Tamarika

My blog lounge

I think what the discussion in the comments section of Evacuation from Gaza has reinforced for me is the fact that life is complex, and which is why I thought Chaim Yavin's documentary was so well done.

For we have seen with these events how gentle and compassionate an army can be. It can be done. We all see the tragedy for children who have no choice as they learn from horrific life experiences and the adults who teach them right from wrong.

All of a sudden "good guys" become "bad guys" and vice versa. Boundaries become blurry and we are confused. People we were taught to hate, now we are told to love.

How then, can one man (and, sadly, it usually is a man) tell us who is evil and who not? Who are sinners and who not? And we follow blindly without constantly asking difficult and uncomfortable questions over and over again?

When we declare an Axis of Evil first we wipe out millions of individual people (and, by the way, children are included in that definition) in our minds, and then allow ourselves the physical act killing of them.

I am moved and grateful that some of you felt safe enough to comment and share the complexity with all of us in what one of you, in a private e-mail to me, termed my blog lounge. The beauty of the blog is the ability to include all our voices.

Here's a thought I have: does the anonymity of the blog, the fact that we are not sitting face to face, allow us to express views we might usually keep to ourselves for fear of the discomfort?

Thanks so much to Huw, Mark, Jean, Adriana, Aine Livia, and Sue for joining with me on this journey. For even as I live far away, I hold Israel close to my heart and my thoughts are there, lately, so much.

Evacuation from Gaza (Update)

Just in ... e-mail from a very dear friend:

I don't know what you guys are seeing on your TVs but what I am hearing on the constant radio coverage makes me proud. The way the cops and the army are dealing with the evacuation of Gaza is amazing. These kids (the soldiers and the police) are being cursed, lectured to, intimidated, abused manipulated by people using their babies as emotional levers, weeping settlers,  people genuinely miserable about having to leave their homes after 30 years together with hooligans who came to make trouble and noise and are doing everything to try and stall the withdrawal. And they, the army and the fuzz are doing the job. Cool, not intimidated, not reacting to abuse, sometimes with tears in their eyes.

Update:

I think Huw's comment should go here too:

Yeah Tamar, I like the thought that springs from your comment of a "Hugging Army" or a "stroking police force".
I wonder at the way these kids were prepared, trained for this task. Imagine you're barely out of your teens, hormones screaming through your veins, its hot, they are pouring water and oil and acid and abuse and blows on you, and somehow you manage to behave like Jesus. I would love to have witnessed their training. Did they read the Baghavad Ghita to them? They must have given a feeling of great confidence, fear would have caused them to respond with violence.
I suppose that for a Hugging Law and Order Unit (How's "Jesus police"?) to work there needs to be a common infrastructure of belonging between the police and the policed (a knowledge that "we are basicly the same, we are brothers and sisters and nephews and grandchildren").
For that to work accross "tribal" boundaries one needs really strong philosophy.

The sound of taps played at your brother's grave

Winston, thanks for the post, links and PaulaO's comment. The picture is, indeed, superb!

____________________________________________________________________________

A Nation Rocked to Sleep
By Carly Sheehan
Sister of Casey KIA 04/04/04
Sadr City, Baghdad

Have you ever heard the sound of a mother screaming for her son?
The torrential rains of a mother's weeping will never be done
They call him a hero, you should be glad that he's one, but
Have you ever heard the sound of a mother screaming for her son?

Have you ever heard the sound of a father holding back his cries?
He must be brave because his boy died for another man's lies
The only grief he allows himself are long, deep sighs
Have you ever heard the sound of a father holding back his cries?

Have you ever heard the sound of taps played at your brother's grave?
They say that he died so that the flag will continue to wave
But I believe he died because they had oil to save
Have you ever heard the sound of taps played at your brother's grave?

Have you ever heard the sound of a nation being rocked to sleep?
The leaders want to keep you numb so the pain won't be so deep
But if we the people let them continue another mother will weep

From: Report out from Camp Casey Vigil.

Today's the day ...

 

Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday Dear Millie,

Happy Birthday to you!

A pig for life (update)

Today I met a young man who was born on a pig farm in Kansas. When he was a child he loved a little pig. But when the pig became big it was sent away. At that time he did not know where it had gone.

He told the story with a soft and gentle laugh.

