Today, let's share one poem written by Mahmoud Darwish

I have been so upset lately that words are hard to find. Then this morning I remembered this poem by Mahmoud Darwish, called ‘Think of others’.

'As you prepare your breakfast think of others.
Don’t forget to feed the pigeons.
As you conduct your wars think of others.
Don’t forget those who want peace.
As you pay your water bill think of others.
Think of those who only have clouds to drink from.
As you go home, your own home, think of others
Don’t forget those who live in tents.
As you sleep and count the planets think of others
There are people who have no place to sleep.
As you liberate yourself with metaphors think of others
Those who have lost their right to speak
And as you think of distant others
Think of yourself and say
I wish i were a candle in the darkness.'



وأنتَ تُعِدُّ فطورك، فكِّر بغيركَ
لا تَنْسَ قوتَ الحمام
وأنتَ تخوضُ حروبكَ، فكِّر بغيركَ
لا تنس مَنْ يطلبون السلام
وأنتَ تسدد فاتورةَ الماء، فكِّر بغيركَ
مَنْ يرضَعُون الغمامٍ
وأنتَ تعودُ إلى البيت، بيتكَ، فكِّر بغيركَ
لا تنس شعب الخيامْ
وأنت تنام وتُحصي الكواكبَ، فكِّر بغيركَ
ثمّةَ مَنْ لم يجد حيّزاً للمنام
وأنت تحرّر نفسك بالاستعارات، فكِّر بغيركَ
مَنْ فقدوا حقَّهم في الكلام
وأنت تفكر بالآخرين البعيدين، فكِّر بنفسك
قُلْ: ليتني شمعةُ في الظلام



‘I wish I were a candle in the darkness.’



Thank you, Mahmoud Darwish.

Will there be an auto-da-fé?

This morning, I heard on the French news that an Israeli movie supposed to be shown in June, was cancelled in most movie theaters where it had been scheduled.

The movie is «5 hours from Paris» by Leon Prudovsky. It is not a political movie but it is a moving love story which could happen anywhere. It is set in Tel Aviv, of course since Leon Prudovski is a young Israeli film director.

This ‘cultural auto-da-fé’ is happening in France.

People, wake up.

Israel is blockading the Gaza Strip after trying to destroy it. Why? Because Hamas is the main political force in Gaza after defeating Fatah in... lawful elections. I won’t go on discussing Gaza’s choice, probably because Fatah had become useless and somewhat corrupted. But there were elections. Not eveyone in Gaza voted Hamas. Enough of them did.
That’s all.

In 2009, Israelis voted lawfully for their own governement. Due to their own election process, ‘hawkish’ Netanyahu became Prime Minister. We all knew then that the peace process was in great danger. But again, let’s not forget that not all Israelis were extremely happy about this appointment.
‘Operation Cast Lead’ was not as popular in Israel as media tended to let us think it was.
That’s all again.

So now, we have to deal with an escalation of violence, once again from Israel in less than two years and this time, against international pacifists, in a very unlawful and criminal way.

The world leaders are reacting. I’m tempted to say: ‘At last.’

How do you get very angry and violent children in the same family to behave and make peace?

I have many answers which have all proved wrong since our Semitic brothers were often very close to a peaceful agreement and then for some reason (always a good one depending on which side you are), everything fell apart and life in the family became uglier and uglier.

Being such a tiny insect on earth, there isn’t much I can do.
Except one thing: I will say and repeat: ‘Let us not enter into a new auto-da-fé era!’ This century is already becoming very harsh. Let’s not repeat our errors.

It’s one thing to demonstrate, one thing to weigh on our leaders in every lawful way we can.

But it is very, very, very dangerous to start using cultural means to retaliate upon unlawful and violent acts.

It is ugly and it stinks, to be true.

Nazis did it. The Inquisition did it. Please, let’s not do it.

In 1972, after the Munich Massacre, or in 2001, after the attack against the Twin Towers, did I feel like burning the Qur’an? Did I quit going to Le  Louvre and its Islamic Art section? Did I destroy my Umm Kulthum records? And what about watching Youssef Chahine’s movies? Or reading  Mahmoud Darwish?

