This has been a
multi-faceted week – or we could extend it back for weeks.
We are watching – or ignoring -hearings on
decisions made for conflicting reasons and, some say, questionable
motives.
We have witnessed violence from opposite
ends of the political and ideological spectrum, with stabbings of two defenders
of women on a train in Seattle by a man who called himself a patriot.
We followed, just after happened and since,
the shooting on Wednesday of Congressman Steve Scalise and several other people
who were at the baseball practice of the Republican team preparing for last
night’s charity game. At the end of the
game, the manager of the winning team from the Democratic side gave the trophy
to the manager of the Republican team so that that the trophy could be
displayed in Scalise’s office.
We never know where opinions strongly and
militantly stated might take someone.
We tell young children to use their words after we see them hit another
child, reminding them that there are choices to how one can express anger or
frustration.
While in New York last week, Rhonda and I
went with friends to the National September 11 Museum at the site where the two
towers once stood. It was somber,
chilling, and overwhelming. And it was a reminder of what havoc and
devastation a small group of individuals, driven by extreme views, could do to
drastically alter the course of world history.
What struck me about going through the
museum was the diversity of the people visiting and viewing the exhibits, and the
stories of the victims and first responders chronicled on the timeline on the
wall and in the displays and tales from survivors.
There was the Ladder Company 3 fire truck
that was partially crushed when the towers fell. All the firefighters in Ladder company 3 died
during their attempts at rescue.
There was the red bandanna honoring Welles
Remy Crowther, who was credited with sending many people to safety in the south
tower, and who died during his heroic efforts.
There were images of signs created to try
to locate people who were missing after the attack posted by their relatives
and friends.
There was an extended profile of the rise
of Al Qaeda, something on which Rhonda and I chose not to focus as we went
through the museum.
And there was the quote from Virgil, “No Day
Shall Erase You from the Memory of Time,” against a backdrop of panels in
shades of blue, each one an attempt to capture the color of the sky at various
times in New York city on September 11, 2001.
As I read my favorite section of the Torah
reading for this week, Sh’lach L’cha,
there was a passage that, I thought, resonated on some levels with the
quote from Virgil’s Aeneid.
The narrative about the scouts who entered
the land of Canaan in Numbers chapters 13 and 14 does list the names of all of
the tribal representatives charged with that important task.
Moses instructed them as follows: “Go up
there into the Negev and on to the hill country and see what kind of country it
is. Are the people who dwell in it
strong or weak, few or many? Is the
country in which they dwell good or bad?
Are the towns they live in open or fortified? Is the soil rich or
poor? Is it wooded or not? And take pains to bring back some of the
fruit of the land.”
And so they went, bringing back a large
cluster of grapes that had to be carried by two of them.
But 10 of them were overcome with pessimism,
reporting that any attempt to enter Canaan would be disastrous.
Two of the scouts, Caleb the son of
Jephuneh and Joshua son of Nun, both believed that the people could proceed
into Canaan and make a home there.
The Torah mentions the names of Caleb and,
of course, Joshua, many times. The
names of the other scouts, while chronicled in detail in Numbers Chapter 13,
are not mentioned again in the Torah in such a way as to be easily
recalled.
We have choices in our lives to be positive,
optimistic, and hopeful even when our approach is grounded in realism. “Prepare for the worst, hope for the best”
might describe one way of recognizing both the challenges and the many
possibilities before us that can enable us to realize our vision and our
dreams.
Caleb and Joshua exemplify that lens and the
courage it takes to speak up and share reasons to “reach for the sky” rather
than to hang one’s head in disappointment and to mire oneself in a state of
inaction.
During our visit to New York, Rhonda and I,
of course, had a chance to join family, friends and community members to wish
our grandson, Joshua Moise Karol, a joyous sendoff as he begins his life’s
journey.
The significance of his names was not lost
on anyone in the family. His Hebrew
name, Yehoshua Moshe, remembers the first leaders of the Israelites, embodying
long experience and youthful exuberance, humility and inspired guidance,
bravery and patience, strength and wisdom, and a focus on a distant but
attainable goal.
Joshua’s names also recall his
great-grandmother Jeanette, his great-grandfather Joseph and his great-great
grandfather Moise. Adam and Juli spoke
about their lives and the essence of their personalities before the naming at
the brit milah ceremony.
A museum can create a place of remembrance
for those who made an impact on their families and were wrenched from life too
soon.
And it is what we do during our lives that
gradually creates our own legacy, the way we want to be remembered.
I wish for Joshua Moise that he will create
a path by which he will be remembered for courage, insight, compassion and
goodness.
And may we all live in such a way that our
names and our deeds will be recalled for good and for blessing.
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