CPTnet
September 20, 2004
HEBRON POEM: After the suicide bombing in Beersheva, my senses have
become more acute
by Maia Williams
After the suicide bombing in Beersheva, my senses have become more acute.
The men sitting in plastic lawn chairs in front of tea shops gave me the
sketchy details about the bombing. They pressed their ears against
transistor radios--their eyes and mouths wide, their faces paralyzed in
horror, anger, grief, distress.
The next day, I discovered that the bombers had come from well-known
families in Hebron. They were relatives of people I know and with whom
I work.
There are charred bodies in Beersheva, in Chechnya. Palestinian
prisoners are starving themselves in prisons across Israel. There is a
prison in Beersheva. There are melted buses in Beersheva.
Hamed Qawasme was the assistant to the governor's office this spring.
He is bright, tactful, with graceful hands. His mother, Nowraz, took us
to the house of one of the suicide bombers, the day after the Beersheva
bombing. The charred basement smelled of smoke and ash. The bomber's
grandmother, Amira, around 100 years old, clasped my hand on the veranda
as I gave my condolences. Her eyes were the color of the sun's corona.
We followed Nowraz as she went upstairs to the women's mourning room.
The bomber's mother was laying down, surrounded by thirty women
relatives, crying. I was too paralyzed to cry. I drank tea and looked
out the window onto the quiet streets of Hebron. Contrary to the
newspaper reports from the day before, I did not see anyone dancing in
the streets.
What can I say to the mother, to the three Qawasme brothers of the
bomber arrested by the Israeli military early that morning? Were they
their brother's keeper? Am I?
All I can say is what a principal of one of the Hebron schools said to
me: suicide bombing has a lot more to do with suicide than with bombing.
All I can say is today I heard a story about one of my favorite little
boys in Palestine, Majd. He went to Jerusalem with his aunt. Along
the way an Israeli soldier stopped them at a checkpoint near a convent.
Majd asked the soldier for his gun. He said he would bring the soldier
another gun when he returned from Jerusalem. The soldier laughed.
His aunt bought him a toy gun, taller than him, in Jerusalem. Every time
Majd hears that is aunt is going to Jerusalem, he asks her to bring him
the gun from the convent soldier. He does not want a toy gun, he wants
a real one.
I do not know why Palestinian men blow apart themselves and Israeli
citizens apart. All I can say is that peace is more than the difference
between a toy gun and a real one.
Peace is more than a balanced viewpoint.
Peace is Palestinian women crying when tears are all that are left to
give.
May God give us the peace that passes understanding.
To stop receiving messages from CPTNET on MennoLink, send a message
with only the word, "suspend," in the body to server@MennoLink.org.
Christian Peacemaker Teams is an initiative of the historic peace churches
(Mennonites, Church of the Brethren, and Quakers) with support and
membership from a range of Catholic and Protestant denominations.
Supporting violence-reduction efforts around the world is its mandate.
Contact CPT, POB 6508 Chicago, IL 60680; Telephone: 773-277-0253 Fax:
773-277-0291; e-mail: guest.903627@MennoLink.org.
To receive news or discussion of CPT issues by e-mail, fill out the form
found on our WEB page at http://www.cpt.org/subscribe.php
This archive was generated by hypermail 2b29 : Thu Sep 30 2004 - 13:52:52 EDT