On a wall, midway through the Holocaust Memorial (Yad Vashem) in Jerusalem, there's a poem, a short poem, that goes like this:
Written in pencil in a sealed railway car:The reference is to a 'sealed' railway car, bearing a family to some kind of death facility in the 1940s, when Nazi politicians and scientists collaborated in the murder of millions and millions of people. And the poet (Dan Pagis) imagines a mother in the car, grieving already for Abel (the son at her side) and aching to communicate (but how, but what) with her older son Cain.
'Here in this carload
I am Eve
With Abel my son
If you see my older son
Cain, son of man
Tell him I...'
The biblical reference is, of course, to the two sons of Eve in Genesis, the first book of the Hebrew Bible (or Torah). In that ancient, sad and troubling story, Cain kills his own brother; and we're left to wonder why it is that brothers can do these things to one another, how it is that we go on this way.
Standing there yesterday, in the halls of Yad Vashem, I was struck by this short poem in a powerful way. I was struck by the overwhelming grief of Eve, the mother of all, the womb from whom both Cain and Abel are born, the one love from which the killer and the destroyed have come. Moving through the rest of the Memorial--seeing the faces of so many children, emaciated adults left to starve in Nazi prisons, all of it--I couldn't help but wonder what Eve wants to "tell" Cain now. What would she say? How would she find the words?
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| Sculpture of Doctor with Children @ Yad Vashem |
I guess it has something to do with listening for Eve's cry, with doing what I can to hear her painful weeping and honor it somehow, in some imperfect way. Being human is so much more than this: it's also dancing and sleepovers, college classes and hiking trips. But I believe (I guess my faith tells me) that being human has a lot to do with compassion, with listening for the voices of the wounded, with doing what we can to lessen their suffering and hold their broken hearts in our own. So I come to Israel, and to Palestine, to listen for those voices, to do my small part, to hold some of these broken hearts in mine.
Along the way, this becomes a bit more personal for me. I'm very moved by the people in my life I've met in this work. I'm especially devoted to Rabbi Paula Marcus and her husband Aryeh Nanas. Their lifetime of concern for Israel, for Palestine, for peace in this region is profound and inspiring for me. And I care a great deal for them as my friends. Because this matters so much to them, because reconciliation among these peoples is their passion, it begins to matter very much to me as well. And friendship gives birth to deeper commitment.
I'm also devoted to my dear friend Ghassan Manasra and his dear, dear Palestinian family in Nazareth. I know I've told you how warmly they welcomed me into their family this past summer and how touched I was by their generosity and kindness and love. As I get to know Ghassan, and as we share our different ways of believing in the One God, his concerns become mine. I want to listen closely and learn from his faith. I want to listen closely and hear his pain. I want to honor his dear family and their many, many hopes and dreams. It's not longer just "Palestinians" and "Israelis" or "Jews" and "Muslims" and "Christians"--these are people, friends, with dreams and hopes, and with real hurts. Ghassan is important to me, and his family is dear to me. I want to be an ally in their struggle for peace.
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| Dad with Ghassan and other Sufis (Nazareth, June 2014) |
We met with a Jewish father the other night, whose own 14 year old daughter was killed years ago when a suicide bomber blew up a bus in Jerusalem. Rami Elhanan is a remarkable man, and his heart is still broken. But instead of turning his anger and pain to bitterness, he's somehow transformed it into compassion and devotion. He's found other parents, including some dear Palestinian parents, who've also lost children to violence and war. And together, they speak about the urgency of peace, the importance of children, the love that is the only way forward. In our meeting the other night, Rami sat by the side of Bassam Aramim, a Palestinian whose young daughter was gunned down by an Israeli soldier. The two of them were sad, but determined to show that their friendship is a sign of what must be in this troubled land at this troubled time.
Rami noted that many in his own family were killed during the Holocaust. And he made some connections that I've been thinking of since. "Seventy years ago," he said, "the free and civilized world did nothing as cruelty enveloped Europe and my people were slaughtered. Seventy years later, the free and civilized world does nothing as cruelty and occupation envelope this land. What we demand of you is not that you are Pro-Israeli or Pro-Palestinian, but that you are PRO-PEACE."
Historically, the 'free' world did much too little as Hitler's genocidal machine was built in Germany. Our inaction emboldened a mean and violent regime. The situation here is obviously quite different, but the urgency seems similar. For the 'free and civilized world' to do nothing, to exert no influence, to remain in the dark about the crisis here--this is simply not faithful or decent or human. What's happening today--in East Jerusalem, in the West Bank, across Israel really--could get a lot worse. And those of us with stories to tell, and friendships to honor, and any power at all, have to act with courage and kindness and love.
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| At the Children's Memorial at Yad Vashem |
So I know your dad seems a little odd sometimes, and I know he does strange things that other dads don't do. I know I listen to weird music when I'm cooking and I dance a little funny to the "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah" at church. But I'm so grateful for the ways you three try to understand. And I'm so grateful for the generous young women you've become--and your own ways of loving people and building a better world and healing some of its pains.
And I'm VERY grateful for the ways you help me laugh at myself and NOT take myself too seriously. You can continue to help me there! When we laugh at dinner time, and playing games in the living room, and watching Lizzy chase her tail, I find new energy and new hope and new joy for the many journeys ahead.
Things in Jerusalem are a little tense this week, with more violence erupting and distrust on many fronts. But I promise we'll be safe, as safe as we can possibly be. And I promise that I'll try to do things with my life that honor you and our family. Thanks for letting me follow that path. I love you for it.
Love, Dad
"Whoever flees from history, history will catch up with him. Extraordinary circumstances demand extraordinary effort of the mind, the senses, willpower and action." ~ Dr. Janusz Korczak
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| Dome of the Rock, Old City, Jerusalem |