Now should I burn my priceless Primo Levi’s books or maybe Anne Frank’s Diary? Should I quit listening to Arthur Rubinstein or Eugene Ormandy’s recordings? Should I turn away from my Israeli friends?

It stinks.

And it won’t help.

In the XXth century, Jules Romains, a great French writer, wrote a cycle of works called «Les Hommes de bonne volonté» (Men of Good Will), a pacifist literary monument. In 1927, he signed a petition against a law that was calling for the abrogation of intellectual independence and all freedom of expression in time of war.

This time, more than ever, we need ‘Men of Good Will’. Don’t you think so?

After all, anything and everything can happen. I’ve heard that  ‘fries’ are once again ‘french’ in America the Beautiful. It makes me feel soooooo good!

French people are so proud of their culinary gifts that we did feel bad... except that thank goodness, we never insisted in getting back the Statue of Liberty. (At least I hope we never did... seeing what we are capable of doing right now in the name of whatever you call it.)


Let’s hope you don’t sleep well, all of you, people filled with hatred.

Oh my God, am I getting violent? Is it infectious?









@TareX who left me an interesting comment... it’d be nice to let me know who you are. I’d rather communicate than put up with ‘anonymous comments’.

Gaza, blogging doesn't seem right tonite

I haven’t recovered from the shock of yesterday’s news.

Everybody who knows me well enough is aware I have strong ties with Palestine and the Arabic Middle East. And I also have several very good Jewish friends who are really peace-minded people.

I had been following very closely the departure of the Free Gaza boats. I knew they would not get to Gaza and deliver their goods. Goods I believe were totally humanitarian because being engaged in such a cause you cannot slip, not even once.

Those goods were intended for the people of Gaza, people like you and me. Except that they are not at all like us. Most of them are without food and medicine. They were cold this winter. Lots still don’t have any decent housing. No water, no electricity, most of the time.

Please let’s try to forget the endless battle fought for whatever extremists (from every side) call it: land, revenge, fight, politics, spilling blood for blood.

This is a time to remember that a handful of people were very wrongly killed and wounded. This is a time of mourning because it shows that there will never be peace in the Middle East.

I grew up reading incredible books about people who had been wilfully destroyed, unbelievable stories of men, women and children tortured, famished, murdered and ending in gas chambers because they were Jewish.

I read books written by survivors who still believed in peace and love of mankind, who believed we would walk towards better tomorrows.

In 1960, I cried watching the movie «Exodus» and I said ‘never more’, even though the movie’s plot was a little bit twisted. But I cried.

Then I started reading history books telling about the creation of the State of Israel and I felt very uncomfortable. It was hard to condemn a people after so many terrible hardships but it was hard not to think about the Arab refugees trying to survive in camps after loosing everything, their land and what was worse, their soul.

Then there were those times of blind terrorism which were unbelievable. Terrorism and wars. Deaths, lives broken and destroyed... On both sides.
And more refugees.

The State of Israel still existed and was turning prouder and prouder to the point of turning rogue. And we hid our questioning behind our guilt.

We were taught only to see our wounds and we refused to ask ourselves how such a deadly extremism had come to pass.

We kept meddling with lots of countries knowing very well that we were fueling resentment and hatred. But we needed their wealth or whatever seemed useful to us, be it just a matter of a sphere of influence.

I know that we’ll never learn from the past. I also admit I have no idea of the way I’d be feeling, were I from Gaza or from Israel.

All I know right now is that I cried a lot and anguished a lot during the codenamed «Operation Cast Lead» against Gaza, codenamed by the Israeli government. The Arab world calls it «The Gaza Massacre». The Israeli media called it «The War in the South» while Al Jazeera talked about «The War on Gaza». They can’t even get united on a name. This is so tragic.

For a handful of people like us, it’s «Ibrahim’s story» who died at 11, killed by an Israeli missile.

I feel so helpless tonight. The sun is still shining over a very peaceful sea where fishermen are at work. I will post what I have so emotionally written down. But my words are so inadequate... They are words written with pain, anger, and such a lack of understanding.

No peace on earth today.


