The Memory of Wounds
Hopefully, by the time you read this, the Lebanon affair will be over. The fighting may be finished, but the memory of its horrors will not. Much of the outside world felt that Israel’s reaction to the kidnapping of two soldiers was disproportionately violent, but of course there are always two sides to every argument. Israel may be militarily strong, but it’s hard for us to enter into the feelings of a young nation surrounded by enemies, many of which have been vocal and strident about their commitment to see the State of Israel destroyed. Israel has its own memories, notably of an invasion attempt almost immediately after its official recognition. Of course some of her actions have been against international law as recognised by the United Nations; but then Israel remembers the Holocaust when the Gentile world did precious little by way of protest. Oh yes, she has bitter memories to live by.
The trouble is that she is creating bitter memories for her neighbours. And the memory of wounds dies hard. We have our own experience of this; Ireland does not forget the massacre of Drogheda, and the battle of the Boyne; Red Indians do not forget how the West was won; the Balkan conflicts had their roots in the brutalities of the Turkish empire, the Arab world has not forgotten the Crusades. Even when we forgive, it takes a long time for the wounds to heal, and in communities, such memories tend to become elements in their social identity, waiting to be used whenever occasion arises.
The principle also works on a small scale. It is much easier to recall the details of painful experiences than of most pleasurable ones (with the possible exception of the successful courtship!). It might be worth taking this to heart - in the conduct of our relationships, we might do well to ask ourselves the question, ‘How will I be remembered in this situation?’ Even the Good Book makes the comment, ‘the memory of the just is blessed’.
John Peck