Loss upon loss upon loss

I have struggled to find the words – but that shouldn't stop me trying

My heart not so much beats as lurches these days. Jagged bursts that have grown in intensity over these past six months. Every day, I wake up, look at the news, despair. Later on in the day, more news, further despair. I go to bed heavy with sadness. And then it begins again.

Accompanying this despair are other feelings – a sense that I should be doing something more, but do not know what or how. A sense of powerlessness. A feeling that the world, and certainly my world, has changed forever.  

There is fear too, and anger. Waves of incomprehensibility. Relentless shock. Abject horror.

I wonder when it became ‘the norm’ to see so many dead children on social media. To see so many people grieving. To see so many smiling photos of families who no longer exist.

Loss upon loss upon loss upon loss.

I think about all of this every single day. So many of us do.

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I went to the exhibition Women In Revolt! Art and Activism in the UK 1970-1990 at Tate Britain last month. It was a powerful experience and there is much to discuss in another post. But there was an installation by Margaret Harrison called Greenham Common (common reflections) that communicated something deeply truthful that I wanted to share here today.

The work featured a wire fence recreating the military base perimeter of Greenham Common in Berkshire where the Women’s Peace Camp protested nuclear missiles in the 1980s. Above it was this quote: 

‘We can best help you prevent war not by repeating your words and following your methods but by finding new words and creating new methods.’

It was by Virginia Woolf. Something I’d never encountered before.

I paused. Took a photo. It felt vital that I remember it. It seemed so painfully relevant. And it seemed to crystallise what I have been trying to express far less succinctly most days, with many people, in kitchens or living rooms or pubs or during chance meetings in the street. The urgency of believing in peace. The need for a ceasefire. The belief that there has to be a way other than violence and collective punishment. A sense that while I do not have the answers, it’s clear peace can’t come from what we have been witnessing daily, live, on our phones.

War and violence are the methods of men and yet women and children always pay the price. 

War has been perpetuated for thousands and thousands of years, ripping chasms through humanity, creating great craters of pain that fill with trauma and take generations to heal. 

Violence does not further humanity. It contains it, represses it, reduces it to rubble. And then it poisons the soil in which new life grows. 

But there are ways to communicate beyond violence. There are ways that do not end in senseless death. We need to find better words. The leaders of this world must find new methods. And if they can’t, we urgently need to create space to elevate the leaders who can. 

*****

You do not need to be a mother to look at murdered children, kidnapped children, hungry children, traumatised children and feel pain. You just need to be a human. 

But I am also a mother. So when I see these images – of children buried under rubble in Gaza; of Israeli children in captivity, of girls raped and murdered, thrown into the back of a truck; of starving Palestinians with arms reaching desperately for food; of orphaned babies crowded into a single incubator in a bombed Gazan hospital denied that early parental love essential to make them believe this is a world of safety – I feel sick. And it doesn’t take much for my thoughts to turn to the place you never want them to. The unbearable equivalence. The what-ifs. The ‘If this was my child’.

My heart lurches again. 

I think of the many bereft parents in Gaza whose names I do not know but faces I have seen. I think of murdered Palestinian children like Hind Rajab. And Sidra Hassouna. I have seen lists of names, thousands and thousands of names. I have seen them on a video scrolling fast as if credits to a horror film. Except this is real life. People made this happen.

I think of the Parents Circle – a group of Palestinian and Israeli parents who have joined together, having lost an immediate family member to the conflict. Parents who have united in their pain to help prevent further loss and create space for dialogue and reconciliation.

I think, if they can decry revenge, if they can join together in pleading for peace, if they believe it is possible to live side by side, then what is everyone else’s excuse? 

I think of brothers Magen and Maoz Inon whose parents were killed at their kibbutz on 7th October by Hamas. How, two months later, Magen stood on a stage in London side by side with Palestinian peace activist Hamze Awawde and together they appealed for an end to this fighting.

Hamze said: ‘People do not know how to deal with this conflict, how to not choose the side of hate.’

Magen said: ‘We want our kids to grow up not hating anyone, not fearing anyone. For that to happen we have to make the bridge today so they will have a better future.’

The two men later appeared on CNN. Hamze was asked how he can possibly see hope in this moment in time. 

‘We are creating hope,’ he replied.

