What it takes

For the first few days in Israel and the West Bank, I had a very hard time. Every time we met with a group describing land appropriation by the Israeli government (such as Alternative Voices in the Galil) or listened to someone describe how the checkpoint soldiers treated them, I felt bad. I felt upset. But inside I questioned whether these measures were truly "unnecessary."

You see, in August of 2002, a dear friend of mine, Marla Bennett, was killed in the terrorist bombing of Hebrew University. Many things have been written about Marla. She was beautiful, smart, kind, committed to her goals and values, and she was a day away from finishing her masters degree. She had a flight back to San Diego booked for the next day, and she was getting engaged to a wonderful man. Her murder affected so many people.

One of those people was my sister, Hannah Engle. She and her boyfriend at the time were about to leave for Israel, where they would be living for a year while he studied at HUC and she worked in Jerusalem. The bombing terrified all our parents, and Hannah and Billy decided to move to New York instead. Ultimately, Hannah was not safe in New York, either. For all the hand-wringing parents do when children go to the Holy Land, perhaps they neglect the sad truth about automobile accidents. Last year, Hannah was killed when a car hit her as she crossed 14th Street.

After a day trip to Ramallah (not the bullets whizzing by scene the media might try to convince you it is, by the way), I sat at dinner with a Palestinian woman. She didn't speak much English, and I certainly don't speak Arabic, but we had a Christian aid worker sitting with us, and he translated. She told me about how her brother had been killed by the IDF. She wasn't even sure she wanted to be a part of the organization that had brought us together - the loss was quite new for her, and she was exploring options. I thought back to that point in my grieving for Hannah, and I began to cry.

Suddenly I didn't care who he was or what he had done (which may well have been nothing anyway.) The loss was hers. Just like I miss my Hannah. And WE have to spend the rest of our lives without these people. These siblings we grew up with, shared our secrets with, planned to grow old with. They're gone.

For the first time, I felt connected to the Palestinians on a true human level. My heart opened, and my mind stopped rationalizing. No more, "yes, but Marla died." Loss is loss.

And that's why we have to find a better way.