Dalry's Story Part1 Biographical background....working with explosions Part 2..Witness to Suicide Bombing Part 3.. Time in Nablus and Jenin during Intafada Part 4 ...Back to the Source of explosives w

I’m a 5th generation Australian grandmother….responding in relation to TAKING SIDES……maybe what I experienced for myself of both sides.... Israelis and Palestinians..... can shed some light on this…..

Over a period of years I have given everything away and reduced my belongings to a small suitcase. My sole income is the Australian age pension. No insurance or back up. Trust in myself and the universe. Left Australia in March 1999. Travelled 10 countries alone. Met many many wonderful people! Arrived in Israel April 2002. Wanted to walk with a donkey. I did! A rickety grey old grannie just like me. Slept under the stars for 24 days while we walked from the Sea of Galilee to the Dead Sea.

Every inch of the way along the boundary of the Jordan river between Israel and its neighbour it was brought home to me that this is truly an awesome planet and that humanity is nothing short of magnificent!

Speaking of which .....Humanity owes a great debt of gratitude to those who, in the past, have taken it upon themselves to engage in research…write books... and give lectures! But the time may well have come when each individual is REQUIRED to take full responsibility for EVERYTHING that has happened to them and how they intend to make use of their experiences, no matter how trivial painful or weird, to enhance their own potential and contribute to the storehouse of world knowledge. WELCOME ONE AND ALL! If you are into hugs ..... you've just received one!

Although I’m one of the participants the following story is told on behalf of many Others……more than I can say. In the events related to the suicide bombing I was essentially a WITNESS. So what IS a witness? What’s the FUNCTION of a witness. It seems that through TRANSPERSONAL MEMORY the witness on the one hand BRINGS COHERENCE ….. while at the same time LOSING coherence in the capacity to communicate their personal experience of the event to others.

THIS IN BRIEF….TELLS OF HOW THE PAST BECOMES THE FUTURE!

By way of introduction and to demonstrate the cause and effect inherent in the TOTALITY let me refer back to October 1974. That’s when I decided to head bush. A few days previously it had occurred to me that if Jews could survive in the wilderness for 40 years on manna alone, I could manage in the Australian desert for forty days on $80.00 dollars because that’s all I had.
I set off on the evening of the 7th of October in pouring rain and took a route heading due North from Melbourne. Sure enough within a few days I found myself tucked safely away in a clearing at the entrance of mysterious Red George in the Northern Flinders Ranges of South Australia, where the high cliffs are scored with hundreds of chippings said to have been made by powerful Aborigine Mimi spirits….the perfect location to undertake a 10 day distilled water fast. No food. No people. Just me…. the Aborigine elders…the Mimis…and 'Others'.
As my Landrover motor refused to turn over at the end of the fast, on the 11th day I lined up 3 wattle trees and made my way on foot, walking from dawn to dark in a straight line which took me initially through the door of the Copley Roadhouse, and eventually some months later through the front door of Tom Agnew’s house. Tom had arrived in the fifties from Ireland, and since then had made a monumental contribution to opening up the outback; first by introducing Landrovers to the desert and later by engaging in a multitude of contracts involving his precious toys….front end loaders…graders…bulldozers… and whatever else was required for the job in hand…...
Came the day when the current requirement involved an explosives licence, I found myself holed up in an Adelaide motel for a weekend coaching Tom from the Explosives handbook. On Monday morning, within the hour the test was done. Licence in hand Tom oversaw the loading of the car and trailer with explosives and we were soon on our way back to Copley.
A few miles on a motorist drives up beside the car and yells “Hey mate! Check out the tail light on the trailer. Must be blown or something.” We pull over. Tom swears and tears at his hair. Fiddles with the light. Gets back in the driver’s seat. An hour later a car comes alongside “Hey! Are you trying to commit suicide or something? You could kill somebody driving explosives without a tail light.” Tom swears and tears at his hair. Juggles the tail light. Gets back in. A hundred miles on a car comes alongside, “For Chris sake get that tail light fixed before you blow someone up.” And so it goes……!
For the next few weeks I assist Tom with preparing the holes, laying the explosives, priming the fuses and photographing the big bangs.
Years pass! Tom stays in Copley but I move on…and on….and on!


