The waters are pressing mightily

The following is a poem by Yehuda Amachai that I first read in The New Yorker a few years ago. It has been on my mind lately, mostly due to the latest Israel/Gaza mess.

Now, when the waters are pressing mightily
on the walls of the dams,
now, when the white storks, returning,
are transformed in the middle of the firmament
into fleets of jet planes,
we will feel again how strong are the ribs
and how vigorous is the warm air in the lungs
and how much daring is needed to love on the exposed plain,
when the great dangers are arched above,
and how much love is required
to fill all the empty vessels
and the watches that stopped telling time,
and how much breath,
a whirlwind of breath,
to sing the small song of spring.

One line in particular "... and how much daring is needed to love on the exposed plain..." takes my breath away. I realize it is trite, and an oversimplification of the events surrounding this latest battle in the seemingly never-ending war between the Israelis and the Palestinians, but how I wish that both sides would dare to remember their common humanity.

It is all too easy lay blame, to take refuge in outrage. Forgiveness, compassion, love -- these are infinitely harder to sustain. Love - that word that gets tossed around and abused with stunning frequency - is a radical and indeed "daring" action in our fractured, dangerous, anxious world. I forget all the time. Forget to love my enemies, practice compassion, see the humanity in those whom I either dislike or simply feel indifferent towards. And then, I recall this poem, and remind myself again to dare.