Today I had two very different experiences with Uber drivers in Birmingham.
I don’t generally wear my kippah when walking around in England. This morning was no exception.
Upon arriving from London at the city’s Moor Street Railway Station, I was picked up by a driver named Ahmed.
He asked where I was visiting from. I mumbled something about having come from America (technically true; I flew in from New York the other day) and left it at that.
A few minutes later, he commented on the heat and mentioned that he was from East Africa.
In an effort to make conversation, I asked where in East Africa. “Somaliland,” he answered.
I sensed an opening.
“I actually live in Israel,” I said.
“Shalom!” he said, breaking into a grin. “We are friends now!”
We ended up chatting happily about the newly established ties between our two countries. I noted that his president had just visited Jerusalem and he told me that if I ever visit Somaliland’s capital, Hargeisa, I’ll find the streets lined with Israeli flags. “You now have more Muslim friends!” he said.
I asked if he visits home and he said he does, usually via either the UAE or Ethiopia. “Soon I’ll be able to fly through Tel Aviv,” he said excitedly.
When I got out, I expressed the hope that we might meet again in Jerusalem. He said he hoped so too and again said “Shalom!” before waving goodbye.
My journey back to the train, however, was somewhat less cheery.
I ordered an Uber and a driver named Muhammad accepted the ride.
As the app showed him approaching the address, I went outside, forgetting that I still had my kippah on after visiting family.
He pulled up to the curb and waited. I approached the car, about to get in.
As soon as he saw my kippah, however, he abruptly sped up and drove off.
Moments later, the trip was cancelled and the app started trying to find me a new driver.
Two drivers. Two very different experiences.
Life as a Jew in 2026.
