The Kitchen That Undid My Doctrine

From Pizza to Peace: How Economy Can Override Ideology.

I’ve been in many places in this world, but one of the most formative was Richmond, Virginia. It was there, in a modest pizza restaurant in the downtown, owned by a Sudanese man, that I met Boris—my first and only Jewish friend. A handsome blond guy with piercing blue eyes, Boris was the delivery boy. I worked in the kitchen alongside the Sudanese owner, whose name I’ve forgotten but whose kindness I never will—as we used to go to the Fajr prayer, the dawn prayer, together. There, I would give the religious sermon and lead the prayer, having memorized the entire Qur’an.

Here’s the twist: both the Sudanese man and I were Salafists. You could say Hamas-level indoctrinated. We had consumed the antisemitic rhetoric of Sayyid Qutb, Ibn Taymiyyah, Bin Baz, and Al-Qaradawi—and a huge amount of Al Jazeera content when it was circulating Bin Laden’s fatwas to the Arab world. I wasn’t just a follower; I was a preacher at the Old Dominion University mosque, even though I wasn’t enrolled there. Revered by the local Muslim community, I was regarded as a great sheikh at just 18 or 19 years old. I was even seriously planning to go make jihad in Chechnya or Afghanistan. My nickname—or nom de guerre, if you will—was Ibn al-Tayeb.

Yet despite the ideological weight I carried, I got along—beautifully—with Boris and the Sudanese owner. Boris, the Jew; the Sudanese, the Islamist; and me, somewhere in between—as I had grown up in an open-minded family, with a sister who went to the French mission while I attended a Saudi school, and a mother and sisters who never wore hijab. That duality shaped me: one foot in cosmopolitan curiosity, the other in doctrinal rigidity.

We made subs and pizzas for mostly African American customers, occasionally venturing into affluent white neighborhoods. But when Boris had deliveries in predominantly Black areas, I’d go with him—not because I was safer, but because he might not be. I was the brown buffer.

What I learned from that strange, beautiful triangle is this: economy overrides ideology. We worked together, laughed together, survived together. In that kitchen, the doctrines dissolved. The texts we had memorized became irrelevant. What mattered was the rhythm of the oven, the rush of orders, the shared humanity.

This microcosm mirrors the macro shifts in the Middle East. The Emiratis, the Moroccans, the Sudanese, and the Bahrainis—all four nations who signed the Abraham Accords (or Ibrahim Accords, or Avraham Accords)—still teach the old doctrines, still nod to the scholars who shaped generations to hate Jews. Yet they’re shaking hands with Israelis. They’re signing deals, building tech corridors, exchanging tourists. The normalization is real, even if the textbooks haven’t caught up.

What we need now is not just normalization, but transformation. Mute the doctrines. Replace them with economic opportunity. Israel has much to offer the Arab world—technology, agriculture, medicine, innovation, and of course, AI technology. And instead of lusting for lands in the West Bank, as some settlers do—tarnishing the democratic and humanist nature of Israel—Israel could inherit something far greater: the trust and partnership of the entire Middle East, through peace. And with that trust, Israelis may find themselves not merely holding onto the West Bank, but welcomed into a region far larger and richer than they ever dreamed. Just think about it.

The irony is rich, and the lesson is clear: ideology may divide, but economy can unite. I saw it in Richmond. I see it in Riyadh. And I believe it can shape a future where the ovens stay hot, the hands stay busy, and the hearts stay open.