END OF PART 1



THIS IS FOR THE GRANDMOTHERS AND MOTHERS OF ISRAEL .....AND IN PARTICULAR THOSE WHO HAVE LOST LOVED ONES TO THE CONFLICT.

I left Israel in October 2005......having stayed there for almost 3 years (the last 2 illegally) because IN THE WAKE OF THE SUICIDE BOMBING I had to come to some understanding of the historical and personal context of the conflict. Besides which although I'm neither Jewish or Arab I had a desperate urge to DO something. Although I met many wonderful people and threw myself into various attempts to 'find a way'..... one hope was to mobilize the Grannies of the world to use their influence......nothing I attempted seemed to work out. Everything would seem to be coming together and then at the crucial moment it would all crash. .broke my spirit...broke my heart....

Now you are all at it again!!!!!! Well this time maybe there is a force mobilizing AGAINST THE USE OF VIOLENCE.........a force that neither Israeli or Palestinian or any other human agency can prevail against........THOSE WHO LOST THEIR LIVES TO VIOLENCE HAVE BEGUN TO TAKE A HAND IN THIS. May we all trust in God that their will to forgiveness and freedom may prevail.

Although I’m one of the participants the following story is told on behalf of MANY OTHERS……more than I can say. In the events related to the suicide bombing I was essentially a WITNESS. ........ AN AN0NYMOUS WITNESS.......A PERSON OF NO CONSEQUENCE AND SUCH I SHOULD REMAIN.

**************

Come Monday, June 30, 2008……I’m asleep in my apartment in Malaysia.
They come to me ...the dead people who had been blown up in the suicide bombing I’d been witness to in Jerusalem. They surge into my consciousness on the crest of a cleansing wave. When they have my attention they speak as one. 'We're so pleased that you've finally got it right ….what you've written to yourself about the bombing. Now at last we can move!

I rouse myself to ask the question that’s been on my mind for 6 years “What about the bomber? What happened to the bomber?”

In one voice they reply “The young woman who fate chose as the instrument? She’s here with us……she’s one of us… she has forgiven and been forgiven. She has taken responsibility for her life….and for her death. Now she is free! That’s why we’ve come. To let the world know…..not just humans but the WHOLE WORLD and EVERYTHING ON IT….. that if WE can forgive THEY CAN FORGIVE!

The day in question is Friday the 12 th of April 2002. I arrived in Israel
on the 4th. For the past week, my exploration of this fabled city has taken
me far afield on foot. Everything in Israel closes early on Friday
afternoon so that the Jewish people living here can prepare for Shabbat,
which I’ve heard mention of but not yet had explained to me. From what I’ve
learnt so far, Friday night is their holiest night of the week. Everyone
visits their family for a special dinner.

Earlier on this balmy spring afternoon I munched on a shwarma of lamb and
salad rolled in flat bread...very tasty and surprisingly filling. Since then I’ve been resting in the shade of a tree with a book. The food, the warmth of the sun, and a sense of wonder that I’m actually in Jerusalem, have left me feeling deliciously content, sort of snoozy and relaxed.

Because I've been travelling alone through a dozen or so different countries for the past few years I'm not up with current events, so a loud boom catches me completely off guard! The book falls from my hands. I let out an involuntary gasp. Give a little giggle. Could that be an explosion? Here! In the heart of Jerusalem one of the most sacred cities in the world? I shake my head. Can't be! For what seems an age I sit paralysed while the reverberations echo in my bones!

I reach for the book. Good grief my hand is shaking. I pick up the book intending to resume reading, but in less than 10 heartbeats the sirens begin. The sound of sirens echoes eerily in the empty streets. Lots of sirens. They’re coming closer. Off to the left, then round to the other end of the nearby market. Here in my little island of calm I detect no outward change yet the sirens go on and on... I think “My God that must have been one hell of a pile up!”

