02/07/10

 The Loss of Human Face in Lebanon 

By  Sonia M. Najjar

July 28, 2006

July 5, 2006 in Petra, Jordan, I was asked by a young couple with a baby to take a photo in front the majestic walls of the Al-Khazneh. As I found out that the couple is from Israel, I transformed the couple to the Cedars of Lebanon and fantasized that one day, this couple, and hopefully, before this baby grows up to have his own, would go to Lebanon. I imagined all my Israeli friends sitting at my dinner table in Lebanon, enjoying the breeze of peace as we hold hands dancing the traditional folklore dances of Hava Nagila and Dabki. The natural beauty of the solid Lebanese mountains with their cedars together with the Lebanese hospitality and their smiles to life are the best I can teach my Israeli friends.  The other Lebanese characteristics, including national pride and passion, strong religious ties and undefeated survival, we already share. We have all learnt from our rugged ecology and the intricate chains of above and underground alleys how to be fearless and how to withstand problems and face up challenges.

However, we are the people that know how to corroborate with outside forces to create our own problems, and as we learn how to live with any outcome, we rely on the west to try to solve the problems… But, how could the West help resolve our differences while it is a universe away from us. The Europeans have learned ahead of us the high price of religious wars and are careful not to flare up their people as Islam has started to spread in their continent. The USA, that has for long been identified itself as a melting pot, has become a pot boiling with catastrophic beliefs in the Book of Genesis. Placing their salvation 6000 miles away, some of the Christians in the USA are living the struggles of Israel as prelude to Armageddon and the glory return of Jesus Christ. They believe that good will prevail over evil and Israel will prevail.

But, what does evil mean in the eye of Christianity? Forgiveness lies in its heart, and any hurt we would inflict on others in the name of preparing for the Christ’s return is, in my opinion, a determent of it.  The definition of “evil” and “good” is blurred and “Good” is a relative term. Iran believes it is doing “good” for Southern Lebanon by equipping Hezbollah. Hezbollah believes it is doing “good” for Lebanon by forming resistance against Israel and defending the Palestinians and Islam. Israel claims it is doing “good” for Lebanon to disarm Hezbollah in spite of the remarkable and swift economic and infra-structural set back of that country. Europeans think they are doing “good” for Lebanon as they translate to the news- and languages-savvy Lebanese politicians and people the obvious. How could all these entities stand firm in believing that each is doing good for Lebanon, ignoring that the only good they could do for Lebanon is to allow its people evaluate what is good for them.

As I saw my small heavenly Lebanese world turn suddenly into hell on July 13, 2006, I felt overwhelmed, not by fear and anxiety but by betrayal. With every precision-directed missile and katyucha rocket, someone up there was shattering the oasis of hope and waking me up from my dream of an impending Lebanese-Israeli corridor of peace. On July 16, 2006, I opened my eyes to find myself fleeing Lebanon, again through Syria, and on my shoulder laid the head of my niece. My 30-year-dream of transcending educational and professional challenges in the USA came to a sudden halt as I traveled back in time to July 16, 1976 when I fled my demolished town in Lebanon to Syria. As I looked with disbelief and numbness at the fire overcoming the Beirut that housed the most memorable evening of dance five days earlier, and as we drove under rockets hitting the Baalbeck that was supposed to celebrate Feiruz festival that evening, my heart cried. In 1976, the wings of my American dream picked me up from my war-torne country as a speechless feather, but today, as I have returned home to America, I feel the heavy weight of leaving behind a shattered dream and not being able to absorb why I, who does not visit Lebanon so frequently and who has traveled the world exploring the truth behind science, ended up being there at the time this untrue war erupted.

But I am no longer speechless. I am the product of a Lebanese mountain of determination and an American culture of free speech. I am the one that grew up looking at mosques facing churches and prayed in synagogues as well as churches. I am the one that succeeded to take a picture with an Arab man, to dance atop a donkey with a Bedouin girl, and to attract an Arab child with my western looks and my proficiency in Arabic language. I am the one that embodies the blend between the East and the West. Yet, I have become a silent part of this overwhelming war.

I know I am not the favorite child of America, but I am American. When I once stood at the center of the Four Corners in the American West, I did not feel if I were from Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona or New Mexico. Instead, I felt American. As I stood up on the hilltop of Umm Qyas in Jordan on July 4, 2006 looking at the four corners of Israel, Syria, Jordan and Lebanon, I did not feel American, even stronger, I was the Lebanese-American whose world was at the intersection of Judism, Christianity and Islam. Little did I know then that in few days that intersection would shake and I would be looking at it from my room in America through the eyes of an American cameraman traveling with an Israeli air force pilot. I did not know then, that I would in couple of weeks hear an American anchor man standing at the Israel-Lebanon border pointing out to Lebanon as “the everything that is brown’ and to Israel as “everything that is green”. But, I tell that anchorman that the trunk of the tree is brown and on it stand the green branches. I tell my American compatriot that the Lebanese and Israelis constitute a garden of olive trees, and that those sturdy trees grow back even after fire.

The book of Habakkuk (2:17) warned in 600-700 B.C. that the violence in Lebanon would overwhelm us, but no book, biblical or political, predicts any solution. Should the Lebanese ignore all the books and take matter in their hands? Should they swallow the shock and reenergize themselves to rebuild once again? Should they mourn like a bride mourning its fallen groom or should they all take off their ties to work together to save the fallen. But, how could they do it efficiently if hospitals are demolished? Do not they need the Israelis help? Both people know too well that to save the fallen groom, hospitals should reopen, and to resume the wedding celebration dancing the Hava Nagila and the Dabki, they need to hold each other hands. However, these dances depend on a strong leader who reacts to the deep meaning of the music. Do America and the world understand and know how to respond to such deeply rooted music? Can they lead the dance?

I am not poised to answer these questions. I am just poised to seek refuge within the history of Lebanon. History has taught us that the Lebanese will once again rebuild that blessed peace of land. This small land that has withstood the ruling of powerful empires and endured gracefully the self-destruction of civil wars, will again prevail and stand tall.