Departure

Returning to a place is like having a second baby – the intoxication, the mystery, the thrill of novelty is gone.  Instead, familiarity brings with it a grave appreciation of what could go wrong.  And a hopeful idea of what could go right.

I return to Beirut with a sense of how fragile Lebanon is as a nation state.  The spillover from the Syrian civil war was in evidence last year from the refugees begging in the streets to hearing the bombing of Damascus while visiting the Bekaa Valley.  Lately there have a number of targeted bombings of government and official targets, including the Iranian Embassy, that are widely understood as continuations of the Syrian conflict.  These do not deter me from Beirut any more than drive-by shootings in the Bronx keep me from living in New York. City – different neighborhoods, different people, different situations.

What does cause me some concern is the bombing of ordinary people.  That kind of bombing occurred on Tuesday when a bomb exploded in the same Shi’a neighborhood as the Iranian Embassy.  Where will the retaliation occur?  Now, it’s no longer a matter of assassination but terrorism of entire segments of the general population.

But returning to a place also brings with it the pleasure of renewing acquaintances, absorbing a culture more deeply, walking around the streets and shops with familiarity, and noting the changes from year to year.   I am by nature a returner.  I know this means I will probably never see the Ganges, the Grand Canyon, or the Great Barrier Reef.  But I hope I can keep coming back to Lebanon and that we will all be safe.

So, as I complete my packing I make sure I have enough clothes for two seasons because I know from last year’s experience that I am far too Northern European in build to fit into the clothes meant for the slight Lebanese.  I am bringing an extra duffle bag with warm clothes and knitting yarn to give to an organization helping Syrian refugees sustain themselves.   And I am bringing a peculiar assortment of books, knitting supplies, and spices that friends in Beirut have requested.

For those of you who choose to worry:  keep in my experience in going to Israel 30 years ago – my family kept obsessing on car bombs and tried to dissuade me from going.   When I got to Israeli the people there exclaimed in horror, “You live in New York? That’s so unsafe!”