His eyes are steady, rippled with light and dark. “It’s very easy to kill.”
* * *
And further south, further inland, between Jerusalem and Hebron, I stay on a wet sofa at a little bit of muddy ground that has a small fence and hills behind. Ali wears a thick black coat and contains slightly hair thinning because he sits using a cup of sweet coffee.
Ali’s brother was killed.
He was shot with a soldier from a distance of 70cm. Ali doesn’t say why. Or it could be performing but it surely gets lost during the try looking in his grey eyes that’s there even if he’s told the history so often before.
Then Ali’s eyes come back to people when in front of him. He looks right into us and says, “No land will be worth a lot more than life.”
* * *
And a younger man, with darker skin and darker eyes sits close to me inside sunlight in West Jerusalem. Asi’s smoking a roll-up after our yoga class, body feeling pure at the same time he breathes inside the smoke. For a minute the zen leaves his eyes, “As i was a student in school,” Asi says, “a number of my friends were blown to pieces in the bus.”
These stories of violence lie along with the other person, staining oneself, scarring 1 another. Together their body weight is just too big heavy. So when the rocket sirens sound, these scars are picked at, opened, they usually leak out into hate. The ones stop meeting, stop sharing their stories. They would like to protect themselves. To have their hearts safe.
One side raises its glasses, saying, “To soldiers!”
The an opposing side says, “Fuck the occupation!”
* * *
And inside of a house to the side Bethlehem in the middle of The Wall, a girl with thick eyeliner, pink lipstick, and hair dyed lighter, talks to me just as if she’s no mask. Christine informs me, the passerby, about when her family was shot at from both sides and God performed miracles to ensure that they’re safe.
But one miracle definitely seems to be hers. This miracle happened when soldiers were within her house, getting detonate small bombs. She spoke for the commander. Christine asked him if he previously had children. He explained yes. She asked him what although do if she pointed a gun at his children’s heads. He shouted at her. She got angry and said however kill her before she got anywhere near his family’s house.
“Buy my family’s house,” she said, almond eyes wide, all the while she remembers. “Your soldiers have pointed guns inside of children’s heads. And that i haven’t killed you. We’re asking, politely, to not make explosions with the children at your house.” The commander paused. A lady soldier was planting the devices. The commander looked away, confusion within the eyes. The woman soldier was chatting with him whilst suddenly shared with her to cease.
It was then which i realized maybe it was one story of course. One human story of individuals tending to those they loved. One can find cracks during the Wall where voices meet and hear the echoes fears and hopes.