A dear friend of mine got ill, and was hospitalized in "apartheid" Israel . . .

. . . here is her story:

I live in Israel and I was hospitalized. Here’s how things went:

I called the medical center. A guy with a Jewish name and an Israeli accent answered. Heard what I had to say, urged me to stay on the line while he’s transferring me to a nurse. A female with an Arabic accent answered and made sure I know I’m not alone and that she is sending an ambulance my way.

The ambulance team arrived, hugging me with their care. On the way, we suddenly stopped and two of them ran out of the ambulance. I prayed it wasn’t another terrorist attack they rushed to and thankfully it wasn’t. An elderly man passed out on the boardwalk. One of the guys stayed with him and we continued on our way to the hospital, where a bunch of people with all kinds of accents spoke to me, deciding where to send me next.

At the ER, a nurse wearing a hijab took care of me. She wasn’t the smiling type, but I got her to laugh a few times while also slightly fainting occasionally, her helping me back to my feet and walking hand in hand with me to my bed. Then, after being checked by a very handsome doctor, who wasn’t a smiling type either, with whom I nearly fainted as well and not due to his handsomeness, I was brought to my new room by an Ethiopian Jewish, religious male.

We spoke about the upcoming holiday and he said he wished his kids wanted to celebrate at his place, rather than forcing him to go to their place. Seeing how he had no say on the matter, he gave in, while holding onto some opinions (with a chuckle).

A variety of backgrounds - Jewish, Arab, Christian - healthcare professionals took care of me and other patients. My room neighbor, whom a second prior, I greeted with a fainting “hello”, immediately pointed to her cabinet and demanded I take all the cookies I wanted that she had stashed there.

Next night, the celebratory dinner table, with the most amount of pale faces I’ve seen on such occasion, Hebrew, Arabic, Russian and more were spoken.

Usually on Passover we say, “they tried to kill us, didn’t succeed, now let’s eat”. This would be ever so more fitting at this table if only we had the energy to go through the Haggadah.

We all wished each other to have a good meal and I gave my yoghurt to the visiting granddaughter of a woman sitting in front of me, in her pj’s, like the rest of us. She mainly spoke Arabic. There was warmth and friendliness among us all.

When leaving the hospital, I dragged my feet to the pharmacy, where I was met with a big smile and an “are you ok, you’re leaning on the wall!” - a hijab wearing pharmacist helped me get my sh*t together while, in my state I had no clue as to.. anything. She then urged me to “go sit there and eat something and drink something before you head home!”

In the lobby of the hospital/pharmacy/food court, there were religious Jewish families, non-religious Jewish families, Israeli religious Muslim families, Israeli non-religious Muslim families. And others. Plenty others.

In short - those who want to co-exist, do.