A Gift Greater Than a Bullet
By Rev. Sandra Olewine
Death has become so much a part of life here that when word
comes that another person
has been killed, we often exchange a few words of
anger, shock or grief, but then rather quickly, we go back to our routines,
trying to maintain some semblance of normality in the midst of an horribly
abnormal situation. And when too often the killing involves a child, our rush
to move on is even greater, because if we stop to take account of all the
innocent children killed in just the last 2 ½ years here, our hearts would break
with sorrow and never mend.
But when the child is from your town, your village, you neighborhood, there is no rushing on. There is no way to hide from the grief and pain. Bethlehem again knows the emptiness that comes when death steals a child. On Tuesday, 28 March 2003, ten-year old Christine Sa’adeh was killed in the midst of an Israeli undercover operation while she was out with her family for a drive. As the facts became clearer, this unit was evidently looking for a particular car. Hiding behind a wall in a residential neighborhood, when they saw a car that matched one they were looking for, the soldiers opened fire, wounding Christine’s father and sister, as a single bullet in the back of her head took her life. One person in the neighbor rushed out to help, screaming in Hebrew for the soldiers to stop shooting and to call an ambulance as he carried Christine in his arms. Then another car came, and again the soldiers opened fire, killing 3 men in that car. When the shooting was over, the neighbor told the soldiers there was no need for an ambulance. Christine was dead. The rest of the family was rushed to the checkpoint and taken to Hadassah Hospital in Jerusalem. The soldiers took the bodies of two of the dead men from the other car and left the third for the Palestinian medics to take to the local hospital.
On Thursday, hundreds of people filled Manger Square as
they waited for the procession bringing Christine’s body for her funeral service
at the Church of the Nativity. First came the scouts. Their colorful flags
furled tight, only the Palestinian flag was open in the breeze. Then the slow
beat of the drums, followed by hundreds of children carrying flowers, signs and
pictures. 
Tears streamed down many faces – both of the children in the
procession and on the faces of the adults gathered round. Then came the small
coffin carried high above the mourners by male relatives of the family. People
pressed into the church for the service of prayer.
Sounds of weeping children
filled the sanctuary.
Standing as we were over the traditional site of the birth of Jesus, these tears seemed especially poignant. Here, they became tears not only for Christine, but for all the children, for all the innocent youth, men and women, who have been killed in this conflict. Here where we celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace we were saying goodbye to another victim of ‘no peace.’
On Sunday evening, at the Bethlehem Vigil, all gathered remembered Christine. She was a bright student, a loving child. She had a deep faith and a gift for writing. Her family graciously shared one of her poems with the Vigil – a poem, a plea really, for peace. They were remarkable words for one so small. What might her voice have meant to her people, to the world, as she grew? Tragically, we’ll never know. Her time with us is finished; stolen from her family, her community, her church, her land by a murderous bullet.
But, Christine offered us a gift that is greater than the bullet. In her poem, she calls us to action, to give our lives so that other children do not pay the price for the sins of adults. She calls us to pray that the suffering will end and freedom and peace will flourish. She calls us to create a world where birds and children can fly freely.
Yes, Christine, we will not rush on; we’ll not hide from
the pain in our hearts. We’ll grieve your loss. But, death will not have the
final word. We’ll learn from you; we’ll keep up the good fight so that your
dream for peace may become a reality. We’ll be inspired by your words, letting
them mend our broken hearts.
Rest in God, Christine. Rest in peace.