Sing me a death song . . .

I've often discussed with friends how I feel that I have a soundtrack for my life. It's composed of many different albums, artists, and genres--ranging from Frank Sinatra to Weezer to "Baby got back". I think most of us have memories that are connected to music, even those of you who cannot carry a tune and are forced to express your musical genius to the shower head and shampoo. We hear a song and it takes us back to a time, a place, a person.

Tim McGraw's "I like it, I love it", a country hit from the 1990s, makes me think of my best friend since middle school, Suzy, and the times we would sing it loud and clear on Friday nights in her bedroom. "Ride wit me" (yes, the Nelly CD found its home in my dorm room freshman year thanks to my roommate, Jada) reminds me of my first taste of true freedom--my first weekend at college--when Jada and I rode around town with the song blasting from the car and cat-calling guys for fun (as it turns out, we went to bed relatively early that night, despite all our plans to be wild).
And any, any, upbeat seventies song reminds me of my mother dancing around the living room, reliving her glory days.

What songs will I think of when I remember back to my first war? Well, I am listening to the radio now and Faith Hill, an American country singer just came on. A few minutes ago John Lennon's "Imagine" was playing--and as beautiful and contemplative as it sounds, I just don't think it's realistic. But I guess that is what is so special about music--like all art, it takes us away from reality for a bit, it helps us try to deal with the events in our lives. Music softens the blow of the sad, gruesome happenings of the world, and yet, it also has the ability to pinpoint the exact emotions we feel whether despair or happiness.

The songs on the radio now are, in general, calm. They could be love songs. They could be death songs. They could be songs you cuddle on the couch to or songs in the background in a house of mourning. I ask myself how it is that they can be the same songs--love songs and death songs. I think it's because they are both written about the important things in life. Why is love important? Because it brings meaning to our lives. Why is death important? Because it takes the physical expression of love--and the objects of our love--away. And in the case of a war, it takes it quickly, without warning, without mercy for those who are left behind. It influences the "atmosphere" of the society, if you can call it that. It plays a part in shaping the collective experience of the country--from the founding generation who fought wars until the current one who continues to do so. Songs of loss do not "belong" to any one country. Everyone--everyone--loses loved ones. But here, it seems a fate that is much too common and it is reflected in music, art, relationships, and everyday life.

Ten reserve soldiers were killed today. So, now, instead of thinking just about the parents and siblings by whom they are survived, we bring into the picture another generation--their children. These are men who served their time in the army when they were young men and have been called back as older men--to fight for their country, to fight . . . for what? I understand "the ideology". I understand why "we have to do this." I understand "what will happen if we don't." But at the same time, I understand nothing. Nothing.

There must be a limit to one's understanding of violence and hate in the world. If not, we don't have a chance. But, I guess, there are some people who believe we do.

For anyone who has lost someone, or simply lost his faith in humanity . . .

"Geulah" (Redemption) Chemi Rodner
Redemption, oh, redemption
Kiss me now, my soul
Women, they are words
They are living waters
Oh, redemption

The love between us will strengthen
And will become one day a grand silence
Like a spring . . .