A couple of years ago he was given a small pig as a gift. He named the pig Che. He would take Che for walks in the park amongst others who were out walking their dogs. He said he had more dates than ever before thanks to his Che. He spoke about his pig with great affection and told us how intelligent Che was - do you know, he even had mood swings and threw pillows and charcoal about when he was angry at being left alone too long?

But, oh dear, after four months that pig became big. Too big. His landlord said, "Mister, it's you or the pig!"

A gentle man who mumbled wistfully that the story of his life was the material of a sit-com.

I listened to his story, and as I drove home in the rain I thought, "He really does deserve a pig for life."

I mean, just how many pigs can a person lose in one life-time?

Update:

Hmm ... look what I found at Pratie Place ...

War communications

A friend of mine tells me how she views war:through communication with loved ones back home. For example, during the Second World War, she says, if you wrote a letter to your loved ones you would not be sure if they ever received it, and it would take months to receive a reply. She considers what it must have been like to share your soul and life with someone only to receive a response such a long time later - if ever.

During the Vietnam War, letters would take two or three weeks to arrive and telephone calls were made through radio services with a third party listening in as they set it up for you. She knows these details intimately, painfully, deeply, because these communications were with her fiancee whom she lost during that war.

Nowadays, she says, loved ones communicate via e-mail sometimes instantly, and telephone calls are frequent. How different is that? She wonders how it might affect everything about going to war.

I guess her fiancee was drafted, had no choice, to the Vietnam War. She's been wondering about how, today, people volunteer for service and what that feels like. She reflects how it is becoming harder to recruit people because who would want to join the military when we've been lied to and become confused about what we are fighting for.

Her face becomes serious, hard set as she thinks aloud about a possible draft in the near future.

"If there is a draft, all those Senators and Congress people, and certainly the Administration folks - well, their children better be drafted first. Let them feel what it's like!" She says.

The number one

Kalilily Time is back - and back is beautiful:

Sometimes, one is all you get. One chance. One choice.

Welcome back, K.T.

Games people play

Quote of the day:

Since then, I have been in love with birds. Flying. Leaving. Coming back. Singing. Falling in love.  Never Neutral

Yesterday Susan and Gretchen came on planes and trains to see me and we played a bit: walking in Chestnut Hill, lunching together and I received a belated birthday gift. It was fun to have real playmates for a day. Unusual, surreal. And oh, so welcome.

Today Cheryl arrives and, hurrah! I get to play some more.

Shimon and I love to play Scrabble. We take it in turns to win magnificently (as he is doing right now). If I manage a 7-letter score his expletives are as humorous as can be. You can make comments, you see. This time around he is winning ... he wrote this morning making me laugh out loud right into my coffee cup: "TWO can play this game!"

[I guess you have to know Shimon to understand his jokes, eh?]

I used to play tennis: five days a week for 8 years with Rachel back in Israel. That was 17 years ago. 5:00 a.m. we would set out and take it in turns to win magnificently. Rachel is 20 years older than me and she would run like the wind to get that ball back at me. When I called her in June she reminded me that she is 76 - but she still plays tennis.

Lately I play alone: walk in the park, use the treadmill with earphones, do yoga, lift those weights - and blog.

Ah, so blogging is playing for me! I hadn't thought of that ...

Of course there are a million games T and I play and oh my, you should see the ones me and my family play ...

... emotional I mean.

From Buffalo to Philadelphia (Update)

Today and tomorrow friends are coming to see me. They are taking planes and trains and coming to see me. And, dear readers, let me tell you ... it feels good, really good.

In fact, my cup is running over and over.

I set up my new office yesterday: hung up those posters and set out my books. The chair fits in really well, all the dolls lined up, and as I closed the door to set out for home - yes indeed - I felt tears well up again. Tears of joy, I guess, to see the professional, professor me stepping back into the arena.

I discovered that the light was not too bright as I had feared it might be when stumbling out of my cave at last.

In fact, it had been light all along.

No adjustment to my vision needed.

And when I awoke this morning I realized I had been dreaming about Charlie. He knew my time would come. And I cried - really cried.

Update:

Today I bought a fan, coffee maker, desk lamp and dust buster for my office.

So I guess I plan on spending time comfortably there.

Back to school I go.

Globe cartoon

Thanks, Jack!