Jerusalem, Again

Jerusalem again, Hadassah Hospital.

Again I get sucked into this universe of pain and healing, of hope and despair, of tears and smiles. I feel its gravitational force, making me a tiny planet orbiting around it, over and over again.

I sit in the garden in the hospital’s inner courtyard and watch people coming and going, a colorful tapestry of faces and bodies and expressions against the blue of the Jerusalemite sky. A mosaic of personalities, young and old, Jews, Muslims, Christians, speaking every language in this Tower of Babel of almost magical cures and recovery.

In the face of pain and sickness we are all equal. We are all the same -frightened, hopeful, searching for empathy, for a kind word, for a sliver of trust.

The same sun warms us. The same wind dries our tears.

We are the same and yet, we feel so different. 

We build walls for us. We look for things that divide us. We crawl over each other backs to reach for something – we are not even sure what… maybe just to be the ones who can say,  I am better than you.

And then we congratulate each other about how righteous and brave we are.

Maybe some day we will understand this.

That we are the same. In birth and in death, in happiness and sadness, in elation and desperation, even in love and hate.

The boundaries, the fences, are of our own making. The differences, our inventions. To keep us separated, to weaken us. To lead us like sheep.

At Hadassah Ein Kerem Hospital I don’t see different people, separated by religion, place of birth or social status. I don’t see Muslims or Jews or Christians, Buddhists or Zoroastrians.

I see humanity, in all its colors and shapes.

And beliefs.

And the crows agree with me.

Clever birds.

Way clever than us, puny humans.