Aboard the airplane on my way home I curl up in a window seat and prepare myself for the long journey. Soon I am joined by a Jewish family of six who take up the whole row of seats across to the other side of the plane. After reciting the traditional evening prayers of his faith the father begins to ask me about myself and my travels. My response is brief and vague. I am not ready for an open and honest discussion on all that I have gone through on this particular journey.
This man tells me that he and his young family are on their way to a wedding in Sao Paulo.
“I know. It's crazy!” he says laughing and looking fondly at his small children. I recall in my own mind that year in the 1950's when my parents loaded an Austin with all four children not much older than these now sitting beside me and we headed from Nova Scotia to New York City. Is this family really any different, I wonder?
Soon the small boy beside me is asleep with his head on my arm. A tiny yamakuh covers his head. I make an effort to sit still so as not to disturb this child which now suddenly seems so precious. The mother holds the sleeping baby in her arms. This family could be most any family from anywhere in the world.
I had gone to that part of the world to meet with Palestinians. In the end I leave in the company of an Israeli family. The world is complex.
Back home in New Brunswick I look out my kitchen window at the peace and order of my neighbourhood. In the 1880's my ancestors left Scotland and settled on what is now known as the north shore of Nova Scotia. I too live on occupied land.
What have we done? What have we all done?
This man tells me that he and his young family are on their way to a wedding in Sao Paulo.
“I know. It's crazy!” he says laughing and looking fondly at his small children. I recall in my own mind that year in the 1950's when my parents loaded an Austin with all four children not much older than these now sitting beside me and we headed from Nova Scotia to New York City. Is this family really any different, I wonder?
Soon the small boy beside me is asleep with his head on my arm. A tiny yamakuh covers his head. I make an effort to sit still so as not to disturb this child which now suddenly seems so precious. The mother holds the sleeping baby in her arms. This family could be most any family from anywhere in the world.
I had gone to that part of the world to meet with Palestinians. In the end I leave in the company of an Israeli family. The world is complex.
Back home in New Brunswick I look out my kitchen window at the peace and order of my neighbourhood. In the 1880's my ancestors left Scotland and settled on what is now known as the north shore of Nova Scotia. I too live on occupied land.
What have we done? What have we all done?
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