Warning: graphic image included in this post.
Grief so deep…
usatoday.com
Today, as I do every Tuesday, I was sitting with a man who is dying.
Each week I volunteer at Hospice House, and I have had the honor (and it is truly, the greatest honor) of sitting with several people just before they die… a few, on their last day of life. Today I was sitting with a wonderful gentleman who accepts that his cancer is “everywhere,” and he doesn’t want to go through any more treatment. He’s an incredible man: wise, charming, funny and sharp. He likes me, and I like him, so I make extra time for him each time I’m there. I’m not sure which one of us gets more out of this arrangement; I know it means the world to me… this sacred time we share.
Today, however, was different. As I was standing there talking to him, the news was on in the background, muted, so that we could talk. Slowly I realized that the words “Breaking News” kept flashing across the screen, along with images of ambulances and people running around. I was engaged, tuned out of the news and these things… but then, an image seemed familiar. The street on the TV looked like one I’ve seen… and then I saw the words, “Terrorist attack on synagogue in Jerusalem!” My twenty-four year old daughter lives in Jerusalem. It is not a large city, so anything that happens in Jerusalem, is too close for comfort in this mother’s eyes.
I couldn’t help it; terror grabbed me and I excused myself abruptly. “George (not his name), I’ll be right back!” I rushed to my purse, stored in the front cabinet, tears rising and struggling to breathe easily– hoping to find a text message from my daughter. I felt an old, familiar panic rising in my chest. This is not the first time I’ve feared for my oldest child’s safety, in a city so far from me. There was no message, and my heart raced faster.
Admittedly, I also felt a moment of self-recrimination. This should be easier at this point. My girl has lived in Israel, off and mostly on for nearly three years now. She has told me dozens of times that the media exaggerates things. “I’m fine, Mom;” I could almost hear her saying. I was at work, in a place where others rely on me to bring comfort. I had to pull it together. George smiled when I returned and asked if my girl was ok. I shrugged, and told him that I wasn’t sure, but guessed that she was. We talked about the Middle East, and his views on Netanyahu. We pretended everything was ok, even though he is dying and I was worried about my daughter’s safety.
Sometimes, perspective is everything.
It should be easier… But my mother’s heart was racing. Scary thoughts swirled in my head. She became an Israeli citizen this past September. All but one of those murdered today had dual Israeli- U.S. citizenship. She is not a militant or politically motivated. Those murdered today were in a synagogue, bowed in prayer; they were not in a settlement or at a demonstration. My daughter is Jewish. Each of the men brutally murdered today were Jews.
It never gets easier; I’m a mother first.
There are times when I settle into a quiet acceptance of my daughter’s choice to live in a foreign country, far from her family and place of birth. I am proud that she has such strong convictions and passions that she would live so far away, in order to live a life that fills her– spiritually, aesthetically, ideologically. She has marched to her own drummer from the day she was born; as hard as it is, I respect and admire her for that. She is a Jew and Israel is the homeland of all Jews; she feels at home there.
Here in the U.S. my daughter has to search for kosher food and places to eat. She feels out of place; she stands out in her faith. She grew up in a town that consistently, EVERY year, schedules major sporting events and school tests on the Jewish High Holy Days, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Ok, yes, I can hear you already: But there are so few Jews here! Should we observe every important holiday, in every faith? Point taken. But, should we observe EVERY important Christian holiday, just because that is the majority? I’ve heard people go on and on because a soccer game was scheduled on Mother’s Day! Hello? Really? As a mom, I hate having soccer games on my one officially sanctioned holiday too, but it’s not exactly sacrosanct.
My husband grew up in a community on the east coast, where there were enough Jews and Christians that everyone had the High Holy Days off from school. Christians were the majority there too, but it was just done that way out of respect. Here, each year our family has had to explain why our children will miss school or sporting events (which, again, are ALWAYS scheduled then) because it is the holiest day of the Jewish calendar. I am certain I’ve never had to ask for Christmas, Easter, or Thanksgiving off.
