The peace Farmer and the Owl

A Story For Our Present Time

I thought a good place to begin the rejection series is the story of The Peace Farmer and the Owl. I wrote this story after I heard Cliff Kindy tell it to Christian Peacemaker Teams personnel after his return from the West Bank. It is an important story now because it gives context to the present struggle between Israel and Gaza. The Secretary General of the United Nations, Antonio Guterres, condemned the Hamas attack on civilians but said that Hamas’s attack on Israel on October 7 did not happen “in a vacuum” as the Palestinians have been “subjected to 56 years of suffocating occupation”. For this statement, Israel got angry and denied visas to UN personnel. The story, The Peace Farmer and the Owls provides a taste of what the Secretary was talking about. It is the first story in Cliff Kindy’s book, Resurrection Peacemaking. He entitles it Gaza Night.

The Peace Farmer and the Owls

The barn owl swooped silently on fluffed feathers into the hayloft, a limp mouse in its talons. Loud hissing escaped the loft as the young barn owls competed for dinner. A minute later, the adult owl fled the quarrel to sit at the hayloft entrance in the warmth of the setting sun.

Cliff Kindy rested on his hoe in the onion field, watching the owl survey the farmyard for the next hunt. Ever since the family of barn owls had chosen the Kindy hayloft to nest, the owls had given the farm family frequent breaks from fieldwork.

“Life is getting too dull around here,” Erin complained. “The owls aren’t leaving enough mice to frighten Miriam onto chairs anymore.”

Cliff smiled as his daughter, Miriam, tossed an onion in her sister’s direction. The small white onion with its twisting greens landed with a “plop” beside the target.

With a twinkle in her green eyes, Erin picked up the wayward onion. “This onion has to get bigger before it’s going to make me cry,” she said as she replanted it in another row.

“I think we have done enough work for one day,” Cliff said as he picked up his hoe and began the walk home for the evening meal. “After supper, we need our family meeting.” Erin and Miriam joined their father, their hoes riding on their shoulders.

“Hi, Mom,” the children said as they entered the door. Arlene was waiting for them with a meal to match their appetites. After a quick wash, the family sat down to supper. It was Miriam’s turn to give thanks. She included a special thank you for owls that ate mice as usual.

“Aren’t you happy mice are at the bottom of the food chain?” she exclaimed as she helped herself to a large serving of vegetables.

“Not as happy as you and the barn owls,” Erin teased.

With the supper cleared and the dishes washed, everyone gathered in the living room for the family meeting.

Cliff had been invited to join a group of peacemakers going to Gaza. The family prayed and talked about it. It was now time to decide if Cliff should work for peace in Gaza.

Again, Arlene brought out the atlas. Together, they located Gaza beside the biblical land of Israel. The parents explained the Palestinian people lost the war to Israel and had been forced to move to refugee camps like those in Gaza. The Palestinians had lived in the refugee camps for many years.

One by one, the hard questions were answered. Arlene and the girls said they could manage the work on the farm. “Don’t worry, Dad,” Miriam said. “Our friends will help us with the farm work.”

Being a man of peace in a place of hate was a dangerous job. What if Cliff was killed and did not return home? This was the hardest question. Finally, Erin spoke. “Dad, the Palestinian children face the danger of losing their father every day. We only face this danger for two months.”

“Then I think I should go,” Cliff said quietly. “Perhaps God wants a peace farmer in Gaza.”

It was hard for Cliff to leave at such a busy time of the year, but the girls were right regarding the help from friends. The church offered to pay for the plane ticket.

The plane trip across the Atlantic Ocean seemed to take forever. Cliff and the group of peacemakers finally arrived in Gaza. In Gaza, they found no peace. Soldiers with guns were everywhere, keeping the Palestinian people in the refugee camps. Life in the camps was hard and dangerous. Many times, young people would throw rocks at the soldiers and run when the soldiers chased and shot at them with their guns.

Palestinians told the peacemakers many stories of how the soldiers made life difficult.

One day, a human rights worker came to visit the peacemakers. “So, you came to Gaza to be peacemakers,” said the short, thin man as he sat at the table. “We’ll soon see how serious you are. I’ve got a story for you. My friend, Monier, and his family live in the Rafah refugee camp.” The man’s eyes blinked rapidly behind his thick glasses.

“Living in Rafah is dangerous.” The man leaned intently over the table. “The soldiers and the people in the refugee camps hate and fear each other. The other day, soldiers were chasing a young boy through the streets. This happens all the time, but this time, my friend, Monier, saw the soldiers chasing his younger brother. Without thinking, Monier stepped in front of the pursuing jeep bristling with soldiers. The jeep screeched to a stop. The angry soldiers cursed as Monier’s younger brother escaped down a back alley. The rifles turned on the older brother. Gunfire echoed off the buildings in the narrow street. Badly injured, Monier fell before the jeep. The jeep wheeled around and left Monier groaning in a cloud of dust.

“From behind shuttered windows, the neighbours were watching. When the jeep left, they ran to Monier, picked him up from the dusty street, and took him to the hospital. The soldiers found out what the neighbours had done. Jumping in their jeep, they drove to the hospital. There, they made certain no doctor could see the injured man. Three times, while Monier was in the hospital, the military governor came to the family’s house to threaten Monier’s mother. ‘Don’t put away your mourning clothes,” he said, “because we will kill your other son, too!’ The mother was frightened, but what could she do? The soldiers took Monier to another hospital far away, where he died before anyone could see him.”