Shall I keep on wishing «Good Luck, and Good Night»?

A tribute to Copenhagen 2009 - Christmas 1999 - Hurricane upon Les Tertres

Once upon a time, Les Tertres were surrounded by trees. They had been planted by the former owners. All of them were conifers, very trendy at the time because their growth is very fast. They actually are completely unsuitable in Brittany because they don't fare very well in storms. Brittany is often swept by winds exceeding 80 miles per hour, summer and winter alike.

In 1999, we were at Les Tertres at Christmas as usual. We had friends over. Strong winds had been blowing and temperatures fell.

On December 25th, around 9 p.m., it was so stormy outside that we decided to go take a walk on the quay in Val André. We went there allright but all we did was to watch huge waves crashing on the quay. The sea was raging.

So we went back home, feeling really weird. We spent a couple of hours talking about storms, of course and then we went to bed.

In Brittany, you'll find a barometer in almost every house. It's very useful when you're planning a boating trip or whatever anyway! We checked ours before going to bed. It was falling allright but what could you expect with such a stormy weather.

Around 4 a.m., we awoke to a sudden blood-curling shriek followed by some kind of explosion that shook the house from bottom to the top. The cats scurried away from our bed and went instantly into hiding, one under the bed and the other one in a cupboard.

Then silence, long enough for me to keep cool and check the outside temperature. It was quite wintery when we went to bed: 40°F (5°C). I just couldn't believe the number I was reading and I remember thinking: 'This is IT'. The outside thermometer displayed 77°F (26°C). So I ran to the barometer a few feet away from our bedroom. Well, it couldn't fall any lower!

And then, everybody came running downstairs (the guests' rooms are upstairs. Ours is on the first floor.)
'Any idea of what's going on out there?'
'Nope and nobody is going outside to check.'

There were several young adults with us who were extremely excited about the whole thing. But when it started again, the shrieking and the blows and punches against the southwest side of the house, everybody fell quiet. Someone lit a candle (the electricity was out already) and we huddled together on the sofa.

I remember watching the shutters swelling, almost to the point of being pulled out from the house. 'Is this really happening? In Brittany?'

We all knew that once the shutters would be torn away, the windows wouldn't resist very long either. We talked about getting down into the basement except that we didn't know whether the windows were still holding down there... (afterwards, we discovered that some of them hadn't).

We stood there, frozen with, well, with fright. The whatever was going on outside kept on going for more than two hours... A lifetime...

When the monster gave signs of moving away, one of us went to the bathroom (on the northern side of the house) and opened carefully one shutter. Lo and behold. He came back and said: 'Well, Marie (one of our friends), I don't think you'll be able to leave today. There are fallen trees all over the place and I'm pretty sure some of them are jamming the gate.'

Around 6 a.m., we got our flashlights and out we went! The house was allright so was the roof (thanx to the way the former owner had built the house) but outside, there were twisted trees, broken trees, uprooted trees, trees that looked like they had been thrown away like javelins... It was a terrible sight.

But we were alive. The house has weathered the hurricane. Of course we had lost more than 80 trees, all of them over 50 years old. I remember I cried.

We walked back to the house: no phone, no electricity. The lines had been buried when the house was built. Good idea except that the roots had uprooted the whole system! Well, anyway, all the lines were down.

Then we heard people calling. Our friends had come over. They knew we had to be 'rescued' somehow. Some had walked over since the roads were covered with fallen trees. One of them had driven his tractor through the fields, hoping to help towing the trees away. Well, he did open a breach in the fence. Yes, we had a fence (a very short one but long enough to prevent us from getting out).

It felt so good. We all went back to the house and while Marie was packing, now she could drive through the hole in the fence, we talked about the night and tried to assess damages. Most of the roads were closed. A few houses had lost their roofs. There were lots of damages in the harbors, of course. But there had been no fishing that night, being so close to Christmas. Nobody had been killed (at least in our area) since it had happened in the middle of the night.

We were told that the hurricane had hit France from our coast on a 150 kms (90 miles) width and was still at it at an average speed of 200 kms/hr (125 miles/hr). It hit Les Tertres while going at 232 kms/hr (144 miles/hr). We know because there is a meteorological station very close to our place.

