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Teach Our Children Well

Truth Thursday

I did something this week I haven’t done in years – I gave a homeless person $1 as I walked by. I was in a tony part of town, hyper-conscious of having just repaired my Mac computer at the local Apple store, toting a fancy $10 salad home for lunch, wearing a cute coat I had picked up in Paris on my last trip, and looking at my iPhone. 

And there he was, sitting on a box, smoking a cigarette, his hand out. And without really thinking about it, I reached into my wallet, handed him a dollar bill, and smiled, and he smiled back and thanked me.

And now I can’t stop thinking about it.

Decades ago, living in New York during what was the height of the homelessness/crack crisis, I told myself that I would not give money to people on the street. Instead, I would do what many people tell themselves they do – I would give it to organizations that help the homeless.

Except I never have. I give money away, but I always wind up giving to organizations that lead the fight around social issues that I care most deeply about, and frankly, homelessness has never quite made it to the top of that long list. I once participated in a rally and march on Washington for housing, but that was more because my boss at the time was involved and asked me to be too.

But I was so conscious of who I was, walking in Bethesda that morning, with all my fancy accouterments, compared with this poor man sitting on the sidewalk, that I caved. And it made me feel a little better about myself … momentarily.

My kids and I have had some conversations about homelessness and extreme poverty. My oldest is very self righteous about how privileged we are, and although he doesn’t do anything in a volunteer capacity about it, he understands. My two younger kids have come to Manna, a local food distribution warehouse for our county, to help pack boxes; we’ve volunteered at the local JCC on Thanksgiving and at local shelters on Christmas. Homelessness doesn’t generally stare them in the face as it did for me when I was there age, living in New York City, but they are vaguely aware and indeed, aware that it is our responsibility to help when we can.

But is any of it enough?

Empathy and Newtown

Truth Thursday 

Last Friday morning, at approximately 7:30 am, I drove my youngest son to school. On the way, he told me about his role as a School Ambassador, and how, the day before, a new kid from Cameroon arrived at school, knowing very little English. He was put in my son’s charge, and is to shadow my son's in his classes for a few days. My son is to show him the ropes and hopefully acclimate him just a little as he makes his way, probably feeling quite frightened, in a new school and a new country.

By the end of the first day, my son had already introduced the new boy to another boy he knew in school from Cameroon, who had entered my son’s 5^th grade class mid-last year. I was so proud of him to think of making this introduction, and the empathy that created the impulse to do so.

On Friday morning at approximately 9:00 am, Adam Lanza stormed his way into Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, and, after having already killed his mother at home, mowed down 20 kindergarteners and several teachers, including the principal and the school psychologist, before killing himself.

This is the exact opposite of empathy. It was a psychotic, horrific act, one that has destroyed not only the lives of those who were killed, but with reverberations throughout their families and community. The impulses that must have been at work in the killer’s brain are frightening to contemplate.

I didn’t know where to begin to write about this story, only that I had to write about it. There are so many aspects of it to parse:

-       The parents. When you become a parent, you realize that your heart is tottering dangerously on your sleeve, and will never again be tucked neatly away in your chest. No parent can imagine getting the phone call that the Newtown parents received on Friday. Every parent thinks about what he or she might do in the same situation, but for many of us, even the neural pathways leading to a coherent thought about it are blocked. Losing a child is the most painful thing one can experience, bar none. Regardless of the passing of time and hopefully their ability to resume living, the lives of these parents will be forever scarred.

-       The children who lived.  I read that the police officers who escorted the surviving children out of the school told them to hold hands with a partner and avert their eyes. I’m not sure that simply by not looking would they find themselves in less of a stressful and sad place, but I appreciate that the adults in charge realized that the less of the carnage the children saw of their classmates, the better. At least that was one tiny thing they could be spared.

-       The children who died. Adorable, innocent, five and six year olds. Enough said.

