I'm taking a departure from the joys and weirdness of travel and
50-dom, to share some reflection. About two months ago, I and a small
contingent of relatives attended the funeral of my mother's cousin, Albina.
This was a particularly heartbreaking episode of life, as I had accompanied my
mother, Albina's only surviving relative of their generation, and observed her
before, during and after the funeral.
My mother, 88 years old, with fading hearing and some fading memories,
didn't have extensive contact or conversations with Albina in the last few
years; dementia took those opportunities for conversation away. But I could see
in her eyes and her expressions some of the memories that she held of her and
her other departed family members, spanning from childhood in Lithuania, to
displacement to refugee camps, to resettlement in Germany, and, finally,
emigration and settlement in Chicago, before other life events took my part of
the family north to Wisconsin.
But what struck me as particularly insightful was the observation by
the minister who was presiding over the funeral service. The minister, a woman
who, as it turned out, was of Lithuanian heritage (and spoke it fluently),
actually was born and raised in Germany. German was her native language (and,
I'll say as well, she spoke with a really clear, fluent South Side Chicago
accent!). She spoke to our small congregation of mourners of Albina (and,
indeed, all of my Lithuanian relatives of that generation) being
"displaced persons".
Imagine, the tragedy of feeling compelled to leave behind all that
you've known, the native soil that was part of the fiber of your very being--in
your DNA, leaving behind worldly possessions that could not be carried away in
a small sack or on your back, leaving behind your beloved pets (my mother still
cries to this day, thinking about her little dog left behind to fend for
itself). Being displaced is not some temporary condition. It's commitment that
is foisted upon you by circumstances beyond your control. And it is the difference
between life and the promise of a new prosperity, and death and the suffering
of being a persona non grata in your own homeland.
The minister tied this together with something that has been very real
and very discomfiting for a good portion of the Western world: the flood of
refugees from the Middle East and Africa pouring into Europe. I make no
judgement on those pro- or anti-refugee. Both sides have legitimized their
opinions to become nearly hard as granite. And I have my own opinions formed by
my parents and my experiences that have caused me to push the bounds of my own
experience. We also have had an election in my home country that was influenced
in part by visceral reactions to an perceived influx of unsavory displaced
persons. No matter where you are, there is one thing that seems to be
overlooked: How does that person, who is giving up their home and their
national identity, feel? Where are they emotionally? And what impact will that
have on the generations in their families that follow?
Think about it from this perspective: Albina told the tale of when she
cut her knee and there was some soil that never was washed out of the wound.
She proudly stated that she had Lithuanian soil in her and took it with her
when the wound healed. Proud. But the only soil of her homeland that she
touched as an adult, was the soil within her healed wound. She never went back
to her homeland. The same goes for my mother: she never went back, and with
100% surety, she never will.
So what's the moral? Step outside of yourselves for a moment. Give a
friendly smile to someone with a strange accent and, perhaps, a different skin
tone than yourselves. As a matter of fact, try talking and having a
conversation without an agenda or a response in mind. More understanding and
commonality has been discovered when we move to be more extemporaneous in our
interactions. In a highly divided society made moreso in the last few weeks, we
desperately need to set aside our own agendas and our own silos of existence,
and we need to open ourselves up to new people, experiences, places and things.
We need to return to a more humane and more social existence.
If we don't, the displacement may well be visited upon us before too
long. Thank you for your indulgence with my introspection.
*****
Be well and be at peace during this season of holy days for various
faiths. If this has moved you, please let me know (in the comments), and pass
it on. Post this in Facebook or Twitter or any other social media method you
use to share.
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