The Palestinian MBA
وَعَلَيْكُمُ ٱلسَّلَامُ
Read or listen. Narration by Wayne Lane.
December 2nd, 1974: Nineteen-year old Nabil Barakat was alone, afraid, with very little money, no place to live, and knowing only a few words of English. “I was at my wit’s end. I knew no one, didn’t know where to turn, or what to do. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman. She was looking right at me. She must have noticed my emotional distress.”
The woman was smiling as she stepped towards him. “Where are you from, young man?”
Nabil bit his lip. He struggled even with such a simple question. After trying to process each word, one by one, and though very proud of his Palestinian heritage, he hedged his bets, saying what many say, who want to avoid political litmus tests, lightning rods of ignorance, or out-of-favor ethnicities. “The Middle East.”
Her face lit up. “Are you from Jerusalem?”
He was shocked. “The Middle East” is vast. Yet this sweet, curious, somewhat peculiar woman managed to pick the city that was closest to Nabil’s heart, and he called home. However, though his Jerusalem roots stretched back to the 6th century, 400 years before the first wave of Christian Crusaders stormed the city in 1099, his family had since been forcibly evicted from one of the world’s holiest cities, and here he was, sleeping in the parking lot of a Colorado Kmart.
He smiled timidly, self-consciously, embarrassed by his current lot in life. “Yes.”
The woman’s eyes sparkled and her shoulders shook in a spasm of delight. She eyed Nabil as if she’d found a saint on the loose, a miraculous special emissary dispatched to find and connect her to a place deeply important to her. She hugged him…
Nabil tensed up, in part because he was Muslim, which abided by somewhat formal gender-based protocols, but then relaxed and yielded to the woman’s unexpected and unconditional outpouring of emotion. As he was born and raised among Arabs, for whom hospitality is sacred, he related to her wanting to roll out the red carpet. However, as someone who’d fled a military occupation he felt was enabled by U.S. support for Israeli policy, he’d naturally formed an opinion as to the American character and personality. But nothing he’d heard had prepared him for this.
She pulled back but with her hands still gripping his elbows, asked: “Where do you live now?”
His English was too rudimentary to understand her. He didn’t try to hide his befuddlement.
She slowed her speech down to a trickle: “Where…are…you…living…in…Trinidad?”
He shrugged. “No place.” Then his eyes strayed across the Kmart aisles, in the direction of the parking lot. “Here…Outside…”
Her eyes shone; to him, they seemed to mix tears of sadness with tears of joy. A smile erupted as she said: “You’re staying with me! I’m Ruth, by the way.”
“My name is Nabil.”
December 2nd, 2022: Nabil emailed me and a Georgetown University colleague. He’d just finished my class: “Ethics in Action.” At 68, he was by far the oldest of the 500 students I’d taught since having been invited to teach in 2015. He was also the brightest student I’ve had, and I’ve had some really bright ones, from all over the world. (My class is on-line.)
His email was confrontational but civil. He was upset at the anti-Muslim slant in some of the materials. (Our main book was written by a Jesuit.) Because my inbox is filled with hundreds of completely irrelevant (to me) emails from university staff, faculty, book-mongers, police reports of crimes in and around campus, etc.—I typically scroll thru my emails at breakneck speed. But Nabil’s email grabbed me. His beef struck me as fair, and it was presented in a very professional manner, substantiated with copious references.
My colleague and I weren’t sure how to respond but I emailed him back, thanked him, assured him no disrespect was intended, and vouched for the Master’s degree program director, whom I knew as honorable and unbiased, and who'd designed the syllabus (with very minor input from me). For good measure, I threw in some Rumi and Gibran.
Nabil responded immediately and warmly: “I have not thought of Rumi and Gibran for a very long long time! So thank you!”
That’s how our friendship began. Fighting words, beaten into plough shares simply by listening to one another.
