Oh, Mother Jerusalem,
You lie there naked with fear,
A mermaid in an enchanted bed,
A wall encircling you,
Burning like a candle from within,
But the houses – locked shut
In loneliness and tears.
In what may have been one of the most moving moments of protest in Israel, hundreds of women and men wearing stark black lay down outside the Cinematheque in Tel-Aviv, completely covering the large plaza in front of the building. At first, it seemed too hot to attempt such an act – exactly at 12 noon – and first efforts to lie flat on one’s back seemed a misguided idea. But then the unaccompanied voice of Reem Telhami began its chant, the haunting harmonies reminiscent of the call of the muezzin during Ramadan at dawn before the sun has risen, and soon there was utter silence. I lay there, too, the heat pressing against my arms, back and legs, my eyelids luminescent with sun, and soon I too was inside Reem’s deep, mournful lament. “In loneliness and tears”, she sang three times, each more tender and plaintive than the last. As the last strains evaporated into the air, I could feel my face wet with those tears.
So began today’s demonstration of the Coalition of Women for Peace, marking 36 years of Israeli occupation, calling for its end and an end to the killing that has enveloped our lives. How can this still be happening to us? Haven’t 36 years been enough?
The speakers alternated – Jews and Palestinians from Israel, two Palestinian women from the territories, and one woman representing the internationals who risk their lives in an effort to intervene nonviolently. Dalit Baum, feminist Jewish activist, opened by showing the connections among all the forms of violence – occupation, poverty, brutality against women – through their common roots. Suher abu-Uksa Daoud, a Palestinian writer doing her doctorate at Hebrew University, spoke of how her own life moved from anger to peace activism. Yali Hashash, a feminist defender of Mizrahi rights among Jews, challenged us to examine our commitment to justice, and pay a solidarity visit to the protest encampment of impoverished Israelis in Tel Aviv.
Flo Razowsky a U.S. peace activist with the International Solidarity Movement (ISM), told how the Israeli government is trying to prevent peace and human rights activists from entering the territories, and noted that she is personally struggling to prevent Israel from deporting her. A particularly moving letter written by Cindy Corrie, the mother of Rachel – the American peace activist who was killed by a bulldozer as she tried to prevent the demolition of a Palestinian home – was read out loud and said, in part: “There have been times when I have been quiet because I felt there were others who knew more. But I am no longer intimidated by experts and critics. After all, my daughter had the courage to stand in front of a bulldozer” [full text below]. Shulamit Aloni, former Israeli cabinet minister and outspoken defender of justice and equality, was eloquent in demanding an end to the bloodshed and the dawn of an era of peace.
From the occupied territories, Fadwa Khader of the Palestinian Agricultural Association came to extend her hand in peace. Zahira Kamal, senior official in the Palestinian Authority, and committed all her life to peace, women, and workers, declared “I believe in the power of women. Women are grounded in their awareness of the sanctity of all human beings…I believe we can work together for ending the occupation and that we can live in peace together.” Rauda Murkus, Palestinian from Israel, closed with an aching and touching poem.
When all the painful words were used up, Yana and Haya, our Jewish and Palestinian co-moderators, again asked us to lie down on the pavement, and I thought we could not recapture that initial moment. But we lay down again, and Reem began her lament again, and soon I heard a very quiet clapping in response to the weeping in her voice, and a new space was created together, a space where we met the loneliness and tears of Reem’s singing with the quiet clapping of our hands. While there was sorrow, we were no longer “locked shut / In loneliness and tears”.
As the situation in the territories gets worse; as witnesses are barred from the scenes of violence; as political rhetoric raises expectations and then retracts them; our hopes still lie with the duet of the people, the lament caressed by quiet clapping, the Palestinians and Israelis who have kept their faith, who still reach out to each other inside the pain and wait – and work together – for the lament to end.
