A call to read scripture with Refaat Alareer today

Amy L. Dalton
Published 10 December 2024

Today, on Human Rights Day, Palestinian poet Refaat Alareer’s poems, prose and interviews are being published posthumously in a book called If I Must Die. I urge you to purchase this book today in his memory.

Though raised speaking Arabic, Alareer had dedicated his academic life to the study and practice of the English language, allowing him to communicate across cultures and borders. The poem for which the book is named has had a sharp impact on my soul, and on the souls of many, over the last year. It is perhaps the case that the act of thinking ahead about the possibility of one’s own senseless death creates a spiritual force that lives on after that one has passed. For those who have ears to hear such things, this leaves us with a responsibility.

A few months ago, my daughter’s voice conspired with Alareer’s words; the words of Habakkuk, Jesus and Edmund Sears; and the Spirit to drive this point home.

My daughter was performing in her school music concert. The 2nd and 3rd graders joined forces to sing a variety of songs, ranging from “Your a Grand Old Flag” to “You Can Dance, You Can Sing” complete with lyrics in the Zimbabwean language. For the closing song, the music teacher chose the finale of Mary Poppins, “Let’s Go Fly A Kite.” As the song swelled toward the chorus, the kids’ voices grew in unity and strength. They bellowed out the song’s call with unabashed joy. It’s such a beautiful song, and it could be just because of this that my heart suddenly broke open without warning. As I tried to explain to myself and my partner why I was crying as everyone around us was beaming with parental joy, I suddenly remembered Alareer’s poem. It reads:

If I must die,
you must live
to tell my story
to sell my things
to buy a piece of cloth
and some strings,
(make it white with a long tail)
so that a child, somewhere in Gaza
while looking heaven in the eye
awaiting his dad who left in a blaze—
and bid no one farewell
not even to his flesh
not even to himself—
sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above
and thinks for a moment an angel is there
bringing back love
If I must die
let it bring hope
let it be a tale

In one of those unbelievable ironies that makes you realize this life is far more meaningful than it appears to be, Alareer was killed not long after writing this poem by a targeted IDF airstrike on December 6, 2023, along with his brother, sister, and three nephews.

I do believe in ancestors. I believe they are with us — in their happiness and hope, and in their angst and unfinished business. I believe, as does my partner’s tradition, that when people die in horrible and meaningless ways, their spirits are confused and traumatized. I also believe that when people who have struggled with their deep places cross over, they become able to see the whole picture in a way that we earthbounds cannot. And because of all this, I do believe that many, many ancestors — eyes wide open and hearts bleeding — are calling to us all on earth, now. Their call echoes the call that Jesus made to the woman who mourned as He drew close to death:

But Jesus turned to them and said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For the days are surely coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never nursed.’ Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us’; and to the hills, ‘Cover us.’ For if they do this when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?”(Luke 23:23-31)

What indeed will happen — if we cannot figure out how to change course? The number dead has now passed 45,000, with 70% of the victims being defenseless women and children. Now even Amnesty International acknowledges that the Israeli government is committing genocide. But when I communicate this to my representatives, they say that their priority is “not enabling terrorism.” What is, in truth, the meaning of that word?

The song my daughter sang captures the simple, powerful beauty of the human spirit — as we look up, reach up with our whole beings, we allow ourselves to experience grace, joy, hope. We are at a moment now where we have to figure out how to CHOOSE this part of the human story, and reject all that competes with it. This is not an easy thing to do — either internally, in the deep places in our hearts, much less to figure out how to enact in the world. I’ve never been a person afraid to speak my mind, but in the past year I’ve been beside myself with the horror that we are facing, allowing, enabling. What can we do to stop the carnage, and start the healing? My heart is crying because I don’t know.

Refaat Alareer didn’t know either, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He tried so hard and with such fearlessness he even considered the question of how his death might be able to help to generate hope amidst a seemingly hopeless situation.

That’s why I’m honored to respond to the call to purchase this book today in solidarity with the global movement for ceasefire and a just peace in Palestine/Israel. Organizers are calling for the supporters of peace to purchase the book on December 10, Human Rights Day, and thereby to help send the book flying like a kite to the top of the bestseller’s list. The book, compiled by Alareer’s friend and student Yousef Aljamal and published by OR Books, contains poetry, prose and excerpts of interviews he gave.

So, yes. Let’s go fly a kite. A kite of remembrance for all those killed senselessly in war. A kite of hope for children, mourners, peacemakers the world round. Most importantly, a kite of communication across languages and cultures, from us to them, from the last to the first, and back again. Because our ability to communicate the heart of the matter at this point in time is priceless. For in a similar time, God instructed the prophet Habakkuk as follows:

Write the vision;
Make it plain on tablets,
So that a runner may read it.
For there is still a vision for the appointed time;
it speaks of the end, and does not lie.
If it seems to tarry, wait for it;
it will surely come, it will not delay. (Habakkuk 2:2-3)

The end that is promised is an end to this war, and all wars, and an end to the belief that we can solve injury by heaping more injury onto it. The beloved Christmas carol by Edmund Sears explains it thusly:

“when peace shall over all the earth
its ancient splendors fling,
and the whole world send back the song
which now the angels sing.”

I yearn for this mass turning, a collective metanoia, in which for no discernible reason we all finally get to the point where we are ready to say, “I wasn’t just singing the words! I really want this!”

For the sake of my child’s voice, weaving in joy with those of her peers, and for the sake of every soul who has been cut down too soon: please add your voice to the call to end this genocidal war.

Purchase Refaat Alareer’s book: https://orbooks.com/catalog/if-i-must-die/

Join Jewish Voice for Peace in asking Biden to act now: https://www.jewishvoiceforpeace.org/resource/ceasefire/

Connect to American Friends Service Committee’s “Kites for Gaza” Initiative: https://afsc.org/kites-gaza

Read Amnesty International’s Report on the Genocide: https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2024/12/amnesty-international-concludes-israel-is-committing-genocide-against-palestinians-in-gaza/