August 12, 2014
In the middle of my morning prayers, while mentioning to God the major concerns of the world and my family, I prayed for a little girl whose face I had seen on CNN. She was one of 30 or so people who had clambered aboard a helicopter on Mt. Sinjar, most of them crying for one reason or another. This tear-streaked child was crying for her daddy, repeating again and again, “Papa.” The reporter tried in vain to know the facts. Had her father just been left behind on the mountain? Had she been separated from him earlier? Had he died? No one knew. So, along with war in the Middle East and the Ebola crisis and my daughter’s health and a responsibility I don’t know how to take care of, I mentioned, “the little girl crying for her papa.”
Then when I opened my email, I had a message that B’Tselem, a peace and justice organization in Israel, had petitioned the Israeli High Court to oblige the Israeli Broadcasting Authority to broadcast the names of just a few of the more than 200 verified names of children who died in the recent campaign in Gaza. The IBA had refused to do this on the basis that it is not “balanced” and might provoke public controversy over the military operation.
My first thought was, “Duh!” The fear of the IBA is valid, obvious, the point exactly. If we knew those we killed in any war, could we live with the knowledge? If we knew and had to see their weeping children, could we go on killing? If we had to know what we are doing, would we find a way to break the cycle of violence?
I know someone will see weakness in these questions. They will mention the brutality of the enemy, fear of the aggressor, so many things. And these are realities. They are facts to be dealt with. But our own hearts are the only hearts we are responsible for. Our own minds are the minds we must change first, before we worry about the minds of others.
The bottom line of the whole issue of war and peace is the little girl crying for her lost daddy and five Palestinian children with names: Muhammad, age 2; Siraj, 8; Basem, 10; Amal, 2; Saher, 4. Not numbers, but real children for whom someone is crying.