'Skunk-Spraying' in E. Jerusalem and the Galilee

"Israel's One-State Reality"

A long and thoughtful article by David Remnick in this week's New Yorker.

Hundreds of Palestinians, Israelis protest collective punishment in East Jerusalem

Issawiya: A News Report on Peaceful Protests in East Jerusalem

Israeli President Reuven Rivlin's Anti-Racism Message

PRAYER: "One and Holy, Broken and Lovely"

By Dave Grishaw-Jones...returning home from two weeks in Palestine/Israel...and praying for all who suffer there and ache for peace...as more news rolls in of violence and despair in train stations, settlements and northern villages.

Maker of heaven and earth, 
Sower of every seed and harvester of all that grows,
One and Holy, Broken and Lovely,
Spirit aching for reconciliation and communion:

Bind the wounds of those who suffer today,
The young without hope,
The soldier whose day is shaped by fear,
The family who mourn a life 
Suddenly taken, terribly ripped from their arms and hearts.

Look upon Amal in Sheikh Jarrah
And Amal at the Tent of Nations,
And raise in their hearts the hope
Of a harvest of fruit and love and justice.

Look upon Bob in Gush Etzion,
And every settler who lives on someone else's land,
And sow seeds of radical love and sacrificial courage,
And a vision of a land beyond mine, mine, mine
And yours, yours, yours.

Shine your light on the peacemakers, the maladjusted
Who dream, dream, dream of healing,
Who ache, ache, ache for truth and reconciliation,
Who dare, like Abram, to enter an unknown land
Where nothing is known and the future is fragile.

Shine your light on Rami and Bassam,
Shine your light on Arik and Ghassan,
Shine your light on Rulah and Yael,
Shine your light on Sam and his daring daughter,
Calling everything into question
And wondering if everyone, everyone, everyone
Might just get along.

Holy Light, One and Whole and Shining,
Throw rays of sweet warmth across the Land,
Raise up these peacemaking, life-loving souls
For another day of resistance and hope.
Bind to their many hearts
Your dream of peace.

Amen.

DGJ 11.11.14

Holocaust Memorial, West Jerusalem

Issawiya Monitoring Committee

One of our two guides, Jalal, lives in Issawiya and shared with us his family's struggle for normalcy in a divided East Jerusalem.  In this link, you'll learn more about Issawiya's present situation and what makes their lives so difficult.

Jalal, Palestinian Guide

Saturday Night's Meditation

This poem by Thich Nhat Hanh embodies the essence of what he calls "interbeing," the innerconnectedness of all things.  We offer special thanks for Anat Zahor--who shared this with us last night.

 

 

Call Me by My True Names
by Thich Nhat Hanh

Peace is Every Step: The Path of Mindfulness in Everyday Life by Thich Nhat Hanh

In Plum Village, where I live in France, we receive many letters from the refugee camps in Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand, and the Philippines, hundreds each week. It is very painful to read them, but we have to do it, we have to be in contact. We try our best to help, but the suffering is enormous, and sometimes we are discouraged. It is said that half the boat people die in the ocean. Only half arrive at the shores in Southeast Asia, and even then they may not be safe.

There are many young girls, boat people, who are raped by sea pirates. Even though the United Nations and many countries try to help the government of Thailand prevent that kind of piracy, sea pirates continue to inflict much suffering on the refugees. One day we received a letter telling us about a young girl on a small boat who was raped by a Thai pirate. She was only twelve, and she jumped into the ocean and drowned herself.

When you first learn of something like that, you get angry at the pirate. You naturally take the side of the girl. As you look more deeply you will see it differently. If you take the side of the little girl, then it is easy. You only have to take a gun and shoot the pirate. But we cannot do that. In my meditation I saw that if I had been born in the village of the pirate and raised in the same conditions as he was, there is a great likelihood that I would become a pirate. I saw that many babies are born along the Gulf of Siam, hundreds every day, and if we educators, social workers, politicians, and others do not do something about the situation, in twenty-five years a number of them will become sea pirates. That is certain. If you or I were born today in those fishing villages, we may become sea pirates in twenty-five years. If you take a gun and shoot the pirate, all of us are to some extent responsible for this state of affairs.

After a long meditation, I wrote this poem. In it, there are three people: the twelve-year-old girl, the pirate, and me. Can we look at each other and recognize ourselves in each other? The tide of the poem is "Please Call Me by My True Names," because I have so many names. When I hear one of the of these names, I have to say, "Yes."

Call Me by My True Names

Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.
Look deeply: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.
I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that are alive.
I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time
to eat the mayfly.
I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond,
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence,
feeds itself on the frog.
I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to
Uganda.
I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea
pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and
loving.
I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my
hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to, my
people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.
My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all
walks of life.
My pain if like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.

Thich Nhat Hanh