War is Hell.

The only thing I have to say.

As I’m writing this, there have already been many articles, posts, and conversations around the unfolding activities in Israel and Palestine. I have been slow to write anything as the situation there is highly personal – for everyone. For me, I am one degree of separation from people deeply affected on both sides – experiencing death of loved ones and the fear of death themselves. I come from Lebanon, the small country that boarders Israel to the north. My parents left Lebanon in 1976, on a bus, having no other way to leave, and barely escaping what would become an 18-year civil war. I grew up hearing most my parents’ stories – my father choosing to spare me most of what he experienced. Still, I heard (and felt) enough.

When a country destabilizes or the drums of war begin to rumble, something deep within me breaks. I feel weak, thinking that there is little that I, an individual person, can do to interrupt the momentum. In the wake of all that has happened, and all that has been said, I have settled on adding my voice to the conversation for three reasons. First, I may be the closest to an experience of war that any of my friends have. I may also be the closest connection to the Middle East. Lastly, I have seen little talk about what war actually does to people. Maybe that is assumed. But one thing I’ve learned recently is that taking knowledge or even ideas for granted is not a good thing.

So here I am, my life a function of war, speaking only to the nature of war. I will not speak to the morality of war, nor the ethics of engaging in war. I would rather war did not exist, but I am enough of a realist to acknowledge that war does exist. With that, we are caught having to think through and make decisions with all that comes in war. If you have experienced the ravages of war, you may want to skip the rest of this…you already know everything I will share. If you have haven’t experienced the ravages of war, please take a moment to read these words – and consider the great blessing you have had to be spared.

War is hell.

War brings death. People, things, and dreams are all destroyed in war. Trust is destroyed and communities decimated. War brings wave after wave of grief. Families and friendships are torn apart. Individuals are torn apart. It is not just the visible destruction of the material world that bears witnessing. Invisible seeds of resentment, anger, and pervasive sadness – all responses to the pain of war – are planted and watered through ongoing experiences of war, even across generations. As the seeds sprout, the fruit they bear resembles the seed from which they came. Resentment begets resentment. Anger begets anger. Sadness begets sadness. War begets war.

War is hell.

War is intense and sustained. Anyone outside of the geographic reach of war has the luxury to turn off the news and shift their attention. Living within literal striking distance of a sniper or mortar round leaves no such room. The intensity of sensory impact and ongoing duration of such pressure has a profound effect on a person. My father loved war movies. He used to watch them to relax. I am convinced that his ability to use war movies to relax has to do more with the resonance between the movie and the experiences of war still lodged in his body, than any calming effect of the film itself.

War is hell.

War leaves its mark on every part of a person and community. No one really escapes. You can physically leave, but emotional and mental connections remain – to say little of the physical memory in ones body. You can try to disconnect, but memories of what was and dreams of what could have been die hard. The scars that come from war are deeply personal. The loss that is experienced is different for every single person. The only thing that is true is that everyone gets a scar. Some lasting mark of the experience is evident. A look, a temper, a foreboding sadness, all living under the surface until something of resonance awakens them. The physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual scars remain well after the fighting has stopped – if the fighting ever really stops.

War is hell.

I will restate this for clarity – as any discussion of the nature of war may be seen as anti-war. I am not commenting on the necessity or morality of war. I am commenting of the reality of it. I am not in a position to make a comment on anything more than that. I would rather that warring was not a function of the human heart, but from the individual to the institutional level, it is. Those for whom the question is a matter of life are the ones who should speak in this present instance, and to whom I listen. I am writing this here that those who have had little experience of war (thankfully) may have a data point of what war actually is.

No prudent person takes on a pursuit without first counting the costs – and every pursuit has costs. Without knowing what happens to everyone when the drums of war begin to rumble, we risk standing ignorant in the consequences. Instead, if we intentionally look to see what war is – and unfortunately there are plenty of examples from which we can glean – then we may be more prepared to stand responsible and remain active in the consequences.

A possible transformation.

Is it possible that the momentum that leads human beings towards war could be interrupted? My father and mother allowed a miracle to happen by intentionally making a family rooted in love, rather than the experience of war they had. My family isn’t perfect, but it is dramatically different than what it could have been. There are many in the world like my parents – fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles. I’ve met some. I have to believe there are many more. The experiences of war can take a lifetime, if not generations, to transform. The thing to remember – to hold on to hope for, to have faith in, and to love through – is that the transformation can happen. It is possible. There is a way. But it requires a choice to do it, effort towards it, and the means to support it.

I choose to focus my efforts here – on the possibility that something fundamental can change. In me and in others, there can be a transformation in the core of our being that stops the war within us and brings about peace. In the wake of such peace our relationship with the warring world around us will change. If we persevere we just might become a light towards a different way – a way in which peace is just the start of an entirely different kind of life. This may sound outlandish, but this is something that is available. It is something I can put my efforts toward today. It is something I have the power to do. It is something we all have the power to do.