Can atrocities such as those in Syria unleash memories of a remote past and hopes for a brighter future? The images of Syria we now see show more vividly than the mind can bear the prisons in that country -- not of “slaughterhouses,” as Amnesty International describes them, but of places where prisoners beg to be put to death. It was that bad, as we are now beginning to see.
Yet the news from Syria has sent memories rushing back after years of dormancy, I can hear the kids asking me “Speak Eeengleesh; speak Eeengleesh;” I can hear the sand storm whipping our rented Peugeot; and still sniff the camel’s snout pushing through an open window in that car, parled near ancient Palmyra archaeological site, while Callie studied the antiquities and I moaned from the traveler’s plague induced by the single bottle of Euphrates beer, that I had consumed the preceding night.
Most enduring, however, are the memories of countless acts of courtesy, hospitality and friendship shown to us by the people we met. Here is one story of many:
It was lunchtime in Aleppo on the Fourth of July. We were led up to a rooftop garden, empty and quiet, quite unlike the hubbub below. After we had placed our order, the little speaker amid the grape vines started playing the Star Spangled Banner. I thanked the waiter for playing our National Anthem on our Independence Day,
“We are Kurds,” he said earnestly, almost whispering, “We hope some day that we too can celebrate our Independence Day.”
That was 1995, before the Arab Spring and its failure, before Bashir al-Assad cane to power promising a gentler rule than his tyrannical father, and before September 11th and all the disasters that followed. Since 1995Bi have not really known what to pray for or hope for the Syrian people and the Kurds, except peace and reconciliation, and the end of oppression.
.
. Perhaps now, after so much cruelty, there may be a chance for just that,
P.S. The International Rescue Committee is doing good work in Syria and would welcome your support, either on line or by a check sent to the IRC , P.O. Box 6068, Albert Lea, MN 56007-9847.
Yet the news from Syria has sent memories rushing back after years of dormancy, I can hear the kids asking me “Speak Eeengleesh; speak Eeengleesh;” I can hear the sand storm whipping our rented Peugeot; and still sniff the camel’s snout pushing through an open window in that car, parled near ancient Palmyra archaeological site, while Callie studied the antiquities and I moaned from the traveler’s plague induced by the single bottle of Euphrates beer, that I had consumed the preceding night.
Most enduring, however, are the memories of countless acts of courtesy, hospitality and friendship shown to us by the people we met. Here is one story of many:
It was lunchtime in Aleppo on the Fourth of July. We were led up to a rooftop garden, empty and quiet, quite unlike the hubbub below. After we had placed our order, the little speaker amid the grape vines started playing the Star Spangled Banner. I thanked the waiter for playing our National Anthem on our Independence Day,
“We are Kurds,” he said earnestly, almost whispering, “We hope some day that we too can celebrate our Independence Day.”
That was 1995, before the Arab Spring and its failure, before Bashir al-Assad cane to power promising a gentler rule than his tyrannical father, and before September 11th and all the disasters that followed. Since 1995Bi have not really known what to pray for or hope for the Syrian people and the Kurds, except peace and reconciliation, and the end of oppression.
.
. Perhaps now, after so much cruelty, there may be a chance for just that,
P.S. The International Rescue Committee is doing good work in Syria and would welcome your support, either on line or by a check sent to the IRC , P.O. Box 6068, Albert Lea, MN 56007-9847.