In the midst of the Abbas vegetable garden stood a robust apple tree. About it grew lettuce, broccoli, peas, carrots, and tomatoes. As the apples ripened, they were plucked, and sent to market. However, the farmer, Abbas, missed one of this juicy apples and that night it fell from the tree, quite near the tomatoes. Although little love was lost between the vegetables and the apples, the friction between them never amounted to much more than name calling.
"Yah, yah," said one of the tomatoes nearest to the fallen apple. "You're going to rot. Yah, yah ... yah, yah."
The apple was unperturbed. "Just this morning Abbas sprayed us apples to protect us against bugs. The weather's cool. I'll be just fine. Tomorrow they'll find me and I'll be on my way along with the other apples."
"No, you won't," continued the tomato. "You're going to rot. Yah, yah. You're going to rot."
"You're just jealous of us fine fruits," replied the apple. "You're a grit-hater."
The tomato darkened in indignation. "Don't you call me a fruit-hater, you nincompoop. I'm a fruit too."
Replied the apple, "Yes, botanically speaking, you, Mr. Tomato, are a fruit. But, no one will ever serve you up in a fruit bowl. You may be listed in some botanist's manual as a fruit, but non-botanists, everywhere, see you as a fruit hating vegetable. Indeed you're marked by your hatred of frurit. You'll never be served up in the same dish with an apple, or a pear , or a pineapple."
Abbas woke from his dream. "What a silly dream that was," he thought. "To think I'm just like the tomato! Technically a Semite -- yet finding Jews repugnant. I guess I'm just a Semitic anti-Semite."
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