The first time I felt that pit, and I mean felt it growing hollow inside of me, was on a Leadership trip to Israel through USY in February 2008, after the Second Lebanon War. My friends and I, 16 selected leaders from the Conservative Movement, went up North and saw destruction from the war two summers earlier. We sat in a bomb shelter and were told stories of civilians running for their lives at the sound of sirens, of evacuating towards the South, of leaving behind your houses and seeking safety. I held a Ketusha rocket which had been fired at the very children's school we sat in in my hands and for the first time understood the literal weight of living under fire.
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| Holding a Ketusha Rocket, February 2008. We smile because we have no other way to cope |
The next time was in August 2011. Only days after dropping my brother off at the airport, after months of no violence between Gaza and Israel, there were two bombings in the South of Israel. And right there in front of all of my campers as our Rosh Edah (Unit Head) was telling us of the attacks, I started crying. That's when I knew every rocket, every uncertainty on the border, every wrong move from an Israeli teenager given some training and a uniform would make me feel a little different. Afterwards, I felt that pit in a big way in a long night many of us remember last year, October 18, 2011, as I stayed up all night watching the news, reading Twitter, and awaiting Gilad Shalit's return. What does this mean for the future of the soldiers? No one knew. No one knows.
Many of you, however, know that pit. We all feel it in different ways. We make jokes about Ahmed Jabari (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ahmed_Jabari) being married to 72 virgins on facebook. We post statuses about our political views- no matter what they are, we write that we stand with Israel, we lament the New York Times for a biased article and argue on Twitter with people we've never met. We feel a deep yearning for our brothers and sisters in Israel. We decide today that that's that- "Next year in Jerusalem!" is no longer a saying.
You may be feeling this pit today because death is around us, terrorists and innocent civilians alike. You may be feeling this pit today because your friends are being called up for reserves or your brother's phone is off. It may be that you have experienced having 15 seconds to run into bomb shelters and you feel for the thousands of civilians up all night for that very reason. Or maybe all your friends are saying "No matter what I stand with Israel" and you want to think that, want to believe that, but you pray to God that Israel doesn't mess this up, that we defend our citizens with honor and dignity.
We know a few things. We know Israel has a right to defend itself against 12 years of over 12,000 rockets from Gaza. We feel it in our hearts and our souls and we stand behind that conviction. But sometimes we don't know what this defense means for us, our families, and for the world around us. So remember this: the uncertainty is uniting us. Right now, I feel a need to be with a community of people who understand what attacks on Israel mean in a profound visceral way, knowing that others feel that too. It's a strange and uncomfortable feeling of aloneness and a need to find solidarity in others, if only to reaffirm that, somewhat paradoxically, that very sense of aloneness is felt by others, too. Know that the person next to you in class, across from you at Hillel, and on your Facebook newsfeed is feeling it too. You are not alone, they are not alone. So lend them a supportive hand, engage in productive dialogue, and remember that talking is cathartic- Facebook arguments are not.
With tweets like these, can you blame my pit for growing?
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| Source and interesting article: http://www.buzzfeed.com/mattbuchanan/how-to-wage-war-on-the-internet |
Sometimes it's simple, sometimes we have a clear sense of black and white. But uncertainty is not. It is clear that we have a right, a need, to defend ourselves. But the emotions wrapped up in that need, they aren't so clear.
We must be there for one another, not just on the internet but in person. We must confront our emotions to talk about them, engage with them, and allow them to lead to productive intellectual dialogue about the mixed feelings inside of us. To borrow a slogan from Columbia/Barnard 2011 Peace Week for Israelis and Palestinians, It's complicated, Let's talk about it.
