Five days ago, a special room started on the audio social media app Clubhouse.
It started five days ago and has been staying open for hours and hours on end. But that's not why it's special, plenty of rooms on Clubhouse stay open for days. No, this room is special because it is hosting a conversation with Palestinians and Israelis, in the midst of the most amount of violence the two groups of people have seen in years. The dialogue is moderated with much grace and sensitivity, is encouraging listening and practicing empathy rather than getting caught in feuds and arguments and it empathizes balance as well as the use of language that is not polarizing in nature. I have been coming in and out of the room for the last five days, and have been in awe of the stellar moderating skills around such a difficult topic and such intense emotions, and have listened to hours and hours of personal stories; the fearful mother in Gaza, the hopeful Palestinian in the west bank, the Israeli woman who lost her friend to a bombing. So many stories from so many people from different and yet such similar places . I've cried to them, I've laughed with them. I spoke from my own experience growing up in the mixed community of the old city of Jerusalem, and I've offered validation to some voices that needed to hear it. I heard perspectives I never thought of, from Israelis and Palestinians alike, and history I didn't know of, and I got to understand my own identity better. One constant cry I've heard from various voices or in the silences between the words - is the cry of the oppressed. The oppressed who simply want to stand on their own two feet, with dignity, with humanity, in autonomy, in peace. As a Jew, oppression as a theme runs through my veins from my ancestry. Fear from hate and oppression is a constant 'back of the mind' notion to a Jew in the diaspora like me - so hearing the outcry of the oppressed that my home town of Israel has been oppressing - is absolutely heart breaking. Over 150,000 people have come in to this room since its inception, (with some occasional extreme voices that are usually elegantly cooled down by the moderators, and one or two trolls...), and the conversations have touched on solutions and shared visions for the Palestinians and Israelis. It has been challenging to be in that sacred space of dialogue, and it has been inspirational and up lifting. It has been giving me hope for a future in the region. A peaceful future. If politicians would handle peace talks as well as how these moderators hold space to so many traumatized people - we would have peace in the middle east in no time. You may call me a peace-loving idealist, but thanks to this room I learned that I am not the only one.
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I've met my share of narcissists.
There's a spectrum of narcissism and I think I've seen it all: from the gentle covert narcissist that is so nice you'd almost miss it, to the blatant Trumpian narcissist who doesn't have an inch of empathy. Some narcissists get more narcissistic when things go wrong, others when they get an inch of success... but either way - narcissists view others as pawns, tools to fulfill a task, something they can USE. I've met my share of users. And I have my complexed unresolved relationships with them... So to practice EMPATHY - a practice I truly believe can change our world - I decided to step into the shoes of a narcissist. Well, only for a moment. What I came up with is a... rap song. (insert shrugging emoji) It's an homage to Sinatra's famous song 'Fly Me To The Moon.' Huh! Who knew... ;) 'Fly me to the sun Let me outshine the naysayers Let me see how hot it gets When livin' like a player In other words, I'm gonna grow my ego wide In other words, watch me go on an epic ride Fill my purse with bills And let me conquer all them hills You are nothing but a tool Oh how I like to use ya, fool In other words, I don't care 'bout you at all In other words, I step on you just to be tall' *** ~~ So yeah... I may need to work on my empathy skills a little harder. Just a little ;) And now that I got THAT out of my system, I'll go back to writing melancholic poetry... ~~ Oh world, let me escape to my idealism:
To a world where peace isn't a thing one yearns for but rather something one get used to. To the notion that borders aren't between lands, but rather with respect to personal boundaries. To a land that acknowledges ALL of its inhabitants equally and not places some on top of others. The hierarchy of nations, of countries, of systems, of animals, of races, of wealth, of beauty, of gender, of education.... is absurd. Let me live in a world with none of that - no hierarchy, no hate, no war, even no death. The beauty in idealism is to imagine what is not possible... YET. To wish, hope and strive for something that is unlikely to occur. Idealism is in all of us, in different aspects and different mass. Some of us were nurtured to imagine, like me, so idealism is a muscle well trained. Others live in a world that is harder to imagine it to be different. And others hold on to realism for the sake of, well, practicality, and to defend a possible future disappointment. I think of idealism as the ability to imagine the impossible, and strive towards it. Realism is pragmatic action. Very important... and yet - realism doesn't exist without idealism. So I'll escape the world today, and in my imagination - make a better one. Join me on a journey towards the impossible. Who knows? We might make our ideal version of the world - the future real one. A storm.
