I see them.
Six men, three on each side of a stretcher, carry a wounded body through a maze of concrete rubble and metal shrapnel. Their street clothes and velcro-strapped sandals remind me that it is ordinary people, walking unprotected through tragedy, who find the will to carry strangers and loved ones to safety. These people, our people, suffer the most and save the most lives.
On the other side of the fence, I see a Rabbi gathering people for supper. He sets the table. Grief is on the menu. Tears fill the empty glasses, and he prays that his people, and the people of Gaza, be granted a moment of inner sanctuary each day, so as to connect us to the place inside that is our common denominator: the heart chamber we all share.
In another country, thousands of miles away from the Holy Land, I see Jewish protesters gathering, demanding peace, demanding cease-fire, demanding never again. Never again, they plead, no matter the provocation, will we support genocide, will we support killing children of any age, color, or faith. There must be another path to justice.
There are too many funerals to count. No, that is not true. Each funeral can be counted, each life worthy of remembrance. And so, brothers, lovers, sisters, mothers, children, aunties, and grandmas arrive and words are spoken and the ritual is offered. At every funeral, I see that special someone who reaches their hand to grab the clenching, unsteady one next to them, the one stricken with an incalculable mix of sorrow, rage, and confusion. The hand bargaining for this to be a dream. The one that pleads, “Please, let me wake up. Please let this be only a nightmare in my imagination.” A hand is one of the few balms we can offer, the most insufficient, important offering that says without language, “This is real life. Somehow, we will survive.”
I see foreign doctors, serving the Palestinian people before this wave of bombs began to fall, who are now caught in this conflict. They stay steadfast, despite their terror not knowing if they will make it home alive. Their vow is so powerful — to do no harm, to do all they can to save the life in front of them — that it holds them up when the ground vibrates dangerously, when water supplies run low, when for the fifth time this day they sought shelter in the safe room. They came here to heal, so they keep healing, and this keeps their spirit intact just as it bandages another.
Were we to travel North, South, East, or West ten miles, a hundred miles, eight thousand, you and I would see tiny ripples of light rising out of chimneys, seeping through cracked windows. You would hear prayers of all faiths and non-faiths, imperfect prayers, desperate prayers, hopeful, steadfast, awkward prayers in every language, shaped by their own knowledge of sorrow, spoken by reticent newcomers and seasoned orators, prayers that send light to the people and places that most need it.
I see these unshakeable humans everywhere I look. It makes me believe the world we long for is possible because it is already here, standing next to the one that feels impossible to bear.
As the lights dim inside our global home, as the suffering grows too fast to comprehend, as our human people die with no regard for their irreplaceable spirit, we must look to the warriors. The peaceful warriors arise when people need protection. They look tragedy in the eye and say yes, even here we can keep our spirit alive. We can be generous, we can be kind, we can see through us-versus-them to us, it’s just us, life, it is life we all want.
Those who inflict pain want us to hate each other. We refuse. We refuse to hate each other, we refuse to go numb, we refuse to look away. We look at the world, exactly as it is, and we let it change us. We grieve for the way the world is, and this strengthens our connection. We fill with anger, and this strengthens our conviction. May death drive us to protect life everywhere we meet it.
May death drive us to protect life.
May kindness be our survival strategy.
May kindness be our survival.
We think kindness cannot stand up to war or oppression or terror.
But kindness, our survivor, refuses to fall.
Kindness is our strategy for life.
We are a people’s people.
We spend billions to save one life. We bless people with "get home safe" to delay our sorrow. We gather close to feel our bodies feeling music. When someone drops their wallet we run after them so that they may have what they need. We marvel at wrinkles and pour tea and send post cards and bake cookies for new neighbors. We go alone to the cafe to read, We like the feeling of people. Please, We like the feeling of people. We like the feeling of people. We like the feeling. May the fire cease everywhere. May it cease in Gaza, Israel, Yemen, Syria, Ukraine, the borderlands, my city's streets. Please, We are a people's people. We like the feeling of people. May kindness be our strategy for life. May it be. May it be life.
Thank you for reading. Let me know in the comments or by replying to this email how you’re fortifying your human spirit. Sending you love.
Hi Ryan, thanks for your thoughts. It made me feel hopeful about people, something that is not typical for me. Usually my hopeful places are nature and the universe, but I have noticed that when I ask young people what gives them hope they usually answer that it's people. Thanks for carrying the younger generations hopefulness and reminding me of people. Love Aunt Terri.
Thank you Ryan. Desperately needed words ❤️🩹