By Elizabeth Bass

“All of life wants to live itself”- Apa 

Reflections from the beginning of the Israel-Palestine war.

12.38pm, October 9th, 2023. I sit on the staircase, away from windows, making sure I’m sandwiched between the 3rd floor and ground – not too close to the sky where the rockets are being intercepted, not too close to the ground, as directed by the Home Front Command.

It’s the third day of a war. A war that seems all too unreal 

because I live in the center of the country and don’t yet know that I know anyone who has directly been impacted. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I count – more than 300 dead. In a country whose entire population is just a little larger than the neighborhood I grew up in, this is significant. “This includes someone’s cousin… or friend”, I think. “For sure”.

I shuffle, adjust my thinking.

“All of Green Road would’ve fit twice inside this country. But what does it matter. Comparison is a thief”. 

Simone, a marketing maven, sends me messages on instagram. This is the first time we’ve spoken and she urges me to write. I find I’m speaking to people I normally wouldn’t reach out to – there’s bravery in an emergency, a sense of purpose arises, a meaning for this existence.

I write and paint to process and understand some of what is going on, some of what I’m experiencing, some of what I want to remember, some of what I want to change. Writing has been my friend through most seasons of my life- right now, it stays as close as ever.

Before I was Elizabeth Bass, the most neutral name in the world, I was Elizaveta Al-Hussainy, Russian-Bengali. A most provocative name, the name I had to change when I started applying to college in the US, at a time when being Muslim or having an Arabic sounding name meant sure-fire discrimination.

“You won’t be accepted with that name”, mom said.

 “You’ll have problems with that name”, dad tagged along. 

At 15, I didn’t have a say on the subject anyway.

 “What does a name matter? Does anyone really judge by a name?” I thought, in teenage naïveté. Back then, I used to speak half English and half rebellion.

“You’ll have a better future with a different name”, echoed my parents.

——————-

I belong to two religions by birth – Islam *and* Judaism. And neither of them, simultaneously. I went to a missionary Catholic school and college, where a benevolent but tired looking, Caucasian Jesus watched over me (I imagined he was tired of our bullshit most of the time).

I learnt about and practice certain Buddhist practices since I was introduced to them by my Psychology professor Kent Hoffman. And certain yogic practices , taught to me by Selena Garefino. That is to say – I don’t believe in organized religion; I’m a product of what I have been taught by wise and educated Teachers (with a capital T because they’ve changed my life).

The various Teachers in my life have also had a few things in common- they asked great questions, they listened intently and always, always led me back to myself, because no one knows the Truth of existence better than I- and I don’t mean that in a conceited kind of way, rather a universal, all knowing, ‘it’s in my bones’ wisdom that is also connected to all things known and unknown in this universe. 

I’ve been taught to think and feel- because the answers always reveal themselves from within the cells of my skin and bones, from my lived experience. Because a woman has “two hearts. One between the breasts and one between the ears”. 

I’ve lived in 8 countries before Israel and have seen a little bit of what makes us human and what makes humanity work. When I landed in Israel, I thought perhaps, just perhaps, I will find resonance and belonging in a place. It turns out I found out a lot more.

I discovered there is a gaping middle ground that isn’t talked about in the news or social media or anywhere else really. It’s the space I found to be real and true once I got to live here and meet all the people I’ve met – the multifaceted, multidimensional people who are sometimes quite reserved and won’t speak their minds because they find their beliefs are often attacked, whether online or at the dinner table, by people who engage in ‘either/or thinking’. I’ve discovered that it is most urgent to know what we are ok with, what we are willing to compromise on and what is a hard stead-fast no.

As my teacher says, ‘you must know what you’re willing to give up on in a world where your integrity is always up for grabs’. And so-

You can be Israeli and not a Zionist. You can stand against Zionism and against the violence of a terrorist organisation.

You can be pro-liberation, freedom and equality and anti-apartheid and yet vote for the Right wing parties in Israel because you know that the alternative to the current government may be a lot worse than the one we currently have (all history repeats itself, one authoritarian ruler is usually replaced by another).

You might be pro-Palestinian, pro-choice and also be against anti-Semitism – those aren’t contradictions.

You can choose people over all else – the sliver of humanity that wants to work, share a hot meal with their family and friends and maybe invite a stranger over too; the people who want to find meaning and purpose in their lives or not, the ones who sell you your groceries and wish you a nice day and want to introduce you to their cousin’s best friend’s son.

You can choose to vote for the Far Right or the Far Left because one of the two gives you a better tax break which allows you to do more of the things you love, like spend more time at home with your children and that vote is not necessarily a reflection of your humanity.

