I woke this morning early, heart beating hard and mind picking right back up from either a dream or the events left over from the night before – it was hard to say. When changing positions in bed and a sip of water brought nothing, it was time to get up, despite the early hour I made out through the glow of my old running watch, fumbling for the correct button.
I took myself to the sunniest spot in our small apartment and did yoga as the sky changed. I made a glaze for the date and nut bars that had cooled overnight, poured my coffee, and took my book outside onto the balcony. Our balcony is the last to be kissed by the morning sun and while the neighbours’ laundry had surely dried, I bundled into a jacket and let the sun gently bring me into the day.
It was hard, actually.
I was antsy, uncertain, energetic, and had far too much on my mind to sit there as calmly and quietly as it may have seemed. Even while doing yoga, I had thought of lists to do, weighed scenarios in my mind, and pushed myself time and again back to my intention – be here now. On the balcony, I let my book focus my attention, let the feeling of the chair pressing into the backs of my legs keep me anchored to where I was.
As is often the case, the uneasiness dissipated as the sun moved higher in the sky. Along with it, I felt better as dawn became day. The concerns I’d had were logical, systematic, manageable. The beating of my heart slowed down, the anxiety I’d felt crushing my chest upon waking drifted off and settled somewhere out of reach.
When such feelings flickered again later, as feelings often do, I looked for the breath I was supposed to find during yoga. I looked for the breath that had been elusive in the moment, and waited as years of practice called it back when I took a step back and closed my eyes. I smiled instead of settling into the negative emotion and felt the emotion loosen its grip. That’s not always the right response, but that was what this moment required. There would be an opportunity to revisit later on.
In the film we watched one Friday evening, one character asked the other, “Wofür bist du geboren?” I like the phrasing of this question in German better than its English counterpart, which would be something like, “What is your calling?” The idea of being born for something rather than called for something just sits more easily with me.
I turned to you and asked and you answered immediately. To help and support other people, you said, to make their lives better, less stressful, to bring laughter and joy. You did not need to think before answering; you just knew.
Since then, I’ve been mulling over my own answer to this question. I know who I want to be as I walk in this world, but how can I tell for sure if that’s who I am? I think I’m a good listener and I think I make people feel seen and heard, that they feel like they matter. This is how I want to be as a partner, as part of a family, as a friend, as an educator. This is what I want to be my purpose in the world – being someone who can listen and who shows others that they matter.
In my journal last night, I wrote that maybe what I’m experiencing is cognitive dissonance. My brain must have worked on this as I slept because I woke up with a structure of what to say, a structure that I’ve spent a month trying to find.
I grew up learning about a land connected to my ancestry through thousands of years and I was elated to have three opportunities to visit.
I grew up understanding that violence is not the answer, never the answer.
As an adult, I found myself teaching a course with the goal of understanding criticism of the government of this land and engaging with it to develop opinions based on critical thought rather than doctrine or dogma.
As an adult, I have maintained the stance that violence is not the way. I’ve written a blog series about peace building, a book about peace building. My stance here is not new.
I would like to think that I heard about Hamas’s terrorist attack on Israeli citizens with the same horror as everyone else. It was reminiscent of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, after all. A clear aggressor, a clear catalyst, an incredible toll on innocent people. Governments react, civilians shoulder the consequences.
But I’ve seen that there are people who don’t view a terrorist attack as unjustified, and their outrage did not mirror mine.
I live in a town that has posters of Israeli civilians taken hostage by Hamas hanging on lampposts. I live in a town that hosted not only a pro-Israel gathering in one of our many squares, but also a pro-Israel concert at the most prestigious of our theatres. I work in a school with people from around the world, and a flyer for a march supporting Gaza appeared in our staff room. My student council students have been struggling with how to word a social media post urging peace; we needed mere moments after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine to do the same. But the fact that they are struggling means awareness of nuance, and I cannot fault teenagers for that.
That I live in a small town in a country with strict laws against hate speech means that I’m pretty well insulated. I’ve read about antisemitic rallies, protests, and acts rather than seen them myself. I am grateful for this. But I know people are experiencing terrible things, and it is the discomfort that comes from this knowledge that spurred this blog post.
This blog post is not about the myriad reasons over decades, or centuries, or millennia that could have led to Hamas’s terrorist attack. This blog post is not about the myriad reasons over decades, or centuries, or millennia that could have led to Israel’s response. This blog post is not about who is breaking which laws of war, committing which war crimes, or harming the most civilians.
I want to say clearly that I do not support the idea that the sides of this conflict are morally equivalent. There is a moral wrong here, and it lies with Hamas. It lies with Hamas because their founding tenant is to destroy the nation of Israel, Jewish people, and Judaism. That Hamas is waging a war based on a strategy of knowing that its Israeli opponent practices any degree of restraint should be all that needs to be said.
In terms of civilian response, I find it morally unacceptable that any voices are allowed to call for the destruction of a nation and of a specific group of people, and it is dangerous and hypocritical for this to take place under the guise of voicing support for another group. Antisemitism is loud and it is real. It is one thing to call for peace; it is another to use a call for peace for one group of civilians as an excuse to preach violence against another group of civilians.
But it would also be wrong to deny the immense toll on civilian life. I find the use of the new term “humanitarian pause” disturbing because it suggests that not only is a cease-fire an impossibility, but that it would be futile to work towards one. This new term has removed cease-fire from the language of war, thereby eliminating the concept. War is about power, and language is power.
I grew up understanding that violence is not the answer, never the answer. I believe this to be true.
After Hamas’s attack, it took me many days to decide where to lend financial support because the idea of valuing one set of human lives over another made me nauseous. In the end, I made two donations, realizing that I didn’t have to choose. Civilians are suffering and I cannot stand idly by.
I started this post mentioning cognitive dissonance. It believe it plays a role because I am a pacifist at heart and I know that this position does not work in the real world. I am admitting, here and to myself, that pacifism is not the answer. But I believe, too, that moral positions can act as a framework, and this is the way that I hope the world could be. But it is not enough to hope; one must also act.
Cognitive dissonance plays a role because I grew up in a community deeply entrenched in Jewish life and culture and I am living in a profoundly secular society.
Cognitive dissonance is the discomfort of the conflicting identities, conflicting attitudes, that I experience within myself.
The violence is wrong. The civilian toll is wrong. But in this situation, what is right? We cannot assume rational nation-states as actors because, at the minimum, Hamas is neither a nation-state nor rational. So discussions of this war cannot proceed on that basis. What is to be done with a non-rational, non-state actor? What is to be done with a terrorist organization using not only humanity but humanitarian ideals as a weapon against another actor, one that is, at the minimum, a recognized nation-state?
There is too much emotion in these questions to call either side rational. Thousands of years of conflict are anything but rational.
I do not accept any actors, state or non-state, advocating the destruction of any group of people, supporting violence toward any group of people.
We already know who pays in the end because it is already happening. We already know which nations take which sides because they have already done so.
If an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, we will all be left scarred.
And will that be enough?
Jerusalem, Israel – April 2017
Photos, travels, musings, and ideas on education by someone trying to make the world a better and more peaceful place
By Rebecca Michelle 