For the past five months, my former student has been teaching me. I’d been to Jeddah and the UAE but never Israel or Palestine, and while I’ve had Israeli business partners, my best friend is Jewish, and one of my closest friends was born in Tehran, I’d never met a Palestinian.
His lesson plan has revolved around the foundational principles he’d learned in Jordan (where he was born) and Jerusalem, Los Angeles, Paris and Toronto, Oregon and Colorado.
Principle 1. Kindness is Borderless.
Nabil grew up always thinking about real estate. Palestine, Jerusalem, Nablus, East Amman, the more than a thousand Israeli checkpoints that dotted the West Bank, the keys spray-painted on trees and the sides of buildings to symbolize the belief that, though an Israeli settler may be living there now, due to occupation or Knesset legislation, the settlers were illegal squatters. He grew up feeling that One Side was always Good and in the Right, while The Other Side was always Bad and in the Wrong; based on map longitudes and latitudes.
“Then I came to America,” he said, “and grew up. To learn that there are many kind people from all walks of life and faith, and many unkind people from all walks of life and faith, too. A nasty female Israeli officer threw me in jail at age thirteen for weaving a Palestinian flag, and then tortured me, but a wonderful American named Ruth—like in The Book of Ruth, in the Hebrew Bible, rescued me, and then a wonderful and insightful Australian cognitive therapist rescued me in a very different way, forty years after that. Labels lead to stereotypes, and obscure the truth. I am Muslim, Ruth was Christian, and both the IDF officer and therapist were Jewish. Authentic kindness doesn’t care where you were born, where you grew up, or where you live.”
Principle 2. You can’t put a price tag on the really important things in life.
Nabil’s parents always struggled to make ends meet, what with 13 children and, for much of the time, only a single monthly Jordanian Air Force pension to feed them all, clothe them all, pay rent and utilities, and cover all the other necessities of life. His father's $67 check worked out to less than 15 cents a day, per person, for all room, board, clothing and other necessities.
His mother especially worked 24/7, it seemed. “Except when she was praying. Otherwise, all she did pretty much was clean, wash our dirty clothes, cook us delicious meals with very few ingredients, and tend to our cuts and bruises. Always smiling, never whining. Never!”
Once, some relatives tried to give Nabil’s mother an expensive gold bracelet for acting as trustee of their deceased mother’s estate, that included a small hoard of gold jewelry. “Mother rejected firmly and dignifiedly, without allowing them the opportunity to persuade her to accept it. To be honest, I thought it weird. We were just scraping by… Our home was terribly cramped, and we were so impoverished. I thought mum could benefit for a few months without worrying about anything if she accepted it. I couldn't help but wonder. She gave them a service for which they would have been charged if an official trustee had been designated. ‘Why not accept the money?’ I inquired of my mum.”
“Precious things become cheap when you tag them with a price, my dear,” she said.
Principle 3. Invest only in what you can see and touch.
At age 24, five years after Ruth rescued him from that Kmart parking lot, and after he’d earned his G.E.D at Simi Valley High School and B.S. at Oregon State, cobbling together scholarships and stipends from OSU, friends and family, all the while working 2-3 jobs, rarely sleeping, and eating like a bird—Nabil had saved up $20,000.
He felt like King Solomon or King Midas: over the same 5 years, his father had received a total of $4,020 in monthly pension checks. Nabil was proud of what he’d accomplished. But much more important, he wanted his father to be proud of what he’d accomplished: having so loved Nabil and having had enough faith in him to borrow against a year’s pension to help just one of his 13 children. So he telephoned his father from his office at GE, in Schenectady, New York, where he was working as a field engineer. “First, I wanted to repay him, then ask his advice on what to do with any money left over. I trusted his judgment and wisdom more than anyone.”
“So what did your father say?”
