War is Hell

I posted this as a blog a few weeks ago, and am reposting it here, with some additions, as it seems still relevant.

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 all this 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. Many people better than I are closer to those topics and have already spoken. 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 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 impact. 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 with the resonance between the movie and the experiences of war still lodged in his body.

War is hell.

War leaves its mark on every part of a person and community. No one really escapes. You can physically leave, but an emotional and mental connection remains. 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, even as the loss that is experienced is different for every single person. The only thing that is true is that everyone gets a scar – a loss, a pain, an impact. The physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual scars remain well after the fighting has stopped – if the fighting ever really stops.

War is hell.

War resonates with war. One of the more insidious aspects of war is the resonance war provides with warring people. Resonance functions as a call of sorts. If someone has peace working in their being, they will resonate with piece. The same goes for war. When war begins, those who have war working in them will experience resonance. Such resonance may be experienced as permission. Permission to allow the war working within them to manifest. In this regard which side someone is on matters less than the activity of war itself. This is one of the sadder states – the person who has such disregard that the idea of warring supersedes even the initial and admittedly debatable purpose of war. However, resonance is a powerful force, and the main reason many fear the expansion of wars. Once one begins, it is easy for many to get pulled in.

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. Those for whom the question is a matter of life are the ones who should speak, and to whom I listen. Rather, 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 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 them – 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.