Tangled thoughts between war and food
Creamed chipped beef on toast.
Tangled and unhappy thoughtstonight, and I know I’m not alone. The barbarity of the Hamas attacks onIsraeli civilians keeps me awake at night, as I am sure it does you. I simplycannot fathom cold-blooded, mindless killing of innocent strangers. Nor theexecution of babies in their cribs. Those men are animals (I have not heard ofany women among the Hamas terrorists, and I’m wondering if that’s a culturalthing.) I was glad today to hear President Joe Biden make the strongdistinction: we must not confuse Hamas with the Palestinian people who are,perhaps even more than the Israelis, victims of Hamas. Netanyahu’s revenge willbe swift and terrible—and that gives me pause, because he too will obliterate innocentcivilians.
I did a bit of prowling aboutthe background of the longstanding enmity. Perhaps you’ve done that too. In1947, I was nine years old, far too young to care about what was happening insome far-away place. But that was when the land was divided into a Jewish stateand an Arab one. At that time, the Arabs had most of the land. Over the years,the Israelis have taken over most of the Palestinian land, and they have notbeen gentle about it. They would establish a kibbutz on Palestinian soil andthen react when Palestinians raided that village. Both were guilty; neithertried to find peace.
Today, if I’ve got it right,the tiny remaining Palestinian lands—the Gaza Strip and the West Bank—are occupiedterritories, occupied and controlled by Israel. And the Israeli military is notgentle, not even humane in their occupation. The only innocent victims in thisare the ordinary citizens—particularly women and children—on both sides. And Iweep and pray for them.
There’s so much disinformationtoo. No, the U.S. did not give $6 billion to Iran which Iran in turn used tofund the Hamas attack. That money, held by South Korea, has not been touchedand can only be used for humanitarian purposes. The US facilitated theagreement—it never had the money, never gave it to anyone. Shame on Republicansfor trying to turn this world tragedy into a political talking point.
Jacob came home today worriedthat we would be bombed for sheltering refugees. That’s what he heard atschool. How to tell him to tell his schoolmates we don’t have many Palestinianor Israeli refugees, though we might get them, and neither Hamas nor Israel hasthe capability of bombing Fort Worth, Texas. I sympathize with him because Iremember the Bay of Pigs crisis—I was not a lot older and was living inMissouri. I begged my parents to leave Chicago, a prime target, but theyassured me they had lived through similar crises and would be fine. I supposethat is true today too—we have lived through this, but never untouched emotionally.
A side of this I haven’t heardmentioned in this day of anxious concern about the climate: war with rocketsand destruction is bad for the climate. It is another way we do not treat theearth kindly. I’ve been thinking this week about slogans: War is bad for people.War is bad for humans and other living things. War is bad for the earth. Take yourpick. There’s bound to be so much pollution of the air from the bombs andexplosions.
It all makes me think howshortsighted men of violence are. They cannot see beyond the next battle to theeffect on their own people, the earth and the world. I refuse yet to give uphope for mankind, but some days it’s hard to cling to.
I started out to say my thoughtsare tangled between war and food, because most of the day food has been on mymind—not to eat but to write about. Tonight I fixed dinner for my friend MaryV. Creamed chipped beef on toast, or, as it is commonly known, SOS. Somehow itcame up in conversation a bit ago, and I told Mary she was the only otherperson I know who would eat it, so I promised to fix it next time we gottogether. So simple to do, and so very good! All you do is make a white sauce,cut the beef into strips and add it, and serve on toast. With a green salad.Mary tells me she also loves liver, so that’s next on my agenda, but sheinsists next time she will bring dinner from Eatsi’s, and I’m up for that.
Eating a good dinner in apeaceful cottage it seems impossible that there is such horror half a worldaway. I often wonder why I am so blessed. You or I could be living in a kibbutzon the West Bank, we could have been at that music festival—and yet here weare, safe. It must mean, to me, that God wants us to do good, to fight fortruth and honor, to love our neighbor no matter what.
Sorry, I’m getting sloppilyphilosophical, but I think it goes with this week.
