Daniel Lubetzky

"Never doubt that the work of a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world.  Indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has."

- Margaret Mead

{I requested and got permission to share excerpts of this letter on my blog}

Dear Daniel,

It is my great pleasure to write to you and reach out to you on a cause that we both stand for and work for: Peace in the Middle East and in the World. A cause that is worthy of devoting ones life to. I was introduced to your team in a conference held by University of California Irvine, through the Center for Citizen Peace Building. I can not begin to tell you how touched and moved I was by the courage of the young students from both Palestinian and Israeli side. It was truly inspiring to see something so extraordinary and so pure.

I’d like to give you a brief overview of the journey that led me to that conference and why our paths have crossed. I’m an Iranian American who survived the Iran Iraq war and never really unveiled it until recently. I have been in the rubble, I have seen people killed and youth as young as 12 years old dragged to the army to fight in the name of religion and let me tell you I did not believe in Peace. As a matter of fact, it would really upset me to see people preach it, I felt like they have no idea what it’s like to have bombs come down on them, and they have no idea that it is the last thing on one’s mind when running for shelter.

So you may ask yourself "what happened, and why a person of my background started working towards causing peace?" Well, I realized that being tired, resigned or apathetic is the source of it. I realized that it is not just about me the Iranian American kid, it’s about that Palestinian kid, that Israeli kid, that American, African, Sudanese… kid it’s about all of us. I realized that our biggest pitfall is that we have forgotten that before we’re Iranian, American, Israeli, Palestinian, we are human beings. Simple really simple yet so powerful that we have missed it and had wars get the better of us.

Please know that I’m not reaching out to you as an Iranian American, Muslim, Jew, republican, democrat, Ashkenazi, Sephardi, Shiite, Sonni, catholic, protestant, but I’m reaching out to you as all of the above a fellow human being.

…

…

You know Daniel, although I don’t know you or seen you, I know that it’s people like you and me and those who truly believe if there is a will, there is a way are the ones who take actions for the better good of human kind and inspire others to make it happen with them! People ask me, "you are not even Israeli or Palestinian so why do you care so much?", and I tell them I’m a human being and it is my human duty to care.

…

Although I run two businesses and run a humanitarian organization, I will drop everything for this cause and for a chance to make an impact, so please know that whenever you or anyone from your team calls they are welcome.

Your kindred Spirit,

Sunny Zia

‘’I was a military man for 27 years. I waged war as long as there was no chance for peace…I believe there is now a chance for peace, a great chance, and we must take advantage of it for those standing here, and for those who are not here – and they are many. I have always believed that the majority of the people want peace and are ready to take a chance for peace."

Yitzhak Rabin Speech at a Tel Aviv peace rally, hours before he was shot, November 4, 1995

It is interesting to see how society reminisces about its leaders.  The contrast is often striking between how we relate to leaders during their lives and after they’ve passed on, particularly if their passing was not natural.

Yitzhak Rabin was not murdered amidst an environment of unwavering support towards him, as we’d like to think.  He was murdered after years of demonization by extremist groups that called him a traitor and called for his life.

I was blessed to meet Yitzhak Rabin twice, and both times were telling of what he signified.

The first time I "met" him briefly in person was at the lobby of the Tel Aviv Hilton, as he was walking down the steps, in the late fall of 1993, shortly after the Oslo Accords.  I had just graduated from law school and was doing research on a legislative proposal for fostering joint ventures among Arabs and Israelis.

When I saw Rabin in the lobby, walking with just one young guy to his side, I was so excited I ran towards him and waved a thumbs up sign at him from the top of the stairs, screaming out "Prime Minister Rabin, you are awesome."

He looked at me with suspicion and disappointment (bordering on disdain), and waved me off, making a facial expression that could best be translated to "get a life and do something productive."

I actually rather admired that this matter-of-fact leader had no time or patience to play the hero.  He had shit to do.  And he expected others to do their part also.

What is the role of the people?  This is what Rabin said during a Congressional Address in 1994 regarding his negotiations with King Hussein of Jordan:

“Who shapes the face of history – leaders or circumstances? My answer to you is: We all shape the face of history. We, the People. We the farmers behind our plows, the teachers in our classrooms, the doctors saving lives, the scientists at our computers, the workers on the assembly line, the builders on our scaffolds. We, the mothers blinking back tears as our sons are drafted into the army; we, the fathers who stay awake at night worried and anxious for our children’s safety. We, Jews and Arabs. We, Israelis and Jordanians. We, the people, we shape the face of history.”

The second time I met Yitzhak Rabin was at my first World Economic Forum meeting in Jordan, in 1995.  It was the day where different countries in the region host luncheons.  Israel was hosting a lunch, Saudi Arabia was hosting a lunch, Qatar was hosting a lunch, Egypt was hosting a lunch, and so on.  What was striking, and unseen before or hence, was that the Israel lunch was the most popular one, and Arab leaders from across the region were jockeying for a ticket.  It was a sign of the times – tangible prospects that this region would see peace soon, Israel would be integrated in the Middle East business map, as would Palestine, and the world would be a better place.

Less than a week later, while walking into dinner at a hotel in London with my girlfriend, the entire lobby fell silent.  We asked what had happened.  Yitzhak Rabin had been assassinated.

I have to imagine the pain we felt in our gut and in our heart that night must have been akin to the moment when JFK was assassinated.

As I wrote in an entry earlier in the year,  when a friend wondered aloud if Rabin even left a legacy, I agreed it remains to be seen.  And I pointed out it is up to us, the people, to ensure one.

This speech is worth reading. It was the precursor to the Annapolis language that validated OneVoice’s mission.  And it provides a very good framework for where we are coming and where we need to go in order to ensure peace and security for Israel and Palestine.

[Read more →]

More and more
The darkness haunts me
The memory of before I was
The stone sinking deeper into the sea
The inevitability of evil
Will it never change?

More and more
The sleepless nights
The failure to bring light
The stone sinks deeper, a rope attached around:
A noose around humanity

More and more
The breathing gets harder
The tears are dry, crude salt
A grayer soul has seen the tombs
A frayed body finds its limitations

Maybe he was right that knowledge burns and hardens the heart.
Maybe he was right that only Generals can set the tone.
Would a final offering, foregoing life’s sustenance itself, awaken?

This poem is an apt warning to the dangers of political apathy and inaction when someone other than yourself is being persecuted…

First they came for the Communists,
- but I was not a communist so I did not speak out.
Then they came for the Socialists and the Trade Unionists,
- but I was neither, so I did not speak out.
Then they came for the Jews,
- but I was not a Jew so I did not speak out.
Then they came for the Catholics,
- but I was not a Catholic, so I did not speak out.
And when they came for me, there was no one left to speak out for me.

This poem is attributed to Pastor Martin Niemöller (1892–1984) about the inactivity of German intellectuals following the Nazi rise to power and the purging of their chosen targets, group after group.  For more info, take a look at the wikipedia entry here.