This was a special day: I received my Master of Laws from Georgetown University. But what made it particularly special is that it came 11 years after the time my dad did not speak to me for three weeks.
In 2005 I received my law degree from the Interdisciplinary Center in Herzliya, Israel. I skipped my graduation because I didn’t want to sit in a long, boring ceremony with speeches and formalities.
When my father realized that the ceremony had already taken place, and that he and my mother weren’t there because I chose not to go and hadn’t even told them about it, he refused to speak to me. Not even “good morning.” I never saw him more upset or sad.
I thought he was exaggerating. I did not understand why he was so interested in attending those long, pointless ceremonies. But a few weeks afterward, when his anger was softened by his love, he explained it to me.
My father grew up in a poor family. As a kid, he was a troublemaker who got kicked out of six schools for bad, often violent behavior. This changed at the age of 13, when his father, who was an electrician, fell from an electricity pole and died on the spot.
Suddenly, my grandfather was not around to take care of a widow and five children. It wouldn’t have been surprising if that would’ve broken the family apart, if the sadness would’ve turned into fear, and if that fear would’ve been translated into frustration and anger. Many families collapse in similar circumstances. But not mine.
Instead, my father took upon himself the role of the father figure. He read the letters that came in the mail to his mother, who could not speak Hebrew, and took care of the bills. He made sure his siblings did not fall into the dangers of the streets, and he decided to invest in his education, knowing that education was the only way to build a future for himself and his family.
He got himself together and graduated high school. His appetite grew, and he wanted to go to university, so he enrolled in Tel Aviv University to study accounting. However, it cost a lot of money, money he didn’t have. His mother gave him whatever she could from her husband’s pension, his brother helped him, and my dad worked two jobs, all to try and get him through university.
But it was too much, and after one semester, he dropped out. He told me how hard it was to see his classmates come to school with their tidy white shirts, while he arrived at his morning class soaked through with rain after delivering mail since 4 a.m.
That could easily have become the breaking point, but not in my father’s case. Rather than falling into despair, he continued believing in the hope that comes with hard work and faith. He took courses in tax advising and married a wonderful woman I’m honored to call my mother. Together, they built their own business from scratch.
The beginning was tough, but they were determined to succeed, and so within a few years their small business became the most successful tax advising office in Jaffa, where my family’s history went back 400 years. My parents did well, and then they had me and my two amazing sisters.
But even though he had a successful business and a loving family, and even though he became the leader of his community, there was always something paining him — that he never got the chance to graduate from university.
Therefore, he made sure that me and my sisters (and cousins) would get an academic education. What he could not do himself, he made sure that we would. For us, and for him.
For this reason, when I showed disrespect for my graduation ceremony, it was as if I held his entire life journey in disdain. For that, even though it’s been 11 years, I will never forgive myself.
But today was a special day. Unfortunately, God took my father away seven years ago, and he was not there with me in Washington in body, but he was there in spirit. I could sense it.
So this diploma (with distinction, just like you wanted) is for you and for everything you stood for, baba.
George Deek is a diplomat in Israel’s Foreign Ministry. He is a Fulbright Scholar at Georgetown University Law School and an Israeli Arab who grew up in Jaffa.