The baby was bouncing on his grandmother’s knees. He caught my eyes and, as I got closer, he did as little ones are inclined to do and threw his rattle onto the sidewalk. His eyes came back to mine from the beautiful silver rattle. I couldn’t resist the challenge in those eyes dancing with mischief.
I reached for the rattle, shaking it as I handed it back to him. He laughed that contagious giggle of one just beginning to discover the range of life’s delight.
Over his head, his grandmother and I made eye contact and exchanged smiles of joy at the wee one’s innocent pleasure.
I gave him a little wave as I walked on.
It’s been a year but I haven’t forgotten their faces, their eyes.
Outside a sweets store, four teenage girls surrounded me practically dancing with enthusiasm and gesturing. At first, thoughts of pickpockets made me pull my purse closer, but, through their giggling, the girls gestured to the camera hanging from my neck.
The idea that in this age of smartphones the girls had never seen a 35mm camera crossed my mind. To break through the language barrier, they gestured holding up the camera and clicking.
I obliged and took a photo of the young friends and classmates.
As they looked at the image on the preview screen, they suddenly got quiet.
I wasn’t sure what to make of their sudden silence, but then they looked up and we all smiled and went on our way.
In the last year, I haven’t forgotten them or their bold curiosity.
It was a battle of wills: feline versus annoyed human.
The cat smelled an easy feast at the open-air restaurant. The server didn’t want the cat interrupting his diners’ meals. The cat would jump onto a window ledge and eye his potential buffets. The server would shew him away.
The scene replayed over and over. An observer had to suspect that this wasn’t the first time the two had tangoed and, before the day was over, I knew the cat would eat well.
Human and feline remain vivid in my memories.
As does the older woodworker whose shop smelled richly of generations of sawdust and imagination and the bus driver who always held out his hand to help me keep my balance stepping down. As kind as he was, he was equally anxious as he and his prepared to welcome their first baby.
Each of their faces and so many others have filled my mind and heart in the last month.
They all lived in Israel-Palestine. I encountered them there just a year ago. Among them were Muslims, Christians, and Jews and Israelis and Palestinians.
In the last month since Hamas terrorists attacked Israel and war began, I’ve hoped they’re all still alive, while knowing beyond a doubt that their worlds have been irrevocably shaken. Life is less secure than it already was. Relatives are likely hurt or dead. Humanity is in crisis as the lives of thousands of children have been lost and far more are at risk.
A rattle’s shake, a baby’s giggle, older eyes locking, beautiful teens eager for a new experience, cat and human engagement, an artisan creating, an expectant dad waiting, they all tell of the life’s glorious ordinariness – the moments that bind so many of us.
I wonder has man’s inhumanity to man now supplanted those moments with the extraordinariness of war?
My mind worries that there’s no hope that even the youngest among the people I encountered will know peace, but then another little boy comes to mind. Consuming the bread of the Lord’s Supper in a Christian church in the West Bank one Sunday last November, he left a trail of crumbs behind as he came back down the church aisle.
Those crumbs, remembering one born in the West Bank thousands of years ago, spoke of a greater abundance of love and hope that exists if only we’ll open ourselves to it.
Minding the Light 