Light a Candle

"It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness." -Chinese proverb

This morning I came across a CNN page that showed "Before and after" satellite photos of several locations across Gaza (Link here). It broke my heart - again. When Hamas crossed the border, murdering and kidnapping people, it broke my heart - again. 

For years, our hearts have been broken by the cycles of violence, not only in the Middle East, but everywhere around us. And the worst part is the shouting we engage in if, for no other reason, a desperate search for catharsis. It is as if we turn to blaming or vilifying one group or another as a way to ease our sense of helplessness.

Let me suggest an alternative. But first a story:

Growing up in a home where I learned my Jordanian father was actually born in Palestine (Yes, that's what it was called in 1938), I learned about the history of the region from someone who lived through it. Over the years, I supplemented that knowledge with further readings and a broadening of my understanding of history. I came to realize that we have arrived here after multiple cycles of retaliation. Remember the famous words, "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."

But then I came across another way - Love your neighbor. And the more I internalized that invitation, the more I realized this was the candle I could light in a very, very, very dark world.

And so I did.

I began to see people as cousins I may not yet have met. I saw that nearly everyone has the same basic aspirations for life: Live at peace, do meaningful work, provide well for their families, enjoy their children. Once I connected with that, it became easy to bridge the next gap – talking with people.

A few years ago, my wife and I were going on a cruise. With all the excitement bubbling up as we boarded the ship, we tried to get a selfie on the gangplank. My wife, being a bit more outgoing in the moment, asked the couple behind us to take our picture. After the picture, we both recognized accents in language. And they asked where we were from.

“Jordan,” my wife replied, “And where are you from?”

“We’re from Israel!” replied Ibrahim.

Five thousand people boarding a cruise ship…what are the odds?

But it didn’t end there. Over the following week we bumped into Ibrahim and Tirzah several times and heard their life stories. Ibrahim had been born in Egypt and grew up in Syria before his Jewish parents finally relocated to the West Bank. He told us stories of evenings spent by the river hearing the loud celebrations of Jordanian weddings across the water. He wished to take his wife, children, and grandchildren across the river to visit “the other side”. Ibrahim knew we shared more than we didn’t.

The time we spent in conversation across three languages – Ibrahim spoke fluent Arabic, Tirzah spoke mostly Hebrew with Ibrahim translating, and we all had varying levels of English – was one of the fondest memories of the week. We spoke of our families, our aspirations, our shared heartbreak over what could be in the region and what was. It was a beautiful moment of Levantine hospitality in the middle of the Caribbean Sea.

Some will say I’m a collaborator, or a sympathizer for “The Other Side”. I’ve heard that accusation all my life – from all sides. Ever since I embraced my life’s calling to “Love my neighbor”, I have been willing to cling to that candle in the face of all the darkness life has to offer.

And the best part of a candle? It does not diminish its own light by sharing with another candle.