Israel, Part IX: Along the Border with Gaza

"This is my home," she said as she stood near the border with the Gaza Strip.  And then she repeated it for emphasis.  "This is my home."  And as we met with Tsamaret Zamir in the collective community called Moshav Netir HaAsara, we realized how threatened her home and the homes of so many others, on both sides of the border, were in danger.  Just days before our visit the community had spent hours in their bomb shelters as over 600 rockets were fired from Gaza into areas near the Gaza Strip.  And air strikes had driven Palestinians into their sheltering places if they had them.  In fact, we almost didn't go, but a cease fire earlier this week allowed for us to take the trip.

The hope for peace, real lasting peace, is shared by so many Israelis and so many Palestinians as well.  Mothers like Tsameret, she has four children, simply want a safe place, a serene place to raise their children.  Tsameret is not naive, she understands that sorting the whole situation out is a political nightmare.  But she holds up hope that it can really happen.  That one day her home will be a place of safety.

And to that end, Tsamaret is doing something to dramatically illustrate her hopes and dreams.  She is, you see, an artist, a ceramic artist.   And she has made it her mission to invite thousands of folks to come to the border, and use the tiles she has created to make a mosaic mural on the very walls that provides a measure of temporary safety to her community.  The wall faces Gaza, and the message she has enabled there is bright, colorful tiles, can be seen from "the other side."  Salaam, it reads.  Shalom.  Peace.

Visitors from around the world have come to add their mark to the wall.  "I've discovered people are all so much alike," she told our group of Christians and Jews.  Then each of us were given choice of many lovely tiles, some with doves, others with peace symbols, flowers, words of hope, or just splotches of color.  On the back of it we were asked to write our message of peace.  Our prayer.  Our hope.

Each one from our group carefully chose their tile, wrote their message, and then were given a good dab of adhesive so that they could place it on the wall--anywhere they wished.  Our folks walked to the wall in many spots, and adhered their tiles.  Some uttering a silent prayer. Others, no doubt with a smile.  And still others with a sigh.

As I wrote on my tile I kept thinking of the song "Let There Be Peace on Earth," and so I wrote my prayer, a line from that lovely tune.  "And let it begin with me."  And then I glued it onto a four foot tall letter 'E' in the word peace.

As we prepare to go to our own homes, I am sure we will all remember Tsamaret, and her fervent wish for peace.  And I pray that we will all let it begin, each one of us, "with me."  For that is always where peace must begin--with each and everyone of us doing our part to create a world where all people can feel safe in their own homes.