Holding it in Your Heart

Israeli airstrike on Beirut-Rafic Hariri international Airport, Beirut, Lebanon. July 2006.

One morning in 2006, I was awoken by my bed shaking. It was 2am. I got up and looked out my patio door to find warships in the Mediterranean. I was living in Beirut at the time. Now to be fair, this wasn’t completely unexpected as the airport in Beirut had been bombed the day before. Somehow in my naiveté, I thought Israel’s retaliation would remain in the south of Lebanon. That would not be the case; Israel would continue an air and ground assault on Lebanon for the next 34 days.

That morning, Israeli planes were flying low over Beirut (hence my building shaking), and then I heard the unmistakable sound of an air strike. I ran to the other side of my apartment and watched bombs fall on the area of the Palestinian refugee camp I was working in. I couldn’t tell if they were bombarding the camp, or the Hezbollah suburb surrounding it, or both - kind of like a two-for-one deal.

I remember that early morning like it was yesterday. All the emotion floods back – confusion, anger, terror, incomprehension of what was actually happening before my eyes. I audibly said to myself, “They can’t just come in here and bomb us.” They can, and they did.

I had moved my life over to Beirut only a few months earlier. I was so hopeful and excited to make a difference in the world – to reach out with love to Palestinian refugees. I was finally living out my dream of living overseas and working with purpose. But, only a few months into living in Beirut, my dream was slowly slipping into a nightmare – I was in deep culture shock and struggling with Arabic. I learned quickly that trying to build a life in another culture is quite different than visiting for a few weeks and falling in love with it.

Now add to it, a war.

Tears streamed down my face, not only because of the terror I was experiencing but because I also sensed I was that superficial American. I felt so trite. I was in way over my head at that point. I realized in a moment how much I didn’t understand, how much I didn’t know, and just how naïve I was. Who was I to think I could make a difference in another culture? In a conflict that was so much bigger than my understanding of it? Shit got very real. I experienced a war as a civilian. It wouldn’t be my last.

This was a defining moment in life. In some weird way it solidified my commitment to Palestinian refugees. I could now relate to living in violence and instability. It also gave me first-hand knowledge of who actually holds the power in the region. I pledged to learn as much as I could about the history of Middle East, much deeper than I had. I needed to make sense of the situation. I needed to understand the roots of the conflict so I could understand the suffering I was witnessing and experiencing. The reason why I teach about Palestinian refugees for these past 15 years in the U.S. was literally birthed out of that horrible night. Because what I know, I must share with others. It is one small way to advocate on behalf of Palestinian refugees.

Truth is important. Facts are important. There are not alternative facts. There are competing narratives to every conflict. I am very sure that an Israeli in Tel Aviv would have a very different version of that early morning in 2006 than I did. We were having two completely different experiences from the same conflict. Both narratives are true and must be held in tension. That takes maturity and a willingness to be uncomfortable and confused.

Chatila Palestinian Refugee Camp, Beirut, Lebanon. August, 2019. Photo courtesy of Shelby Mathis.

I am committed to telling the truth, as painful as it might be. I need to be sure I am putting out facts - not hyperbole, not lies, not anything that fits my worldview or my comfort level. I work with people whose stories are not often heard. My goal is to share those stories as far and wide as I can. That’s how to advocate for others and that’s how to get people involved on a heart level.

Not sure if you are aware of this: Americans have passionate opinions about the Israel/Palestine conflict, opinions not necessarily based in facts. I still don’t understand why it is so contentious. For my part, everything I share or write on this topic has been researched and fact checked. I feel like it’s my duty to make sure I am not adding more gasoline on a dumpster fire. I want to offer others what I know and experienced. People are literally dying, why add untruths? Why add more pain? Because it fits my worldview or proves my point?

In the end, it harms the people I am advocating for by building more division. You actually construct barriers for people not to experience other cultures and injustices. It also ruins your own credibility as a trusted source on the issue. Shouldn’t the entire goal be to advocate for others who are being denied basic human rights?

Advocating for others must be based in truth and in storytelling with permission. This conflict or the lives of Palestinian refugees aren’t a debate item for me or an argument to be won at any cost. I actually don’t argue with others. Do you know why I don’t? Because this is personal to me. Because I have experienced trauma as a result of this conflict. Because I know too many refugees as friends, and I know exactly what barriers they face daily. I am a first-hand witness to the vulnerability of their situation. Their stories must be shared, not my need to be right.

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine who lives in a camp contacted me. They hesitated but told me they had no money to feed their children because of job losses and lockdowns due to COVID. After years of knowing me, for the first time in our relationship, in their desperation, they asked me for money. That is the reality for refugees. That is the reality for some many of us right now during a pandemic.

I carry this person in my heart, along with so many others from the Middle East. I carry the 2006 war in my heart, along with so many other experiences – both good and bad. We all have a choice to make with what we carry, whether it be burdens or pain or joy. What do we choose to do with it? Protect ourselves? Make sure I got mine? Retribution?

Or is it the choice to continually put our neighbor before ourselves? One way is a much harder path of self-awareness, love, and reconciliation. It’s difficult work.

But isn’t that our only choice, really?

“Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe”. -Frederick Douglass