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I realized today that two months had passed since I last posted a blog. I also realized that there was an old draft of a blog I had started to write, but never finished. Then I realized I had no idea what I was talking about in that draft, or why it was worth posting. Something about olive trees aging like people and the Kurdish new year. But I think the world will survive without those ramblings--wherever they were headed.



So as many of you know, I went to Rwanda, Africa. Only for a week, but the experience was incredible. Along the way we had a whirlwind of traveling through airports in Ethiopia, Lebanon (they were NOT fans of us there, almost didn't let us fly through) Uganda, and Dubai (got to leave the airport and explore the city). Basically, the trip was wonderfully exhausting, and worth every minute.



Our stay in Rwanda coincided with National Genocide Memorial Week. Whoa. This isn't something from eras past--this horrendous tragedy happened a mere 18 years ago. Even at my age, I remember 18 years ago: my precious sister was born and I remember wearing my black cowboy boots into the hospital. How much more vivid would the memories of a genocide survivor be? In memorial, hundreds gather at a large stadium for "mourning of Biblical proportions." (quote credit: David Leatherwood). Tearing clothes, pounding the ground, screaming, sobbing, wailing. Again, whoa. Throughout the week we could see large groups of people gathering outside. And when we went to the genocide museum, my eyes were opened in a way that was painfully shocking.



Of course I've studied about the events of the genocide. And I saw "Hotel Rwanda" (went to it too). But going through the museum made realize that whatever I thought I had understood about the tragedy was sadly insignificant compared to the real thing. Did you know that brutal, and intentionally torturous rape was used and encouraged as a weapon of terror and on a massive scale more than any other event in history?



For those of you that believe, take and minute a say a prayer for all the genocide rape survivors from Rwanda.



And then there was the "children's room." Large portraits hung on every wall. Name, age, favorite food/activity...and cause of death inscribed on a plaque beside each portrait. Usually the causes were "hacked to death by machete" but occasionally it was "smashed against a wall" or "burned alive." I cried and cried and cried.



"Angels descending bring from above, echoes of mercy, whispers of love..."



And shortly after we returned to Israel, there was Holocaust Memorial Day. On that day, around noon, a loud, city-wide, trumpet-like siren consumes the skies and everything else stops. Literally, all cars and all pedestrians stop in their tracks, drivers climb out of the vehicles, and stand in silence while the siren blares. I stood on the sidewalk (having been forewarned of the impending siren) and waited to see if the busy traffic in front of me would stop. And as the siren poured into my ears, the large truck driver in front of my eyes stopped, got out, and stood beside his truck. It felt very unifying, as though all of us standing and waiting together were all part of the same family, sharing in this moment of memorial.



So where is the mercy? Rwanda genocide, the Holocaust...I question humanity itself.



But humanity is a paradox. By definition, it is what separates us from animals, with the ability to reason and show mercy. Also by definition, it is what imprisons us to our own stupidity, greed, and sheer mercilessness.



Yet even after the genocide, survivors are living in the same house as those that tortured and killed their family members. Seriously, there are areas in Rwanda dedicated to healing, called Reconciliation Villages. Echoes of mercy.



And in Israel, Jewish doctors give their holidays, weekends, and personal time to give round-the-clock care to children from Gaza and Iraq that are dying. Echoes of mercy.



Mercy exists, and it echoes gently through heartbeats of those who unfurrow their brows, put down their fists, and release the pain and anger to God. I am convinced this kind of mercy and healing cannot be found without God. Without Him, life is cruel and then you die. With Him, hope is warm and persistent, offering a life without pain and sin---somewhere past the pearly gates.



"Angels descending bring from above, echoes of mercy, whispers of love..."



This is my story.



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