Listening to the rhetoric of this war reminds me of a sports tournament. We beat them by however many points, or they beat us by however many points. But it is not points we are talking about and there is no trophy. The points are human beings with families and loved ones fleeing their daily lives, sometimes succeeding and sometimes not.
Whose side shall we take in the tournament? After all, we feel very good about ourselves when we have a side to back. Will we pick the green in Lebanon — they are the underdogs — or shall we pick the blue in Israel? We would perhaps feel better about the blue if they lost more men. Is this how the world looks at a conflict, as a glorified tournament?
In this tournament we must of course have a winning side, otherwise how can we ever sit down and talk to each other? So the green and the blue will go on claiming victory until the very last man, or until they realize that no one wins. And then what? Shall we all leave the battle to lick our wounds? Shall we go back to life? For some, a life after that will never be the same. What about all the loved ones we will never see again? For what did they give up their lives? A further status quo? A life of uncertainty, a roulette of survival. My heart aches for every picture of the victims I see in the paper. I understand what is waiting for the mother and father and all the family and friends. I know the longing, the pain and the eyes constantly brimming with tears, anguish and hurt. There is no winner, only a greater collection of broken hearts.
Mothers of Israel, Lebanon and Palestine: How many more graves until we shout stop?
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