Finding myself in the Middle East

Monday, May 18, 2009

Lonely Heart

And when I cry I cry for both of us
My pain has no name;
And when I cry I cry
To the merciless sky and say,
There must be a better way.

I've been listening to the Israel Eurovision song, which is a duet sung by a palastinian and israeli proclaiming their sorrow over the state of affairs in Israel, and had dual reactions to it. Well, a few reactions. First, I cried, because I am me and I do that.

Then, I blew my nose and listened to the song again. I felt it was a bit cheesy with all the touching and the smiling and the loooooooooooove; all a bit over the top, but being a bit over the top is, after all, our joint semitic heritage. That, and a overly dramatic flair about the nasal cavity.
But that might be it. In terms of similarities, I mean. And that was my third, and most realistic reaction. We are so different from each other, Arabs and Jews, and I speak from first-hand conversations and knowledge, not recycled political stuff. But perhaps that is a whole different post. Really, I was just going to write about my crying and the fact that all Outdoorsman has to do to have me keening in unspeakable grief is say something like, "Oh, Di, look at that cat."
And I'll say, "oh, cute!"
And he'll say, "It's looking for a female. 'Tis the season."
And I'll say, "Oh, love. Love is in the air."
And he'll say, "But if it gets some tonight, that female is gonna have kittens."
And I'll say, "Oh, kittens! So cute! With their big ears and eyes--"
And he'll say, "But it's spring, and in Israel it doesn't rain at all until November."
And I'll say, "--and little paws!--so?"
And he'll say, "So, the kittens won't have water, and they will look for but won't find any and they will meow and open their big eyes pleadingly and--"
And I'll say, "And they'll ALL DIE! Waaaaaaaaaaaa!"
And he'll sleep on the couch.
While I google pictures of sick kittens and eat Ben and Jerry's.
Thing is though, my emotions are nodescriminatory. I cry for the family and the victims of those dettached enough from humanity to kill, and my mind plays over the fear they must have felt and the pain--but--I also feel bad for their murderers on their way to punishment, feel my heart sink when viewing their scared eyes set in stoic faces, dignity stolen by being forced to endure that bright orange jumpsuit. They stire my heart, but they shouldn't.
Like this rather silly song which does not really reflect the reality in which we all live here in Israel. (Besides for the fact that we are both people of faith. Cry to the merciless sky? Not so cool.) It stirred my heart, but really it shouldn't have.

Or maybe that's simply what makes me human. Disagreeing vehemently with what they have done with their life--and still have room for them in my heart.

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