Saturday was the eleventh, I bowed.
Thought about all the hate on the loose in our dysfunctional human family.
Thought about the upcoming day of remembrance tomorrow. April 16, another year, another Holocaust Memorial.
Thought about my Mother.
She didn’t teach hate. My mother could easily have taught me to hate the members of that other clan. The clan that murdered her child, and her Mother.
But she didn’t. Didn’t once say: Hate!
He didn’t teach hate either. My father could have easily taught me to hate the members of that other clan. The clan that murdered the two women he loved more than anything else in the world. His younger sister and his widowed Mother.
But he didn’t. Didn’t once say: Hate!
We can teach hate or something else.
No, we don’t have to preach love, if we’re not ready for love. Most of us aren’t. Not really. Loving your own children, family, clan and best friend and the people who like your Facebook page is easy love. Love with an upper case L is tougher to earn.
Loving the injured child screaming for revenge; making sure she doesn’t harm herself or anyone else–that would be a good start.
“With each child a new expectation enters the world,” says beloved teacher Abraham Joshua Heschel.
What expectation entered the world when you were born? What is the one thing in your family line that calls to be healed and turned into a source of strength; which story needs to be re-written before you pass it on to your child?