The Future is Peace (video)
There are no more authentic voices for peace than those who have suffered war.
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There are no more authentic voices for peace than those who have suffered war.
Today, at 10 AM in Israel, the country stood still for two minutes to pay their respects to the six million Jews who were murdered by Nazis during World War II. Around the world, others stood in solidarity with them. And in Poland, thousands of people marched silently from Auschwitz to Birkenau to remember the victims of the Holocaust who died there, by participating in the annual March of the Living.
Three years ago, my heart pulled me to Israel and Palestine to experience the reality of this iconic conflict for myself, talk to Israelis and Palestinians, and search for ways to support peace. It is one of the hardest places I've ever been, where CryPeace means crying more tears and crying louder for justice than almost anywhere else. This week, as renewed tensions escalate over Jerusalem, my heart breaks that this city, holy to all three Abrahamic faiths, is a cause of hatred instead of love, violence instead of peace, war instead of worship.
I don’t want our kids to meet at encounter groups, to learn to empathise with the “other”
I don’t want them to hear of the Holocaust, to learn how our homelands became our graves
I don’t want them to talk about the Nakba, the right of return, and how long it takes
I don’t want to fear that in my nascent country, we risk annihilation again
I don’t want to fear that in my exile, we risk losing the chance for a homeland
Should I throw love over the wall instead of stones?
Chocolate kisses
Valentine hearts
Gifts on the strings of balloons?
Will you take the chocolates for stones
Respond with tear gas
Burn my eyes and nose?
I want to tear down this wall
Look into your eyes
And know you as friend, not enemy
I want to dance at the wall in beautiful protest
Cast a vision of the future in its shadow today
We could hear the same music, dance to the same beat
But I couldn’t see you, our hands couldn’t meet
We could set up a webcam, make a window in the wall
I’d rather you open it, I want to walk tall
through the gate that encloses me now like a prison
Let this vision of the future shine bright as through a prism
I live in a cage with very prevalent walls
that block me in and hide the sun
I rail at them, throw rocks and stones
Must you respond with bombs?
You hold the power of whether I can wash, or work
Whether I can skype with my aunt, or visit the day of her birth
You say yes to my brother, and no to me
Must you put my parents in such misery?
I rail at the wall with rocks and stones
You hold the power to tear it down
Will you?
Today is Yom HaShoah, the annual day of remembrance for the victims of the Holocaust. This morning in Israel, two minutes of silence were observed throughout the country. Via video, I saw the streets and boardwalks that I traversed four months ago become strangely still. Listening to the sound of the siren, I imagined its wail, and our prayers, rising like the souls of the six million victims to heaven. Please take a moment to remember them with me now.
After visiting the Baha’i Gardens in Haifa, which closed at noon, I had no itinerary. I started walking down the hill.
“Lady, lady!” A stranger was calling me from a car.
“Yes?” I answered.
“Abraham said you needed a tour guide.” Abraham was the Kenyan security guard at Baha’i Gardens I’d been speaking with about his faith.
“Actually, I do. What do you suggest?”