“First, he praised Allah. Second, he thanked me for the offer, but like my mother as trustee, he refused. He almost made me feel guilty for suggesting I repay, telling me it was a gift to his beloved son….and why in the world would I think he wanted to be repaid. And of course I immediately understood my immaturity: it was like expecting a stranger to pay for tea in your home, multiplied by a trillion. It was the opposite of Arab hospitality. He didn’t have to spell it out but I knew, could tell from the tone of his voice. He was not chastising me, please understand…it was more like he was chuckling, laughing at how my fancy Western education seemed to have obscured certain Palestinian values. And he was one hundred percent right: it was crazy of me to think some cash could enhance his happiness and huge enlarged heart at what he now knew I’d accomplished—thanks to him. Like my mom, putting a price tag on it only cheapened its value.”
“Wow. What a lovely man. What a wise man.”
“Indeed.”
“But…did he offer you any advice, other than not to send a Western Union wire to Jordan?”
“Yes. There were many potential places to invest, including early computing, which interested me. My fellow Arab Steve Jobs had gone all into this space, co-founding Apple in seventy-six.”
“So did he tell you to follow Jobs’s lead, and go into high-tech, or what?”
“No. My father said ‘Invest only in what you can see and touch.’”
“So what did you do with your money?”
“I bought a piece of land in Ventura County. I still own it.”
Principle 4. The best investment is education.
“Neither of my parents went to college but they were the wisest people I’ve ever met. Still, they knew formal education was my ticket out…my path to success and more importantly fulfillment. I’d always been a curious kid…seeking to know stuff, questioning why such-and-such existed, or didn’t, and of course this is what education is really all about. Or should be.”
I could relate, having been immersed in formal education pretty much all of my life: as a student, faculty member, staff member, board member, child of board members, etc. Some family members have been even more active. Yet I’ve never seen anyone as manifestly committed as Nabil to the notion that, though "higher education” is too often elevated above the more essential lessons learned from Nature or one’s elders, the instruction available at solid colleges and universities can be an awesome force multiplier. Which explains the array of diplomas and advanced certificates on his Amman home-office wall, from the likes of Oregon State and MIT.
I asked: “You’ll graduate with another Master’s degree from Georgetown when you’re sixty-nine or seventy. Will that be it? Are you done?”
Nabil laughed, something which comes very easily for him. “Why? I love learning. And there’s a direct correlation to my success and fulfillment. The more education I get, the more fulfilled I am. Why would I put an end to this process, this constant feedback loop?”
I had no answer to that. My former student stumped me.
Principle 5. Resentment imprisons the soul.
At age 13, Nabil was unjustly jailed at an Israeli prison and abused by Army officers for 21 days. The trauma haunted him for 50 years. “So did the resentment,” he added.
"But once my therapist helped me see it for what it was, how my silent resentment had co-opted shame, which is such a big part of my culture—I was able to free myself. Though that was only a few years ago, now I feel like I’ve been set free…to soar like a falcon.”
Principle 6. Seek your essence—and hold on to it.
Brené Brown has made a career out of analyzing shame, how it preys on vulnerability, and, if it’s courageously unveiled and properly channeled, it can be a powerful leadership tool. Normally equable and easygoing, Brown draws a line in the sand, saying: “Do not negotiate who you are.”
Nabil couldn’t agree more. “Everything in life always comes down to a person's essence. What one is made of. If you manage to maintain your essence despite the ups and downs, you have lived your life to the fullest. If, on the other hand, you lose it along the way and lose your sense of self, your life is only half-lived, even if you travel around the world ten times. It's as if life's events are waves crashing against one's ship, and keeping equilibrium and a steady keel are key to remaining afloat and making it to shore. The shore of your destiny, your purpose.”
Principle 7. Find the best way to help those in need—and give it your all.
One of the joys of spending time with Nabil has been how he’s patiently walked me through the central tenets of his faith, about which I thought I was reasonably conversant but in reality I was (like most Westerners) blinkered and biased. And one of the tenets is social responsibility, in the form of almsgiving.
