To Seek Peace
They have not wanted Peace at all; they have wanted to be spared war -- as though the absence of war was the same as peace.
Dorothy Thompson
11 March 2007
Harry stood on the Mount of Olives, overlooking the ancient city of Jerusalem. He had come here – officially – as a British representative to the peace talks between the Wizarding Israeli and Palestinian factions. Unlike their Muggle counterparts, the Wizarding governments had not even attempted to look like they were seeking peace – until now.
Harry sighed and hefted his bag into a better position on his shoulder. He had time enough to think later – now he needed to get to the King David hotel before Ron blew a fuse in worry. He strode down the hill, among the ancient trees and the tombs, just as old and covered in the little pebbles left by visitors.
He dropped off his bag in his hotel room, left a message on Ron's Zippophone, and then went out for a walk in the streets of the Old City. Harry passed countless people – bearded Hasidim in their fur hats and caftans, rotund friars hawking plastic rosaries to passers-by, elderly imams in their kaffiyehs and thaubs. Tourists, with their cameras and sunburned skin, walked by him just as if he were not there – part of the atmosphere of this most holy of cities.
He came by complete accident to the Western Wall.
The setting sun fell upon the Wall, turning its brown stone to a beautiful, almost pink, color. A number of Orthodox Jews were preparing for evening prayers, and a few visitors – with the distinct air of American Jewish tourists – were speaking loudly with one another. Harry approached the Wall, feeling something that he had never felt before.
After a moment, he recognized the feeling – awe, or rather, the feeling of awe in a place far older, and stronger, than oneself. Harry stood there, just taking it all in, and trying to understand this presence of sanctity.
An elderly man took his place near Harry, speaking in a language alien to Harry's ears. "Shema, Yisrael! Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad! Baruch Shaym K'vod Malkhuto Le-Olam Vaed!"
The man wore a long beard, stained white by his years upon the earth. Despite the eternal warmth of Jerusalem, he wore long-sleeved Western clothes on his thin frame. He wore no tefillin upon his head or his arm, and did not have a tallit over his shoulders. Harry found himself wondering who this man was.
His eyes, bright blue, turned on Harry's green, and for a split second Harry believed him to be Albus Dumbledore reborn. The déjà vu faded, however, when he saw the hollowness of the man's face and hands.
He smiled. "You vanted to know vhat I vas saying?" he asked in German-accented English.
Harry nodded.
"I vas reciting zhe Shema, a prayer my people haff spoken for millennia. The Hebrew words say, Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord alone. Blessed be the name of the glory of His kingdom forever."
"Wow," Harry said dumbly.
"I haff not recited it in many years," the man went on, his eyes clouded with memory as he stared at the Wall. "But, in zhe city of David, how could I not?"
"Why not?" Harry found himself asking. Curiosity had been one of his traits for as long as he could remember, and he found that this man had brought it to the fore.
A flicker of old pain crossed the man's face. "I could not bring myself to say zhe words zhat condemned six million of my people to die."
"The Holocaust?"
"Yes, Ha-Shoah. I vas one of ze lucky ones. My family… not so lucky." He shook his head sadly and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm. There, in stark contrast with too-pale skin, were a series of numbers in blue tattoo ink. "Zhey were killed in Auschwitz-Birkenau."
"I am sorry." Harry found the words escaping his mouth.
The man made a dismissive gesture. "It vas long ago, and even if ze pain has never left me, zhe hurt has healed."
"And after the war?"
"I left my former home in Berlin for Denmark, and zhere I stayed for sixty years, until now." He took a shuddering breath. "I can feel my time on earth drawing to a close, and even if I haff not followed the mitzvot for years, or identified myself as a Jew, I think it is appropriate to die as one."
"Why?"
"Because for sixty years I watched world Judaism rise from a state near-genocide to a state of eternal war in Israel. I saw how my people haff pulled themselves together, and made themselves a State to live in. Their success has brought back the feeling of hope – that there indeed is a God." He shook his head, making his beard wag. "I haff found myself not understanding something about modern Israel – they haff confused a lack of war with peace."
The sounds of the Hasidim praying behind Harry fills the pause.
"There's a difference?" Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. In his experience, once the bad guy was defeated, his forces fell apart. What else could peace be?
"Yes, a great difference. In Berlin – before ze war, during the Depression – zhere was still fighting; it just wasn't obvious enough to be called a war. Peace takes a strong people – a people strong enough to take another's anger without flinching, strong enough to let their opponent destroy themselves in their own anger. Peace, in itself, is not the lack of action – it is an action that affirms life."
"So, from your point of view, destroying your opponent through war is a unacceptable action?"
"Did I say that? I said that peace was not a lack of something; war is justified when defeat is the only alternative, a thing of last resort. This place has not tried to love their neighbors, just to coexist. For now, that is all they can do – otherwise, their neighbors will take the love as weakness, and will destroy them."
"Love one another? That is your point?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, yes! Love one another, that is how humanity will haff to act! Together, we are far stronger than we are alone."
"And if we cannot do that?" Harry looked around them, at the Wall and the people praying there. "If this place must become a place of war?"
The man looked sad. "I can see that as a possibility. However, I still hope that we will one day treat all men as our brothers, all women as our sisters, all people as family." He shrugged. "I'm wishing for the mashiach, what else is new?" he glanced at his watch. "I must go. It was fascinating to speak with you. Shalom."
"Shalom," Harry repeated, and walked off after the elderly Jew in the direction of his own hotel. He had a lot to think about.