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These thoughts began as a social media post, shared with a few friends. I publish it with trepidation because it wades into difficult conversations, and is a bit more raw and a work in progress than my typical writing, but it’s on my heart and I think it’s time. I hope you’ll bear with me and “pardon the dust.” Please forgive me if I don’t get everything right; I’m still learning here, and I’m trying to keep my ears open to listen.

My concern is the way we talk about the war in the Middle East. At the outset I acknowledge my place as a person of Jewish descent who grew up Unitarian Universalist, and for whom Jewish culture and heritage remains an important part of my identity. I am also a pacifist who opposes violence as a solution to problems, and a supporter of a just two state solution in Israel and Palestine. I believe in Israel’s right to exist and the Palestinian right to be free from oppression and occupation. I believe firmly that human rights must be honored, even when it’s hard, and I believe they have not been.

What I have to say is this. Friends, we need to be careful with our language. 

We live in an era in which both Islamophobia and antisemitism are burgeoning. This was true before the events of the past month and it remains true. Many people have legitimate reason to feel attacked and afraid, and the way we express our care for one another and our demands for justice can either alleviate or exacerbate the situation.

For example, much has been made recently of the slogan “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” – so much so that it led to the censure of a US Congresswoman (a cynical move I disagree with, especially as the charge was led by people who frequently traffic in antisemitic tropes). I understand why the slogan has caught on – who doesn’t support freedom? But many who are new to it and are repeating it today don’t understand that it has frequently been employed to call for the eradication of Israel and the destruction of Jewish (not just Israeli) people. While the slogan predates Hamas and has been used with various intents through the decades, it is widely known as a Hamas rallying cry. That means that many Jews will hear “From the river to the sea” and interpret those words as an expression of support, not for justice for the Palestinian people, but for the actions of Hamas. And they will feel attacked and afraid. To many, it’s like seeing someone wear a swastika or wave a confederate flag. There’s a palpable, physical fear. Again, that’s not what most people I’ve seen using the phrase intend – but with so many words available, wouldn’t it be better to choose ones that don’t strike mortal fear into grieving people’s hearts? Why choose to express ourselves in ways that we know are hurtful? Whatever our intent, impact matters, and there are other ways to express our support for justice.

People are afraid right now – Muslims and Jews. The language we use to express our care matters, so we should use language with care. Otherwise, whatever our intent, we shouldn’t be surprised when our words are experienced as antisemitic or Anti-Muslim. From a purely practical point of view, if we don’t want to be thought of that way, we need to be clear, careful and caring in our choice of words.

If we talk about this war as a conflict between “Jews and Muslims,” or even “Jews and Palestinians,” we’re not being careful or caring in our speech. If we equate opposition to Israeli government policies, or anger on behalf of the innocents killed in Israel’s attack on Gaza, with antisemitism, we’re not being careful or caring in our listening. If we equate anger at the brutality exhibited by Hamas, and a lack of trust in Hamas, with Islamophobia, we’re not being careful or caring in our listening. At the same time, if we we equate ignorance of history and the context of words with hatred of one group or the other, we’re also not being careful enough. 

There are multiple layers of history and hurt tied up with these issues, including the positions of both Jewish and Palestinian peoples after World War II. That history, and the dynamics of privilege, race, and religion may be perceived very differently depending on one’s lens. There is a risk of conflating the injustices of the settler movement with the existence of Israel itself, or confusing the antisemitism of Hamas with the current outrage expressed on behalf of the people of Gaza. These issues are complicated and hard, and few of us understand them all.

Not every person of Jewish or Muslim descent will see things the same way – and if we assume that one person speaks for an entire religion or people (especially when they’re saying what we want or expect to hear), then we’re not being careful enough.

What do I believe? I believe that Netanyahu is a dangerous figure who is using the Hamas terrorist attack to get away with horrific human rights abuses and shut down any possibility for a peace he has never wanted and the two state solution which is so desperately needed. I also think Hamas is a brutal and repressive organization that has proven itself capable of the worst kind of dehumanization, and that by its actions it has abdicated any credibility or right to power. I do not believe that Jewish people should have to answer for the crimes of Israel or that Muslim people should have to answer for the crimes of Hamas, or that decrying the actions of one means supporting the actions of the other. I believe people should be free to express differing opinions and positions. I believe we should listen at least as much as we speak. I believe we can love more than one group of people at the same time. 

I also believe – I know – that Muslim and Jewish people alike are suffering right now. Jews and Muslims have been killed over this – not just in the Middle East, but here in the United States. Synagogues and mosques in my neighborhood and probably yours have received threats. People are hurting and terrified.

And I know that pretty much everyone in my life cares deeply about that reality. We all know many people are in deep pain, and none of us want to make it worse.