The sirens stop. I stare into space waiting. Waiting for what? A voice breaks the silence. My own voice. Quite matter of factly I comment. 'No question! That sort of racket could only have been caused by a traffic pile up. Not far away either.' By now I've realized that the accident must have been very close by indeed. And it must have involved a great number of people to warrant so many ambulances.

Since my peace has been shattered I decide to call it a day and begin my
trek back to the hostel. As I'm a stranger I have no idea where I am, but
start out in the general direction. This takes me through the deserted
market area. In contrast to the earlier hustle and bustle of a busy Friday
morning the market broods, silent and empty. As I walk between the abandoned
stalls everything seems normal. End of day rubbish and discards litter the
floor. Display tables stand askew. On some, neglected cartons hold a few
pieces of unsold produce. An old lady forages for choice left overs. A man
in a torn sweater scrabbles among the discards, slipping a few pieces of
fruit into a cloth bag. He ducks his head in greeting as I pass and holds
out a couple of oranges, an apple and a pear for my inspection. We exchange
a conspiratorial smile. I send him love.

Why is the far end of the market blocked? A solid plug of people, less than a dozen are blocking passage out to the main road. As my feet are drawn irresistibly to that beckoning far end, someone barks a command. The group ahead breaks
up in disorder enabling me to move forward into the space vacated, and I
see. Dear God, I see! Some unknown person has just blown themself and many others to bits. Quite literally to bits! Big bits, small bits, tiny bits! Less than twenty minutes ago these bits and pieces were people. Alive! Breathing!

I stand rooted. Someone behind me erects a makeshift barrier. Somehow I'm incorporated into the barrier. If any one tried to move me I would shatter. As a mirror of events I’ve already shattered.

Death does have a smell. Death by explosion has a distinctive smell. A smell
that catches you up in a noxious embrace! Metallic! Cloying! Claustrophobic!
Enclosed in my shroud of stillness I’m faintly aware of movement on the
ground ahead of me. People sitting, lying, bending, lifting! Some of the people on the ground are quite small. Children!

Ah! I perceive now who these oddly assorted people are. Medical officers are sorting out the dead from the wounded. Some of these ‘people’ are actually dead bodies. The wounded are being attended to first. I watch as ambulances load and leave. A constant stream ...... not just ambulances either. Other vehicles stand by too! Ah! And I perceive who THESE people are. They're Emergency Services personnel and Police.

There are other people as well, dressed in white. They wear gloves and carry
plastic bags. They are picking up stuff with big tweezers, I'm not sure what, and putting it into the bags. Can this be evidence? What sort of evidence??

They sweep around before me in a frenetic mass, all these
different categories of people. A man in a boiler suit firmly ushers me
aside. He speaks in Hebrew. I don't respond immediately so someone takes me
gently by the shoulders and shifts me back a pace or two so that they can
sling a rope across to confine this area. I cry quietly on and off. Seems
silly really; nobody else is crying.

In a surprisingly short time crises resolves into orderly hurry and bustle,
as dead and injured are examined, treated, and carried away. Officialdom
swiftly cordons off the rest of the decimated area. The first wave of media
arrives! Too late! There’s nothing left of the carnage but small remnants.
Even the smell has dissipated.

Function is beginning to return to my limbs but I’m still not capable of intentional movement. In any case there is no passage. I watch the men in white bring over a ladder and stand it against the blackened wooden post of the blasted awning. One man climbs the ladder while another holds it steady. Tatters of canvas flutter from the rim of the awning all the way around 3 sides. The man in white is delicately removing them with his tweezers. THIS WAS THE LAST PIECE OF THE JIGSAW ….. UNTIL NOW 6 YEARS LATER I HAD BEEN UNABLE TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT THESE TATTERS WERE HUMAN FLESH. …… shredded human flesh after an explosion looks just like tattered canvas.

I stand there, my faculties busy recording the scene in all its horror and fascination – missing nothing! My eyes – my ears – all my senses, all my feelings, every last sub atomic particle of me are on full alert! But I’m not there! I’m not anywhere any more. Fractured bits of me have gone away somewhere into blank untenanted areas of myself that I didn’t know existed before. The animal part of me has curled up in a corner, confused and hiding. The child is frightened but curious. The teenager is on a high....excited by the horror. The daughter in me is stoking up righteous anger not only at my own parents but at all parents everywhere. The mother is building up hatred of mother hood. The very act of conceiving a child seems like a desecration in the face of the carnage I’m witnessing – that children can grow up to do this to each other!

