When the Hebrew people say 'Shalom.' They might be saying hello or goodbye. They might be saying peace. They might be saying greet and depart from everyone you meet in life's journey with peace. It means all of these things. This simple word 'shalom'

When Pele met Abraham she said Aloha. It hurt Pele that many of the Hawai'ian people had turned from Aloha to the ways of the invaders of the past. They no longer greeted strangers with open arms. She always said aloha when she met someone new or departed from anyone. It was how she planned to save the world. With Aloha.

He replied with Shalom. It pained Abraham that many of the Jewish people had turned from Shalom to the violence of war. They no longer sought Shalom. The word held special meaning to him as he thought of all of those he had known who had died for lack of Shalom. He always said Shalom with meaning. He said it like he meant to make it happen himself.

Pele was a big woman. Part Tahitian and part Hawai'ian. She wasn't fat. She was beautiful. She was just big. Muscled. Large. Beautiful. Her silky black hair lay back in a long ponytail. She smelled faintly of plumeria and the sea. Her dark skin was smooth over flashing white teeth, black eyes, and delicious lips. She was nearly six foot four inches tall. The pearls she wore were as black as her eyes and as large as marbles. Her smile grew bigger as she looked at Abraham.

"Shalom", her voice was deep and peaceful. With a slight hover over the vowels she purred the word in a husky way.

Abraham looked at the woman in front of him. His own grin growing by the second so it resembled that of the Cheshire Cat.

His brown eyes were feminine yet strong. The lashes seemingly too long for the face they adorned. His rough, weather hardened skin was broken by scars and a roman nose that had suffered numerous breaks. Standing he was just under five foot six inches tall with a chest seemingly equal in girth. He was either 30 or 70. It was hard to tell but he didn't lie in between. His hands were gnarled but still formed. His scraggly beard rose and fell as he nodded his head at the pleasant surprise he had suddenly found in this woman. Dust rising from his coat carried the scent of far off spices into the light trade wind that blew through the park.

"Aloha," he replied. His voice full of humor even as a seriousness filled the air.

They turned and sat on a bench facing the crashing waves. A white seagull dropped from the clouds on a gust of wind and flew through towards them. At the last moment it turned and rose again into the trade winds. Neither Pele nor Abraham had flinched. After a moment she placed her hand on his arm. He turned excited at the heat that radiated from her touch.

"They've forgotten what their language means," she said

"They've forgotten what their wise men taught," His voice no longer humorous but sad.

"They've become as despicable as the ones they despise," fire flashed from her eyes.

…And sometimes worse." He added to her thought.

"They don't understand how terribly they're hurting themselves and everyone else by not living Aloha."

"They no longer see Shalom as a real option."

Through the exchange Pele came closer and closer to Abraham until their faces were millimeters apart. Her tongue licked her lips.

"You show me yours and I'll show you mine…" He knew exactly what she meant as she said it. He was all for it. It was the most exciting proposal he could remember.

"Are you hungry?" the stranger asked the homeless man in a strange accent.

"Yes, and believe it or not, I'm cold. Can you give me some money." The homeless man stood from the park bench he had been sleeping on.

"It won't help," the stranger replied. "Come with me." He turned and began walking away. The homeless man stood for a second then began to follow the stranger kicking over an empty 40 oz malt liquor bottle next to his concrete bed. The smell of spices drew him on.

The tall woman's accent definitely wasn't Palestinian but her clothing, manners, and language definitely were.

"Do you want your sons to be greeted with hatred?" She asked the gathered women as the men met elsewhere to discuss the expected invasion of Israeli tanks.

They all voiced their horror at the prospect or their sadness as they thought of those who had already been killed.

"Neither do the Israeli mothers. We must meet the soldiers as if they are our own sons or daughters before the men can meet them as enemies."

"Perhaps if we show love to their children, they will be more willing to show love to ours. As mothers we must risk ourselves to save our children."

Whispered conversations erupted as the strange woman picked her way out of the mud house and walked quickly down the street.

The homeless man, Tom, was keen on the idea of cooking a huge meal. He told the stranger about his younger days when he had moved from town to town, working in restaurant after restaurant. He grew sad as he recalled the last job he had been turned down for. They had told him he was too old. That he couldn't keep up with a fast paced line. They told him to find another career. He didn't know any other. For 35 years he bummed rides, slept in farmhouses, and lived a free life on the road. For 30 years the cold hadn't bothered him in the frigid Northwest. For five years he couldn't find a job that would pay him enough to live on. For ten years he'd been sleeping days in the parks of Oahu and keeping lonely vigils on park benches and sidewalks during the night. He told the stranger all of this without asking why he was being asked to prepare such a huge amount of food. Finally, as the food lay all around him in various containers he asked..

"This food isn't all for me is it?" he gave a nervous laugh realizing the stranger had said little or nothing over the past two hours.

The stranger nodded his shabby beard. "Yes," he laughed putting the homeless man at ease. "It is all for you. It's time to take you and your food back to the park."

They carried the food from the church kitchen to the stranger's station wagon. After loading it, they drove back to the park, unloaded the food, and the stranger drove off with a strange smile.

"Shalom."

The Israeli soldiers were expecting heavy resistance as they entered the Palestinian village. The Palestinian gunmen were set to open fire at the first sign of destruction or violence. Both were equally surprised when the tanks encountered a roadblock of women.

Women carrying cakes, cookies, hala bread, and coffee.

As the Palestinian snipers held their breath, the young commander of the battalion stepped forward with a bullhorn.

"Return to your homes at once or we will open fire."

An old woman in black veils stepped forward. "Would you fire on your mothers as they offer you sustenance after a weary journey?" Her voice was trembling and proud.

The commander thought of his own mother. "Grandmother, we have a job to do. Please clear the road before we have to."

The women did not move. Children began to emerge from the scattered buildings. The women moved only to serve food to the children and then to put more food on plates and coffee in cups. They surrounded offering the same food they fed their children.

The tank commander motioned his men not to accept and after a hurried radio conversation indicated a withdrawal. As they left a voice called from the midst of the women and children.

"Aloha."

It was an odd evening. People all over the world turned on the television expecting to see more bloodshed in the middle east. More suffering in the cities. Instead, they saw a homeless man serving food to other homeless people in the park.

"I don't know his name," he told the camera crew. "But all of us sure appreciate it. Especially me." He stood a bit taller. " It turns out that this lady who was walking by works with a women's organization and they want me to cook meals for these guys every day. She told me they've been looking for a way to bring a little peace into the world."

The next story was even odder to the violence-inured viewers. A line of women and children turned back a division of heavy Israeli tanks from a Palestinian village.

"What made you think this would work?" the reporter asked one of the women as the tanks withdrew.

"We thought the world could use a little more love," she replied. "We're tired of seeing our children die."

"That was great," Pele told him as she rolled to one side of the bed. "I didn't think you'd do it that well."