A Letter to My Husband and the Rest of the World

There are times when it is difficult for me, the me from my childhood, my young adulthood, to reconcile who I am now, who you have been forever, with what was fed to me by those who knew no better.

The fact that you, a Palestinian, a Catholic, an Arab, the father of my children, love of my life, are, for some, someone or something to be disposed of simply because of where you were born, breaks me. They do not know who you are. They do not see the life that has blended with mine, the heart that encompasses so much more than they could possibly imagine. The belief that one is the same as all makes no sense. Not here nor there. We place upon others the very restrictions that we despise, simply because they are not “like us.”

The idea that you lived the first 17 years of your life afraid of not living one more day I cannot fathom. I understand that people think it is all about a place. That it is all about God. What I I don’t understand is that they can reconcile God and the dead that come from their passions out of control. Maybe they are afraid. I know I was. To challenge, or even open the door for questions concerning what I was always made to believe to be true was something I fought with every ounce of my being. I was in a comfortably numb condition that I had no desire to leave. Asking questions makes people nervous, especially when they don’t have the answer. I wish they could see inside my head, see through my eyes, who you and your people are. Understand the mothers that take care of their children when they are sick. Fathers who go to work everyday to provide a sort of existence for a family that may not live out the years allotted to them. I was one of them, though I am sometimes ashamed to admit it. I couldn’t get past the scriptures that had been quoted to me time and time again, from a preacher who seemed to only use one part of a huge guide for life to limit the way we see life in general. I thank you for opening my eyes. I thank your mother for nursing me, too, when I was too weak to take care of myself, making chicken soup the way my own mother did when I was a child.  I thank your father for raising you to be an honorable man, one who is not ashamed of who he is, or where he is from. You shouldn’t be. I thank you for being a partner who believes in living life to the fullest. Who works to keep our world safe from those that are often equated with you just because of your beautiful face, accent, or name. I hope that one day they will open their eyes and hearts to try to know the man you are. I pray that one day you will be able to safely and proudly show our children the beautiful lands that you used to roam as a child, introducing them to your home. But my biggest hope, is that we will live to see the people of the world loving their enemies as they do themselves, and know that, as our own country changes and moves in a direction that we have needed for so incredibly long, we are capable of making a difference just by learning. Just by understanding.

Thank you.