Friends, we need to be careful with our language.

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Note – the video doesn’t play directly from the blog, but does from YouTube.  Click the link and watch it; you’ll be glad you did.

Veteran’s Day can be a challenging observation for those of us in the peace movement. As a committed pacifist, I deplore all war. The very existence of armed conflict is, in my view, the most colossal and self-defeating waste of resources ever devised by humanity. At the same time, I recognize the sacrifices of women and men who have gone to war – some voluntarily and some not so. I’ve seen minds damaged and families destroyed by the aftermath of battle. I’ve seen good people walking around with physical and emotional injuries that will never show. And I cannot help but honor these women and men, not because of the injuries, but because of the sacrifices they made out of love of country. I may not agree with the need for those sacrifices, but I surely honor the people who made them.

Utah Phillips once said that the way wars can end is when soldiers start talking about what it was really like. He has said that his time in Panmunjom immediately after the treaty was “absolute life amid the ruins.”

On today’s Morning Edition, National Public Radio’s political commentator Cokie Roberts talked about the effect of fewer veterans serving in Congress. “You see it in debates about taking the United States into military actions where you don’t hear the voices of those very experienced veterans.” I wondered how eager politicians would be to enter wars if more of them understood it better.

I’ve always appreciated A. L. Lloyd’s Seamen’s Hymn. In its brief simplicity it captures both the honor of sacrifice and the cruelty of war:

Come all you bold seamen
Wherever you’re bound
And always let Nelson’s
Proud memory go round.

And pray that the wars
And the tumult shall cease
For the greatest of gifts
Is a sweet lasting peace.

May the Lord put an end
To these cruel old wars
And bring peace and contentment
To all our brave tars!

There are several videos of performances of “The Seamen’s Hymn,” but to my ear this recording from a pub sing captures it best. This is how the song should be sung – by the people, often and loudly.

On this Veteran’s Day, may we honor sacrifices made in war, recognize its cruelty, and join together in prayer for the greatest of gifts – a sweet lasting peace.

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Today is the tenth anniversary of the beginning of the Iraq War. The first moments of that war were heavily televised, though we saw very little that our government didn’t wish us to see.  Cameras placed on the bottoms of planes gave us the illusion that bombs could be “smart,” hit only their targets and would never hurt the general population – with whom, we were told, we had no quarrel.  Even those of us who protested the war thought it would be over quickly – though many raised concerns over its longer term impacts.  The nightly television coverage seemed to confirm these predictions, as we dropped bomb after bomb after bomb on Baghdad.  Hearing the blasé attitudes of television reporters chatting cheerfully over footage of death raining on human beings sickened me, and I wrote this poem, which now I give to you:

Windows onto the destruction
propped open in the living room;
Almost game-like in precision;
horrific in carnage.
Only 56 killed, we hear through narrow cracks.
It is a half truth.
When we turn to the window,
pry open the jammed frame,
the smell sickens.
It isn’t the 56 young Americans,
not mostly.
It is the stench of a hundred,
a thousand
two thousand
men
children
women,
fighters or lovers,
death knows no distinctions of
innocence or guilt.
The 20 megatons that would
pulverize a palace
destroy a slum.
“Regrettable.”
The lives of our soldiers
more precious than their children,
our integrity dies in the furnace.

They told us we lost our innocence
the day two towers fell.
It was a lie.
We found our innocence
the day we died.
We lost our innocence
the day
we killed.

– Dan Schatz
March 2003

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God of many names and no name,
Hashem, Allah, Adonai, El, Mother,
Brahman, Sacred Mystery,

In this season of darkness we cry out for the light of hope.

We are in deep mourning.
Over the past two days we have struggled to understand
what brokenness of mind could allow a human soul
to walk into a school and murder twenty children and six teachers.
There are no words for our despair;
we are devastated;
we are angry;
we are afraid.

O God of many names,
help us to find the strength to endure our grief,
and help our nation find the right way forward
as we face what we do not wish to acknowledge
about ourselves and our culture.

May we turn from violence,
seeking the way of light and of peace,
not only among the nations,
but also among people,
and in our inner cities,
and in our suburbs,
and in our families,
and in our schools.

In the conversations ahead, may we speak with one another openly
and from the deep place of spirit.

May we find the courage to make our voices heard
when we have something that needs to be said,
and to speak firmly the truth of our hearts.

And in the midst of our mourning may we find hope,
remembering that no act of violence, however terrible, can define us,
or take away the goodness of which humanity is capable.

God of many names and no name,
Let us lift our spirits to the light,
our hearts to the call,
and our bodies to the task
of hope and healing.

So may it be.
Amen.

 

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