The Protest (really a mobile vigil) Against Violence in Palestine started slowly as you would expect during the dog days of August. We milled around at the Barclays Center Sports-Big Event complex waiting for the go-ahead at 4 PM. That loitering was put to good use since we made new friends, entertained a sampling of hecklers but mostly caught up on the local news from Gaza. Most of the marchers had family there and their stories were ordinary and heartbreaking. There was scant food, water only two days a week, and violence coming from everywhere. As you moved from group to group you could catch snatches of English interspersed with the Arabic: a father died sitting at home, two children wounded by shrapnel, an Aunt vaporized in front of her family.

This was the narrative of the March to The Church of Saint Luke and Saint Matthew a mile away. We each carried a paper flower—there many more than you could hold—attached to which a child’s name. My little one was six years old.

Once underway to the Church, conversation—somewhat breathy--continued. Apparently these so-dangerous tunnels feared by Israelis besides providing Hamas corridors are vital avenues for sustenance and supplies. I discarded the thought quickly—after all, this was a humanitarian march—but if my family was blockaded in place would I build a tunnel too? That’s the problem with witness like this you can’t go half way in.

By the time we reached the Church my mind was snagged by the Egyptian peace talks—maybe our consciences bind to the concrete when swamped with this much grief—and the resistance to even considering removing the blockade. As I affixed my child’s name to a makeshift clothesline/shrine my sightline took in the devotional places in that sanctuary seeking rest from the day, from the chaos, from this pain. Much too easily thought of. Hope, there, seemed like just hard, hard work.

Rector The Rev. Michael Sniffen, had invited us in from the sidewalk with an enthusiasm which interrupted the buzzed monotony of this hot summer walk. He promised chants, speakers, good food and company. He even had an encouraging message from Anglican leaders in Jerusalem--that last was better than a bottle of water.

-The Rt. Rev. George E. Packard