Last night in the village there was a lecture by Palestinian Israeli historian Leena Dallasheh on “the Nakba and the Palestinians who remained”.  Attendance was not large; about 20 in all, mostly Palestinian, though she gave the talk in Hebrew for the benefit of non-Arabic speakers.  She told a history that was already familiar to most of us, though she brought numerical data and facts that added some substance.  A couple of the Jewish members said they were bothered by the absence of the “Jewish narrative” to balance this “Palestinian narrative”.  Another Jewish member retorted that we had not heard a “narrative” but the actual story.  That’s the way we are here.  If anyone wants to hear an English version of her lecture, there are videos on her website.

Today, my wife had a dozen active Thich Nhat Hanh sangha members over to plan coming activities, so I got out of their way and went to visit Yael, a Jewish Israeli friend in Jerusalem.  I thought maybe we could spend some time in the Old City, but she said, “have you been there lately?  Everyone there is in deep mourning (meaning, for the genocide).  

So instead, we went to visit a couple of Christian holy places, just for the hell of it.  The first was the Franciscan monastery of St. John in the Wilderness, a location where John the Baptist spent time, according to tradition, on a terraced hillside near Ein Karem, his supposed birthplace.  The site contains picturesque churches, and there’s an especially tranquil vibe in the grotto chapel, where we sat for a few minutes. “A healing energy,” Yael said.

On the way out, I spoke with a nun who was meticulously pruning the convent’s lovely garden.  She said she had been living there for sixteen years.  Recognizing her Desi accent, I learned that she hailed originally from Tiruchirappalli in Tamil Nadu – the Indian state I know best, so the world felt suddenly so small.

After a coffee, we went to visit the convent at Beit Gamaliel, just above Beit Shemesh.  We were the only visitors the entire day, and had to ring the bell for a nun to open for us.

We visited the shop, where we bought some lemon and grenadine syrup, a jar of orange marmelade and home made cookies  – the nuns are quite productive when they are not in prayer.  They also make a variety of fine ceramics with unique designs.  Beit Gamaliel /  Jamal enjoys a scenic hilltop location, which Sister Avigail, the nun who had opened for us, says has unfortunately become very dry in the last few years.  She’s originally American, from Pittsburg, but has been living there for 15 years.  We asked her if there were normally so few visitors.  She says this has been the pattern from the days of Covid, followed by the “War”.  There have been no tourists or foreign pilgrims.  Israelis sometimes visit on Saturdays; but she says the “feeling is different” from earlier years.  We talked a little about Gaza and she directed us to verses in the Gospels that speak of the end times, particularly mentioning Matthew 24 and the line “Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold…”  It’s a time in which she feels that many deeply need loving support.

It isn’t so easy to offer that. Yael mentioned a Christian woman friend who was heartbroken after the killing of people she knew at the church complex in Gaza.   Meanwhile, none of her Palestinian friends agree to talk or meet with her: She says understands them too;  they cannot not be reminded of her national identity.  

Like so many, she is thinking of leaving the country.

Last night I sat before my computer and thought about summing up the last few days in my life. And realized again that some things are better stated in a personal notebook, rather than online in social media or my blog. I have one of those very nice Moleskine notebooks where I often do that. There’s the additional advantage that a notebook is a distraction-free environment. I’m less likely to turn my attention to the latest news or notice a story somewhere that I cannot not read immediately.

On the  personal canvas of a paper notebook i can ask myself questions that I’m not so willing to share with the world yet. I can give accounts about real people that I would not want them ever to see. I can make remarks that might land me in trouble, with one person or another, if posted online – and the danger of that serves as a natural inhibitor.

The only trouble is, that when there are a variety of different media to choose from, it’s not always apparent what is the best place to express one’s thoughts. Usually, when I sit at my table, I don’t always know whether what I’m about to write will be suitable for sharing, or with whom.

In our family we also have a closed group on a social messaging app, where we often post photos, messages or links.  I abandoned mainstream channels like Facebook and Twitter a few years ago, but recently went back to using alternative federated social media, so this provides another alternative for writing.

Yet with regard to these deliberations about how to express my thoughts, there’s actually nothing new under my sun. I’ve thought through all this before. I just have a hard time assimilating my decisions. I’m like a one-person creaky old committee that can’t make up its mind and, when it does, can’t implement its own decisions. But the answer is, and remains: use my blog as a basis for all of these journal entries; then decide what to share, where. Some entries can be shared with alternative social media; some with friends and family; some can be placed in my blog but kept completely private.

So if I’m clever, I will act according to my own best practices, and use the framework of my WordPress blog, publishing some things, marking others as private, and sharing some posts with friends.