What to say about Gaza?
There is a lot being said about Gaza.
Sunday morning, near the end of worship, a member stood to read an email from a surgeon working in a hospital in Gaza. When in Jerusalem, this surgeon attends our church, in fact just two weeks ago she was playing the organ for worship. Her email was gut wrenchingly sad as she described the conditions of a people being pounded by a vastly superior force – the Israeli Defense Force. One person described the acts "like shooting fish in a barrel" - armed drones flying overhead, F16s, Apache helicopters. She told us of dozens dead and hundreds wounded. It was the children being hurt that clearly affected her the most, and therefore us as well. These are real children to us. We live among the Palestinian people and we see the children everyday. For others in other parts of the world, and especially in our part of the world, upon hearing the report of the carnage in Gaza, the little ones have no faces. They are just the offspring of terrorists, not quite human, enemies to become. We know better. We’ve looked into their eyes. We’ve seen our own reflection there - the very image of God!
What to say about Gaza?
After the letter was read, we moved to introductions of visitors. Toward the end of this weekly ritual – no one’s heart was in this on this Sunday – a man stood up and chastised the congregation for being remiss in not praying as well for the victims on the other side of the Gaza borders – a 47-year-old father of four, two soldiers and a half dozen wounded. He spoke of seven years of rockets raining down on the Jewish town of Sderot, of those who have died from them. Someone else in the group identified him as their guide, a rabbi, he said, here with a group from Canada. Of course, the group from Canada shared the anger of their guide, anger at our one sidedness. It was clear that they had their side as well. The tension in the room was all too familiar to those of us who live in the tension that defines this place. But the rabbi guide was right. We had prayed for the victims on both sides, of course, but not with equal zeal. This was apparent. This was wrong on our part. Since 2000, thirteen Israelis have been killed by rockets from Gaza. That doesn’t sound like a lot when you consider that over 100 Palestinians have been killed in just a few days, but still, it is fair to say that there is pain and suffering on both sides. Directly after the service, I walked up to this man and apologized. His anger spilled out and I listened as he said what he had to say about Gaza. His hatred for the people there was palpable and deeply rooted. All I could do was give him a place to vent. And I did, because that is what we do.
What to say about Gaza?
In a taxi on the way to a hotel where we were to meet with a group from California, our Palestinian driver, a friend, had a lot to say about Gaza. Mostly he was tired and angry with his own leaders. America will always side with Israel, he said. We can’t do anything about that. But we can stop sending rockets into Israel. This is wrong. This is bad for us. We can and should stop this “stupid thing.” He said a lot more about Gaza, but he was speaking in Arabic, and he was speaking fast, and neither Sally nor I wanted to interrupt to say we didn’t understand. He too was venting. But we understood his frustration with the leadership of his own people. And we clearly understood the last thing he said about Gaza: “We need to love each other.” That’s what he said. “We Palestinians, we have to love each other.” As he said this, he hugged himself.
What to say about Gaza?
Our friend was busy later, so we hailed a taxi on the street. This driver was Jewish. We asked him if he would take us to Herod’s Gate, near where we live. “Where?” he asked. Near Damascus Gate, we said, the next Gate down, Herod’s Gate. “No,” he said. “I can’t take you there. Arabs there. They’ll stone my cab.” And then he said just one word in explanation: “Gaza.” The context within which the name was named said a lot about Gaza. He did drive us to Damascus Gate, but when he found out we lived in this part of the city, he fell silent. When we arrived at the Gate, I handed him twenty shekels for the fifteen shekel fair – extremely fair price, by the way. He reached into his pocket to give me change. “That’s alright,” I said. He nodded. As I was ducking out the door, I stopped, reached back in and padded his shoulder. “We’ll not your enemy,” I said. “No?” he asked. “No,” Sally replied. He nodded. We nodded. He went back to his side of town. We went home.
And so ended another day in Jerusalem, a place where there is a lot to say about everything, and yet, nothing changes.