*****

I am Jewish. I’ve seen a lot of people speak for the Jews lately. ‘The Jews are doing this’, ‘the Jews are doing that.’ I sometimes wonder how many Jews these people have actually met to feel they are such an authority on what all Jews feel. Often it turns out that the more certain a person is about ‘the Jews’, the fewer Jews they have met.

I live in England. It is painful that some people consider me responsible for the Israeli government’s actions given I don’t live there and didn’t vote for it and certainly do not approve of its extreme military campaign or support this violence. 

But here we now are. 

On a skate park in Notting Hill someone graffitied: ‘They’re evil. Jew ban due.' 

On a toilet wall in my 13-year-old niece’s school someone daubed: ‘Kill Jews.’

I saw a comment on Facebook the other day. It was far from the worst I’ve seen, but I was shocked by the ease with which someone said she was happy to put all Jews ‘in one box’ until ‘they’ proved her worthy enough not to be.

‘Yes, fair!’ said another person. (And I thought, really though, do you know what ‘fair’ actually means?)

And then she wrote: ‘I’ve certainly seen more bad than good from the Jewish community.’

And this really upset me. Say what you want about Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu, how corrupt he is, his awful right-wing government, the growth of right-wing extremism in Israel’s society, the wrongdoing and violence of the settlers (hey, why not read Israel’s longest running newspaper Haaretz for plenty of those criticisms, too). But do not talk about the ‘Jewish community’ as if you know anything. Let alone everything. Let alone every single one of us. 

My local Rabbi made the news in February for an urgent letter he wrote to the community – one with a membership of nearly 4,000 people – about Israel’s ongoing assault in Gaza.

He wrote of his ‘deep concern over Israel’s actions and potential actions in Rafah, making it impossible to remain silent’. He said he was writing ‘out of horror at what may ensue and at its potential unconscionable consequences in unimaginable suffering.’

Separately to this letter, there were communications asking for an extra overnight volunteer to join the synagogue’s weekly winter homeless shelter. An LGBTQ+ lunch at our non-binary rabbi’s house. Eco-friendly tips about flight-free travel. Details about the monthly drop-in centre for refugees.

I think, this is my Jewish community. These are my people. I have nothing in common with those men sat in war rooms indifferent to bloodshed.

Do not put all Jews in one box.

*****

I think antisemitism is very real. 

I think antisemitism can be very real at the same time as Israel’s leadership wreaking terrible destruction and death on the Palestinians. 

I think two things can exist at the same time.

I do not think it is antisemitic to criticise Israel. 

I think some people’s criticism of Israel can reveal antisemitism.

I have a friend who has been passionately supportive of the Palestinians and has been incredibly damning of the Israeli government. But when she revealed a Jewish connection through her marriage, she received a slew of grotesque antisemitism, even though she hates Israel. So how does that make any sense?

Some people just hate Jews.

The fact that some people (many people) hate Jews, even if they don’t fully realise it, doesn’t mean the conversation about Israel should be shut down.

Just because you don’t see antisemitism or experience it does not mean it doesn’t exist. 

*****

Would you like to know how much money I’ve donated to aid organisations working in Gaza? Shall I read you the letter I wrote to my MP? Do you want to know the name of the Jewish-Muslim organisation I’ve joined hoping to support peaceful acts of unity here in the UK? Would you like to know how many arguments I’ve had with relatives and friends? Shall I show you the comments and likes and posts I’ve shared that prove I stand against this violence? 

Am I trying to prove that I’m a ‘good’ Jew? Will I ever be ‘good enough’ for you?

*****

I agreed with what film director Jonathan Glazer said at the Oscars. I think he was right. And I think he was wilfully misquoted by many people.

I also think too much time, and column inches, has been used analysing what this one man said when attention should be directed at the thousands and thousands and thousands of Palestinians being murdered and the Israeli hostages still unaccounted for. 

*****

In October, I posted a piece about the violence in Israel and Palestine. Then I started writing this a month later, but it has sat on my desktop ever since. I keep adding to it then taking bits out, but don’t press send. My words never feel enough, it’s impossible to say everything, and I’m scared of the reaction. For some people, I will be too moderate, perhaps others might feel betrayed. Perhaps you’re thinking my opinions don’t matter at all. That I should stick to writing about motherhood.

But I realise nothing I write will ever say all the right words for everyone. But we must not stop trying to find the words. The new words. The new methods.

Because the old ones don’t work. Look around. So little makes sense any more.

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