Eventually I find my way out on to the footpath. Lean against a lamp post. Watch. Camera men and reporters rush around seeking....! What ARE they seeking? Gruesome remains? An interview with a survivor? What about me? What am I seeking? It seems I was called here as a witness. So WHO is the witness, the woman in me? But there IS no woman, the essential 'I'no longer exists. ….THE ESSENCE OF ME HAS BEEN SHATTERED. The fractured pieces, the animal..child...mother... still retain some of my me-ness….. fragments of me that I can still identify…….but what of the shattered bits and pieces out there mingling with all the other shattered bits and pieces? What is happening to their identity?

I watch myself from near by….and I ponder. In time I perceive/experience the emergence of one remaining fragment of identity. A granny! A common run of the mill granny, one of millions. Ah! It was SHE who was called here as a witness! But why? Why HER? What could be the point? She's not special. She has no authority. She’s not even particularly knowledgeable. She certainly has no influence! Just a common run of the mill grandmother. Maybe it’s because she’s been tempered by life to be ….to be what....Compassionate? Impartial? Resolute? Formidable? ….NO! No! No! No! She was called here for no other reason than that she is JUST a common run of the mill grandmother…ONE grandmother with millions of faces.

A few young Jewish men dressed in black trousers and white shirts, with little black caps on their heads, make brief but voluble protest. Cameramen
gather to film them momentarily while they chant. Then the police come over and move them further away. Several reporters swoop on a man who has recently arrived. He is a 'somebody' and he speaks English. Because I'm nearby I overhear what he says. My heart tells me that silence would perhaps be more appropriate. Will his banal words conclusively address the cause, conclusively alleviate the effect? Silence! Better to opt for silence. ALTHOUGH I HAD NO IDEA AT THE TIME THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN COLIN POWELL

One of the wounded limps by in the care of friends or family! He is barefoot
and wearing shorts. The white bandages seem grotesquely out of place against
the tanned skin, grubby bare feet, and bloodstained torso. Strange! It's he who is
trying to jolly his friends along. To reassure them. Shouldn’t they be
reassuring him?

To one who is observing, everything seems to move very slowly, like watching
the ocean and waiting for the seventh wave. Someone gets in the bus. Starts
it up. Although the body of the bus is burnt out, mangled and contorted,
quite illogically the motor still works. Laboriously the tortured shell of
steel and rubber, kerthump kerthumps its way down the road a little. Now the
final remnants of human flesh and other evidence can be collected into the
plastic bags. In a dream I trail behind the bus doing a wide detour around
the block to avoid the flimsy barricade. Why has it become so imperative
that I get close to the bus? I approach timidly. Already the wreck has been
cordoned off in its new location by a band of orange tape. I stand and pay
homage to the contorted steel, like soldiers do when they play the last
post.

Returned to the scene of the desecration I watch fascinated until the last
ambulance sighs its retreat. Until the burnt remains of the awning are
removed. Until the crowd disperses! Until the media leave! Until the last
scrap of flesh has been scooped up! Until the barriers are removed enabling
traffic to resume! Until everyone has gone and the desecrated bus stop is
restored to a semblance of normality! Only then, when the area is completely
empty am I drawn to the mystifying space left by the bus. Are they still there? The people who died? What about my bits? Are my bits still there? I'm struck by a nagging thought, “How will the men in white know which of those bits of flesh they collected belonged to the bomber?”

I continue to observe myself from a distance. I feel nothing. At some point my capacity to feel got washed away in a flood of disbelief yet all through the process I’ve been broadcasting love. No! Not just love. Love and light! Filling the bus with the light of love and all the space around. Filling the whole market with love and light. When I’m satisfied that I have done what I can I move on, leaving all the shattered parts of myself behind to comfort the dead.

