming, murderous terrorists who force Michael J Fox back into 1955. Or maybe they’ve seen every Chuck Norris... ever.

Or maybe they’ve simply been watching too much FOX News and Bill O'Reilly, who told us, “Muslims killed us on 9/11.”  He has also said there is a “Muslim problem,” and that “for every Muslim in the world who wants democracy or human rights, there's one who doesn't.”  I’m pretty good at math.  That’s half.  That’s bad.  That's definitely a scary statistic, other than the fact that it is totally untrue.  Saying “Muslims killed us on 9/11” is just dumb. Imagine if after Timothy McVeigh committed his crime, someone said, “Christians killed us in Oklahoma City.”  Imagine if in the wake of the scandal in the Catholic Church, someone said, “Catholics molested our young boys.”  Or imagine if after watching an episode of Jersey Shore, someone said, “Italians are ruining our summer vacations.”  Just imagine.

Saying sweeping, racist things about Muslims, however, is simply part of American discourse.  This all happens because Arabs and Muslims are seen as threatening, menacing, and foreign.  Racism against us is just different. People avoid young black men because they're afraid they might lose their money. But people avoid young Muslim men because they're afraid they might lose their freedom. Someone might handover is wallet, but he might kill for his freedom.

It was as a result of this environment of Islamophobia that Lowe’s pulled its ads from “All American Muslim.”  As a show of my disgust with their move, I returned $2600 worth of appliances to their store.  And I was totally pissed off, not because Lowe’s was being racist, but because, as a good Arab, I searched long and hard for that good deal. And now I have to do it all over again.

The truth of the matter is that Muslims and Arabs love freedom.  They line up for American visas. They have been leaving their societies for decades, coming to America for freedom and opportunity.  Like everyone else, they come here for the three M’s: Money, Money, and Marilyn Monroe.

There's a possibility that the Florida Family Association might get its way in the end. Since its November 13 premiere, “All American Muslim” has been declining steadily in the ratings, most probably because it is a show about five pretty ordinary, mundane Muslim-American families. So far it has presented a young couple going through the anxieties of having their first child (just like any other young couple), the struggles of a young woman trying to open a new business (just like any other young woman), and the story of a high school football coach passionate about the growth of his young players (just like any other coach).

Now, the last episode of “All American Muslim” did show a white guy crying when he had to give up his dog.  And why did he have to do it?  Because of his Muslim wife!  I guess Muslims don't only hate freedom… they hate Lassie too.

“All American Muslim” was put on TV to show that Muslims might be just like everyone else. And if it gets canceled, it will be because it actually showed that Muslims are just like everyone else. And seriously, who wants to watch that?

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Watch Amer return his stuff to Lowe's

Newt on CNN: “I believe that the Jewish people have the right to have a state.”
Me at home: “OK…”
Newt on CNN: “Remember, there was no Palestine as a state. It was part of the Ottoman Empire.”
Me at home: “Uh oh.”
Newt on CNN: “And I think we’ve had an invented Palestinian people, who are in fact Arabs, who are historically part of the Arab community.”
Me at home: “Huh?”

Now, as a Palestinian, I’ve heard a lot of racist stuff about us.  I’ve heard Abba Eban say that Palestinians “never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity.”  I’ve heard Menachem Begin call us “beasts” and Ehud Barak call us “crocodiles.”  I’ve even heard Ariel Sharon say he would “kill as many Arabs as necessary.”

But now, we’re “invented”?  I’m still not sure what it means.  So, were we there before Israel? Were we not there?  Lies about us usually have some level of clarity.  But this one is just confusing.  I want to be mad.  I do.  But I just don’t know what to do.

Now, to be fair, Newt does have some company.  Golda Meir was the Prime Minister of Israel from 1969-1974 and she said a lot of stuff about us.  Most famously, she told the world, “There is no such thing as a Palestinian people... It is not as if we came and threw them out and took their country. They didn't exist.”  When addressing the Palestinian right of return to their homeland, she stated, “We shall not let this happen.”  She defiantly told us, “Arab sovereignty in Jerusalem just cannot be.” And to top it all of, she declared, “How can we return the occupied territories? There is no one to return them to.”

So I guess Newt Gingrich can claim some sort of camaraderie with Golda Meir.  But it’s nothing to be proud of.  She was more evil than Ann Coulter, Casey Anthony, Lady Macbeth, Meryl Streep in “The Devil Wears Prada”…  combined.

Of course, Newt was just trying to cozy up to Jewish voters in America by telling them something he believed they wanted to hear.  But doesn’t he know that denying our existence is out of style?  Even the Israelis now acknowledge our existence.  Benjamin Netanyahu calls us a “demographic threat.”  See Newt, you can’t be a threat if you don’t exist!

But being “invented” might not be that bad.  People have invented things that were really good for people, like penicillin, the smoke detector, and seatbelts.  A lot of really cool stuff was invented too, like the Internet, the iPhone, and Twinkies.  But I listened to Newt’s tone when he spoke.  Somehow I don’t think he meant we were a “good” invention.  My suspicion is that he was lumping us in with the bad inventions, like the Snuggie, the Macarena, and Farmville.  I think he meant the world “invented” the Palestinians, just like it “invented,” say, Kim Kardashian.

In last night’s Republican debate, Newt staunchly defended his comments, saying that what he said was “factually accurate.”  But he didn’t stop there.  He said Palestinians were “terrorists,” and that we have hateful entries in our textbooks like, “if there are 13 Jews and 9 Jews are killed, how many Jews are left?”  The claim that that sort of stuff is in Palestinian textbooks is, of course, false and racist.  But in case he was wondering, the answer is 4.  We’re not a bunch of inhumane terrorists, but we're not dumb either.

At any rate, we Palestinians have been around for a very long time.  Just ask Jesus.  But all this talk about inventions does remind me of another famous Israeli quote spoken by David Ben-Gurion, the chief “inventor” of Israel:

Jewish villages were built in the place of Arab villages. You do not even know the names of these Arab villages, and I do not blame you because geography books no longer exist. Not only do the books not exist, the Arab villages are not there either. Nahlal arose in the place of Mahlul, Kibbutz Gvat in the place of Jibta, Kibbutz Sarid in the place of Huneifis, and Kefar Yehushua in the place of Tal al-Shuman. There is not a single place built in this country that did not have a former Arab population.

We were not “invented.”  But our struggle was… by the same people that deny it today.