So, my girl found a place that respects her faith, her principles, her beliefs, and she moved there. Add to that, she finds it a beautiful country, filled with beautiful people and rich culture– and that is both Jewish and Arab people and culture. My girl has always been a person who embraces people from many walks of life. She does not discriminate, though she has faced discrimination, herself. She works helping African refugees in Israel. She has worked tutoring Arabs and Jews.
My girl has a big, wide heart… that was broken today.
At the same time that mine stopped … filled with anxiety and worry, hers was filled with grief and sadness; hers was filled with righteous indignation. She is justified in her emotions. There is nothing about the horror that happened in that Israeli synagogue that is explainable or justifiable. I’ve heard it all. I am not a staunch pro-Israel supporter, as many expect I might be. However, this was wrong on all levels. This is black and white for me: this was terrorism.
And still numerous media sites used what (even) I see as anti-Semitic, highly slanted headlines to report the incident. The CBC stated: “Jerusalem police fatally shoot 2 after apparent synagogue attack.” Jerusalem police shoot 2? Hello? Those two shooting victims had just used meat cleavers to savagely murder four Rabbis, who were praying! Those two had just shot a police officer who was pulling another female victim to safety. The police officer later died. Those two shooting victims were cowardly murderers, attacking worshippers as they prayed. Numerous other news agencies removed the word “Palestinian” when referring tot he killers. Barely 24 hours later, many news sites did not even have this event on their current news, but many were reporting Israel’s response: demolishing the homes of the killers. There is no nuancing this to fit a political agenda or belief. They used meat cleavers. Guns… In a house of worship. No finessing can clean this up; this is what it looks like:
This is barbarism, nothing less.
themonitor.com
Let me say this clearly, because I believe it with every fiber of my being: If two terrorists walked into a church in any city in America and butchered 4 priests, with meat cleavers (!!), and shot several others… leaving that church awash in blood, there would be no gray area! There would be no words of explanation; no political rhetoric or nuance– no excuses. In fact, if those two men were black, or brown, or Muslim, I am ashamed to know that this country would rise up in abject rage. Let’s talk truth:
This was an act of outright terrorism and barbarity.
Because it happened to Jews, in Jerusalem, does not make it any less so.
While I do not use filters very often, and I generally avoid politics on this blog and in most conversations, there is no other way for me to look at this event. As a U.S. citizen I have, sadly, become accustomed to mass shootings. I have become numbed down by the barrage of ISIS stories, and horrors, inflicted on people all over the world. Yet, I am always particularly impacted by attacks on schools and places of worship. Let me be clear; there is no place where this kind of attack would be ok, but the idea that these were men of great faith–men who studied long and hard to be closer to their God and bring it to their followers– these were men talking to God, when they were attacked and slaughtered. Prayer books and prayer shawls soaked in blood– and still, there were news agencies who rushed to place blame on Israel and the Jews.
When I heard the news, I admit: I was a mother first. I thought of my child and my child’s safety. I did not think of all of these other things in those initial minutes. That came hours later, after having read the news on various sites, having let the idea that this kind of thing happened where my child lives. I was a mother first; I messaged my girl. She reassured me that she was safe in bed, but she also shared that she was sad, that she was shocked, that she was afraid of what all of this will mean.
I am a mother first… I am afraid too.
♥ Thank you to all of you who have sent emails, Facebook messages, or called our home to share your concerns and prayers. There can never be enough prayers, when it comes to peace, and the safety of our children. I am praying for all of the mothers, and all of the children who are facing these challenging times. ♥
Thoughtful, kind, and constructive feedback is always welcome. Please leave a comment.
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GIPY
Make me smile; and HELP ME REACH MY GOAL: I’d love to see the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page reach 500 likes in 2014. Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter, it’s where I’m forced to be brief. Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. I love to hear what readers think. Honest, positive or constructive feedback is always welcome. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email, with no spam. If you see ads on this page, please let me know. They shouldn’t be there. ©2014 Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.