JUNE 2008
My apartment…..Malacca…...Malaysia!
Now here on the other side of the world the dead have come to comfort me. When I start to shudder and blubber crying and laughing all at the same time with happiness and release….. They offer reassurance, 'Yes! Cry! Cry till you laugh. Tears and laughter unite and strengthen us. NOW LISTEN CAREFULLY! We who were killed in explosions intend to free this planet ….once and for all…from belief in victim hood. We are enough now to make it happen.”

I uncurl and roll on to my back. Open my eyes. Enough????

I look around me. Dear god there are millions……all of them at one time or another blown to pieces. We are all held in a hologram of love and light..

I brush away the tears and sit up in bed…. slightly perplexed now…..somewhat uncertain. Suddenly I have an inkling of why they’re here. Without thinking I say “NO! No! No! No! No!Whatever you people want of me …NO!” How could they do this? Where is the balance ? They are numberless. I am only one! My next words come out as a croak. “PLEASE! PLEASE! NO! I’m weak and old……I’ve long since exhausted my resources…… I have nothing left to offer. I thought I’d finished with all this..........! Truly! I’m not the one you want.”

As one voice they over ride my protest “Call for a FREEDOM WEEK! Freedom from aggression! Freedom from fear! Freedom from want! Freedom from hunger! Freedom from poverty! Freedom to BE YOURSELF!

“A FREEDOM WEEK?”

“Yes! A FREEDOM WEEK! One for all and all for one! This is what you’re to send out: ON BEHALF OF ALL THOSE OF US WHO MET A VIOLENT END…….WE CALL ON YOU THE LIVING TO INITIATE A FREEDOM WEEK to conclude on the 11.11.2011.”

“The eleventh of the eleventh of the eleventh! But that’s more than 2 years away!”

“Never mind! It will take that long. In the meantime EACH INDIVIDUAL can have his or her OWN FREEDOM WEEK, maybe one week a month even. KIDS WILL JUST LOVE THE IDEA OF A FREEDOM WEEK………!

EXACTLY! What you need for this is a kid …..not a worn out granny!

“………..THEN BIT BY BIT INDIVIDUALS WILL JOIN UP TO HAVE GROUP FREEDOM WEEKS! AND THEN COMMUNITY FREEDOM WEEKS! AND THEN NATIONAL FREEDOM WEEKS! DON’T WORRY! IT WILL GROW! …..THE SEEDS WILL BE BLOWN TO THE FOUR CORNERS OF THE EARTH ON THE WINDS OF FREEDOM TO CREATE A LOVELY GARDEN…A GARDEN OF DREAMS COME TRUE!

From past experience I’m well aware that faced with something like this it’s pointless to try and hide or run away or plead incapacity. ......God help me! I collect myself enough to ask "What do you mean by FREEDOM WEEK...how would it work?"

THAT'S IT EXACTLY! WITH WORKSHOPS! WORKSHOPS IN SCHOOLS! WORKSHOPS IN THE COMMUNITY! WORKSHOPS EVERYWHERE ABOUT FREEDOM THROUGH FORGIVENESS!

STARTING WITH PERSONAL SOVERIGNTY!

Next! ACKNOWLEDGING PERSONAL SOVERIGNTY WITHIN THE FAMILY… .EXTENDING PERSONAL SOVERIGNTY TO FRIENDS AND WORKMATES ……then FREEDOM WITHIN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD AND COMMUNITY… FREEDOM WITHIN THE NATION…followed by FREEDOM BETWEEN NATIONS ....Finally FREEDOM WITHIN THE COSMOS.

********
It's only recently that I've moved sufficiently beyond self-interest and my personal sense of inadequacy to realize that as well as making a request that night they also made a bestowal ...... THEY RETURNED TO ME THE SHATTERED BITS AND PIECES OF MYSELF THAT I HAD LEFT BEHIND AT THE SUICIDE BOMBING.!

I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW WHERE TO BEGIN WITH THIS SO I’M BEGINNING NOW AND I'M BEGINNING WITH YOU.