The fragile human rights worker was quiet for a moment. His glasses shook in his hand as he began again. “The soldiers were not satisfied! They would not leave this poor family alone. The night of the funeral, the soldiers burst into the home. They scattered the family’s belongings over the floor, smashed the TV and stereo, and tore apart the wall hangings. With their rifle, the soldiers shot holes in the roof and the bathroom sink and stomped on the hands of a baby sleeping on the floor. There was nothing the family could do. The soldiers had the guns.”

The small man put on his glasses and looked at the peacemakers in the room. “Today, we begin three days of mourning for Monier. If you are serious peacemakers, you’ll come to the wake and stay the night with the family. Then, you’ll understand what life is like for Palestinians in the refugee camps. The soldiers will come again.”

The man looked directly at Cliff. “Would you stay the night with this family?” he asked. “Perhaps, if a foreigner is watching, the soldiers will not hurt them. The family has been hurt enough.”

“Was this the place God wanted a peace farmer?” Cliff wondered. He looked at his new friend. “I’ll go,” Cliff said.

Two thousand people came to mourn Monier’s death during the day. Pictures of Monier and slogans covered the walls. A canvas awning was set up to provide the people with some shade. When evening came, the people had to go home, for the soldiers allowed nobody on the streets after 9 pm.

As Monier had a large family, seventeen people, including Cliff, filled every space in his mother’s house during the night. To pass the time, the family taught the peace farmer some Arabic. Cliff taught the family some English. Time went quickly, and it was soon time for bed.

At midnight, there was a crashing sound at the door. The soldiers had come, banging their rifle butts against the wooden door. The noise was frightening. Cliff said a quick prayer to quiet his fear. Somebody let the soldiers in.

The eight soldiers stomped in with their guns, helmets, and radios. Out of the corners of their eyes, the soldiers saw a small bearded stranger dressed in blue-striped pajamas watching them. Two soldiers started to search the room. They felt uncomfortable. “Who was this bearded man in striped pajamas? Why was he here?” they wondered. Carefully, the soldiers searched the house. They dared not offend the stranger until they knew who he was.

“Where are you from?” the captain asked the peace farmer.

“I’m from Indiana,” Cliff replied.

After searching the house, the soldiers ordered the older brothers to go outside. The brothers were angry and upset. It had been a difficult day. The situation could become dangerous if the soldiers could get the brothers to lose their tempers. Their sister motioned Cliff to follow. At gunpoint, the brothers were told to take down the awning and posters and whitewash over the slogans. The brothers took down the awning but refused to take down the posters and whitewash over the writing on the walls.

Two soldiers marched to a neighbour’s house. With their rifle butts, they smashed the door down. The neighbours began to remove the posters of Monier and whitewash the walls. Cliff thought of a story he had read long ago and smiled. He told the soldiers this scene reminded him of Tom Sawyer and how the boy got his friends to whitewash the fence for him. The soldiers weren’t amused.

Instead, the soldiers started to ask questions. “Are you a priest?” asked one as he looked at Cliff’s long beard.

“No, I’m a farmer,” was the reply.

“Why are you here?”

“To visit these friends,” said the peace farmer.

“How long have you known them?”

“A day.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I want to understand how people who are fighting can live together peacefully,” Cliff answered. “I have a family back in Indiana, and it hurts to see children get injured and killed.”

The soldier’s face tightened with anger. “If you believe what these people say, you are an idiot. Soldiers would never shoot children!” he said.

“I guess I must be an idiot,” Cliff said.

“What do you think can happen here?” one of the soldiers asked.

The small man replied, “My faith makes me believe people can live in peace even if they have differences, so I give my life to work for peace.”

This made Ariel, one of the soldiers, angry. “I have no faith,” he said. “There is no hope. Only the strongest survive, and we are the strongest.” Ariel gripped his rifle tightly. “Take down the posters, Cliff!” Ariel shouted, thrusting his rifle in Cliff’s direction. Cliff stood there, ignoring the command. Ariel then pushed Monier’s brothers against the wall with his gun. “Cliff, sit with the family against the wall.” Ariel had changed his mind. The peace farmer carefully moved himself between the rifle and the brothers. Ariel’s anger sounded dangerous. Cliff wasn’t sure what to do.

Out of the darkness came two white birds on silent wings. “What kind of birds are those?” Cliff asked.

Hesitating, the soldier looked up in the direction of the peace farmer’s gaze. “Those are monkey-faced owls,” he said.

“We don’t have them in Indiana,” Cliff said as he watched the silent owls disappear into the night.

The interruption calmed the moment. The anger subsided.

The captain came to Cliff. “Hang onto your hope,” he said quietly. The soldiers soon departed.

“A miracle happened!” said Monier’s mother smiling. “The soldiers came, and no one was hurt; no one was killed.” She turned to the peace farmer in his blue-striped pajamas standing in the doorway. “Thank you for being here.”

The family returned to their beds. Cliff knew the evening’s excitement would make sleep difficult. Under the light of a single candle, he reread the last letters he had received from his family in Indiana. His wife, Arlene, told him how their family friends were helping with the farm work. Erin wrote of her special garden of wildflowers. “Dad,” wrote Miriam, “Guess what! The young barn owls left their nest yesterday. They found their wings.”

The news reminded Cliff of the white owls of Gaza. “Wings of freedom and wings of peace.” A smile creased the farmer’s face as he thought of the gift of owls, worlds apart.

The candlelight flickered as a warm morning breeze found its way through the shuttered window. The room was filled with the strength of Monier’s sleeping family. The light would not die.       

                                                                             Bob Bartel