Last Saturday I took my family for a nice trip in Tel Aviv. We went to the Sarona area for the first time. I really liked the place, a lot of families walking around enjoying the sun, couples and youngsters flooding coffee shops, kids, cats and dogs running everywhere: A perfect afternoon!

We had not eat anything and it started to get late, but we did not want to eat at a regular coffee shop or pizzeria, we wanted Asian food! But how to find it at such popular place? When we almost gave up, I couldn't believe my eyes. There, hidden in the corner, between the ice cream shop and an Italian pizzeria, the light of hope we were looking for: a noodles restaurant.

A nice environment, happy people, almost no queuing, awesome! Life could not be better! We arrived.

Be the first to know - Join our Facebook page.


The hostess was standing at the entrance with a notebook and pen in hands. We walked to her and asked for a table for 3 adults and 2 babies, she said the restaurant was full and we should put our names on the waiting list. She added that it would take about 20 minutes and she would call us then.


Since my kids were starving, we decided that 20 minutes would be handy to nurse them while waiting somewhere on the grass. And that was what we did. Time up and nothing, so I went to see what was going on. Upon arrival the hostess told me that there was a free table, a very small one located in the entrance near the queue where people were standing, smoking, talking, complaining and waiting for their table.

I told her that a small table did not fit our needs since we were five, besides people were smoking and we had babies. I added that we would not mind to wait a bit more, but 30 minutes had already passed... when out of the blue and looking at my brand new mustache she said: “
This is what we have for you, either take it or end up with nothing”.

You know that moment you feel every single blood cell boiling inside your body? That was it. I told her that it was not beseder, that from there I could see a half-empty restaurant and I would like to talk to her manager. She just walked away totally ignoring me, as if I was invisible.

I have never experienced prejudice so deep. I was not sure what the reason was, but I swear it was prejudice. It could be for a few reasons. So I started listing them up: maybe because my Brazilian accent? No, I do not think so, that usually works the other way around. Then maybe because of the babies? Nah, I see other families with babies crying and strollers parked near their table. Could it be because my mom is here with me and her skin color is darker? Hopefully that was not the reason... my mustache then! Yes, I am quite sure it was my brand new mustache!

It happened to me a night before while shaving that I decided to leave a mustache like my father. I thought it would make me look older and finally get some respect while queuing in Israel. However my wife was the first one to discourage me: “
You look like Borat! Take it out right now!” She said laughing out loud. Just because I am a nudnik sometimes with her I decided to leave it.

Yes, I was judged by my mustache. It could be that the attending girl once had a mustached boyfriend that left her and therefore resulted in her throwing all her accumulated hatred on me or maybe I looked like a terrorist and they were afraid of me plotting a bomb attack after eating my
pad thai. Never mind, sometimes people judge us for the most ridiculous reasons.

We decided to give up and went back home to have an omelet for dinner. Upon arrival home, I shaved off my potential prejudice trigger. In that same day I went to bed feeling bad. Not because what happened to me, but for the other people who many times suffer prejudice because of reasons they cannot shave off. It is a pity that still nowadays we are not able to lay down our razors and perceive others as part of the same. 



Relevant to your professional network? Please share on Linkedin
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this blog article are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the official position or viewpoint of The Jerusalem Post. Blog authors are NOT employees, freelance or salaried, of The Jerusalem Post.

Think others should know about this? Please share