A wintry, cold, misty day, and we are deep in the heart of the desert. In the distance I recognize the Palestinian flag flying on a high pillar. A week ago, when we were here, it was not here. From the top you can already see the ruins but when we go down to the small village the tears choke my throat. "What is it?" I think in pain, no stone upon stone remained here. Huge piles of crumpled tin shards, broken blocks and pieces of fences. There was nothing left of all the simple houses where I drank tea and coffee a week ago, or of the dilapidated sheep pens, where I had seen the newborn lambs. As I stand there and tears begin to flow from my eyes, the older woman with whom I spoke last week approaches me in loud cries: "Hello! Welcome, how are you?" I am stunned by the warm welcome from a woman whose house was destroyed, and she continues - "Come, come, how are you?", And only after many greetings, does she refer to what is around her: Here, let's have some tea. " Before we continue on our way, I look again at the new Palestinian flag hoisting in the strong wind that blows outside, and think to myself - a week ago there were people here who lived the daily life of grazing in the desert. Today they already belong to the Palestinian identity and are waving a national consciousness.
We arrive at a settlement where the green color stands out from afar. A large Israeli flag is hoisted at the entrance. "Interesting," I think to myself, "today nationalism stands out to me here on the ground ...". There we meet a settler, who a few days ago experienced severe violence on the field, on nationalist causes. When asked what he thought next, I am inspired when he replies, "I thought to myself, what have these people gone through that has accumulated so much anger? How much suffering they have experienced that has caused them to behave this way towards me, towards others."
Later in the day, in the meetings with other women, conversations, drawings with children, I tried to think - maybe through people with a spirit like the one I met in the morning, it would be possible to create a different reality here in the area? A more tolerant attitude towards the national identity and connection of all of us to this land? The powerful images and words of suffering and pain were deeply etched in me. This is also the reason why, despite the great sorrow that still accompanies me, I decided to rewrite the suffering. And also to remember - the inspiration I received that day - the ability to accept the situation as it is, without producing extreme reactions and the ability to see the suffering of the other, in such a difficult situation of violence.
As I wrote the last lines, a few lines from Bob Dylan's poem came to mind:
How many roads must a man walk down Before you call him a man? How many seas must a white dove sail Before she sleeps in the sand? Yes, and how many times must the cannonballs fly Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind The answer is blowin' in the wind
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