This weekend my love and I went to Belfast to celebrate our one year wedding anniversary. We visited with family and made our return to the Holestone of Doagh, an ancient standing stone where couples go to join hands and hearts. Surrounded by the rolling green hills of Antrim under a bright sun, we renewed our pledge, visited with an old Hawthorne tree, and wished upon a dandelion.

And while our loving cup is filled to the brim, I am also drowning in grief and disbelief witnessing the continued tragedy of Gaza, of the West Bank, of Palestine and the Palestinian people. Grief for the suffering of so many and disbelief that an entire population is being starved of food and aid while the world quietly watches.

I have written here before of my father’s life, a Palestinian Jew born a refugee from Nazi Germany. But what I haven’t yet shared is that my husband was also born under apartheid rule, a child of the Troubles in the north of Ireland. His earliest memories in Belfast are colored by senseless, ever-spiraling violence, and littered with the detritus of bombs, bullets and kneecappings.

I am glad that now we can make some beautiful memories together and my deepest wish is that the children of Palestine live to get that same chance. 

May we make it so. 

Herbally yours,
Lorna

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