The last few days, into the wee hours of the night and morning, I’ve been transcribing interviews with individuals living deep inside the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
Christians. Jews. Muslims.
Scholars. Farmers. Refugees.
Government officials. Bedouin natives.
They tell a story that will absolutely break your heart.
There is so much of this conflict I’m not sure many of us really know. We hear the news headlines and sound bytes, but we rarely hear the stories. We rarely hear of day-to-day life for everyday people living there. We rarely hear the narrative arc, as both sides tell it, of this small but always simmering and often explosive corner of our delicate world.
When I hear the stories of land lost, houses demolished, families separated, roads blocked, curfews instated, IDs revoked, and barbed wire and walls put up, my heart cries out with one plea:
When I hear of displacement, dispossession, and oppression, my heart cries out:
When I hear of the despair, the suicide attempts, the lost grip on the value of one’s own life, my heart cries:
When I hear of nonviolent resistance, of peace petitions, of generous concessions met with violence or silence, my heart cries out:
When I see the international response of apathy or ignorance or pigeon-holing or blind-eyeing, I cry out in sadness:
These are cries of prayer for peace. For resolution. For mercy. For wisdom to know my part. For pain at the hardness of hearts. For pain at this whole wide world’s suffering soul.
What makes your heart cry, “Please”?