Ljubljana, Slovenia

Dear Reader(s) from Ljubljana, Slovenia

I noticed, today, a flurry of readership during December from your neck of the woods. I find Google Analytics to be a fascinating source of entertainment. This little piece of code tells me all kinds of things, like the fact that in the middle of December you visited me quite a few times.

What are the folks in Slovenia, I wonder, interested in--Christmas Carols? Peace? or perhaps both. Your visits spanned postings on Spanish carols and Israeli refuseniks. Whatever your interest, welcome.

I know little about Slovenia. Just that it is nestled there near the top of the boot of Italy, there near where Atlas' left pinky finger might rest if pulling the boot onto his foot. Browsing around I found this picture of your hometown and I was quite charmed.

May I come for a visit? Not just a virtual visit, but one that includes a little mountaineering?

As far as peace goes, I've read that the official Slovenian position on Palestine and Israel is:

Slovenia supports political dialogue and the fostering of good relations with the Palestinian representatives who meet international requirements and are committed to peaceful efforts in resolving the conflict with Israel.
Slovenia also supports the Palestinians' legitimate efforts to reach a sustainable and fair solution of the Palestinian issue by political means, as well as the emergence of an independent, democratic Palestinian state, the Foreign Ministry said.

I agree. I wish so much that dialogue would take place. It seems to me that any talking that does get done is more like a series of monologues than dialogue. Oh, that someone would begin to listen.

Meanwhile the US Congress offhandedly passes resolutions supporting Israel's recent offensive in bi-partisan unanimity. Am I the one who is crazy? I certainly am not in favor of Hamas violence, but the complexity of the situation in Palestine in no way calls for such lock-step and unreflective politicking. My friends from Women in Black are holding vigils and prayer services, but even we know that the path to peace must be a two sided affair and one that recognizes the need for aggressive peacemaking, not aggressive retaliations. Oh dear, oh dear. Though you are far away from Knoxville, TN, would you like to join us in prayer tomorrow? We will be here:

An Interfaith Gathering of Reflection and Prayer Regarding the Middle East will be held on Sunday, January 11, 2009 at 4:00 p.m. at Westminster Presbyterian Church, located in Knoxville at 6500 Northshore Drive at the intersection of Lyons Bend. Prayers for peace from the Christian, Jewish, and Muslim traditions will be offered. There will be time for silent reflection and meditation. Musical offerings for peace will be included. The public is invited to attend this approximately one-hour service that welcomes all peoples and all traditions in the spirit of peace.

Will you join us in prayer. I think it's at 10 PM your time.

BRD

Letters to Obama II—Honestly and Without Regret

Dear Barack Obama,

"I would give honestly and without regret, one hundred dollars for that picture."
—Simon and Garfunkel 101.

I was leafing through old pictures the other day. From World War II. That wasn't the war to end all wars. We knew better by then. But, a few years ago, we got the idea that we ought to give war a go once more. Maybe this time, we could use war to “get ‘er done.”

I did a little anti-war protesting, before Congress took it's vote, but in the end, off the troops went. I remember saying to a friend of mine, another old peacenik, “I hope they are right, because I hate to demonstrate against a war, when our troops are risking their lives.” My Congressman, Jimmy Duncan, voted against going to war in Iraq. He's a Republican. I wrote a letter to him and told him I thought he was a wise American.

The picture I was looking for the other day was captured at Anzio.

I found was this one, taken from inside a tent. You can see the flap of the tent. Perhaps this photo was an accident. It is grusome, but it tells the truth about war.

Does it matter, when you see a pile that is bodies? Does it matter if they are Americans or Germans, French or Iraqi, Japanese or Afghan? I don’t think it does. Not 64 years later, it doesn’t matter. They aren’t Americans, they are a tragic memory. And today what matters is trying for peace and trying for a different picture, a different memory.

I would give, honestly, and without regret, one hundred dollars for that picture.

BRD

Beloved Israel

Dear Josh,

In a recent post comment you raised a good question for those of us who live in a place where we cannot see Israel with our own eyes and for those of us who are very much in favor of a place for Israel on our globe. Those of us who hate oppression of any kind, I think, have warm and tender feelings for the people group which has, through history, received the most cruel treatment—the children of Israel.

I would not, for a minute, wish ill for the nation of Israel. In fact, it is for that very reason that I responded when my Jewish friends who are involved in the organization Women in Black asked me to join them in weekly "protests" calling for peace with justice in Palestine. One of those Jewish friends recently tried to visit Israel and Palestine, but she was refused entrance because, on her itinerary, it stated that she wished to visit areas in the West Bank that are in crisis. These areas have come to be known as "occupied areas." The Longstreths, a husband/wife medical team from San Diego did make that visit this past summer. The following link takes you to a description of what they observed.
http://www.counterpunch.org/longstreth09012007.html

Here is another piece written by Seth Freedman in the Jerusalem Post.

