Who will stop the rain of ammunition in Gaza?
Enough already. Children are dying.
“In what kind of world do we live, sitting by as children are dying?” Author James Tobin asked.
Tobin considers that maybe he”s more sensitive to the deaths because for four years he”s been writing the story of Jessica Lunsford, a 9-year-old Florida girl who died after an obvious struggle to break free, poking her tiny fingers through garbage bags, buried alive outside of a trailer kitchen window just 150 yards from her bedroom, by a pedophile.
It occurred to me that I may be less sensitive because I”m poring over news stories day in and day out. And the rush of guilt nearly choked me. Tobin makes the point that every child is innocent.
In a Jan. 8 New York Times article, a description of children clinging, weak, unable to stand or move, gripped to their dead mother as they starved provided a devastating visual.
The end and solution are not in sight. Politics and religion cloud the obvious. Children are dying.
The children in Gaza are innocent victims too. They have names, faces and feelings. James shared this short piece of fiction with me, as he was inspired by the tragedy:
“Mommy, you called me Esam because you told me it means brave one. Mommy, you said the iron-winged horse only wanted bad people and that we would only hear him like the hum I make with my warrior plane. But a zillion times louder. You promised he would not, but he came in our window in the night and now I cannot keep you warm, Mommy. You feel like an ice pop and I, Esam cannot keep you warm. And Jordan”s mouth moves like a fish in a tank and no words come out and she peed herself when I picked her up.
She”s 3 and was wet and cold by her bottom. You always told me I”m my sister”s keeper and Esam the brave. You knew Mommy. You named her for the great river too. You said great names call for great things. You told us of a man named Barack Hussein Obama far away would calm the winged horse. We ate Obama bread. I put bread in your mouth, you are hungry.
You won”t eat and now the bread is bleeding and the flies buzz and your mouth stays open, Mommy. I am Esam, and I am baby Jordan”s keeper now. I count 60 rumbles in the night. In the morning, a rat stands on his hind legs and shivers on the window. His nose twitches like mine when I have a cold.
The winged horse broke our windows when he tried to take you and now the rat will not walk on the broken glass. Is that because he is barefoot, Mommy? I think the winged horse broke its home too.
Mommy your tummy is hard and cold and Jordan shivers there.
I try to pick sister up, but my legs won”t stand. Her stomach talks and she doesn”t. Jordan won”t let go of Mommy.”
But in my sleep they took us from you. And now when I see the donkey that”s taking Jordan and me to the hospital, and its ears twitch with flies, I think of the last time I saw you forever, Mommy. You did not twitch Mommy, and I knew. Jordan didn”t.
Now she shoots at a soldier with her baby fingers. The soldier cries. I wonder if Jordan will ever laugh or even talk again. Mother you told me, ”cause silent waters run the deepest.”
He then e-mailed me this note.
“Mandy, my heart lies here, not in politics, and so the inspiration for Esam and Jordan grew from the N.Y. Times article. Love, James.”
Mother Teresa was able to assist scores of people in the world without falter, without doubt, without judgment, without fear. She attributed her success to this: she saw God”s face in every person she helped.
Maybe it”s time to assign each of these children in Gaza a face, a laugh and a personality. See someone or something you love in the devastated flesh of the funereal region in Gaza.
Mandy Feder is assistant managing editor/night desk for the Record-Bee. She can be reached at mandyfeder@yahoo.com or 263-5636 ext. 32. Opinions are those of the individual writers and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Lake County Record-Bee or its management.
