Today for the first time I visited Neve Shalom with my dear friend Chava. We walked on a narrow path surrounded by foliage and herbs. In the "House of Silence", a spherical shape building, facing the Ayalon valley and isolated from all sounds, my friend and I meditated for a little while. Later we sat on a bench in the small cemetery where Jews and Muslims villagers are buried side by side.
From a distance I could see The Latrun monastery and Kibbutz Shaalvim, my third home after Châteauroux and Paris.
We sat there for what seemed an eternity while chatting and gazing upon the scenery. I was thinking of my children's childhood in the kibbutz, of my own childhood, all left behind, all gone, and of the people I loved, who have died one by one, my father when I was 24, my mother when I was in my late 30's and my sister only 4 years ago.
I know my sister would have liked Neve Shalom because she believed in peace and co-existence. She never ceased opposing bigotry and injustice. She could have been there sitting next to me on a cold and misty day, but she was not, and my friend who was smiling, laughing and mainly keeping quiet, maybe pondering over her own losses and battles, my friend was there, making this day perfect and magical.
