One More Kind Cup of Coffee with Eitan Mor

Please do not be insulted by the title; just give it a read and this will make sense. I truly am writing this story from a place of love, admiration and mourning. This story is by far the biggest thing I have written so far, and I am excited and devastated to have the privilege-and the obligation-to write this. Most of my stories are my attempts of coping with the events in my life and in reflection, learning from my mistakes. For the first time, I am writing about so much more than myself or wisdom passed down. I present to you a story about a strong stranger with a kind heart and impeccable music taste: Eitan Mor. 

The anthology series “Boring Stories about Interesting People” started off as a pick-up line, my excuse to coax attractive people to want to talk to me because I didn’t believe that my heart or skin was pretty enough on its own. And I felt like this for a long time, but truly enjoyed  talking to people from all walks of life. After a mile in their shoes, I would walk away a better person. For years, I used this line to strike up conversations in places where I felt too uncomfortable for a direct hook and it has always led to a cup of coffee. This story, though, is different-it also leads to a cup of coffee, but I hope one day, it will lead to another. 

In the summer of 2023, I lived in Jerusalem and had the time of my life. I fell in love with a boy who completely changed my life, who taught me that it is okay to open my heart. That pain comes with love and in avoiding the previous, I will never experience the latter. But this story is not about him. It is about a stranger who taught me that strangers are not so strange after all. They are people with stories, long enthralling lively stories, and we are lucky to be all written into the same book of life. 

I may not be in his story, but he is a part of mine-and this is his story. I doubt he remembers me, a mildly socially awkward girl with a lot of personality in a coffee shop on a random July day. Beautiful (she is just starting to realize it), bubbly with blemishes, sipping bubbling coffee blushing at the barista with beautiful bursting eyes (he doesn’t realize that this upcoming unforgettable interaction might be one of his last). I will always remember him, as the hero he became on the black Saturday and as the boy making black coffee who took time out of his day to brighten mine. 

There is a very popular coffee shop in Jerusalem called Roasters, which serves the best קפה קר in all of Jerusalem-sorry…served. It is on the corner of Betzalel, Shmuel HaNagid and of the past, present, and future. Well known to locals, but a hidden gem from tourists like my former self-who never would have guessed this place exists or they could meet people like Eitan. I don’t want to recount the details of exactly why I went to Roasters that day, it’s not one of my proudest moments. My mental energy is better spent describing Eitan’s eyes, which were like gleaming gates to his shimmering soul.

At the time, I was not a big coffee drinker, but a love-struck girl, in love with the beautiful country she was blessed to be in, surrounded by what felt like billions of new places and people to explore. The grand love I experienced ended in heartbreak, but it led me to a hero who inspired me to try to become one myself. 

On a warm summer's day in the heart of the Holy Land, I found myself sleep-deprived and in need of some quick energy, and boy was I in for a shock. Google maps and the “heel toe express” (my sprained ankle and cheap sneakers) guided me through all different types of Israeli traffic and intimidating cafes before I finally decided to bite the bullet and order “cafe car” in Hebrew. My burning olive skin bursted through into the shop, welcomed by a gentle greeting.   

My Hebrew sounded more like English than I would like to admit. Embarrassment brushed the first layer of blush on my face as my eyes closed, ready to run out of there. But before I could squint, I was met with a kind stare, and a comforting, not as accented as I imagined, English voice. I couldn’t speak Hebrew nevermind starbucks with the venti grande frappiato crap, so he simply asked me about myself. What I was doing in Israel, what kind of person I was and what I liked in general. From my frazzled answers, he knew exactly what to make me. While brewing my beverage, we conversed about his studies and he recommended some shawarma places that I needed to try. I was sad when my coffee was ready, because the chatter would turn to slurping, then to silence. The spark would sizzle into steam and slip away. 

Luckily, our time together never truly slipped away, for I get to struggle to put this sentimental memory into words. On the back of my receipt, he scribbled down different Snoop songs that he loved, insisting I need to listen to them. A sweet gesture that I never thought much of until it was too late. The receipt sits encased in a closed box entrapped in the house of my estranged family. Estranged because despite how much they love me and would have liked him, they would only see him as just an Israeli, not as Eitan. An Israeli who was therefore responsible for the “genocide” in Gaza, the “apartheid” of Arabs and because he has Israeli citizenship,  single handedly took part in all of the “war crimes.” Little do they know, that receipt was the golden ticket to the next step of my life. 

