War: A Prayer for Peace
War, A Prayer for Peace, Jemma Reue
War: A Prayer for Peace
by Jemma Reue and Rabbi Amy Josefa Ariel
I close my eyes to pray and in my mind
You hand me the deck and
I riffle shuffle the
the 52 weeks of the year
through my hands.
12 court cards,
one each for Nisan, Iyar, Sivan, Tammuz,
Av, Elul, Tishrei, Heshvan, Kislev, Tevet, Shevat, and
Adar, the months of a Jewish year.
Four suits, four seasons,
four elemental cities in the
Land of our ancestors.
13 hearts, 13 lunar cycles,
red and black, day and night,
separate and holy,
I grip and release and then
I hand half of the deck to You.
Echad, shtayim, shalosh,
we
say in unison,
we
flip our cards.
Your first card is higher.
Higher takes all.
Luck of the draw or
the will of God?
Next it’s me and
we tie and go to War.
Two cards face down and
one card up and
I take them all and
the weight in my hand grows.
One card for the caterpillar-shaped bomb shelter in the playground and
one card for the war-weary hospital staff
trying to take care of the children and
one card for the bomb-shredded schools in pieces and
one card for the newborns who came into the world in the bomb proof maternity ward or under the rubble and
one card for the antisemitism and anti-Arab racism and
one card for the suffocating smog and fire of trauma and
the choking tendrils that
worm their way through generations and
I hold my hand close to my chest where my heart beats
to Abraham’s footsteps and Miriam’s drum and
I think of the Palestinian and Jewish children
singing together in the Jerusalem Youth Chorus and
learning together at Hand in Hand Haifa and
playing basketball together in Peace Players Middle East and
I am becoming bat mitzvah but
I am also still a kid and
I want.
I want my Jewish siblings and my Palestinian cousins to be able to hang out in each other's homes and ride bikes and swim together.
I want them to be able to draw together and laugh together and tell each other jokes and teach each other magic tricks and
build together.
My cards are crumpled and bent in my fist and
damp from my sweat.
I open my eyes and look into Yours and
open my hand and
You open Yours
and We take Our damaged cards
and start a new kind of game.
Blessed are You, Adonai our God,
Ruler of the Universe,
who made the cards
and gave each of them a piece of our story,
who made the players
and gave each of us our own way to tell it,
who started the game
that we must figure out how best to play.
May we flip the rules instead of the cards,
May we be willing to actually hear each others’ truths and take them in and understand more,
May we believe in the potential for peace and hold onto hope long enough for it to become possible,
May we be open to new feelings of friendship,
or at least to feelings of kindness and compassion,
and most of all, may this new game be a game of Peace.
If you want this too, say it with me: Amen.
