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READ this BLOG if you don't have the patience to read my blog!  I’ve been trying to remain silent and prayerful about the violence unfolding in Israel and Gaza. These are not my people. I cannot possibly understand the generational pain on both sides. I am overwhelmed by the cycle of oppression and violence that is the story of both Palestinians and Israelis.  And yet these are my people. Why? Because they are God’s beloved people. I cannot turn away from hearing the news that regular folks were stolen from their homes and held captive. I cannot turn away from the images of entire neighborhoods destroyed. So much death and violence and destruction and more generational trauma. I find myself silent and prayerful and hopeless. Yesterday I hesitantly reached out to my Jewish spirit-sister. Her ministry is one of healing, mine leading a church. Her particular Jewish faith infuses her being in a fundamental and natural way. I can only aspire to a particular Christian faith that runs through my being as naturally as her Jewish faith does. She is also a progressive Jew (my words, not hers). She, like me, is very willing to laugh at her tradition, speak about its shortcomings, learn from other traditions, and examine her blind spots. She is particularly Jewish, but not limited by her tradition. I am particularly Christian, because as I say often, I was born into a northern european family. I have more in common with my Jewish spirit-sister than I do with most Christians.
And yet I did not call her, text her, ask her how she was when I learned about the attacks on Saturday night. She has beloved friends in Israel. I know this. I remained silent. I didn’t know what to say. ME!? The person who always says too much. I was angry at this cycle of violence. I wanted to affix blame somewhere, but where? And I did not reach out to my dear friend. Yesterday I wrote to my friend something earnest, but still reserved, not filled with my usual head-on-love. I felt sure I had no right to “weigh in” on the violence. I simply told her I was praying. I concluded my message to her, “praying for the individual souls who are connected in a web of history too painful for me to understand. In particular I am praying for those you love there. And I am praying for you.” My silence was short sighted. I didn’t need to explain for whom and how I was praying. She only needs me to help carry the burden of praying for an entire part of the world marred in violence. She needed to know I cared. She needed to know I hurt for her. She needed to know she was not alone. She needed to know I loved her and therefore I loved those she loved. I share her response because it was the splash of cold water I needed and perhaps you need too. “Thanks for reaching out, sharing your prayers. It is a hard time on so many levels and yet it helps when our non-Jewish friends reach out in support. Here is a link to a blog that goes into this more.” Read this blog. READ IT! And reach out to your Jewish friends. Reach out to your Palestinian friends. Reach out. Do not remain silent. Also do not assume you understand the depths of this conflict. Hold on to hope for peace. Above all right now, care for those who are hurting right in your backyard--for the many Jewish and Palestinian American friends who do not need more political rhetoric or petitions or statements. They simply need our prayers and love.
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