After that first taste of Eitan, I would return to roasters many times, hoping to keep the pot brewing and the good times flowing. The few times I saw him, I was too shy to go back and say hi-afraid that he wouldn’t remember me and I would embarrass myself all over again. Fearing that I'd become just another annoying American that stumbled upon his quaint little coffee shop. But when I did, I was once again welcomed by his beautiful eyes and sparkling smile, forgetting all of the fear that held me back. As I write this, I regret every one of the times I turned my back on him, every time that I forfeited the chance to have one more additional conversation, to learn a little more about this ordinarily extraordinary person.

That's the thing, Eitan is not a special person-and yet, he is. He is just an ordinary guy who took a few minutes out of his day a few times to get to know an ordinary girl. I remember telling my boyfriend at the time about what an interesting guy he was, a sweet memory I would have of Israel when I returned back to my life across the world. A cute story to tell when people ask me about Israelis, and my ex-boyfriend told me that he sounded like a classic Israeli guy. There are millions of Israelis and billions of global citizens, each one special in their own way. But he specifically taught me about the power of kindness, and the importance of being kind to everyone we encounter. 

He could have simply grudged, made my coffee and stormed off to smoke, like many Israeli baristas, but instead, he chose to break the social barrier and genuinely ask about me. He saw a timid scared girl enter, and then a calm, comforted (and caffeinated) one exit with a newfound confidence. His intentional kindness made my day much better-and, I’m sure, many others’ too. That day was notably bad for me. I had taken a test with positive results that were not cause for celebration and a torturous 8 weeks ahead of me, before my curse would be ridden. I couldn’t talk about this with anyone and cried for hours all across Jerusalem, but not at Roasters. Not with Eitan. For a few minutes, I was not a floozy failure, I was just a girl talking to a boy.

He reminded me that there are millions of Israelis and billions of people that I do not know yet, each with stories like his. And they are waiting for me to ask them to get a cup of coffee and recount stories, life and wisdom. Eitan taught me that no matter what, we have the ability to put a smile on someone else’s face. And we should always try to do so-to make others feel the same way he made me feel.

Eitan and I never had the chance to sit down together, slowly sipping coffee, laughter filling the air, and music filling our souls. I went back to the states, and faced my battles with the sabra spirit that he instilled into me. The next few months were very challenging for me, but I faced them with the same smile he cracked at me. Little did I know, the battle he was going to face was much worse. 

So, why am I writing about Eitan? 

Because right now, Eitan is not just an ordinary person, his face and many more paint the posters of those kidnapped in the worst massacre of the Jewish people since the Holocaust. The posters that Pro Palestine supporters love to rip as they try to shred our souls. He and hundreds of other hostages have had to endure over a year of starvation, psychological warfare, and despicable abuse I cannot even fathom to describe. While the rest of the world is trying to portray the Israelis held hostage as perpetrators of the “occupations” or enforcers of the “apartheid”, I want to show the truth. That everyone is a human being who has touched countless lives of not just loved ones or Israelis, but of strangers (who are also just people) from all over the world. I am privileged to be an American citizen and want other Americans, especially because a majority are anti Israel and pro Hamas, to hear about not an “evil Israeli” but a bright barista, whose light still shines across the world. 

Eitan is a hero, tirelessly rescuing as many party goers as he could, and hiding the bodies of the deceased so they could hopefully have an Israeli burial. He once again, did not only his job as a security guard, but chose to spend every monumental mortifying moment on that dark morning to ensure less people would suffer the same pain he was destined to. There is not enough that I can do to thank him or show my respect to his family for all the impact he has had on me from up close and afar. If anybody were to be featured in this series, it is him. If reading this could convince one more person to campaign for his release, to stand up against antisemitism-then I will get over my fear and awkwardness and share his story. If I did my job right, then the reader on the other side will open their hearts just like he did. 

I have wanted to release this series for years, but I never found a way to string all of my words together. It wasn’t really a pressing matter, because deep down, I have always believed that they would emerge at the right time. This specific person amidst the dozens I have interviewed, Eitan, does not have the time for me to wait to share his moving tale about kindness to a stranger who really needed it. Every day, Eitan is tortured by terrorists in the Gaza Strip and we do not know how much longer he has. I believe that he is alive, I hope that he is alive, I pray that he is alive.

My dream is for him to read this little story and get a chuckle out of it. I hope that he can tell his friends and family about how ridiculous I sound with my fear of socializing and speaking Hebrew and make fun of my Americackit אווירה. It would be a dream come true to sit down and have one more cup of coffee not only from him, but with him. Thank him for his brave actions on October 7, for surviving in Gaza, for his kindnesses, forever changing my life and most importantly, for putting me on to Snoop Dogg. 

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