“But not just money. More importantly, time. And most importantly, to help the neediest among us. I could donate time and money to build a fancy art museum in Nablus, say, but how helpful would that be? I think it would be more about stroking my ego. This is not to say I’m anti-art! But first things first.”
“So how are you spending your time and money, then? What is Nabil’s version of CSR?”
Again he laughed. “Two areas, two things.
“First, education. I never would have achieved anything…had people not helped me by funding my instruction in America. I may not have even survived beyond age thirteen. Starting with my father…but OSU was also very generous, they believed in me, too, as did a now-defunct Seattle-based Arab organization that gave me a two hundred dollar monthly stipend. So now the shoe’s on the other foot: I’m awarding scholarships….”
“To whom? How many have you funded?”
“All sorts. Lots of Jordanian and Palestinian, but also other Arabs, Somalis, Pakistanis. At Trinidad State College in Colorado, the University of Kentucky, University of Texas, University of California-Fresno, University of Jordan, Holy Spirit University of Kaslik Beirut, The American University of Beirut, American University of Cairo, Coventry University in the U.K., National University of Singapore, the Arab University of Beirut, Al-Balqa University-Jordan, Arab University of Jordan, and others.”
“Wow!”
“So far, we’ve awarded a little over two hundred and fifty scholarships, roughly equal men and women. There are no religious, ethnic, or gender litmus tests. The are some criteria, however.”
“Like what…for instance?”
“Like…are they underprivileged? Are they hard workers? Do they show real promise in terms of academic aptitude? Even more so, in terms of ethical inclination?”
“I especially like that last criterion! You almost never see that as a criterion for admission! That explains a lot!”
“I agree. Further to that…as all the scholarship recipients really want to know who their benefactor is, and thank me, and some want to pledge to repay me…I insist on remaining anonymous, so this wonderful woman administers the program for me, and her final decision criterion is: can she trust that the potential recipient will actually follow through on their word, the condition that the only form of repayment is to take whatever they learn from our scholarship—and pay it forward by mentoring at least one other person in need.”
“To leverage the learning…”
“Exactly.”
“And the second area where you’re investing your time and money?”
“Helping to prevent suicides.”
“Oh, wow. How?”
“I’ve been working with this amazing woman, Amanda Johnstone, since two thousand fourteen. Like you, Eric, I met her by chance. We were sitting near one another, having coffee at separate tables at The Beverly Wilshire Hotel, overlooking Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. We got to talking and, well, one thing led to another. She told me how losing three close friends of hers to suicide made it clear what her purpose in life should be. This resonated with me, as I’d lost two dear friends to suicide, and could understand people in their darkest hours…wondering if the afterlife might be more bearable. Despair brings life to end tragically, especially among youth.”
After letting this sink in for a few moments, I asked: “So where did this coffee lead?”
“Amanda needed help. She’s brilliant, having founded her first successful company when she was just sixteen, in Tasmania, but she needed a different sort of business veteran, someone who could show her the ropes and was an engineer at heart and by training. So I partnered with her, investing money, time, offering general advice and specific help to draft and secure a Patent—which was awarded in August of last year.”
“Congratulations on the Patent. Knowing a little about such things, I imagine that took some effort and a fair amount of money.”
“Thank you. Indeed it did.”
“How do you know, or at least why do you think your Patent will help prevent suicide?”
“Fair question. It’s very hard to prove a negative. But our metrics are robust and we know a few things for sure. We know for instance…just one snapshot of our users revealed that while twenty thousand of them reported ‘suicidal feelings’—not a single one acted upon it.”
“Wow.”
“That was four years ago, when Be a Looper was only available in a few dozen countries. Now our app is available in over ninety counties. Plus, it’s free of charge. It’s truly a public service.”
“Double wow.”
“Time felt the same way. Which is why the magazine called Amanda one of the world’s top thirty-five leaders under the age of thirty-five.”
“What does that make you? One of the world’s top sixty-nine mentors under the age of sixty-nine?”
“Hah.”
“How does it all work?”
