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| Hello friends, On Friday, Jan. 10 I took part in a powerful Peace Walk from Jaffa to Tel Aviv. The flyer passed out along the four-hour journey read: "The Time is Now. Be saved from despair. Get out of the house and return to hope. We, Jews and Arabs walk together in silence in one powerful line for peace." Participating in the Walk, organized by Shvil Zahav, were over 120 people, children and elders, including a busload of Arab youth who came from Shfar'am and Um El Fahem. Among the organizers were Ron Cohen, Nicole Cohen-Addad and Mahmoud Salame. At the closing circle one Jewish participant, Iris, observed: "People identify with this small faith of ours, and the faith spreads that there IS a future." Halam from Um El Fahem shared: "This is the way to make peace with our neighbors... We walk with one heart, one body and one spirit for peace." A long time friend joined the “Walk” and captured the spirit of this event in an article published in the San Francisco Examiner on Jan. 23. | |||||||||
| Shalom, Salaam,
Eliyahu McLean,
Interfaith director,
Ruach Shalom, Ru'h al Salaam;
Peacemaker Community-Israel Louder than yelling... BY LOOLWA KHAZZOOM Special to The Examiner | |||||||||
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| After the double suicide bombing in Tel Aviv two weeks ago, all I wanted to do was hide out in my apartment and keep a low profile.
I was wondering once again if all the heartache and terror were worth living in Israel. But then a close friend, Eliyahu McLean, a fellow Lowell High School alum and peace activist, e-mailed me about an Arab-Jewish peace walk after the attack.
When he told me that a bus full of Arab teenagers was coming from the North to join this walk, I felt deeply touched. In my experience, Arab-Jewish peace events were attended almost exclusively by Jews. I felt inspired that the youths were risking their own safety to come to Tel Aviv right after an attack against Israel, to stand side by side with Jews and condemn the violence. If they could do it, so could I.
As I arrived, I noticed an old man with a long white kafia to the right, two women with veils to the left, and a large group of youths in between, speaking Arabic. I wanted to cry from the sense of solidarity.
A meditation gong rang out to bring all the participants to silence. It rang out again, and we began a four-hour walk from Yaffo through Tel Aviv.
Friday afternoons are full of pre-Sabbath hustle and bustle. The contrast between our single-file quiet line and the noise around us was startling, causing an external and internal impact.
Everywhere we went, people asked, "What's this about?" We handed them fliers with a full text explaining the walk's mission -- to unite Arabs and Jews as human beings, promoting tolerance and nonviolence. Some people just stood and watched, clearly touched. Others dropped what they were doing and joined our walk.
Inside, I felt a growing sense of calm. I felt connected to and strengthened by the silent walkers before and after me. I felt that our love for each other as human beings was stronger than all the hatred in the region.
Others seemed to share my feeling. "A lot of times in the past," an Arab youth later told me, "when I came to Tel Aviv, people made unpleasant remarks at me as an Arab. I got very upset about that. But now, the people on these walks are always with me in my heart. So I don't pay attention to other people's comments anymore."
Against the backdrop of extreme levels of daily violence, the silent expression of human love may be the loudest, most powerful force around
Loolwa Khazzoom, a native San Franciscan, is director of the Jewish MultiCultural Project and editor of Behind the Veil of Silence: "North African and Middle Eastern Jewish Women Speak Out."
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