My son was scheduled to fly to Tel Aviv in two weeks. When news of Hamas’ attack on Israel broke, I immediately texted to make sure those plans were off. He assumed they were but hadn’t heard yet. I’ll check with him again today. This would’ve been his second visit, the first came about this time last year. Other than a major lost luggage situation (funny now but wasn’t then), he enjoyed the food, meeting the people, seeing the city. He’d sent a photo from the beautiful Mediterranean coast; these days I’m working to not imagine him walking or lying among the rubble.

It’s hard to take in and comprehend the atrocities being committed by this group. How does this seed of hatred get planted so deeply it festers for generations, then blooms into such inhumane acts of violence? But then, we don’t have to live in the Middle East to see.

In our own country we have teenage boys who deliberately drove into an elderly man while on his bike, killing him–recording it and laughing about it at the same time. A woman hung a Gay Pride flag–in her own shop–and was shot to death by someone who took issue with it. We have men and women in government who can barely stand being in the same room, much less reach across the aisle and actually work together. I don’t understand such disregard and disdain for others. But then, I don’t have to look too far to see.

This past Friday while out for my morning walk, a neighbor I hadn’t met stopped me. Four new houses are going up on her cul-de-sac, one right next door, and she wanted my thoughts on their size compared to the other houses on the street (they’re a little smaller), and what did I think about the exposed cinder block foundation? (I have no thoughts on the foundation.) She’s praying for good neighbors but plans for a privacy fence if they turn out to be ‘tacky people’, even though privacy fences supposedly aren’t allowed here. The houses aren’t finished yet and she’s already building a fence. Maybe not a physical one, but …                                                                                                                                                                   

I’m not sure I’ve known true hate, but I have known a depth of anger that consumed me for a time. And how many degrees of separation is that, really? If I could have put my hands on the person, did I have it in me to do bodily harm? There were moments when I was sure I did, and without some real inner resolve and prayer I might have. Psalm 51:10 became a daily mantra, ‘Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.’ Hearing the circumstances, some might say the anger was justified, but that wouldn’t be the point. Knowing I’m capable of that kind of rage is frightening. Thankfully anger isn’t an emotion that bubbles just beneath the surface, I don’t get angry at other drivers for instance, but I acknowledge it’s there, somewhere.

As I write this, an old folk choir song comes to mind. Pass it On was popular back in the day, and the refrain went, ‘It only takes a spark to get a fire going, and soon all those around, can warm up in its glowing …’ The words obviously refer to God’s love and how it spreads from one person to another through little acts of love, but isn’t the opposite true as well? One act of anger or hatred can enflame a family? A neighborhood? A country?

Despite how this post might appear, I truly don’t dwell in this dark place! Life is good even when it’s tough and I make a point of seeking out beauty and daily gratitude. I’ve written before that a friend took good-natured jabs calling me Pollyanna, (I’m okay with the reference), accusing me of being blind to all the evil in the world. Not understanding evil isn’t the same as being blind to it. I couldn’t convince him I see it, but choose to focus my energy elsewhere.  I can’t change the world, but I can impact my little corner of it … which includes getting back to my neglected yard before the above neighbor walks by. She may suggest I build a fence around my yard.

Saturday, I read a news story about a group of Boston high school students who’d just returned from Israel. They were caught as the bombings started, so spent days packing bags for the soldiers on the frontlines. One mother, Melissa Wallace, remarked, “I’m not getting back the same kid I sent. And not necessarily in a bad way, she grew up very quickly.” That young people are having their eyes opened are the moments that sustain my hope.

Over the last week I reached out to my Jewish friends, just in a sign of simple solidarity. I’ll leave you with Peter’s world-weary yet hopeful response: For me, despite this war started by Hamas, it’s the larger murder of one another, for millennia, that hurts. It will be much longer before we realize that we are all one, on this tiny spinning blue-green globe. The birds, squirrels, cicadas here in my yard, always know.

Create in me a clean heart, O God.

Shalom