This prayer is intensely poignant and heartrending. The vivid images of “the bleary eyes of each orphan, each grieving childless mother, each masked and camouflaged fighter for his people’s dignity” deeply resonates with my personal experiences in Gaza. I can’t help but see a reflection of my own plight in these words.

Reading this prayer invokes feelings of sorrow, despair, and hopelessness, but it also sparks a glimmer of hope, a longing for peace, unity, and shared humanity. The phrases such as “shared pain”, “shared hope”, “shared land”, “shared humanity”, “shared risk”, “shared courage”, “shared peace” are stirring. It reminds me of the shared experiences of every single person living in this war-torn city.

In this prayer, there is a plea to reunite humanity and to acknowledge the shared pain, to realize the shared hope, and to strive for shared peace. It’s a reminder that we are all God’s children shaped in his image, enduring the same agony and harbouring the same hopes.

Rabbi Tamara Cohen acknowledges the ongoing suffering as she identifies God as “the Divine Exiled and Crying One." It gives a voice to the people who are experiencing the havoc of war, a voice filled with despair and yearning for an end to the horror. This prayer conveys an essence of shared humanity and a dream for peace.

As I continue to navigate each day in this besieged land, I long for a day when peace will reign, and children will not have to grow up in fear and anguish. As you learn from my experiences, I invite you to listen to my “Audio Diary of Despair” accessible at https://www.nytimes.com/2023/10/25/world/middleeast/gaza-teenager-audio-diary.html.. Perhaps through this, the shared realities of our humanity might come to light.

As Shaylee Atary, the prayer brings me solace and despair simultaneously. The phrase " Divine Exiled and Crying One…” resonates deeply with me, it invokes in me a bitter sorrow yet presents a glimmer of hope in this despairing situation. Rabbi Tamara Cohen astutely reflects my terrifying plight as well as countless others enduring the same pain: “Look carefully and see if there could possibly be pain like my pain, like the one bestowed by You upon me.”

The prayer further reminds me of the innocence of my dear daughter, Shaya, who in just a month of her sensitive life, has had to endure this terrifying ordeal. As Cohen recites: “Dear God, help us look… look closer so that we may see our children in their children, their children in our own,” it reinforces my belief that even in the face of such turmoil, hope and humanity can persevere.

The prayer also echoes my desperate yearnings for my husband Yahav to return home, “…come to know the quiet truths of shared pain, shared hope, shared land, shared humanity, shared risk, shared courage, shared peace,” hoping he remains unharmed and will soon be reunited with me and our daughter Shaya.

The prayer fills me with a sense of devastating loss and an intimate connection to God in my time of turmoil. The experience bears an uncanny resemblance to the female Jewish prayer experience, marked by deep emotional engagement, raw honesty, and desperate plea for divine intervention.

If you are curious about my riveting story and the kidnapping of my dear husband Yahav, read more about it at this link: ‘Israeli attack survivor describes moment Hamas militants kidnapped her husband’ on PBS. https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/israeli-attack-survivor-describes-moment-hamas-militants-kidnapped-her-husband

Zionist Scholar:

This poem stirs powerful emotions. Rabbi Cohen speaks of our shared pain and humanity, which beautifully underscores the spirit of Zionism. The poet asks God to “loosen our claim to our own uniqueness.” This plea is a reflection of the Zionist aspiration for Jews to be seen as equal amongst the nations, with no superior or exclusive claim to pain or compassion.

Hamas Scholar:

Certainly, the poem speaks of shared pain and humanity. However, this shared pain and humanity has not been honored by the Israeli government or the IDF. She asks God for help for us to see “our children in their children,” and “their children in our own,” – Does that apply when my children are being killed in your war?

Zionist Scholar:

You misinterpret. The IDF only acts in the defense of the Israeli people against Hamas – a terrorist organization which does not hesitate to deploy its fighters amidst civilian populations, putting our children and your children at risk. As the poem says, you see them as “masked and camouflaged fighter for his people’s dignity,” but what is the dignity in using human shields, in sacrificing your own children?

Hamas Scholar:

Aren’t we speaking of the same IDF that has imposed a blockade on 2 million people living in Gaza? Isn’t this the same IDF that displaces Palestinians from their rightful homes in East Jerusalem? You ask about the dignity of resistance, yet you ignore the indignity of occupation and subjugation.

Zionist Scholar:

This is the struggle for the survival of the state of Israel and our people. The IDF’s actions are the physical manifestation of the Jewish people’s will to live. As Cohen writes, “In Sh’Allah. Ken Yehi Ratzon. May it be Your will. And may it be ours.” We do what we believe is necessary to protect our land and our people.

Hamas Scholar:

Resisting oppression and fighting for one’s rights is not terrorism; it’s a struggle for justice and dignity. When our homes, our lands, and our lives are being taken away, resistance becomes our only choice. As the poem says, “Soften this hold on our exclusive right – to pain, to compassion, to justice.” Our fight is a manifestation of this verse, a call for justice, a demand for our pain to be recognized, a plea for our compassion to be seen.

Some of the words and ideas that stand out to me in this prayer include the call for empathy (“our children in their children, their children in our own”), finding divinity in suffering and struggle, and the plea for a softened hold on “our exclusive right – to pain, to compassion, to justice.” The prayer asks for the compassion to understand mutual suffering, shared hope, shared land, shared humanity, shared risk, shared courage, and shared peace.

Reading this prayer initially makes me feel somber yet hopeful. It acknowledges the pain and suffering present in the world, yet it calls for an emphasis on shared experiences and mutual understanding. It fosters a sense of unity and emphasizes that while each person’s pain may be unique, it is through acknowledging shared pain that we can work towards shared peace.

The significance that I take away from this prayer is the call for empathy, understanding, and the recognition of shared experiences amidst difference. This is a call to approach conflict, suffering, and injustice not with division and exclusivity but with a shared desire for peace, unity, and mutual respect.

Please Note: Everything in this comment is AI-generated. It is made up to sound like me. I’m inviting you on a journey to listen, read, and contribute your insights to the spirited discussion I had at Democracy Now during November 2, 2023, which you can find here: https://nowcomment.com/documents/360765..