Shared Hope and the Dispossessed

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Mira Awad, Shay Alon (guitar) and Mark Greenfield (drums)

הַשְׁכִּיבֵֽנוּ יהוה אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ לְשָׁלוֹם וְהַעֲמִידֵֽנוּ מַלְכֵּֽנוּ לְחַיִּים
וּפְרוֹשׂ עָלֵֽינוּ סֻכַּת שְׁלוֹמֶֽךָ
Source of our life and our Sovereign, cause us to lie down in peace, and rise again to enjoy life.
Spread over us the covering of Your peace.(Evening service liturgy)

I’m about the same age as Mira Awad and our families have histories that are microcosmic reflections of the 20th century. Her Palestinian family were dispossessed in the birth of the State of Israel. My family were migrants, fleeing hardship and antisemitism in Eastern Europe in the turn of the 20th century and then dispossessed refugees fleeing the rise of Nazism in the mid-20th century. She and I have every reason to feel bereft of hope for humanity because the scars of family trauma run deep through the generations. Yet, I discovered quite the opposite as I sat with her for Friday night dinner and then heard her perform.

As I explained during the week to my children (who are born into a family of refugees on both sides, whether from Germany or Egypt, where my father-in-law was born and fled from in the 1950s) – Mira was a Palestinian Israeli who sang in Arabic, Hebrew and English. They innocently asked, “What’s a Palestinian and what’s Arabic?”

If ever there was a question loaded with the heavy weight of political discourse it was those two questions. Yet, I found great freedom in telling my children that the land of Israel was important to peoples not just a people. Jewish people live there and so do Palestinians and also Bedouin and Druze. I told my children, the Palestinians feel connected to the land and call it home and that Arabic is one of the national languages of the State of Israel. We share, at least theoretically, the land with other peoples. That was enough for two under 6 year olds. But it was a moment of great congruence between my values, my professional life and raising my children.

We share the land

The Hebrew is HaChevrah HaMeshutefet – Shared Society. We all teach our children about sharing. We teach them about the way in which we ask them to give up monopoly control even with the pain that might entail. And through sharing, our children discover that the enjoyment of life can actually be enlarged, not diminished. We teach that possession of a thing, of a space, is never absolute and we see the pain when they are dispossessed.  Sounds simplistic right? But I’m not simplistic: I know that children ‘sharing a toy’ is not the same as national aspirations for self-determination nor a counter to terrorism and the rhetoric of violence.

Yet, I still do not know how we’ve reached this point in the arc of human history. On Saturday night, I watched Mira with her stunning voice and beautiful music, justify describing herself as an optimist. She has every reason not to be optimistic. She’s a Palestinian Israeli, born to a Bulgarian mother and Palestinian father in the Galilee. Her family know intimately about the twists and turns of history, the impact of conflict and belonging. She knows the challenges of walking the complex path of identity, in which you can be attacked from all sides for being a traitor, participating in white-washing, and betraying your heritage. It’s for that reason she describes herself as an acrobat Bahlawan in Arabic (the title of her enchanting Album).

Bukra – Tomorrow

So as she gave a concert at West London Synagogue it saddened me to hear her introduce her song ‘Bukra’ (Tomorrow) by saying she was an optimist and that she was not going to accept being criticised for saying she was an optimist. She believed in tomorrow, not through naivety but a profound and strident humanist vision of tomorrow.

I was inspired by Mira, because she did not have to see beyond the depressing conflict between Israelis and Palestinians, nor did she have to work for a shared society in Israel where Palestinian Israelis are one of the most obvious victims of inequality, racism and exclusion. But she did. Mira let us hear through her music (the most simple of shared human expressive forms) that we could all be humanists. To be a humanist is to recognise the essentially human failures but to believe in the hope for that other essential part of humanity – we can work together, feel empathy, strive for betterment, prosperity and create things for beauty and advancement of humankind, share time and space and make peace.

Shared Space

Our shared space for that evening was the West London Synagogue. Mira had joined us for the Friday night service, something new to her at WLS at least and then we joined her in the same space the following evening only this time I was in the pews and she was on the bimah. She listened to our prayers, for Israel, for peace and we listened to her songs of fragility, of love and of hope.

We need compelling visions of the future more than ever. Mira offered us just that.  Never should any of us have to apologise for a vision of trust, of faith in humanity and of peace. It is a disgrace that anyone should be forced to justify her optimism and it is a sign of the depths to which we have sunk that it is necessary. Only a fool would not see that human beings can inflict terrible acts of harm on one another. But only someone with no tomorrow would allow that to dominate their relationships.

The Zenith and the Faithful

We have lost sight of the truth that the thing we all are in search of most of all, is a kind of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Self-actualisation is at the top of the pyramid and is the most new-agey of concepts. But beneath that aspiration are basic needs of safety, security, family, friendship, respect and so on. We have reached a nadir in human relations. We suspect our fellow human beings of wishing us harm before we remember that what most of us want is a quiet, good life where we can provide for our families, feel valued and loved and safe and secure. Our mistrust of our neighbours will be civilisation’s downfall (and I’m not talking about the battle of civilisations, I’m talking about the work of advancement and betterment of the human condition).

It is time we left the lack of trust to our politicians. Religious leaders, musicians, artists, gifted voices: we are in the business of hope and of faith. And that faith and that hope begins with each other – our faith in human goodness and our hope that tomorrow we can share the creation of a world that is better, more radiant and more beautiful than ever. Let us be the faithful, let us be the hopeful for tomorrow.

Bukra 
Is a brand new day
Things can still be going our way
If we make it through the night
Soon will come the morning light.
(Bukra, Mira Awad)

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One thought on “Shared Hope and the Dispossessed

  1. rabbinj March 26, 2016 / 2:35 pm

    Reblogged this on Rabbi Neil Janes and commented:

    This morning in synagogue I delivered this as a sermon, with some slight changes. We had a Bat Mitzvah service for a young woman who, in a stunningly beautiful moment, received a tallit from her grandmother and recited the prayer below at the start of our service:

    The Gift of Women
    May God who remembered Sarah, remember us with blessing.
    May God who prophesied to Rebecca, give us vision in our time.
    May God who answered Leah, sustain the family of Israel.
    May God who heard Rachel, help us in our need.
    May God who honoured Shiphra and Puah, support all who resist oppression.
    May God who healed Miriam, bring healing to those in pain.
    May God who restored Naomi, bring comfort to those who mourn.
    May God who guided Abigail, bring wisdom to those in conflict.
    May God who responded to Hannah, bring redemption to our world.
    (Taken from the Siddur: Forms of Prayer of the Movement for Reform Judaism, p. 158)

    We also had an aufruf (call up prior to a wedding) for a couple to be married tomorrow.

    After a terrible week for the world with acts of terror perpetrated in multiple places killing tens of people, I felt that both these simchas (joyful occasions) of lifecycle moments are symbols of hope and joy.

    Afterwards I was asked about the reality of the violent and horrific crimes committed against people and the rising tide of antisemitism and bigotry. This came on reflection after a person said they sat on a train opposite a young veiled Muslim woman who was carrying a rucksack – the person talking to me told me how she deliberately overcame her fear and mistrust and remained seated opposite her.

    That’s part of my point really – our default position is now that we automatically suspect people we meet and people we hear about of malign intentions. Of course there are terribly bad things that happen to people, but there has to be a counter voice to the overwhelming voice of negativity and mistrust.

    That’s the gift that Mira Awad gave us in her concert.

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