The waves fall and rise. They rise and fall. A storm of death and destruction and I am at the shore, picking up the broken pieces Of a ship Of a sailor's dream Of a child's lego piece Of hope. I never knew water can burn so much I never knew it can tear at my insides I never knew the waves can swallow me whole All while I'm out on the sand, dry, sunny, safe. I once was the captain of that ship And that ship was my home Now that ship is at my footsteps, shattered in pieces. It lost the storm. It died in it With its sailors And its legos And its hope. And the world was watching. *** Dear Rage,
Oh, we meet again. We meet again and I am fuming. We meet again, and WE are fuming. If I was an animated character - I would have smoke coming from my nostrils right now. And maybe I'd also be shooting fire from my eyes. Dragon eyes, for sure. That's what you do to me, Rage! You spin me right outside myself, you are an outer-body experience, you are the adrenaline that burns through my veins when I see and FEEL injustice, when I am fed up with the world's WRONGS, or when I simply have too much pain and YOU, my dear Rage, protects me from it. Sometimes, you are the reckless, impulsive, blatant GUARD of my heart, of my deep wounds and sorrow. We all need a protector, and sometimes, dear Rage, it is YOU that protects me. But you do more than just protect. You help me express. You help me feel. You help me go to the core of my feelings and spit them out. BUT.... dear Rage... do you HAVE to show up in such a volatile way??? Do you have to take me (and, um, everyone surrounding me) to a world wind spin? Do you HAVE to shoot fire out of my eye-balls?? Maybe you do. I honestly don't know. I don't know because you never really communicate in coherent terms. You mostly blurt out curse words and shout your way to existence. It is.... exhausting. It is draining. And it is also - liberating. Truth is - it feels good to be in your presence. It is freeing. Thank you for your protection, expression, and liberation. Just... breathe a little here and there. And don't take yourself out on anyone... okay?? Love, Me. I take a seat.
I roll my sleeve. I roll my neck a couple of times, okay - maybe three. I open my computer. I stare at the blank screen (it's the new 'blank page' y'all). I hold my finger up to tap (my new pen). And I go --- jwbefrkwjhfb djcbnskj jksdn fedj kdfne wlefjlie qeofjqe !!! rjjefwe ? ekwekfqhw ci eta irrhf sidfew erughwru sskiie dsk jewrfnwkejgfhejkwrghjkrgeg djfdjfh ewjbfjew, ejfhweu. ejfhweufheu rejbf eifei wdihwi 6ohk6o dudg. efuheuhf eiufheiu df ie ifh wihw, euheuf, uefhu, efhweh gitj wygd i5gj. jfebwue eufuwf eifh wdvtt okh yf, uh ? Nope -- it's not a code or a new language I made up. It is just what my hands long to write sometimes. I put such emphasis on WORDS, LOGIC, MEANING, and being UNDERSTOOD.... that it's absolutely liberating to throw all that out the window and just.... you know: bfejbfewu dij wiejoji4 ifiw ewdgyuwy otgjot dnue jij , ijfi ijfir dbguys ofgri eid uwsw dn edn din dnwie ehfh bwu ow wnqjni jnrfjernfek ind rijro og, eifhieh ifjijf. ifjie ijdwie ijg okwp psl,ei orjeiheifwefhuew okodm rihgg ojwd fofm owwm os oj r tknigne t oefom owwnd vmmx ?!?!?! How did YOU break the rules today? Which self imposed rule can you loosen up? How can you rise up to society's conditioning? What can YOU do that will feel liberating? Sometimes it's simply taking a seat, rolling a sleeve, facing the blank screen and letting your finger type away fheruedek dji oiwjdoi ekwhoiwf nj rof owdjwo utbc dome spwk , am I right???? For today's word, I don't need to go look at the dictionary.
I feel its meaning deep in my bones, in my heart, through my veins: H O M E My home doesn't need a white fence or a flag. My home doesn't need walls, or borders. My home doesn't need a key or even a door. My home is always open, always warm, always beating. My home doesn't need wars and disputes, it doesn't need politicians and citizens, it doesn't need rules that don't work, and it doesn't need rules that do. My home is my heart -- It only needs me, and it only needs you. How will it end, the story of two?
