We Promised to Remember

I think there is a case to be made that the creation of Israel was an attempt to do something loving.

And I think there is a case to be made that the resulting occupation has had the opposite effect.

I think there is a case to be made that trying to solve a trauma without healing it only allows that trauma to fester.

And I would suggest that the story of Israel and Palestine is a story of unhealed trauma, and the trauma that results.

It is not unusual to me that those who have been harmed would retaliate as a result.

I think it is a very human impulse - but perhaps it is now an impulse better left unfinished.

Because what we find ourselves in the midst of - is a cycle of harm, and retaliation, followed by more harm, and more retaliation.

When the truth is retaliation brings us nothing but more dead.

As of today November 15, 2023 over 11,000 people have been killed in Gaza.

That is a significant loss of life.

There is no minimizing previous lives lost in acknowledging that.

These attacks mark Israel’s retaliation, and yet they feel disproportionately punishing - they feel unyielding, and unending, and uninterested in any form of mercy.

I would suggest that perhaps the Palestinian people are not truly who Israel seeks to punish.

I would suggest that this too is trauma making itself known.

It is unremarkable to me that we would seek to reconcile the memories of our worst horrors, with the displays of what strength we’ve been taught.

Every single one of our lineages holds the tale of helplessness and powerlessness.

Many of our lineages know the overwhelm of genocide and senseless death.

We are all looking to feel safe in our skin. To feel as if our hurts have mattered.

But this “power” we have been sold would have us burn this world down and claim ourselves winning.

That is not power!

That is not strength!

That is the voice of our pain convinced that if we grasp hard enough, if we fight long enough, if we attack indiscriminately enough that somehow we’ll find ourselves safe.

But perhaps the safety that we long for - is a safety that we can give to each other.

Perhaps we can meet the memories of our worst horrors, the traumas that cannot be undone, with the choice to lend our true strength to the innocent.

With the choice to lay down the sword of contempt.

With the choice to offer our truths to a love that can actually hold us all.

Islamaphobia and Antisemitism are not actually very different - they are the same wound held at different angles. They are the remnants of a lie that would have us believe that our love is a stingy thing, that our difference is a cause for distrust, that our worthiness is measured by those we stand above.

It is vulnerable to believe that something else is possible - because what if we are wrong?

But then again what if we are right!

What if love is simply the act of choosing to see people where we have been taught to see monsters.

Of choosing to lay down the need to be “right” while we build up the tolerance to simply be here.

Nothing in this world is simple.

We could spend decades debating what should have never happened.

We can let ourselves ache for how it could have all been different.

But now we are here.

And now that we are, might we finally ask; what would love do?