With Sorrow’s Song
My heart is heavy. The genocide in Palestine continues.
This week I saw images that I will never forget.
A beheaded baby, carried by their father
A journalist burning alive
A crew of medics executed by Israeli soldiers and buried with their ambulances
Massacre after massacre after massacre
The grief is a rock on my chest. A scream in my throat.
Everything falls away. I still tend my body and spirit and responsibilities, but there’s a sharp edge of sorrow waiting around every corner.
In the two months of the ceasefire (in which Israel continued to kill & displace Palestinians), I started to feel a sense of momentum in my longing to bring storytelling circles and workshops back into the fold of my life. I felt space for new creation.
And now, as each new massacre lands daily as a notification on my phone and a scream in my soul - nothing feels important but finding ways to show up for Palestine.
So I make art. I created a bank of art for Palestine last week and I drove 3 hours to DC and gave it all away at the march for Palestine. I held my bin Free Art for a Free Palestine and I screamed for an end to the genocide. I was grateful to be surrounded by a sea of people who also care.
The distance between any of our actions and what’s needed to stop this genocide feels unbearably large, yet we must continue to offer what we have in service of ending this catastrophic suffering.
There’s a song we sing in the RVA Ceasefire Chorus -
DEEP DOWN INSIDE OF ME
I’VE GOT A FIRE GOING ON
PART OF ME WANTS TO SING ABOUT THE LIGHT
PART OF ME WANTS TO CRY CRY CRY
I sang it on my dog walk by the river this morning, as three herons flew above me. (Sing along with me here)
None of us can end this on our own, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t offer what we have.
Yesterday I wrote in my journal. Over and over my prayer poured out. Dear God End This Genocide. Dear God End This Genocide. Dear God End this Genocide. Tears fell. End It. End It. End It.
What will it take it end it? How can we continue to live in the midst of daily massacres? What more can I do? There is more. There is more. There is more.
I recently saw No Other Land in theaters. I knew it would be intense. The day before I felt raw as an exposed nerve. Tears fell throughout the movie. Israeli soldiers shooting Palestinians. Bulldozing homes. Forcibly displacing people off their ancestral land. The soldiers. The abductions. The relentless oppression. The prison that is the West Bank. The mothers’ love. The children. The pain. The disrespect. The bulldozed school. The protests. The bullets. The bulldozing. The bulldozing. The settler attacks.
My rage grew hot. It took everything not to scream in the theater.
The movie ended. People stood up way too fast.
When I left the dark theater and walked into a golden spring Friday evening, the sidewalks buzzing with people, the contrast felt excruciatingly surreal.
Eventually, I sobbed on my friend’s shoulder on the sidewalk. Loudly. A howl of grief. I didn’t care who heard. I didn’t care how it looked.
My heart still echoes:
FUCK ISRAEL FUCK ISRAEL FUCK ISRAEL
FUCK THE U.S. GOVERNMENT
FUCK EVERYONE STAYING SILENT IN THE FACE OF GENOCIDE
FUCK COMPLACENCY
FUCK PRIORITIZING PROFESSIONALISM
FUCK EVERYTHING THAT KEEPS US SILENT
FUCK EVERYTHING KEEPING THIS GENOCIDE ALIVE
FUCK SETTLER COLONIALISM
FUCK COMPLICITY
END THIS GENOCIDE
END THIS GENOCIDE
END THIS GENOCIDE