Then it badly hit Paris and part of France then went on to Germany. But at the time, we didn't know anything about it.

Pretty soon, our friend and 'gardener' came with his team and started getting rid of what was packed in our way. It took days and days. And there was no other way than to burn everything right there.

Night and day... Day and night...
Trees were burnt everywhere... I still remember the smell lingering for at least two years later. There is nothing else you can do with that kind of conifers.

Hurricanes were quite unknown in our area but ever since 1999, France has been severely hit several times, again and again. People have started to talk about these events as proof of global warming effects. All I know is that our storms in Brittany are getting more and more violent.

What I want to remember tho from such an experience is the fact that there was a great fit of solidarity and generosity. At least in our area. While Yves was working on our trees, Popeye went to help Bernard on his farm. Henri and Jean, even tho they were a lot older than most of us, helped around. People came from all over France to rebuild the electricity and phone lines. And so on and so on! It was a great lesson of life.

Was this hurricane (named Lothar by the way) a direct consequence of global warming?  I still don't know. But if it was caused by global warming, we do have a lot of worries on our hands. I know I've become much more concerned about environmental issues ever since. We've been trying to change things at Les Tertres which is our personal environment but what we did may have an influence on global environmental issues. Remember the importance of fluttering butterflies on the other side of the world (it's a nice story anyway).

Two days after the hurricane, we saw this incredible rainbow I want to share with you maybe as a token of hope.

(to be continued)

*Good Luck, and Good Night*

It's November 11th, Bon-Papa.

My dear Bon-Papa Mathieu,

Today, you would have proudly displayed the French flag from your bedroom window, the one over the village square. Then you would have stood to attention with tears in your eyes.

You would have put on your best jacket, pinned your medals over your heart and then, you would have said: «Time to go, children».

No need to tell us, Bon-Papa, we knew where we had to go.

To the small square, 500 meters away from your home, the one that’s very close to the graveyard. There, as if to part the tiny «townhall» with its enclosed one-room school and the small village church, a granite war memorial was standing. An awful long list of names was engraved there in golden letters (young men’s names when in 1914, there were less than 200 people living in Arfons). You knew them very well of course, all of them being your cousins and your friends.

All the villagers were there since almost every family had lost a loved one! Old people who had lived through this terrible war. Younger people whose father or uncle had died then. The children who had never lived through a war.

Someone would then blow the bugle. It sounded so sad and heart-wrenching!

Everybody would join in singing the hymn we sang at the time: «Le chant du départ» and not «La Marseillaise».

Being the oldest survivor, my Bon-Papa would step up and set down a funeral wreath with a blue, white and red ribbon on which golden letters said «To our brave heroes».

And then, we would all stand there in a profound silence for one minute.

I was not always staying at my grand-parents’ home in the village at the time but the ceremony which was compulsory for us, schoolchildren, was held in every village and city.

Bon-Papa, I have some news for you. I don’t know whether or not you’ll like them but you were a man of peace, deep in your heart.

We still hold «November 11th Memorial Services» in France. Only a few people attend them. Now we listen to «La Marseillaise» and there is no one around anymore from the «War to end all wars».

Somehow we truly have become Europeans and we’ve come to think about «14-18» as a slaughter that should never have happened.

But I’ll never forget you, my grand-father, standing so straight in front of the war memorial with tears in your eyes, remembering.

«Never more». Isn’t it what they said at the time?

You’ll be happy to hear that I almost had a baby boy on November 11th, 1979. My waters broke in the evening. But he chose to wait until the 12th to really come into this world.

We called him Jean-Christophe as in «Jean-Christophe» by Romain Rolland, the humanist, who worked so hard all his life to find a way to establish a non-violent world, a world of men in communion with other men.

I guess he's part of the first European generation. I just realized I never taught him "Le Chant du Départ". I don't even know whether or not he knows how to sing "La Marseillaise".

But you'd be proud of him. We truly think that he really is a man of peace.

Peace on earth and good will to men, Bon-Papa.

*Good Night, and Good Luck*