Dedication

Dedicated to the memory of Omer Hermesh 

One of my coaching clients recently spoke of her sense of futility in the face of the tremendous suffering happening in the Middle East. 

“Who really cares about interior design at moments like these?” she asked. ”If  I was physically closer, I might be able to do something. Continuing with my life as usual seems wrong somehow…”

Like my client, like so many others, I have been noticeably impacted by the recent devastating news coming out of Israel and Palestine. I first heard about the escalating violence not from the news but from my friend Nessi. She sent a heart-rending WhatsApp message early on October 8th, sharing what had happened to her family in Israel. She told how her husband Lino’s brother had gone missing, how three Hamas gunmen had tried to kill him, that he had managed to get away, had sent a message but then everything had gone quiet. Meanwhile his sister’s family, including a three-year-old and a five-day old baby, managed to hide behind a doorway which the father had blocked off with a wardrobe. They were not found by the killers and their lives were miraculously spared. Lino’s parents were evacuated from their kibbutz, and their home was blasted to bits.

Image from Unsplash

Supportive messages came in thick and fast. Nessi was about to hold a women’s retreat in Greece, and she did not know how she was going to find the strength to do so in the midst of such distress. Over the next few days, the WhatsApp group grew to more than 130 people. Messages came in every day from friends sharing their shock and their love and support for Nessi and Lino. People all over the world were lighting candles, and praying for Lino’s missing brother Omer, for his parents, and for all those suffering such devastating loss and trauma.

My teacher Martha Beck describes holding space for others as “volunteering to be the calm person in the room”. It could be one person holding space for a group, but it could equally be a group holding space for one person or more who need it, or just one person for another. When Nessi shared her heart-breaking message with us, she asked her friends for our prayers and our support. She told us that she and Lino needed extra strength to get through this. She also asked that nobody reach out to Lino directly. I imagine that to receive a flood of well-intentioned messages would have been overwhelming rather than supportive at such a devastating time. 

It was very moving when Lino left a message for the group, thanking everyone for their support and love, saying he wanted to extend our prayers and good words to “all those involved in yet another cycle of horrific human suffering, regardless of religion, borders, opinions, ideas.” I could hear the heaviness of heart in his voice. His brother had now been missing for a week. Lino didn’t know if he was captured or dead. He was as closely involved as it is possible to be with those caught in the crossfire and yet he had the capacity to think beyond flags and identities. He was asking us to extend the circle of support to include everybody suffering in the situation.

“I find it very difficult, on top of the tragedy, to watch how humanity again falls into these divisions; this need to take sides or be right, rather than to truly embrace and feel into this horrible suffering that knows no borders. A mother crying for her baby is the ultimate pain, whether it is in Gaza or whether it is in a Kibbutz near Gaza. Obviously, we feel first and foremost the pain close to us, but I refuse, even in this time, to follow the impulse of hatred and revenge and separation. “

 The courage, compassion, and humanity Lino showed in the face of such suffering was awe-inspiring. 

Image from Unsplash

In our session, my client spoke of the pull to check the news incessantly, to watch more and more footage. She described it as an addiction, the need to be sucked into the vortex of endless, painful information, even though she knew that it wasn’t helping to watch it to that extent. 

“If there were a medicine for the pain happening in the Middle East, what would it look like?” I asked. She let out a heartfelt sigh. “I wish I knew. Do you?” After a moment’s reflection she answered, “ it would be something loving, all encompassing, calm and available. I realise, that’s what I want to be: calm and available, I want to be a force for good.”

By naming this intention, my client made a significant shift; she remembered who she wanted to be in the situation. She knew the value of being kind and present, and that she had the capacity to do that. She reminded herself that what helped her to be calm and available was to pray, to think good thoughts, to eat well, to limit the news, to walk and be creative. She was no longer powerless. 

In the days after the massacre, therapists, artists, and musicians went to the side of the survivors. Nessi posted a film of her three-year-old niece, the one who had survived behind the wardrobe. The little girl was holding a toy guitar, singing along with a woman who sat cross legged on the grass and played her own guitar, smiling warmly and looking into the eyes of the little girl. The musician encouraged the girl to sing along, showed how to her how to make funny noises by closing her nostrils. What a beautiful sight to see the rapport between them, knowing what a difference that kind of connection will make,  coming so soon after the trauma. We know instinctively that healing can come through such moments of connection, through music, through a creative act. 

Nessi & Lino’s three-year-old niece singing with musician. Behind them the little girl’s grandmother

This morning I heard that after eleven days of being missing, Omer’s body had been found.

I shed tears for my friends, for his parents, for their sad loss, for the brutal end to Omer’s life. I paused in my day to add my voice of love and condolence to the others, to light a candle and to send up a prayer. My heart was tender to think of them all, to think of the horrific suffering Lino spoke about. 

While walking in the park, I looked to the trees and the autumn roses for comfort. Thank goodness the grass continues to grow green, I thought. It does me good to see the children skipping and kicking a ball about. How reassuring it is that they continue to do their thing.

 There was a pause. Then life continues. The pots must be washed. I have coaching sessions booked. The laundry needs folding. Yes, it can seem heartless to continue, unless we bring heart to the things we do, somehow including both the preciousness of these ordinary moments with the most painful of realities, all happening at the same time.

So, I decide to dedicate some of my actions to those at the centre of the circle, to those in such pain. On my way to the shops, I walk my steps in memory of Omer. As I peel potatoes, I think of the hostages and their families, hoping and praying that they may eat together soon. As I listen to the news on the radio, I  pray for peace and safety for the Palestinians caught so desperately in the crossfire, for the end of this humanitarian catastropne. Whether it involves a large gesture like the dedication of a book or a concert, or something smaller and more ordinary, the act of dedication feels transformative. It is what turns a walk into a pilgrimage.

I do what I can to make a difference from where I am, and I talk with my friends, and we hug. That is what being calm and available requires, for no one can hold space all the time. Everyone needs to be held sometimes.

Nessi left me a message, her voice cracking with emotion as she spoke about Omer. “He was taken from us in such a brutal way. He was innocent. He always supported the Palestinians. He never felt represented by his government. I see this trauma and crisis as a real time to be tested on how to stay connected to our hearts. I don’t know how to fix the world. All I know is how to make ripples within my own life and spread that out to my communities and to the people that come to do my work. Hopefully they will continue to ripple out and create more positive change. We won’t let the darkness dampen our flame. If anything I just want to shine it brighter.”

Nessi said how she couldn’t have held the ten day retreat were it not for the support and holding of her co-leaders and the encouragement of her friends.

By doing our thing, by doing the work we are meant to do, by offering what we have to give, by playing music, by caring for our children, by making art, by making living spaces beautiful, we strengthen ourselves, we connect to something larger so that we are able to be the calm person in the room. Not only this, but we are also sharing our light and affirming the humanity shared between us. We anchor ourselves to the goodness of life.