Over the past year, I’ve been writing Jewish liturgies as a spiritual/political response to Israel’s ongoing genocidal assault on Gaza. They can be found on the website Jewish Prayers for Gaza.
I will continue to add to the site regularly – please feel free to use and share them widely, with attribution.
I recited this memorial prayer yesterday at a vigil sponsored by Students for Justice in Palestine – Chicago. The gathering was organized “to grieve with us the lives lost in this most recent Israeli onslaught upon Gaza, and to honor the countless Palestinians who have fallen victim to the ongoing Nakba since 1948.” It is based on the traditional Jewish prayer “El Male Rachamim” (“God Filled with Compassion”). .
El male rachamim shochen bam’romim ha’metzei menucha nechonah tachat kanfei ha’shechinah.
Oh, God filled with compassion, whose loving presence ever surrounds us bring perfect rest to those who have been killed without pity in Gaza, in refugee camps, in apartments, in homes that provided no sanctuary, as they worked, as they slept, as they sat down to share meals together, as they fled from the overpowering might of rockets and bombs from above.
Receive their souls with the fulness of your mercy. bind them to the souls of their ancestors whose lives were unjustly taken during the dispossession of the Nakba – an injustice that continues even as we call out to you now.
Source of all mercy, protect these precious souls with the shelter they were denied in their lifetimes. Gather them under the softness of your wings, show them love, bring them home.
Remind us that no one is forgotten in your sight, that all are welcome at your side, that each and every one of their lives is a story of sacred worth and meaning that can never be lost.
As we rededicate ourselves to their lives. Turn our grief and anger into resolve. Filll us with strength and will and purpose – inspire us to stand as one in solidarity, that together we may end this injustice once and for all.
Source of all compassion, extend your shelter across the land that the refugees may return home soon in our day – that all who live between the river and the sea may enjoy the blessings of equity, of justice and of peace.
Palestinian mourners carry the body of 11-year-old Hussain Hamad, killed by an Israeli military airstrike, during his funeral in Beit Hanoun, northern Gaza Strip, Tuesday, May 11, 2021. (AP Photo/Khalil Hamra)
Gaza weeps alone. Bombs falling without end her cheeks wet with tears. A widow abandoned imprisoned on all sides with none willing to save her.
We who once knew oppression have become the oppressors. Those who have been pursued are now the pursuers. We have uprooted families from their homes, we have driven them deep into this desolate place, this narrow strip of exile.
All along the roads there is mourning. The teeming marketplaces have been bombed into emptiness. The only sounds we hear are cries of pain sirens blaring drones buzzing bitterness echoing into the black vacuum of homes destroyed and dreams denied.
We have become Gaza’s master leveling neighborhoods with the mere touch of a button for her transgression of resistance. Her children are born into captivity they know us only as occupiers enemies to be feared and hated.
We have lost all that once was precious to us. This fatal attachment to our own might has become our downfall. This idolatrous veneration of the land has sent us wandering into a wilderness of our own making.
We have robbed Gaza of her deepest dignity plunged her into sorrow and darkness. Her people crowd into refugee camps held captive by fences and buffer zones gunboats, mortar rounds and Apache missles.
We sing of Jerusalem, to “a free people in their own land” but our song has become a mockery. How can we sing a song of freedom imprisoned inside behind walls we have built with our own fear and dread?
Here we sit clinging to our illusions of comfort and security while we unleash hell on earth on the other side of the border. We sit on hillsides and cheer as our explosions light up the sky while far below, whole neighborhoods are reduced to rubble.
For these things I weep: for the toxic fear we have unleashed from the dark place of our hearts for the endless grief we are inflicting on the people of Gaza.