What I Take With Me
I finished with CPT for the summer and left At-Tuwani today. Tomorrow I will go a little north to say "bye" to a friend at a military base. strange, I know...
I have been trying to get in touch with a good, good Israeli friend since all of this chaos with Hizbollah began and since I read that Israel was calling up thousands of reservists to the military. I finally heard from him Sunday night.
“How are you?,” I asked. “Fine, but the army got me,” he said. “Oh no… oh no... I am so so sorry...” That is all I had to say. What do you say to someone whose plans for life were just interrupted by bombs and missiles?
We talked late into the night. He told me his plans after the army, I told him mine after Palestine. I sat on the roof staring at the stars. He sat in an abandoned factory, whispering so not to wake the 30 other soldiers with him.
“What is the biggest feeling that you will take away from here?,” he asked me. It took me a while to answer, but then I whispered, “right now, sadness, my friend. A heavy, heavy heart. For Palestine, for Lebanon, for Israel, for the world. Sadness is what I take.”
I thought to myself, “I am sitting with Palestinians in an occupied village weeping with my Israeli brother who is now carrying a gun in another occupied village.” What a strange, complicated, sad world we live in… That is what I take with me.
It was after midnight when we finished talking. I sat on the roof for while and then went inside to put on pajamas. The Operation Dove members had lit a candle and were sitting around it singing Nada Te Turbe. (translation- Let nothing distress you, be not afraid.) I don’t know why we were having worship at such an odd hour of the night but it was beautiful, perfect timing.
For the next 2 weeks there is a children’s day camp in the village. It’s organized by Tay’ush, an Israeli peace group, along with the women of At-Tuwani. The camp is for all of the nearby children. Children from the village of Tuba must pass the settlements of Ma’on and Havat Ma’on in order to reach camp. Like going to school during the year, it is impossible for the Tuba children to make it to At-Tuwani without an escort. The Israeli settlers have beaten them, tried to take some of them, and attacked the military escorts. In order to prevent internationals from accompanying the children through the settlements, the army is escorting the children to camp each day. One jeep drives in front, 25 or so children walk behind it, and another army jeep follows in back. It's pretty absurd that it requires the army for children to go to summer camp one village over?
The camp is amazing. The children have music class, and art, and games… laughter and a little freedom. It is so healthy. I only pray that the children can continue to make it to camp safely.
Monday the Israeli organizer of the camp came to our house to visit. Among many things, she shared that 2 of the Israeli volunteers have had family members killed by Hizbollah rockets in the north. She spoke of the despair that they all carry around as Israelis.
She feels “so much responsibility for the disproportionate massacre” that Israel is conducting in Lebanon and in Gaza. She spoke of understanding the violent feelings of Hizbollah and others in the Arab world and, yet, she thinks the violence is unproductive. Bombs lead to more bombs. Deaths to more deaths. She cried as she spoke of Israel’s actions. “Now Lebanon will hate us for another 100 years and any peace with Palestine is postponed,” she said. “I want children, but I cannot raise children here! Send them to Israeli school?! Have them wave that flag?! We cannot even celebrate any holidays! Every holiday represents Israel killing someone…,” she wept. “And, mothers… I see them on TV, mothers of soldiers. They are proud to send their sons and daughters off to fight. Why can’t they see!? They are like the proud mothers of suicide bombers! It is the same thing!! Mothers sending children off to die!! & for what?! It is the same! This meshing of religion and state, and religion and the military. It is a dangerous thing! It is frightening. Israel and Hizbollah- they are the same in this way- religious fanatics fighting for God.”
She looked at me and lowered her voice, “I’m sorry… I can talk about this for hours. It is all I think about now.” I looked back at her & said, “I understand... I think…”
During parts of the conversation I felt like she could replace the word “Israel” with “the U.S.” and replace “Hizbollah” with the general term “terrorists” and I would be saying the same words. I think I understand her shame, her sadness, her fear. It is shameful when your home is known all over the world for murdering children. It is sad to witness the destruction in one’s own country and against one’s enemies. And it is scary to see one’s religion being used to defend murder.
“What do I take with me?,” my dear friend asks me- The love of my Israeli sisters and brothers- their tears and fear. I take the resilance of my Palestinian sisters and brothers- their strength and resistance. I take the laughter of the children- their handshakes and dirty faces. And I take sadness, sadness for a place absolutely ravaged by violence and for a world that sits by and lets children suffer.
In spite of everything, I still believe
that people are really good at heart.
I simply can't build up my hopes on a foundation
consisting of confusion, misery, and death.
I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness,
I hear the ever-approaching thunder which will destroy us too,
I can feel the suffering of millions,
and, yet, if I look up into the heavens,
I think that it will all come right,
that this cruelty will end,
and that peace and tranquility will return again.
