It Was My Cousin, Haidar

As news of my uncle and cousin's death surfaced, we learned it wasn't a Hezbollah fighter who was found dead next to my relative's grandmother, aunt and my uncle. It was my cousin, Haidar. He had been taking these elderly women food and water during Israel's relentless airstrikes.

Apparenlty, Haidar and my uncle Mohammad escaped from my grandparent's home after an Israeli bomb hit it. They then sought refuge at my relative's house. But the Israeli bombs, falling from the sky, were merciless. They were all buried under tons of cement, under children's defragmented toys, under piles of furniture. The bomb finally caught up with my uncle and cousin.

My older sister Huda knew Haidar well. Actually, she and all my older brothers did, since they attended an American boarding school in Lebanon. Huda told me over the phone today that Haidar was a gorgeous man. As tears were rolling down both our eyes, she described him - tall, handsome, with beautiful olive skin and light green eyes, he was deaf and mute. He sometimes would walk on foot to the Bint Jbeil (my family's hometown) just to bathe and take care of my uncle Mohammad. He was a brave soul.

I think we all carry a piece of his bravery with us.

My Uncle Mohammad

The news came Monday. My uncle Mohammad and his mentally-challenged son, Haidar, were found dead, buried under the rubble in Bint Jbeil. Rescuers were still digging, only to find more decomposed bodies. My uncle and cousin were one of the few who remained in Bint Jbeil.

Distant relatives of ours - my cousin's grandmother and aunt - were also found dead in their home this weekend. Lying next to them was a Hizbullah fighter. Word is that these brave men would go to the homes of villagers who were unable to leave and bring them food and water, since most of them were elderly and sick. Unfortunately, a bomb fell and killed them.

My uncle was the oldest of my father's siblings. I met him for the first time in my life two weeks before the war started. He was one of three siblings who stayed behind in Lebanon. Rather than emigrate to Venezuela, like the rest of my uncles and aunts, he remained in the village with my grandparents, whom I never got to meet. As a child of the Lebanese diaspora, it's not uncommon to meet relatives of yours after decades have passed.

Frail and absent-minded, uncle Mohammad was in my grandparent's old home when I met him. He was carrying a water bucket, having pulled water from the well. He reminded me so much of my dad. A rather thin and small version of him, but there was a striking resemblance.

There's this uneasy feeling, perhaps a sense of closure. I was able to meet him for the first and last time.

May he and all the innocent rest in peace.

The IDF: We Will Be Back

Today was the start of the "official ceasefire" between Lebanon and Israel. But Israel could not retreat from central Beirut without dropping some of its precious gifts in the morning hours - explosions. Except, these were not as harmful as the phosphorous bombs that burned civilians and demolished buildings.

They were leaflet explosions, a continuation of Israel's physchological war against Hizbullah and the Lebanese population. The leaflets read: "Nasrallah is deceiving you and hides from you the great losses in the ranks of Hezbollah members. Below is a list of some names of those killed which have been let down by Nasrallah who denies their death," the flyer went on, printing dozens of names of Hezbollah militants it said had been killed.

I can just imagine some woman waking up to this explosion, running to the balcony, grabbing one of the leaflets and shouting out at the sky, "Israel, go the hell and let me sleep for once!" Another man would belt, "Long live the resistance!"

Today Lebanon stands united against Israeli occupation. The fire has ended but the war continues, silently.

God's Chosen People?

In August 2006, Jostein Gaarder, a famed Norwegian author, published an op-ed piece in one of the largest newspapers in Norway, Aftenposten, expressing his outrage against Israel's military operations since 1967. The text, which Gaarder on an August 7, 2006 NRK Channel 2 radio debate said was read by "countless people" and "Middle East experts" prior to publishing, is by many perceived as attacking not only Israel and Israeli policy, but also Jews and Judaism in general.

