You Are Germany

All I had in the refrigerator was a jar of strawberry jelly and an old pepper, puckering under in its glossy red skin. Amidst moving into a new apartment in Berlin, I had neglected to go grocery shopping. It was time to head out into the winter morning for some food, but the little vegetable "Laden" on the corner was closed, as was the larger supermarket a block away. Panic began to set in as it struck me: It was Sunday and nearly all the stores in Germany were closed.

Returning home and mentally drawing up strawberry-pepper recipes, I happened to glance into a small sliver of a storefront called Beirut-Express. A nearby tabletop was strewn with fresh mint and the proprietor soon emerged from behind the counter to continue sorting it. Seeing me, he came to the entrance and opened up early for a hungry girl. Soon I was enjoying a warm "shawarma" and talking to him about our neighborhood.

Becoming a local

The closest I’ve ever been to Lebanon is Israel, where I peered across the disputed border at the little white villages nestled in distant hills. Even there, Lebanon seemed far away, yet I like to think the taste of the country is familiar to me, thanks to the owners of Beirut Express. Eating at their place, I discovered that they were local figures and their cuisine pulled in loyal regulars. Their son worked there too, and he helped acquaint me with our "kiez," doling out tips as he carefully dribbled swirls of tahini on my sandwich.

When I moved out of the city, I stopped by the shop to tell the family how much I had enjoyed living nearby and they made me promise to visit again next time I was in town.

I recently returned to Berlin and moved to another part of Kreuzberg a couple kilometers away. It took fewer than 48 hours to locate a comparably delicious locale, whose owner, a German citizen with Lebanese roots, is equally hospitable. After 40 years in Berlin, he tells me stories about how the city has changed.

You are Germany

Despite the moments of neighborliness in Kreuzberg, residents of the bordering "Bezirk" Neukölln recently elected two members of the right-wing extremist National Democratic Party (NPD) to the neighborhood parliament. Like Kreuzberg, Neukölln is widely settled by Middle Eastern and particularly Turkish immigrants, so it's especially unsettling that NPD-member Thomas Vierk says he no longer feels like he's in Germany when he walks down the street. Apparently, the local voters who chose him agree.

Yet Germany is striving to combat prejudices against a certain segment of the citizenry. The old view of “Germanness” as a trait inherited through blood is being done away with through revised citizenship laws that allow those without German parents to become citizens more easily.

Publicly-funded poster advertisements for the Berlin soccer team emphasize solidarity over discrimination, showing players with several skin-tones who explain, “We are all white and blue,” the team’s colors.

A 2005 nation-wide public relations campaign that aimed to cheer up the population with uplifting commercials also worked on hammering home the message of “Germanness” linked to citizenship rather than ancestry. A notably diverse cast of residents with various ethnic backgrounds promised, “You are Germany.”

Good will comes through

Living in Berlin has shown me that these ads aren’t just lip-service to the idea of a globalization-era, ethnically-diverse population. Rather, the city truly is full of proud Germans of different backgrounds eager to share their home with newcomers and foreigners, including hungry newbies still getting used to shopping-free Sundays and a new society. That they do so in the midst of prejudice targeting them as unwanted foreigners only makes their good will more impressive.

Perhaps the government’s efforts to combat xenophobia will truly have come to fruition the day Mr. Vierk stops by Beirut Express for a "shawarma" of his own.