Love and light

Dalry


END OF PART 2




AFTER THE SUICIDE BOMBING

Yesterday I received an email from someone who saw me on YuTube…..Me! On YuTube????? So I checked it out….Yes! It is me. Seems the video has been up there since October 2007. However THE SCENES OF ME WERE FILMED IN 2002.

I’ve been crying for the past hour and I truly feel as though I’m about to explode with love and compassion…even at the distance of 7 years I’m profoundly affected…....I thought I had left all that behind.

After the suicide bombing I couldn’t talk for a couple of days….then a young Englishman brought me a cup of tea and took my hand…..”Look! A group of us have rented a mini bus to the Territories….why don’t you come with us….that way you can see for yourself what’s happening on the Palestinian side…..

So we eventually got to Nablus….chased by tanks and all that stuff…

They put us up at a medical centre….slept on the floor…then I shifted in with a Palestinian family…..and after everyone else was gone I stayed…..the only outsider in Nablus to stay the full distance of Defensive Shield….3 weeks…

One day a young Palestinian teenager was blown up by buried ordinance…..I stood at his head and projected love while doctors cleaned him up and started the fight for his life….he died that night…

The town was under full curfew….no one on the streets ….but after quizzing me the Israeli soldiers let me go back and forth from where I was staying to the hospital to visit the injured…

And later to try and arrange medication and baby food and milk for families whose homes had been reduced to rubble in the old city……there were no aid workers in Nablus…no media ….no anybody ….just me….and although I was later referred to as an aid worker I’m not……I’m not an anybody….DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND …IT’S NOT NECESSARY TO BE AN ANYBODY TO BE USEFUL…..ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS TO JUST GET IN THERE AND DO IT….DO WHATEVER YOU CAN…HOWEVER SMALL……

Well! Eventually I and the doctor who had been authorized to accompany me did get baby food and tinned formula for the babies and toddlers….I don’t remember how many…maybe about 20-25…..

Then I had a chance to go over the hills…. to accompany the woman who had for many years been head mistress of the schools at Farah and Jenin. We went with the first group of Palestinians from Nablus to get into Jenin……incredible devastation….I was the first outsider there so I saw it all and spoke to dozens of people before the media arrived and the rumours of a massacre started to circulate…..there was no massacre in Jenin….

I refused to be involved in any publicity except my friend Peter said “Give it a go with this man from Korea he’s not from the West…It will do you good to try and get it out…..I did! I cried at the Korean journalist….and cried ..and cried…I HAD NOT CRIED IN NABLUS OR JENIN…..WE HAD LAUGHED TOGETHER THE PEOPLE AND I……it was only afterwards that I cried….

When I was approached by the French filmmaker Pierre Rehov ….at first I declined….
Then the night before he had planned to film there was a double suicide bombing at the bus station….I could see the smoke from my landing…..the circling helicopters….so near...

Romanian friends of my landlord were killed……my front tooth disintegrated that night ….In the morning I asked Arnon to ring Pierre to tell him I would do it….

The Road to Jenin along with Jenin Jenin were both shown to governments around the world on account of claims of a massacre ….

I asked just to remain anonymous and initially I was mentioned simply as a Christian aid worker……I don’t know when that changed…

Afterwards in Israel and later in Australia I sat down and wrote and wrote and wrote 1500 pages to get it out of my system…..but even after I’d sorted all the writing out into 3 books I couldn’t bear to have them published….I just wanted to leave it ..forget it ever happened…..so I ran away to Malaysia…