“It’s a mobile app that prompts—and loops in—a trusted circle of people, every day. People in your circle check in with you and vice-versa. It encourages users to role-model vulnerability and share how they feel with up to five peers. The difference with our app is…everyone checks in. You can’t just sit on the sidelines and observe. In fact, if you try—that alone sends a message. Isolation is a tell. You can’t see how one of your group is feeling until you have shared first…which is the exact opposite of social media, where you see what people think you want to see…”
“Ingenious! What an insight into social-proofing! What a success story.”
“We’re just getting started. Be a Looper was our first foray. Our second technology is now in advanced R and D. I also supported our team here by helping to acquire and commercialize an EmotionAI concept that we co-ideated and patented with Universal Music Group.”
“They’re big!”
“I’ll say. Taylor Swift, Elton John, and so many others. Forty billion market cap.”
“Maybe…they’re interested for the same sort of reason Steve Jobs re-launched Apple…not based on a new twist on the PDA—remember the Personal Digital Assistant craze?”
“Hah! Sure do.”
“But the totally revolutionary iPod.”
“Exactly.”
“I recall what Jobs said. Paraphrasing. Humans aren’t passionate about to-do lists. But human interest stories…especially as conveyed via music.”
“Exactly. Jobs was a really smart Arab! And as for Amanda, she’s got the attention of just about everyone who matters in this space: Apple, Google, even NASA. So UMG is smart. They know a winner when they see one.”
“NASA?”
“That’s right. EmotionAI technology is the future of our work. Our tech reads biodata from a person’s body…which we call the Internet of Bodies…using sophisticated biosensors. It then uses our proprietary neural network to assess the data to understand a human’s unique psycho-physiological state in real time.”
“I can imagine how this might be important in outer space…”
“Exactly.”
“While ideating with UMG, we both stumbled across a vital issue: who would own the data? We feel very strongly that it should belong to the individual themselves, not a corporation or country. So we created an encrypted file type which houses this highly confidential data. It mines, connects and shares this intimate emotional data only with the user’s permission…to the Internet of Things (games, cars, apps, healthcare, etc). The positive applications are almost infinite. We can share how we feel in real time in a classroom (comprehension levels), with a therapist (emotion levels), or a concert producer (excitement levels). This is the bright, bold future of AI.”
“Wow again.”
“It all comes back to wanting to help people. Amanda and I have both lost too many friends to suicide. Hundreds of millions the world over suffer from clinical depression, and most have no access to treatment. Now, even in the remotest corners of the world, the poorest people can have access to the same tools I have access to. To make my life better. And to help those I love.”
“How wonderfully fulfilling this all sounds…Especially helping to save lives.”
“It is. It’s a blessing. I’m humbled to have been able to play even a small part. And amazed, as I am every day, at the way Allah works His magic, His miracles. I was just sipping some coffee, and look where it led me?”
Principle 8. Hope really does spring eternal.
Nabil’s coffee miracle segues nicely into his final foundation principle: “Never give up! The game of life is never over! I’m always reminded of this when I visit Ma’in Hot Springs Resort, that I built about thirty miles east of the Dead Sea. I’ve traveled much of the world but there’s something very unique and special about that spot. In addition to the influence it had on my mum. She loved that spot which made it extra special.“
“How so?”
“For starters, she loved the way glorious waterfalls just pour out of the desert hills, to create this amazing oasis. Which may be the oldest continuously operating resort on earth. It’s certainly hundreds if not thousands of years older than the warm springs in Bath, England, Germany, or Arkansas, that the Native Americans used…the Cherokees, I think…King Herod used to bathe under one of several falls, and in the sixty-three hot pools. Mum always felt good after being in the water. It’s filled with minerals…that seep into the pores of the skin the thermal water opens.”
“So all this healthy water pouring out of the middle of the desert is what…? A metaphor…for what? That anything is possible?”
