That’s how I found myself chanting and marching, yelling to children that they were not forgotten, that they were loved – while holding the hand of my youngest son, whom I love so much it hurts. Having a child is like letting your heart walk around outside of your body.
But whether or not the Sinai wilderness was ever ownerless as the midrash suggests, in North America, the so-called wildernesses never have been. Those places — and indeed every square mile of North America — have always been, and continue to be, the home of specific tribes of Indigenous peoples.
Everyone in Jerusalem – every Palestinian resident and citizen, every Jew, every activist standing in solidarity across lines of difference...was at one time a child, ready to receive a parent’s tender blessing given in love.
Just as the Menorah is juxtaposed to the appointment of the Levi’im, so too do we have a responsibility – not just to our veterans, but to those who died defending this country.
To put our trust in the gods of militarism and brute strength, to conflate the presence of God with armed combat, is to succumb to idolatry, to assimilate into a culture that conflates might and morality, violence and virtue.
We are not bound to the worldviews and ideologies of those who came before us, but neither can we discard the ancestors with whom we disagree. How do we engage in the often difficult spiritual task of recognizing the image of God in the forebears with whom we deeply disagree, without capitulating to or validating the ideologies they espoused?
For the rest of us, it took ground penetrating radar, and other technologies which render the invisible visible, to wake us up. But for the Indigenous communities most directly affected, none of that was needed. The voices we most desperately need to be listening to already knew. They already saw.