May 30, 2003
From Cindy Corrie, Mother of Rachel Corrie
I am so glad to have the opportunity to write to all of you today: Israeli women (Jews and Palestinians) and Palestinian women from the Occupied Territories – all of you gathered today in the name of peace, joined by men who come in that same spirit. I know that there are now many around the world who have been moved to action by my daughter Rachel’s example – by her bold decision to leave the relative safety of her comfortable life in the United States and to come to the Occupied Territories and there to bravely, non-violently oppose the terrible oppression of the occupation; but today I would like to share with you how in the aftermath of Rachel’s death, our family has been comforted and strengthened by the work that you do and by your example.
When Rachel was killed on March 16 of this year, e-mail quickly began to pour in from all over the world. Some of the earliest included ads from Ha’aretz placed by Israeli Jews who understood why Rachel had come to Gaza, who understood why she stood up to the bulldozer that day, who understood that in her compassionate heart there was love for all humanity. It was helpful to us to hear from you and to be able to share with other Americans that there are Jews in Israel who oppose this occupation. E-mail came from the Occupied Territories, too, from Palestinians who told us that because of Rachel they were making a commitment to work non-violently for justice. It was helpful to us to hear from you and to be able to share with other Americans that there are Palestinians in Israel and in the Occupied Territories who live in the direst of circumstances but who resist non-violently, each day doing the best that they can to care for their families – to feed, clothe, and educate their children.
In June of 2002, Rachel wrote in some of her college work, “I think it’s important for people who oppose war and repression to speak about who we are as a community in addition to speaking about war and racism and injustice. We are not outside. I think it’s important that human rights and resistance to oppression be included in the way we define ourselves as a community.”
Through this experience of losing Rachel, our family finds our community changing and expanding as people reach across town, across the U.S., and across the world to let us know that they share Rachel’s ideals and that they are moved by her example to work as you all are doing against war and racism and injustice. Making these worldwide connections makes it easier to do our work. Hearing about your projects, exchanging e-mails, talking with you across thousands of miles, gives us courage and determination to go out and speak to Americans. We know that this is not simply a Palestinian-Israeli conflict. This is a United States-Palestinian-Israeli conflict and Americans need to understand their role in it. There have been times when I have been quiet because I felt there were others who knew more. But I am no longer intimidated by experts and critics and certainly not by the name-callers. After all, my daughter had the courage to stand in front of a bulldozer in order to protect the Palestinian home of a family with three young children. I have a responsibility as Rachel’s mother to speak out and to demand that the experts, the policymakers, Congress, and the White House reflect our values – our beliefs in the sanctity of each life, in the equality of each human being, and in justice and the rule of law.
We cherish our new connections with the community of Palestinian peacemakers. We cherish our new connections with the community of Israeli peacemakers. We have since Rachel’s death visited our first mosque and attended our first services in a synagogue. I believe that my God and Rachel’s is not only the Christian God – though that is our background and faith – not only the Jewish God, the Muslim God, or the God of any single religion. I believe that He/She is a God of us all working powerfully in many of us to create a more loving, saner world. I believe my God will help me somehow to always be connected to the spirit of my daughter – to the beautiful, loving, magical light that she was in my life. I will do what I can to work for the community Rachel envisioned. I will remember these words that she wrote to me from Gaza:
This has to stop. I think it is a good idea for us all to drop everything and devote our lives to making this stop. I don’t think it’s an extremist thing to do anymore. I still really want to dance around to Pat Benatar and have boyfriends and make comics for my co-workers. But I also want this to stop. Disbelief and horror are what I feel. Disappointment. I am disappointed that this is the base reality of our world and that we, in fact, participate in it. This is not at all what I asked for when I came into this world. This is not at all what the people here asked for when they came into this world. This is not the world you and Dad wanted me to come into when you decided to have me.
As all of you gather today and lie down together to mourn all of the Israelis, all of the Palestinians, and all of the Americans who have died in this terrible conflict, I am with you and I will mourn with you, too. But I will also cling to Rachel’s words, “This has to stop,” and I will plead with other Americans to join you in work to make this stop.
Peace to all of you.
Cindy Corrie