Nabil smiled wide. “Of course! I’m the Arab boy a Jewish Israeli officer tortured and considered a National Security threat for weaving ‘enemy flags’ out of rags… but who has no desire to grind any axes. Otherwise, why would I invest a lot of money to essentially re-build the favorite resort of King Herod, the guy who built what Muslims call the Buraq Wall, the most sacred site in Judaism, what my Jewish friends call The Wailing Wall? How can I not laugh out loud at such irony…and destiny…at how hope endures, and rewards?!” And laugh he did.
I joined him.
I’ve had the great honor and privilege of knowing a number of remarkable leaders over the years. Each is very different but they all share a similar set of core values, typically forged early in life.
Like what values? Like hard work, respect for diversity, service above self, and courage. Though recent studies say there’s been a steep decline in such values, all is not lost. Thankfully America still welcomes people like Nabil, who reinvigorate our national character by reminding us what made the USA great, and what can take us to a New & Even Better Normal.
“America is the best country in the world,” he says. “I tell everyone this. Of course it is not perfect. No country is. But it’s the best, for sure.”
Nabil is certainly a walking piece of proof in support of his contention. Half a century ago, after being unjustly imprisoned, suffering terrible abuse, surviving numerous near-death experiences…he’s now, so far as I can tell, one of the world’s most successful Palestinian entrepreneurs and self-made businessman, and one of the most prolific philanthropists.
His wide-ranging technical acumen and commercial versatility is breathtaking. He founded, owns and still runs a high-tech gas turbine engineering center in France. He’s brokered some of the world’s biggest aircraft orders, for various manufacturers, on several continents, as well as, in just a decade, help Thales end Panasonic’s monopoly in on-board flight entertainment systems—and now hold 60% of the market. He’s supervised massive, complex power rejuvenation projects for the U.S. government around the world; the Inspector General commending his performance and integrity, while at the same time fining U.S. firms billions of dollars for their non-performance or misfeasance. Nabil has also invested his time and money into Prep Doctors. When he read about how Canada was suffering a severe shortfall in government-certified dentists, but lots of immigrants had been very well-trained in their home countries—he leapt into the space, and teamed up with a couple entrepreneurs. Prep Doctors now dominates the market, having trained thousands of dentists since 2011. Today, the company is growing by leaps and bounds—100% year-on-year, fueled by its expansion into other healthcare training and certification spaces. He’s developed real estate projects in several U.S. States. He owns and operates one of the world’s most spectacular resorts. He’s helped to build the world’s most successful anti-suicide app; giving it away, free. He’s awarded life-changing scholarships to hundreds of refugees and others who, until he came along, felt they had little or nothing to look forward to in life.
I ask: “Does that about sum it up?”
“You are too kind. But my wife is my greatest blessing, my children my greatest wealth.”
“Well said! Any final words? By way of a capstone to this wonderful Palestinian MBA?”
“Sure. وَعَلَيْكُمُ ٱلسَّلَامُ.”
“Peace be upon you, right?”
“Correct.”
“Thank you, Nabil. Peace be upon you, too.”
Selected References & Links
1. Scores of Zooms, FaceTimes, phone calls, texts and/or emails between December, 2022 and April, 2023.
2. United Nations Security Council Resolution (Feb., 2023).
3. Amnesty International position paper (2022).
4. Brittanica ProCon summary of Palestine Timeline: 1900-Present (2021).
5. The History on Maps (2022).
6. The New York Times review of Amreeka, written & directed by Cherien Dabis, the only Arab (let alone Palestinian) woman ever nominated for an Emmy (2009).
His great grandmother is sure older than Israel!
They claimed it's a land without a people for people without a land. Here are the people!!! With struggle, hardship and occupation carving their strength like perfect sculptors.
This is a fantastic tale; I can picture Ruth holding Nabil and human kindness warming both of their hearts. I could picture the tormented face of a 13-year-old boy over a flag that proved there were people in that land. Truth is a stubborn thing.