Dear Ones,
December came in with a fury of work-related tasks and finals at Columbia School of Social Work. It left with some gentleness and spaciousness before the winter holidays we celebrate, but also gifted us a variety of viruses that my family is still healing from. Amidst all of the varying emotions I experienced this month, I'm keenly aware of the safety, privilege, and access that my family has to medical care, food, shelter, love, joy, and connection.
As a highly sensitive person, bearing witness to the injustice of the world means I must find ways to balance holding space for joy and pain simultaneously. As an educator and advocate for children, my life's commitment has always been to speak out against oppressive environments and mindsets. The current genocide against the civilians of Palestine, as well as the liberation movements around the globe, has awakened a continued, deepened desire to disrupt the status quo and speak out against oppression - all that doesn't sit right within my soul, my innermost being, my awakened presence.
Since the brutal attacks of Hamas on October 7th, the Israeli military has killed more than 20,000+ civilians, over 8,000 of these being children. The numbers are likely much, much higher. Children like Ghazal, and thousands of children in the Gaza Strip, have lost limbs and are disabled without access to the resources and care they need. This is a humanitarian crisis, an ethnic cleansing, a continuation of the apartheid that the Israeli powers have justified. And many, many Jewish people are speaking out to remind us that "never again means now."
The picture above is a portrait of my maternal grandparents, both deceased. We created a mini altar for them on January 1st, as they shared the same b'earth day. Although I didn't know my grandfather well due to early onset Parkinsons, my grandmother and I were very close. She had nine children, my mom being the eldest daughter, and almost too many grandchildren and great-grandchildren to count.
I enjoy connecting with my ancestors through altar practice and it's a practice that reminds me of the strength I have inside. There are many things I will take forward with me in her memory - family, ritual, prayer, community, servant-heart, delicious breadmaking, and laughter. So much laughter! But as with all of my ancestors, there are also things I'll leave behind...one being oppressive Christian beliefs that uphold supremacist thinking. In the words of beloved Palestinian-American writer and poet Hala Alyan, "An attachment to an idea can be a painful thing to overcome. But what we stand to lose may prove to never have been in our service to begin with."
I'm sharing this story because it's important to recognize that when we know better we can do better. And that's what our ancestors would want for us, no? We can live by the words "nobody's free until everybody's free" and remember that if our beliefs justify the dehumanization of another group of people, it's time for some deep inquiry.
I'm in the midst of doing the work. Unlearning. Connecting. Seeking. Unlearning again. Holding space for justice, joy, and deep grieving. Listening. Listening some more.
The quote below seems like a fitting way to end this post. Thank you for being here with me, using your actions and words to make the world a better place for everyone.
"And what shall we do, we ordinary people? I pray we can listen to our hearts. My heart tells me that “never again” is not a tribal slogan, that the murder of my grandparents in Auschwitz does not justify the ongoing dispossession of Palestinians, that justice, truth, peace are not tribal prerogatives. That Israel’s “right to defend itself,” unarguable in principle, does not validate mass killing." Dr. Gabor Maté
With you,
April
