Rhéa Hleihel, the blog.

The vault of heaven is eternally dark; the universe whispers infinite stories to our ears; the stars never cease to shine.

I wish I could live forever—but I won’t. Will someone remember I ever existed?

Eat with your shiniest silverware. Sing and ode to the absurdity of life. Fields of wheat aren’t forever the color of gold; the sky isn’t always blue.

Love, R. ♡

From the archives. 2015.

The man took flour, mixed it with water, salt and olive oil, and started confectioning dough. A few minutes later, he was knitting the dough, rolling it on the marble slab of his counter top. He then proceeded to cut pieces out of the mixture, flatten and roll them.

A memory that I share with this man was of him in his small house, baking a mankoushe for me. We used to read the Bible together with his wife, sometimes my parents and my best friend present. He was her uncle. He died about a week ago. I didn’t pick up the phone. I didn’t call.

One of the strongest emotions for a human being to show is forgiveness. One of the hardest things I ever had to do is to forgive myself. I was brought up with the firm conviction that I shouldn’t go soft on myself. My friend couldn’t confess she wasn’t feeling as bad as her family. She felt guilty and, to erase her guilt, told me that before death, we all are equal, and feelings of resentment or anger are to be shut and repressed.

Growing up, we were instilled the ideals of forgiving one another, and feeling compassion for one another—ideals that are noble by all means. What we weren’t taught, is that feelings of resentment and anger are legitimate; that forgiveness goes through these before it takes its course.

To be able to forgive, is to go beyond your feelings of anger, to be aware of them, to acknowledge them, and to let go.

Through our 20-year long friendship, my friend expressed countless times how she felt about her uncle. He was a Jehovah’s Witness overseer, which ranks right above a regular congregation elder in the organisation’s hierarchy. Numerous times, he had the chance to make right by my friend, but chose not to. It was a conscious, aware choice, even in matters that encompassed daily routines, and extended to relationship matters and child abuse. Although she felt helpless and treated unfairly, she had a counter reaction at the time of his death.

Guilt is at the core of our doctrines, even if it isn’t explicitly showcased or highlighted. It is expressed in a passive-aggressive manner.

I remember a woman who was abused by her husband and hid it for long years, to preserve her reputation and, by extension, the Jehovah’s Witnesses organisation’s reputation. She shut down her feelings because she wouldn’t have been able to cope with the guilt she would’ve felt if she spoke out.

I thought of myself. I thought if I were a bad person because I wasn’t moved by this man’s death.

The god of the Old Testament expressed his anger on countless occasions. The laws of the Old Testament warned against the wrath of Yahwe should the Israelites disobey him. Yet, this anger was justified because it is expressed by [G]od. Ironically, the Bible itself says that we are created according to the image of this [god]. Why is our expressing anger denied?

My friend was unable to express her anger because she felt guilty—a guilt that was too much to bear had she naturally let her rawest feelings flow.

I, on the other hand, had a divergent point of view. My friends’ uncle had the chance to do my family right in legal and financial matters, yet, for the sake of the Organisation, decided to conceal his opinion and judgment for fear for Jehovah’s name. He had protected another elder who was infringing explicit laws. Yet, in decisive matters, he willingly chose to dismiss us and our cause—which was later vindicated by local tribunals.

Now that he’s dead, I don’t feel the slightest sorrow. Instead, I thought: Another witness of the unfair treatment towards my parents is gone.

I was able to forgive myself and be kind to myself. I didn’t feel guilty about it. Just as this man’s actions were legitimate to him, so were my feelings to me. In times of distress, the first reflex is to do good by others, forsaking how wise it is to do right by ourselves.

When this man died, my friend’s first reflex was to dismiss her feelings.

But, it is okay to mourn, even if that meant expressing feelings of anger, which are not arbitrary, but emanate from disappointment, deep sadness, unresolved matters and lack of closure.

When we go through difficult times, we all desire to act unselfishly, avoiding being unfair towards a person, or acting wrongly. We bury legitimate feelings somewhere deep inside us, and we dismiss them.

If a person is unfair towards me, does it make them look good just because they died? Does the torturer become the victim? Isn’t this a load that has been lifted off of my shoulders? As much as I’d yearn to be empathetic, should empathy stand between me and my right to feel?

Emotions need space to manifest.

I didn’t pick up the phone to call. In my context, it would have implied that I was guilty and that I was giving right to the witnesses. Had I been disfellowshipped, the witnesses would’ve never have called or even expressed sympathy. For them, I would have been a poor woman who got lost on the way.

Forgiving myself meant to let go.

Love, R. ♡

From the archives. 2017.

In 2016, I started my thesis project. One of the most fulfilling experiences I ever went through was my research residency in Montreal.

In Montreal, I spent a lot of time alone. The solitude brought to the surface questions that once troubled me: Am I a good person?

Attending Jehovah’s Witnesses’ meetings for over 25 years, listening to the speaker repeat that we were sinful human beings benefiting from God’s undeserved grace, had led me to think that I did not deserve the good things life had to offer me, and that I did not measure up to the word “good”.

At times, I didn’t ask the question to myself in a direct manner but I noticed, time and again, that my determination to ensure a faultless rendering in every task I started, was very evocative of an aspiration to do good. It was a conclusion that I disavowed because I was extremely convinced that I was not “good”, mainly due the teachings of the Witnesses.

One time, I was brushing my teeth and I thought, “Am I a good person? Am I doing things the right way? Do I have to be part of an organised religious group to be on the right path? And then I asked myself, what is the right way, anyway?”

I came to the conclusion that no matter how hard I tried, it was never enough; I was always falling short. I was aiming at perfection according to standards that weren’t my own anymore. I almost always crossed forbidden lines. We each live in our own conflict zone, and so always cross these same enemy lines. We set up our own weapons against ourselves.

We all have empathy, somewhere inside us. We do not admit it to ourselves because of guilt. We think and become convinced we are not enough. We allow the idea that we are so under-derserving to creep and settle inside us.

Distancing myself from [god] was aggressive. It was mortal. It was a long due mourning. I was literally tearing apart the walls that I built myself, that I lived in, that I fed on, that ended up feeding on me. The [god] I worshipped had no empathy; the easiest way he generated guilt in a person was in constantly reminding them they were “bought” by bloodshed.

Once [god] existed no more, I was free.

The sweet realisation that I broke free came upon me like the dew of the morning that settles on the green grass right before the sun peaks out behind the mountains––like the grass that sprouts from the hardest of soils, that which cracks the thirsty sand to burst life in it in all forms; like the first snow I witnessed from the window pane of my ground-floor apartment in Montreal, that made me forget how black the asphalt on the road was; like the breeze of the wind on a hot summer day, swirling in the palm of my hand as I slipped it out of the car window.

I was hurt, but I hurt no longer.

Writing this text, I am conscious it is all behind me now.

Love, R. ♡