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What a difference one week makes! Last week I had been told I’d be on Huffington Post. Exciting enough, but since then, they’ve published two of my pieces, and on Saturday one of those same stories was Freshly Pressed! The one story received hundreds of comments, many of them very hostile and ugly. I understood that there might be some negativity, but wasn’t prepared for what happened. The other painted me as a saint. Neither is accurate. Today, an Australian publication asked to put the saintly story on their site; it’s been an exciting week for my writing!
TALES FROM THE MOTHERLAND 
I love.
It’s been an amazing week for Tales From the Motherland, and it’s given me lots to think about. Last weekend, my story On My Father’s Birthday, A Letter to His Killer was Freshly Pressed on Word Press. This was my third time being Freshly Pressed, and honestly, the most important validation of my work. My first FP piece, The Grass Is Always Greener On Someone Else’s Head was featured after only 6 weeks of blogging. I had no idea what I was doing; I had about 5 followers at the time, and I really didn’t get what FP was, or how it worked. It was an utter shock to find out a day later that my post had been read by hundreds of people, many of whom left comments. Those comments are still some of THE most interesting work on Tales From the Motherland. If you have some time, check out the post and read the comments. Such revealing statements from women from all walks of life. I was deeply honored, but at the time I was also very aware that my blog was limited and a beginner. I had no idea how to post photos (there were none, in the original); I didn’t know how to put my work out there– I was such a newbie! So, being Freshly Pressed was a huge honor, and a giant boost for my blog, but I didn’t really get it yet.
The second time I was honored with a FP was for a very short bit of writing, that was a Word Press challenge. Titled “She Said What?” it was something I felt good about, but it wasn’t a post that I imagined would be recognized in any way. So the honor, again came as a big surprise and earned me new followers and comments. This third time, was really important to me. On My Father’s Birthday… is a piece that is deeply personal; I put a lot of thought into writing it (over a long period of time), and I felt proud of the work. This same story was featured on Huffington Post and BlogHer this past week, but it was the Freshly Pressed nod that really meant so much. That post got nearly a thousand views in the initial days it was up, currently has 550+ likes, and several hundred comments. I answered every single comment (as I always do) because it really meant the world to me to see such a personally meaningful post resonate with others, and earn such wonderful recognition. I am so grateful to Word Press staff for choosing it.
I was a fatherless daughter
It was a monumental week for my writing on several fronts however, and with distinctly different outcomes. Days before anything happened, I was shocked and thrilled to get a personal email from Arianna Huffington. To say that I nearly fell out of my chair when I read it, would be a huge understatement. I will not publish that email, as I am enormously honored that she took the time to write to me personally, and it will remain personal. However, she complimented another story that I had published on my blog, and told me that the Huffington Post would like to publish the story. The Jerusalem Synagogue Attack: Let’s Talk Truth, was also a very personal piece. I wrote it very spontaneously in the aftermath of the vicious attack on 5 rabbis at a synagogue in Jerusalem. The 5 men were killed with meat cleavers and guns, in a horribly bloody attack, during prayer. The fact that my daughter lives there triggered emotions as a mother, that I felt compelled to write about. The story however is not a fully developed representation of my feelings about the conflicts between Palestinians and Israels. It in no way fully represents my beliefs about the issues there or the very complex and troubled history of the country or the people.
Nonetheless, that story ended up being published the same weekend that On My Father’s Birthday was Freshly Pressed. The results could not have been more polarized. While readers of OMFB were very touched and moved by my search for forgiveness and closure, in the accidental death of my father, in 1973, readers of The Jerusalem Synagogue Attack, on the Huffington Post, were completely the opposite. There were certainly readers of TJSA that understood my intention and my beliefs and were supportive, but far more were so angry and critical of my views– and this was entirely, in my opinion, based on their beliefs about Israel and Palestine versus what I actually wrote. From the minute I heard that the story would be featured on HuffPost, I understood that there were bound to be negative comments; it is a vastly challenging subject. However, I had no idea that I would be accused of: celebrating the deaths of Palestinian children; having no concern for the deaths of thousands of Palestinian people; wishing ill on one group over another; practicing a religion that condones murder, cheating and lying; or that I would have perfect strangers wish the vilest things upon me and my daughter, who lives in Israel. The comments, nearly 400 of them, were stunning! I thought that more of my family, friends and blog buddies would circle the wagons and counter all of that hate, but save for a few, I was pretty much on my own– and mostly, It think I managed well.