Empathy and an Early Thanksgiving

Truth Thursday

I arrived home Friday morning after a 10-day trip to Israel. I had been traveling with a group of donors to my organization, and I was co-leading the tour in preparation for taking over the tour program in the coming year.

When I left the U.S., I assumed the following questions would summarize the stress that would overtake me on tour: Will I be a good leader? Will I know the answers to the questions the tour participants raise, and if I don’t, will I know where and how to get them? Will I be able to give directions? Will they like me?

All normal worries to have as you move into a new job.

What I wasn’t expecting was this:

At approximately 6:40 pm on Thursday evening, as I and my group were making our way downstairs to the Tel Aviv hotel lobby after a stimulating final wrap-up session, we were suddenly being pushed by hundreds of guests who appeared out of nowhere, all storming the stairs to get down to the lowest level.

We could hear air raid sirens outside, and the hotel announcement system declaring  “please make your way down to the lowest level.” I had my incredibly heavy luggage with me, as I was planning to leave for the airport several hours later. This made it hard to get down the escalator nimbly. I was starting to shake, even though I didn’t know yet what was happening.

Intentional Voting

Truth Thursday

I voted early in this election, despite my initial resistance. I have always liked the feeling of going out on the same day as millions of Americans and casting my vote in a national/community event. But this year, in addition to having to travel out of the country on Election Day, I was so sick and tired of the campaign the week before, coupled with the post-Sandy fear that you never know what might happen, that I took advantage of the early voting poll in location very close to my house several days before Election Day.

Happily, I only had to wait 15 minutes to cast my vote. And even more happily, I did not lose one iota of that thrilling feeling I have every time I step into a voting booth. Not only did I shed the requisite tear – something I have done every time I’ve voted – but I also felt the sweep of history, the critical nature of my action and the import of every vote, of MY vote, on this country, on my children’s future, and on the shoulders of American democracy. 

How’s that for a heavy weight?

On the Saturday after I voted, but still four days before the election, I had the great privilege of hearing a wonderful Jewish educator and speaker at my synagogue. She was from Chicago, and was in for the bar mitzvah of her nephew, and our rabbi had asked her to offer a d’var (learning).

She spoke about her own experience with early voting, and how she walked into the voting booth in Skokie, Illinois, and realized that before she “pulled the lever” (although of course those giant levers of yesteryear are no more) she needed a prayer. She rapidly leafed through her brain’s index of possible prayers, and came up on one that emphasized the need for grace and intelligence in making her choice.

Post-Election Bliss

Therapy Tuesday
photo by: miscellaneaarts

I, like many people, are ready for the election to be over. Not beause we feel so strongly about a candidate, but because it means the end of the awful barrage of ads. As if my TV and radio talking to me about what Questions I should vote for or oppose or which candidates I should vote for (but more likely, why I SHOULDN'T vote for one) weren't enough, now, I'm getting calls and voice mails. We use our land line so infrequently, and I dread the notification of a voice mail...it just means that a robocall has left a message.

The other piece that is frustrating is the negativity of these campaigns. Recently, I had to explain to my 5-year-old about the ads as we were listening to the radio on the way to school.  He wanted to know who I would vote for in a Senatorial contest in another state. I had to share that I didn't get to vote for either candidate and I tried to impart a lesson on being kind.

Many Americans vehemently dislike the way our election cycles trend so negative. Sadly, there is a reason for this, and the basic truth is negative ads are far more effective than positive ones. Recently, the American Psychological Association published an article about the science behind political advertising. Apparently, people are more likely to remember negative ads than positive ones. Ads based upon fear are compelling and ads that rely on "good feelings" ensure that you are comfortable with the choice you've already made.

No matter how hard we might try, it is hard to escape this election cycle. So for all that can, please vote, whether it be for Obama, Romney, or someone that you write-in. Let your voice be heard--and hopefully, things aren't too close where we need to wait longer to decide what the end point looks like!