The two musicians tuned quietly before the rehearsal.

The bassist wore a black-and-white keffiyeh around his neck.

The pianist a Star of David.

For several minutes neither mentioned either one.

Finally the pianist spoke.

“I suppose we’re going to have the conversation.”

The bassist smiled.

“Which one?”

“The one everyone else is already having for us.”

The bassist nodded.

“Probably.”

The pianist played a chord.

“I wear this because Palestinians deserve dignity.”

The pianist looked at him.

“I wear this because Jews deserve not to be murdered just because they’re Jews”

“I figured.”

“Me too.”

The bassist hesitated.

“You know, people keep assuming that if I wear this, I must hate Jews.”

“And people assume if I wear this, I must agree with every action of Israel’s government.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“You?”

“No.”

The drummer, who had been quietly assembling cymbals, looked up.

“Would either of you mind arguing after the soundcheck? I still have to figure out why my floor tom sounds like wet cardboard.”

The bassist resumed tuning.

“My grandfather left Palestine.”

The pianist nodded slowly.

“Mine survived Europe.”

Neither story cancelled the other.

The pianist touched the keys.

“The audience will probably spend more time looking at what’s around our necks than listening to what comes from our fingers.”

“For sure.”