I am a proud mother
The fact that none of those people know my religious background (unstated, and non-existent), my views on Palestinian-Israeli relations (complex, but distinctly not one-sided), my daughter’s views or actions in Israel (extremely giving and very involved in helping both sides) or our family’s personal stance (which will remain private)– was lost entirely in a spiral of hostility and assumptions. As noted before, I have always prided myself on answering all comments on my blog; I touched each time someone takes the time to read my work, or leave a comment; it’s the least I can do in return. I set out to do the same thing on the Huffington Post story. However, it quickly became clear that there were no answers, that would not lead to more accusations and vitriol. I was honored when Ellis Shuman, a respected author and columnist, not only tweeted my story, but advised me to stop answering the comments. The fact that my oldest son, Middle Man, who has reams more experience with online news, opinion, etc suggested the same, was the nudge I needed to let many of them go.
While all of this hate was being slung on my Huffington Post story, the comments on Word Press, to On My Father’s Birthday… could not have been more polar opposite! I was “the most forgiving person on earth;” I was a saint; I had enlightened numerous readers; I was wise, compassionate, an “amazing human being!” I am in no way poking fun at these comments; people shared very personal stories and were wonderful in their expressions of thanks. However, frankly, for a few hours on Sunday, as I tried to answer all those comments, I switched back and forth between the two comment sections, to try and find a modicum of balance. Let me be clear, I am neither; I am not the Palestinian-hating, insensitive, racist, killer that many HuffPost commenters saw, nor am I the saint, the wonderful human being, the “blessing,” that Word Press readers saw. I am neither. I am something in between. I do not hate anyone, nor do I condone murder ever (the main point of my story, which was utterly lost on many readers), nor am I such a forgiving person as to be a role model to… anyone. It took me nearly 40 years to work through my grief and come to a place of forgiveness– that hardly makes me an example on forgiveness! Much of my anger and blame was utterly misplaced anyway, which was the point of that letter. Letting go of the life narrative I had held onto for so long, in explaining the loss of my father. It was time.
I am silly
In one week, I was Freshly Pressed, published on Huffington Post, twice, and approached by an Australian site, asking to publish OMFB– it’s been incredible! So I spent this amazing week– as comments for both have continued to flow in, chasing my tail, feeling honored and excited, pinching myself, realizing that I need to reign in my excitement and not post so many FB updates… and contemplating all that praise and criticism.
The bottom line is this: My blog is me, but I am not my blog.
What you read on Tales From the Motherland is mine. These are my words, my experiences, pieces of what I feel and think (rarely a full story); this is mine, this blog is me. However, I am not Tales From the Motherland. I am much more than you read here– more complicated, more simple. I have secrets I don’t share here, I have truths that are only partially revealed. You don’t know me if you have only read a few posts. That said, this is mine… this is the first thing I’ve done, in my entire life that is fully mine and not about anyone or anything else. I don’t write here just to toot my own horn, nor to find absolution or acceptance. I am honored each time one of you reads what I write, and doubly so when you share your thoughts– both the negative and the positive. But remember: My blog is me, but I am not my blog.
I am a writer
Thank you to all of the wonderful readers who have shared my work this week; you’re amazing! I’ve appreciated all of the support and kindness; thank you. Now: Share your thoughts; leave a comment. I am hoping to reach a goal of 500 Facebook likes, for Tales From the Motherland, please take a minute to stop by and hit Like. If you’re not already following this blog, what are you waiting for? Hit that button!
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