You can also pray multiple times a day, do all the things that have been ordained to you by your scripture and still fail to treat your community or family well. You may, in fact, physically abuse your wife and children and throw your single-use plastic-ware on to the street all while singing songs of praise to the Earth.

You may be pro-freedom and pro-Palestine and anti-humanity because you choose to assault someone walking down your street based on their ethnicity or just how they look to you.

You may be a migrant worker in a country that you escaped to because yours was at war and you become the hardest working person in the room because you too, like the one that voted for the Right Wing, understand that more money gives you more time and power to make better choices for yourself and your loved ones. And your politics are not your religion. Kindness and decency are.

________

I think too often we demonise and criticise each other for being something, or not being something – as if all of life fits into a neat little box, black or white, this or that, when in reality it’s made up of so many moving parts.

________

 I’m sitting on my bed now, there is an eerie silence. 

Outside, somewhere in the South of the country, I know my friends, my friends’ husbands and so many other soldiers, young and not so young, are fighting an ideological war – one in which I don’t believe there will ever be a clear line drawn, because there is no “right”, there isn’t a single working solution that is either  “just” or justified. People are hurting and so is the land- it has soaked in too many tears, too much blood and way too much pain. 

The discourse online makes me sick. I’m seeing people far too quickly, far too easily, under the sway of momentum or panic, assign anyone that does not think exactly the way they do as someone who is “against them”. It may or may not be true. The information they’re using is short, 60 characters or less, an image, a 20 second clip- and the context is missing. Sometimes though, it’s not needed.

Context and nuance, they’re important. The devil is in the stories we tell each other. 

I’ve learnt to trust, but verify.

No words I can say will act like a salve to this gaping wound, in the midst of a situation that hasn’t even reared its full ugly head – it will get bigger and graver, I believe. The assault by Hamas on the 7th, that was just the beginning. Netanyahu has promised to turn Gaza into a parking lot. America has sent its Navy* and the political theatre is about to raise its curtains to show off arms, new technology and intelligence capabilities. Women are being violated. Children have been kidnapped. Thousands of people on both sides of this situation are trying to escape, to fight, to stay alive.

There are no solutions I can offer.

But I do know this, there is nuance in this story of how Israel and Palestine have come to this point, it’s not easy or fair or right or just.

I know most often, deeper than any of the hurt and pain that we inflict upon each other, there is a life that just wants to live. And it’s true for both sides.

I know empathy is hard to garner in moments of despair but it’s not impossible. It is most urgently needed. Empathy and understanding, like tiny flowers that bloom on the highway. Green stems, gushing upwards, defying all logic (how does a plant grow in concrete?).

I know people on both sides of this war are hurting and suffering, and it will change our DNA.

 I know and trust that something better will take the place of this tired, old game of killing and pillage- it has to, there is no other way. We are, after all, nothing but a vast, self-organising system, the emergent properties of which are… everything.

Fractals being what they are.

But, this too is true- Something has to die, for something else to be born. They’re not contradictions.

My hope is that the vile and vicious cycle of pain dies.

_______

“All I do is pray these days”, says my friend in a text message.

We’ve always had short exchanges, poignant, meaningful ones. She’s South Indian. She wears beautiful saris and she sees people through the walls of the internet, our own egotistical guises and stories we tell about ourselves. She gets it. I get her. We’re nothing alike but we’re something very similar.

“I think we seek g-d when we fail to understand things around us”, Steffi says.

“It’s 2023 and my friends are in uniforms fighting a war no one will win”, I reply; somewhere in the back of my mind, I count 600 odd now… and many more to come.

________

Before I was Elizabeth Bass, the most neutral name in the world, I was Elizaveta Al-Hussainy.

I recall this name now, the one I’ve long since stopped speaking into existence.

I wish my parents knew that this generation, this century, it’s radically different- all of our best and worst qualities are being exaggerated. Names have turned into name-calling on the internet.

I wish they knew that we’ve entered a time where the colour of my skin has gotten me assaulted, twice, by men in uniform, in the US- they didn’t even know my name, they didn’t even ask. What mattered was what they thought of me based on how I looked.

 I wish someone would have told them that changing my name will only help me hide from the impending divide of religion, nationality and extremism for just a few years.

I wish I could tell my younger self to own my humanity, complexity and all the shades of grey. I wish I could tell myself to wear my heart on my sleeve a little more often- because it’s what is needed, so much. That my complexity gives way to empathy and connection to so many people in so many ways.

________

Outside my window I get a glimpse of my neighbour making something on his roof, something with his hands and I think to myself how simple it is to be alive, we just make it so complicated.

Most often, for nothing.

Make something with your hands. Find a purpose, create a meaning. 

Share a meal. Find service.

Hug a friend. Find love.

Isn’t that what anyone ever really wants at the end of the day?