The piece, titled "God's Chosen People" and written in part as a response to the Israel-Lebanon conflict, claims that Israel's policies are founded on a religion that is "archaic" and "warriorlike". The op-ed is written as a prophecy, believed by some to be based on the style of the Book of Amos. Gaarder maintains it is written not the way he wants it to be, but the way he believes it might become true unless the state of Israel changes its political course.
Among other things, he writes:

We laugh at this people's whims, and cry over its misdeeds. To act as God's chosen people is not only foolish and arrogant,
it is a crime against humanity. We call it racism. […] There are limits to our patience and there are limits to our tolerance.
We do not believe in divine promises as a rationale for occupation and apartheid. We have left the Middle Ages behind. We
laugh with embarrassment at those who still believe that the god of the flora, fauna and galaxies has chosen one particular
people as his favorite, and given them amusing stone tablets, burning bushes and a license to kill.

We call child murderers 'child murderers,' and will never accept that they have a divine or historic mandate excusing their
outrages," Gaarder writes. "Shame on ethnic cleansing, shame on every terrorist strike against civilians, be it carried out by
Hamas, Hezbollah or the State of Israel!

When asked if he went to far with his statement of not recognizing Israel, he said:

The op-ed is a judgement prophecy. Of course I don't mean that Israel has no right to defend itself. What I say, is no
different than the world community through the UN-resolutions. Again and again we see Israel overreacting says Gaarder,
and stresses that he is not against Israel as such, but that he distinguishes between Israel of 1948 and the one of 1967.

A Torah a Day Keeps Hezbollah Away

This ad was published in the Ha'aretz, Israel's "liberal" paper. When you click on the ad, the text reads:

For thousands of years it has been
proven that the Jewish people have
the ability to incapacitate and destroy
their enemies through increased Torah
study and prayer.

Sign up now for weekly Torah commentaries.
We invite you to participate in over 15,000 online classes
that are currently being attended by about 100,000 people
around the world every week.


A torah prayer a day keeps the Hezbollah away? And the recruitment has gone digital! Hurray for them. With this kind of thinking, they make Nasrallah look like and atheist.

Ode to Qana

Oh, Jesus!
Once again your wine
has spilled over the land
of the Cedars.
Once a miracle,
now a horror
that lingers.

For the young lambs
of our land
were taken away
from their sleep.
Once warm
while tucked
under sheets,
now frozen
in time
and soaked
in a bitter,
red wine.

Oh, Mohammad!
Take them with you
to a far away place
away from clouds
of burning smoke
away from the ashes
of their homes
away from their mother's
cold embrace
away from a scarred land.

Wake them up!
Wake them up!
And take them with you.
Up and away,
Up and away,
to a land unknown.

written by Elizabeth Ayoub, on the day of the 2nd Massacre.

The UN-Campaign

http://www.theuncampaign.org/

I think it speaks loud and clear. UN-ethical. UN-justified. UN-pardonable.

One-month anniversary

Zena el-Khalil writing from Beirut, Live from Lebanon, 10 August 2006

Image: Zena el-Khalil

It has been one month now.

For one month, Lebanon has had bombs drop on her.

In one month, I have aged 50 years.

For one month, I have cried everyday.

As the days unfold, the news is only getting worse. I find myself sinking ... it has become so hard to write.

How many times can I keep repeating, help, Israel is targeting civilians; Israel is blowing up the whole country; infrastructure has been hit; all the highways have been hit; roads and bridges, hit; food and wheat storages, gas and fuel supplies, communication towers, ports all hit; hospitals shutting down because they have run out of fuel ... the whole country is slowly being choked to death?

How many times can I keep repeating that the Israeli army is hitting trucks carrying food and aid, they are hitting the Red Cross, the UN?

How many times can I write that war crimes are being committed -- that phosphorous bombs are being dropped on children?

How many times can I say that the oil spill has wrecked our coast and marine life? It has now spread to Syria, by the way, even after the clean up. It will be six years before the environment can stabilize again.

How many times can I keep saying that the planes are getting louder; the bombs are getting louder!

Over one million displaced civilians now. Over 1,000 civilians killed.

