There is so much that is difficult about circumstances in Gaza. Two Julys ago, my niece Mary spent time volunteering in Palestine, building homes there, her colleagues of all nationalities, and the promised residents all knew would be destroyed – and they were (MARY SAYS, MITT SAYS. Blog July 29, 2012). Mary met and befriended Palestinians and Israelis. She has made more friends in subsequent visits and remains dearly connected with many of these people.  In a devastatingly personal way, Mary is furious.  Furious, like many of us, at the wanton killing of now countless innocent people at all stages of their singular and precious lives.

Today, Rabbi Michael Lerner responded to interview questions on CNN. Rabbi Lerner is the editor of TIKKUN Magazine. He is a Rabbi in the San Francisco Bay area and has been a tireless advocate for peace – specifically between Israelis and Palestinians across his considerable career.

You can hear what Rabbi Lerner has to say.  You can see what you think when he argues that blind hatred and fury solve nothing – that opposing the actions of violence on the part of Israel or Hamas  is not heresy whether you are Jewish or Islamic, whether you are Israeli or Palestinian or of any other religion or region.  It is not heresy, it is sanity.

Lives are destroyed in unspeakable numbers as innocents die and families, communities, economies, sacred places and all measure of faith are rent apart with the violence of these days.  We who are not in the line of fire can throw up our hands.  We can avert our eyes.  We can engage mightily in denial.  None of these accomplishes any more than the fury at hand.

There are, however, antidotes.  But these measures take vast courage and resolve.  They require refusal to participate in the fear and aggression.  They require what Rabbi Lerner describes as, “open hearted generosity in [all] peoples to the legitimate needs of both sides.”

Here are two poems — one by my friend Mohammad Bader, a social services administrator and poet who was born Palestinian in East Jerusalem where he lived until he was 24 and came to graduate school here in the U.S.  The second poem is by another friend, Naomi Shihab Nye.  Naomi is a full-time poet who has lived in San Antonio, TX for a long time now.  She was born in St. Louis, and like Mohammad, is Palestinian American.  Across her high school years, Naomi and her family lived with her beloved grandmother in the Old City of Jerusalem.

Mohammad and Naomi are real people in real lives.  My niece Mary is too – and so are her Palestinian and Israeli friends.  This quality of real life is, of course – and quite painfully so – also true for the children, youth, women, men, Elders who have died in the Gaza upheaval of recent weeks.

Read these poems.  If they seem facile answers to the enormous challenges we ALL face with Gaza, read them again.

We must be courageous.  The time is now.  Any other choice is dier – and we know this.

A Dream

I trudged amidst the desert’s heat. 
Vultures crowded the sky. 
The heated wind slapped my face. 
Then, I couldn’t stand the heat, 
the Vultures and the arid land. 
Far away I saw an Oasis. 
I crawled and leaned against a palm tree. 
In moments, I slumbered and dreamed that: 
All nations knelt to the Creator 
All nations recited a peace song together. 
All nations blended… 
Colors, ranks, and social statuses ended. 
False pride disappeared, and white pigeons 
formed a white flag for peace. 
The flag held the burdens of all the nations. 
I woke up and had to move on. 
Amidst all: vultures and heat, I moved on with a desire and a dream… 
Carrying an oasis in my so-called savage 
heart… Still I carry a dream. 

Mohammad Bader

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

Naomi Shihab Nye