How will it unfold, and begin anew? My friend Mustafa once held me near: I was his sister, his friend and his dear. He said 'you and I are different, in more ways than none. Where you can walk -- I have to run Where you can drive -- I wait in line And where you roam free -- I am confined. Yes, you and I are different, in more ways than none, Although I'd much prefer, to think of us as 'one' You go to sleep at night And I -- stand in fear And this uneven war continues, year after year. While you go to school, and have your career I stay behind -- locked away in here. I am not asking for pity, Nor do I need your understanding. I just ask that for a moment -- You'll try to be where I am standing.' Mustafa cried, and shook my hand And there we were together, sharing our land. I do not know how this story will end. But with my friend Mustafah -- I will stand. Like olive trees we'll rise together, Tall and free and trying to be better. Better than the sum of our ancestry We'll change the journey of our history We'll make this story of two -- our story of one And the cycle of hate will lastly be DONE. *** Dear Heart,
When you and I were younger, I held you close to my vest. Not just literally, duh, but also figuratively. You were mine and mine alone. I held you close, guarded, protected, safe, and no one was to enter you. No one was to see you whole. My writings were the only ones that got to know you, back then. You may have been lonely, all those years. But you never complained. You simply waited for me to introduce you to others, to open you up to the world. I started, little by little, and before I knew it - you were open. A open Heart. But every once in a while, my tendency to hold you near - comes back. My need to protect you and shelter you - returns. My shield hovers firmly surrounding you. I am no stranger to the opening and the closing of you. Much like breathing - you open, and then you close. You open, and then... you close. And the cycle continues. And continues. And continues again... Every hurt, every rejection, every judgement that comes my way - I go to your defense instantly. I don't always make it on time.... you have some scratches and bruises as a result. But you are grand and whole and beautiful as you are... and the more I open you up - I see that you are limitless in your size. You are infinite in your strength. You don't need my small limited by the human body protection. You probably giggle to yourself when I put my armor around you. You giggle because you know that you are penetrable regarding of the layers I would put around you. You, my dear Heart, are NOT limited by the bounds of your body. You are NO body. You are EVERY body. So, thank you Heart. For showing me that you are not the one in need of protection. In fact - you ARE protection itself. And every beat of yours echos that. So the next time I'll face rejection, or hurt, or pain... I will not rush to hide you. I will reach to feel your beat, to feel your protection and together - we'll be boundless. Love, Yours. My story of identity has many layers.
One of them is the Israeli layer in me. Every time the ongoing Israeli/Palestinian conflict erupts into an intifada, or a full blown war - I am met with both the need and the difficulty to defend my right to exist. To defend my identity of being Israeli when some extremists call Israel 'Israel' because they don't want to acknowledge its existence. They don't want to acknowledge my existence. And I can say the same about Israeli right wing extremists and settlers that claim the land should only be Israel and for Israelis alone - that kind of thinking erases the Palestinians' right to exist. Truth is - I can say a lot of things about this conflict. I can bring in my knowledge of history, my first hand experiences from the region, my experiences seeing violence over this long conflict, articles and talking points that can shed a light on the complexity, my story of refusing to serve in the Israeli Defense Forces (a mandatory service in Israel) for being a conscientious objector... Sure, I can say a lot on this topic. But nothing I'll say will change this seesaw-dance of pride and shame that I have with my own Israeli identity. When Israel strives and achieves extraordinary achievement in the world, like in tech or being first to offer humanitarian aid to countries in need - I am very proud to be Israeli. And when Israel mistreats Palestinians and kills innocent people in Gaza and the Palestinian territories - I am deeply ashamed. Sure, I am tempted to explain the narrative I was raised on - that Israel is defending itself against HAMAS - a terror organization that controls Gaza and its people, and sometimes innocent lives are lost in war... but I will not explain that. Because it doesn't justify the loss of lives. It doesn't justify living in fear on both sides. It doesn't justify people having to defend their rights to exist. To have a home. And it doesn't change the shame I feel for the failure of this powerful country to correct this wrong and to be a symbol of hope and equality to ALL its inhabitants. With power comes responsibility, and the power dynamics in the region are clear and have been for quite a while. In the 1990s, when Rabin was the prime minister of Israel, there was a great sense of hope in the country. There was a sense of hope for a better future, for the long awaited peace agreement, for co-existence the way so many Israelis and Palestinians alike crave for. When Rabin was assassinated by a right wing extremist who wanted to kill the peace process - that hope started fading away and over the last two decades it has been shrinking and shrinking. Now - hope is barely hanging on a thread. To my US friends who have joined the dense, emotional, difficult conversation about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict: welcome! There is a lot to learn about this. A lot. LISTEN, learn, and please be there for your Israeli and Palestinian friends. Years long traumas run through our identities and every siren we hear - is a trigger, every firework - a bombing, and every alarm - a reminder of this ongoing war on our homes. |
AuthorIn April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling. Categories
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Header Art: Daniel Landerman |