From Beirut to Tel-Aviv...

Beirut and Tel-Aviv are two sides of the same coin, and yet the two names are rarely combined in one sentence, except in the context of the war between Israel and Lebanon. Both have a stunning coastal line, which make for a breathtaking airplane landing. Both have incoherent architectural style, which illogically make for a charming whole. Both have an ethnic hodge pot, which makes for an uneasy coexistence. Both are generously showered by the rays of sun, as by the rays of bullets, which in the case of Beirut can still be seen echoing off the walls of abandoned buildings. Both are left leaning in their respective national contexts. The inhabitants of both consume mountains of tabouli salad and hummous on a daily basis. This list can go on for pages.

Beirut and Tel-Aviv are of course proxies for a larger similarities between Israel and Lebanon which share a border, but nothing else. No Israeli can enter Lebanon and no one with an Israeli stamp in the passport will be allowed either. The same largely applies in the other direction. Friends in Lebanon tell me that their parents used to be able to drive from Beirut to West Bank, including Israel's proper, and back to Beirut in one day. That will probably remain a dream for decades to come, even if Iran somehow falters and even if Hezbollah's formidable powers are diminished, which is difficult to imagine seeing how it runs a state within a state, in addition to playing the formal political game.

The awareness of an average Lebanese of Israel is virtually non-existent, except for the military might of its tiny but belligerent neighbor, which showers Lebanon with rockets from time to time, the last time being in a not so far away 2006. My Lebanese friends tell me stories of life going on "business as usual" during the war: of them going to the office, hearing shelling of south Beirut, of setting up shelters for those dispossessed from the Hezbollah's areas, of going out in Gemaizeh at night.

Likewise, the Israelis shrink and shudder when they hear something, anything, about Lebanon. For them, Lebanon equals Hezbollah and Hezbollah equals rocket grenades and anti-semitism. I doubt they can imagine that Lebanon's largest synagogue prospers in central Beirut, despite the fact that the Jewish population sadly counts only about 400 Jews, too tired to move or too tied to their land. I doubt they can fathom that Beirut, on the whole, is one of the most liberal cities in the Middle East, that lives for its reclaimed restaurants and shisha pipes and skimpy clad, cosmetically remade ladies. I doubt that they could believe that war is as far from the mind of an average Lebanese as from the mind of an average left leaning Israeli.

And yet, despite this prevailing sentiment of peace and party over grenades and tanks in both Beirut and Tel Aviv, the reality is a little dimmer in both places. Checkpoints staffed by uneasy-looking young men can be found both in the mountains just an hour's drive from Beirut and across Israel and the West Bank. Holidays or celebrations are a particularly weary time in both countries, with military potentially outweighing any civilian presence on the street. That was certainly the case of the parade celebrating Lebanon's independence from the French mandate last week. Given the track record of assassinations in both countries from Izhak Rabin to Rafiq Hariri, it is hardly surprising. On the streets of Lebanon, one can still get in traffic behind a tank.

The only difference is that the Israeli military power is formal and supported by a sophisticated military apparatus, whereas Lebanon's power has nothing to do with its official military but everything to do with Hezbollah, which these days controls much more in Lebanon than tanks and rockets. The fact that Hezbollah's army stretches from south Beirut to south Lebanon is hardly a secret. A lesser known fact is that Hezbollah has an entirely parallel system of government, including parallel schools with a different curriculum, parallel system of hospitals and prisons, and that this fearsome militia owns land all over Lebanon, where presumably some time down the line, it plans to use to settle loyalists, the same way French government tries to build low income housing in the middle of the most bourgeois neighborhoods in Paris.

The parallel between the two countries belies the war and peace politics of the Middle East. It is in the air, expressing itself in how Lebanese and Israelis love, hate, eat and drink. The huge artistic undercurrents in both countries. The exposed brick art galleries of central Beirut and their siblings in Yaffa, on the shore of Tel Aviv. The overpowering role of finance and banks in the economies of the two countries. The business tycoons controlling most of the economy through a sophisticated corporate group structure, spanning banks and industrial companies. The role of expatriates in the performance and even the survival of the state. It is estimated that for every Lebanese in the country, there are about 3 expatriates aroad. In the case of Israel, the diaspora has also not been unimportant, particularly in North America.

Both are insecure of its neighbors and of themselves. Israel carefully observes from behind the self imposed burqa, looking carefully at the Palestinians, Lebanese, Egyptian and Syrians and wondering from where the next punch will come. Likewise, Lebanon looks not only to its larger neighbour, Syria, but also to Israel which could shower it with bullets, shells and grenades if Hezbollah, which the Lebanese government does not control, decides to make one step past the porous border. The two countries are akin to self conscious neighbors, hiding behind the doors of their respective apartments, which, like it or not, are situated on the same floor. Behind each door hide beautiful women, so self conscious that cosmetic surgery remains the only option for survival.

And yet, if I had to isolate the important things that the two people share, whether they like it or not, is the sunshine of the Middle East, its incredible hospitality, the human warmth, its unpredictable spontaneity. All these variables add up to make life which is lived for the moment, as opposed to in five minutes, in five days or five years. And life is not the same when one lives for the moment. In the Western world, we all try to capture the moment, to live for today but we can't manage it because we simply don't know how to, because it is unnatural for us, because deep down we hope that tomorrow will be better, and because we are fairly confident that tomorrow exists, that there will be no bombing, and that life will go on, boring and predictable.

We don't wake up to see the bullet markets which decorate the walls of hundreds of buildings of Beirut, reminding - every day - its inhabitants of their mistakes and their dangers. We don't pass by the plaques in front of restaurants and bars, diligently listing those that got killed by suicide bombers. We don't live in an explosive ethic mix of Bedouins, Druze, Jews, Sunnis, Shia, and Christians and the fear that one day, our little world of Jews or Druze will have to be uprooted, demolished, or somehow marginalized. We don't need to have the same sense of fraternity that unites the peoples of Israel or Lebanon, despite their diverse and sometimes opposing backgrounds and history.

We can live in our egotistical bubble, for ourselves, despite what our religions tells us about brotherhood and sharing and all the other good stuff. And we do - live for ourselves, for tomorrow, for some distant hope of something intangible. It might be more prudent and rational, but it is certainly less inspiring. On the other hand, in Beirut and Tel-Aviv life both is inspired and inspiring. And while the Lebanese and the Israelis might see themselves as being on the opposite sides of the world, they might just be on the two sides of the same coin instead. One can only hope that in a not too distant future, the Lebanese would be able to drive freely to the West Bank and Jerusalem, like they used to do, some sixty years ago and that for Israelis, Lebanon would stop equalling Hezbollah. Until then, the road from Beirut to Tel Aviv will remain an imaginary silk route that unites these two peoples, who both live for today for the fear of not seeing tomorrow.