How many times do I have to say that my country is being destroyed piece by piece? Entire neighborhoods in my city no longer exist. Entire families have disappeared. The south of Lebanon is one fire.

For one month, I have seen Lebanon brutalized. Her citizens crushed under the rubble of their own homes.

You cannot make peace through bombs.

In a week, if we do not get fuel into the country, the hospital that Maya goes to will be shut down. She will not be able to get her chemotherapy. That is a few days from now.

A great friend sent me a song. It has become my mantra. Every time I think I'm going to break down, panic, etc., I put this song on full blast ... and it somehow gets me to smile :) If there is no electricity, then I sing it out loud to myself, and to my sister, and brother, and dogs, and neighbors ... ha ha ha ... never thought I'd say this, but long live happy music!

Here are some of the lyrics:

Why must our children play in the streets/
broken hearts and faded dreams/
peace and love to everyone that you meet/
don't you worry, it could be so sweet/
just look to the rainbow, you will see/
sun will shine till eternity/
I've got so much love in my heart/
no-one can tear it apart/
yeah/

feel the love generation/
yeah, yeah, yeah/
feel the love generation/
c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon yeah/

(whistling ...)

Before Hell Knocked on Our Door

This was the view from Beit Yahoun, two weeks before the war. A tiny little town, on the outskirts of Bint Jbeil. A town where family history runs deep. My parents and uncles were born here. My grandparents (whom I never got to meet because of the war during the 80's) were also born here. This was the view from my parent's newly built home. All of their retirement money. All of my father's sweat for over 50 years was put into their dream home. The place where they wanted to spend the rest of their lives. Now, it is bombed.

In the afternoons, a shepherd would come by the house with his seventy some-odd goats, sheep and a dog. I looked forward to that time of day, just to play with the goats. I marveled at the dog's ability to keep the sheep and goats together. At one point, they all drifted onto the road, blocking it completely. Two UNIFIL tankers, with mostly Sikh UN peacekeepers in them, were coming down from the hilltop side of the road, and quickly the dog, at the shepherd's whistling command, started barking at sheep. One by one, they sprinted onto our side of the hill, as if they knew the drill. I enjoyed that so much. Such simplicity and yet, such an art, really.

One day, the shepherd told me one of the goats was about to give birth. I spotted her, lying down, looking tired and exhausted from the sweltering summer heat. He said she would be giving birth on the way back. He pointed to the northward hilltop. "Over there, in that mountain, is my brother." There were sheep and goats scattered about, like little white pecks, moving in a consistent pattern. "I wish she could wait a little longer," said the shepherd. I asked him what he would do if she gave birth before they reached home. I'll never forget what he said. "She's a mother, and we need to care for all mothers. I help her, and then leave her to clean the baby. Then I carry the baby with me until we reach home."

But then, one day, the shepherd stopped coming. Hell came knocking on my parent's door. And the neighbor's door. And the neighbor's neighbor's door.

I still have a hard time swallowing. I keep thinking that I was just there. Everything seemed to be moving along. The economy was picking up after the fatal assassination of PM Hariri, investor confidence was building up after the Syrian 'retreat', the real estate market was booming. The summer concert events promised to be a spectacle. Even 50 Cent performed in Beirut! I'm glad he got to experience it before the bombs rained on the pearl of the Mediterranean. How about it, 50 Cent? A rap for Beirut?

It is difficult for anyone to comprehend the Middle East. You either have to be from there, know someone who's from there or be baffled by it. Regardless of which, I love the land. I love it's people and it's paradoxes. It's magical. There is no simple way of explaining it. It is written all throughout the land. No surprise why so much blood has been shed.

Each day that passes, I wonder about the shepherd. I wonder if he and his brother survived the Israeli ruthless bombings? I wonder about his sheep and worry for their safety. I wonder about the little baby sheep. Did he or she make it? A little piece of me wants to believe it escaped miraculously. But another piece of me is torn. I know that if not a missile, an Israeli land mine would probably take care of its limbs. Death is imminent in our land.