BEFORE I CLOSE ...AND I'M NOT IN BIG PRINT BECAUSE I'M YELLING......BUT THIS IS JUST SO TERRIBLY IMPORTANT.....
I STAYED WITH PALESTINIANS IN THE TERRITORIES.....ONE HUSBAND AND WIFE GAVE UP THEIR DOUBLE BED FOR ME.....ONE MAN CUT DOWN TWO PAIRS OF SLACKS FOR ME TO WEAR BECAUSE I'D ONLY BOUGHT A NIGHTY AND A PAIR OF UNDERPANTS THINKING I WOULD STAY FOR JUST ONE NIGHT.....THEY FED ME........THEY TRUSTED MY (WHAT DO YOU CALL IT WHEN YOU DON'T TAKES SIDES...YOU JUST LOVE AND CARE ABOUT EVERYBODY NO MATTER WHAT SIDE THEY ARE ON?) INTEGRITY?
THEY ARE STRONG FORMIDABLE GENEROUS PEOPLE....DOES IT SEEM STRANGE THAT WE LAUGHED TOGETHER..... ENJOYED EACH OTHERS COMPANY.....SHOULDN'T I HAVE BEEN CRYING WHILE I WAS THERE?.......WHEN YOU ARE LIVING IN THE MOMENT YOU JUST GET ON WITH.....TIME TO CRY AFTERWARDS WHEN IT'S ALL OVER.
WHEN THE ISRAELIS CUT THE CURFEW FOR JUST ONE DAY TO BURY THE ACCUMULATED DEAD THE YOUNG GIRLS AND I RAIDED THE PARKS FOR ROSES TO TAKE TO THE PATIENTS IN HOSPITAL......A YOUNG BOY PLUCKED THE ONLY ROSE FROM A BUSH ON HIS MOTHER'S GRAVE AND OFFERED IT TO ME WITH LOVE IN HIS EYES....BROWN EYES!........PALESTINIAN EYES!
AND YET! I WAS SURPRISED AT HOW MANY PALESTINIAN MEN ARE AMERICANS…..AND I MET ONE YOUNG MAN IN HIS EARLY TWENTIES WHO WAS BORN AND BRED IN AUSTRALIA…..WHEN I ASKED HIM “WHAT IN GOD’S NAME ARE YOU DOING HERE?” HE LAUGHED UNROARIOUSLY….GRABBED MY ARM AND PEERED INTO MY EYES “YOU’RE ASKING ME!!!” THEN HE EXPLAINED THAT HIS GRANDFATHER HAD CALLED HIM….. “IT’S A FAMILY OBLIGATION FROM GENERATION TO GENERATION…….TO KEEP ON FIGHTING UNTIL THE LAST JEW HAS BEEN DRIVEN INTO THE SEA.”
IN ISRAEL I STAYED WITH SEVERAL DIFFERENT ISRAELI FAMILIES......ORIGINALLY FROM ENGLAND...FROM CANADA...POLAND...RUSSIA...ALL KIND GENEROUS WARM HEARTED PEOPLE......THEY OFFERED ME PLACES TO STAY FOR FREE.....THEY GAVE ME BOOKS TO READ TO STUDY THE HISTORY.....ANSWERED ALL MY QUESTIONS......WE TALKED...AND TALKED ....AND TALKED.....
I WAS TAKEN TO MEET PEOPLE FROM BOTH SIDES WHO ARE TRYING TO BRIDGE THE DIFFERENCES
I LOVE THESE PEOPLE....I LOVE THE ISRAELIS AND PALESTINIANS BOTH WITH A TERRIBLE FIERCENESS......I HONOUR THE PALESTINIANS AND THE ISRAELIS.......THEY ARE CLEARING AWAY THE KARMIC DARKNESS IN THAT REGION......THEY ARE CARRYING THE BURDEN OF DARKNESS FOR THE REST OF US........HOW CAN ANYONE JUSTIFY CRITICISM OF EITHER SIDE.......CAN WE NOT ALL OPEN OUR HEARTS AND MINDS AND FORGIVE BOTH SIDES!
WHEN EVERY PERSON ON THIS PLANET TAKES RESPONSIBILITY FOR THEIR OWN DARK SIDE.......WHEN EVERY PERSON ON THIS PLANET STANDS UP AND SAYS "YES! I AND MY ANCESTORS ARE AS MUCH RESPONSIBLE FOR THE HURT HARM AND UNHAPPINESS THAT WEIGHS HUMANITY DOWN AS THOSE WHO ARE OPENLY FIGHTING WITH EACH OTHER.......PLEASE FORGIVE US!".......THEN WE WILL SEE THE FIRST GLIMMER OF TRUE FREEDOM!
I’m tired…I am so unbelievably tired…..

Dalry