During the War in Lebanon

(Translated from French by Howard Shippin)

I would like to share with you our daily reality.

Here at the swimming pool, an Arab and two Jews are engaged in an animated discussion, of which I catch only a few bits while swimming. The Arab: "What do you think - that Nasrallah isn’t an Arab? It’s good nonetheless that someone at least does something on behalf of the Palestinians. You too - Jews and Israelis - are you not united in the same way?! " The Jew: "Why does the world expect us to accept everything?! We should just endure the firing of missiles at us and not react?!"

I have been trying , in swimming, to find a little calm. After a few laps, the discussion quiets down and the three are peacefully drinking coffee and busying themselves with their children.

Our guest house is full to the last place. Occupied by families who are refugees from the North. And constantly new ones come with new requests, which we must unfortunately turn down.

I return via Daoud’s house in order to ask him a question. The TV is blaring, tuned to Al Jazira, and bringing terrifying images of the catastrophic bombardment of Beirut.

On my way back I also need to pop into Ilan’s house. Here, the TV brings a report directly from Haifa: a house is in ruins after being hit by a missile. Panicked people are explaining what happened. Directions are given as to how to act in the case of a missile attack.

Afterwards I visit the volunteer house to take leave of the volunteers – most of them are from Germany. Their parents understandably want them to return home. The volunteers feel frustrated that their parents don’t understand that here in Neve Shalom Wahat al-Salam things are quiet. Meanwhile the worried parents respond to the attempts of their children to convince them that there is no danger here and that the missiles are not falling here.

We all hope that this nightmare will evaporate soon. It is becoming more and more painful to suffer this violence against which every fiber in my body revolts. An atmosphere of war – we feel it so often. We hear the planes that pass above our heads towards Lebanon. And I don’t understand how the young pilot above manages to do the bombing. All it takes for him is to press a button, - as simple as it is terrible. How can we bring these pressers of buttons on every side to cease pressing them?

And at the same time, it is so peaceful on our patio, where we ate yesterday with a friend who was over from Austria... Our children have just returned from their youth club, accompanied by friends. A joyful stream of children march in, speaking among themselves in their jumble of Hebrew and Arabic.

Shalom, Salam from Neve Shalom Wahat al-Salam