- Anne Frank
I have been trying to get in touch with a good, good Israeli friend since all of this chaos with Hizbollah began and since I read that Israel was calling up thousands of reservists to the military. I finally heard from him Sunday night.
“How are you?,” I asked. “Fine, but the army got me,” he said. “Oh no… oh no... I am so so sorry...” That is all I had to say. What do you say to someone whose plans for life were just interrupted by bombs and missiles?
We talked late into the night. He told me his plans after the army, I told him mine after Palestine. I sat on the roof staring at the stars. He sat in an abandoned factory, whispering so not to wake the 30 other soldiers with him.
“What is the biggest feeling that you will take away from here?,” he asked me. It took me a while to answer, but then I whispered, “right now, sadness, my friend. A heavy, heavy heart. For Palestine, for Lebanon, for Israel, for the world. Sadness is what I take.”
I thought to myself, “I am sitting with Palestinians in an occupied village weeping with my Israeli brother who is now carrying a gun in another occupied village.” What a strange, complicated, sad world we live in… That is what I take with me.
It was after midnight when we finished talking. I sat on the roof for while and then went inside to put on pajamas. The Operation Dove members had lit a candle and were sitting around it singing Nada Te Turbe. (translation- Let nothing distress you, be not afraid.) I don’t know why we were having worship at such an odd hour of the night but it was beautiful, perfect timing.
For the next 2 weeks there is a children’s day camp in the village. It’s organized by Tay’ush, an Israeli peace group, along with the women of At-Tuwani. The camp is for all of the nearby children. Children from the village of Tuba must pass the settlements of Ma’on and Havat Ma’on in order to reach camp. Like going to school during the year, it is impossible for the Tuba children to make it to At-Tuwani without an escort. The Israeli settlers have beaten them, tried to take some of them, and attacked the military escorts. In order to prevent internationals from accompanying the children through the settlements, the army is escorting the children to camp each day. One jeep drives in front, 25 or so children walk behind it, and another army jeep follows in back. It's pretty absurd that it requires the army for children to go to summer camp one village over?
The camp is amazing. The children have music class, and art, and games… laughter and a little freedom. It is so healthy. I only pray that the children can continue to make it to camp safely.
Monday the Israeli organizer of the camp came to our house to visit. Among many things, she shared that 2 of the Israeli volunteers have had family members killed by Hizbollah rockets in the north. She spoke of the despair that they all carry around as Israelis.
She feels “so much responsibility for the disproportionate massacre” that Israel is conducting in Lebanon and in Gaza. She spoke of understanding the violent feelings of Hizbollah and others in the Arab world and, yet, she thinks the violence is unproductive. Bombs lead to more bombs. Deaths to more deaths. She cried as she spoke of Israel’s actions. “Now Lebanon will hate us for another 100 years and any peace with Palestine is postponed,” she said. “I want children, but I cannot raise children here! Send them to Israeli school?! Have them wave that flag?! We cannot even celebrate any holidays! Every holiday represents Israel killing someone…,” she wept. “And, mothers… I see them on TV, mothers of soldiers. They are proud to send their sons and daughters off to fight. Why can’t they see!? They are like the proud mothers of suicide bombers! It is the same thing!! Mothers sending children off to die!! & for what?! It is the same! This meshing of religion and state, and religion and the military. It is a dangerous thing! It is frightening. Israel and Hizbollah- they are the same in this way- religious fanatics fighting for God.”
She looked at me and lowered her voice, “I’m sorry… I can talk about this for hours. It is all I think about now.” I looked back at her & said, “I understand... I think…”
During parts of the conversation I felt like she could replace the word “Israel” with “the U.S.” and replace “Hizbollah” with the general term “terrorists” and I would be saying the same words. I think I understand her shame, her sadness, her fear. It is shameful when your home is known all over the world for murdering children. It is sad to witness the destruction in one’s own country and against one’s enemies. And it is scary to see one’s religion being used to defend murder.
“What do I take with me?,” my dear friend asks me- The love of my Israeli sisters and brothers- their tears and fear. I take the resilance of my Palestinian sisters and brothers- their strength and resistance. I take the laughter of the children- their handshakes and dirty faces. And I take sadness, sadness for a place absolutely ravaged by violence and for a world that sits by and lets children suffer.
In spite of everything, I still believe
that people are really good at heart.
I simply can't build up my hopes on a foundation
consisting of confusion, misery, and death.
I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness,
I hear the ever-approaching thunder which will destroy us too,
I can feel the suffering of millions,
and, yet, if I look up into the heavens,
I think that it will all come right,
that this cruelty will end,
and that peace and tranquility will return again.
- Anne Frank
posted by Angela Davis | 2:00 PM
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