When I say that I wish no ill for Israel, that does include my belief that the worst ill is doing evil, not being the recipient of evil. It is terrible to be oppressed. It is worse to be an oppressor. It is terrible to be victimized. It is worse to be a victimizer.

Palestinians include both Christian and Muslim individuals. Most of the Palestinians I know here in Knoxville are Christians. Some are Muslim. Both groups are equally oppressed in Palestine. Jewish, Christian, and Muslim women here are working together for the same goal. Peace with Justice in Palestine.

As I think of this, my mind randomly jumps to two things. One is Psalm 137. It is not the words of this Psalm that are "dead on," but the emotion.

By the waters of Babylon,
there we sat down and wept,
when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there
we hung up our lyres.
For there our captors required of us songs,
and our tormentors, mirth, saying,
"Sing us one of the songs of Zion!"
How shall we sing the Lord's song
in a foreign land?

Palestinian, Jew, American, Muslim, Josh, Betsy--we all can sing this song when we are tormented or far from home. Humans understand this sentiment.

I am reminded, too, of the book I finished last night. The End by Lemony Snicket. Yes, I have finished the last book of the Series of Unfortunate Events, the sad tale of the Baudelaire children. I am fascinated by this study of good and evil written for the 12 year old crowd. As this book points out, the world is a complicated place and one does not do noble things without doing a fair share of treacherous ones. That is certainly happening in Israel. I pray that the leaders of the government there will become more self aware, introspective, and realize that they are investing in too much treachery and too little nobility in relation to the Palestinian population. If they do not, they will find that though they are in The Lord's land, the timbre of the lyres will be sour indeed.

Betsy

Memory of Hiroshima by Mitsuyoshi Toge

Dear Mitsuyoshi Toge*,

You are gone now. Gone at 36, yet this week we have to think of you and those like you whose lives were cut short that day in August of 1945 when a flash of atomic light signaled death not life and a new generation of ways to war and hate.

Thank you for raising from the dead, your poetic voice and insight, so that we will be told once more, not to forget.

Betsy

'How Could I Ever Forget That Flash'

How could I ever forget that flash of light!
In a moment, thirty thousand people ceased to be,
The cries of fifty thousand killed
At the bottom of crushing darkness;

Through yellow smoke whirling into light,
Buildings split, bridges collapsed,
Crowded trams burnt as they rolled about
Hiroshima, all full of boundless heaps of embers.
Soon after, skin dangling like rags;
With hands on breasts;
Treading upon the broken brains;
Wearing shreds of burn cloth round their loins;
There came numberless lines of the naked,
all crying.
Bodies on the parade ground, scattered like
jumbled stone images of Jizo;
Crowds in piles by the river banks,
loaded upon rafts fastened to the shore,
Turned by and by into corpses
under the scorching sun;
in the midst of flame
tossing against the evening sky,
Round about the street where mother and
brother were trapped alive under the fallen house
The fire-flood shifted on.
On beds of filth along the Armory floor,
Heaps, and God knew who they were?
Heaps of schoolgirls lying in refuse
Pot-bellied, one-eyed, with half their skin peeled
off bald.
The sun shone, and nothing moved
But the buzzing flies in the metal basins
Reeking with stagnant ordure.
How can I forget that stillness
Prevailing over the city of three hundred thousands?
Amidst that calm,
How can I forget the entreaties
Of departed wife and child
Through their orbs of eyes,
Cutting through our minds and souls?



*Mitsuyoshi Toge, born in Hiroshima in 1917, was a Catholic and a poet. He was in Hiroshima when the atomic bomb was dropped on the city on August 6, 1945, when he was 24 years old. Toge died at age 36. His firsthand experience of the bomb, his passion for peace, and his realistic insight into the event made him a leading poet in Hiroshima. This poem is from Hiroshima-Nagasaki: A Pictorial Record of the Atomic Destruction (1978).

Women in Black Knoxville Year 5

Dear Women in Black,

Thank you!


Women in Black members have stood silently (or almost silently) in front of the Duncan Federal Building in Knoxville, TN, every Tuesday since April 8, 2002, to mourn the deaths caused by violence between Palestinians and Israelis. The group calls for an end to what it considers Israel's illegal occupation of the West Bank and Gaza.

Composed of Christian, Muslim and Jewish women, as well as women from other faiths, the group is part of an international movement started in 1988 by Israeli women.

A poem with hope for peace and understanding.

Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal

by Naomi Shihab Nye


After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, Please come to the gate immediately Well -- one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her.
What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew -- however poorly used - She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been cancelled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the Following day. I said no, no, we're fine, you'll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let's call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and Would ride next to her -- southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies -- little powdered Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts -- out of her bag -- And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, The lovely woman from Laredo -- we were all covered with the same Powdered sugar. And smiling. There is no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers -- Non-alcoholic -- and the two little girls for our flight, one African

American, one Mexican American -- ran around serving us all apple juice And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend -- by now we were holding hands --

Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some

medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate -- once the crying of confusion stopped
-- has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.