Now that the terror has
subsided and the sense of emergency has worn off, the second-guessing can
begin. Reflection is healthy. Learning from our failures and mistakes is an
essential part of life. I suggest that we look back on last week with compassion
and respect for those who had to make decisions in the midst of confusion and
mystery.
One conversation I’ve had a
few times in the last few days revolves around the “Boston Strong” spirit that
was vaunted by so many (myself included). A recent column in the Boston Globe
asked the classic question, “Why does it take a disaster to bring out the best in
us?” The implication is that once life gets “back to normal” we will forget to
reach out, to be kind, and to care about people who are in need.
It’s true that we won’t continue
to see headlines about brave volunteers and first-responders. The sense of
community spirit that united us in the face of disaster will dissipate. But I
would argue that it’s not that we only become better in challenging times. In
fact, we are able to be good at these times because we practice it every day.
First responders were not
doing this for the first time. The medical personnel who had trained for such a
disaster were better because of that training. Those who had dealt with trauma
victims in the past were better prepared to assist. Just as the marathon
runners had trained to run 26.2 miles, practice made everyone better.
The volunteers who ran
toward the explosion were people who had, in many cases, been tested before.
The ordinary people who offered food, shelter, and warm clothes to runners were
the same people who offered oranges, drinks of water and cheers along the
marathon route. These were not random acts of kindness. They were routine acts
of kindness. These were extraordinary moments, and they were identical to the ordinary
moments we experienced before the marathon and will continue to experience in
the future.
At Temple Ohabei Shalom,
which is located on Beacon Street in Brookline right on the marathon route,
runners were invited to come in for food and shelter after the race was
stopped. The temple was able to feed the two hundred people who came through
their doors with the cereal from the food pantry there. In other words, their
everyday practice made it possible for them to open their hands in this
emergency.
Our chants of “Boston
Strong” might strike some as self-congratulatory and perhaps overblown. It’s
true that we have much more to do to make our city a better place. It’s true
that many people are still suffering from the trauma that ensued from the
attack and will continue to suffer as the healing process takes its time. It’s also true that the gun violence that
plagues our neighborhoods year-round deserves more attention from our city’s
protectors.
But I don’t experience “Boston
Strong” as a self-serving message. It’s a statement of gratitude. In times of disaster, we become grateful for
the most basic gift: our lives. When people fear for their lives, they tend to
rethink their priorities. Basic values and principles rise to the surface. Gratitude
– for our lives and for those in our community who serve, protect, respond,
heal, care and support -- is part of the
healing message that we need to hear and to repeat and to continue to live by.
What everyone seems to be
worried about is that these noble sentiments will fade over time. But if we
take time to reflect on the practices that sustained us during these harrowing days,
perhaps we will realize that we are better than that. Our caring and compassion
need not fade. They just won’t make the front page of the paper.
Let’s rise to the challenge.
Let’s hold on to kindness and compassion in the days to come. Let’s keep our wallets open and share with those in need. Let’s practice
open-heartedness, even as new information about the suspect comes to light,
pushing us to judge harshly.
Let us be
slow to anger and full of compassion.
Rabbi Ira Eisenstein,
son-in-law and student of Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, offers us words to live by, in
troubled times and in the routine of everyday life:
"We are engaged in a process of determining what makes life worthwhile. [If you ask me] 'What is the meaning of life?' I don't know. Nobody knows. Especially not with a capital M, capital L. But if you ask me--How can I lead a meaningful life?--then I have a lot to say."
I
know he’s not alone. Following the Marathon bombing, we all have a lot to say.
More importantly, we have demonstrated in our simple daily practices how to lead
a meaningful life. May we continue to bring gratitude, compassion and generosity to the ordinary and extraordinary moments alike.
No comments:
Post a Comment