For the Harmony for Solidarity event - some of these poems have been published here previously; some are new.

Truths

What is the difference between better and right?

You’re in no way arrogant in your own sight,

Claim you’re not racist or hateful at all,

Yet you’ve got a monopoly on the Divine Light.

You’re so lucky to have been born so tall

On the shoulders of prophets who heard the Divine Call,

While others are left in the darkness of sin.

How grand you feel besides others, so small.

God favored your people since time did begin.

All other faiths are lies that may suck you in.

Pat yourself on the back, you’re one of a few

Who possess a real soul of Divinity within.

You’re not better, you’re just… better, and you always knew

That your religion is the only one, real and true.

For if that weren’t so, you’d have to stare into the night,

Or accept that your religion is right – for you.

Alive

For each and every action

says Newton’s famous law

there is an equal opposite

simple, cold and raw

Fire fighting fire

An eye for an eye

For each and every person killed

someone else must die

Is it only natural

those who hate you, you hate back

a mindless asteroid, acted upon

hurtling through the black

Respond to hate only with love

This I can derive

I will defy the laws of physics

Because I am alive.

Anthem

Oh say, can you see?

No, you can't. Look twice

or more,

however many times will suffice

You say you can see

but you see what they say

as a threat, and your ego

You must obey

You

Eat without tasting

Take in without hearing

Look without sight

No wonder you're fearing

Faces you have only

seen on a screen

Unaware that the

enemy

Shares the same dream

as you

To be safe and loved,

To see and be seen,

Oh say, look again

Till you see what I mean.

Song of Judgment

Part of a whole,

yet you want to shine

to be seen and to define

your unique shape, and to be known

How you want to stand alone!

Reaching out like a dying flame

begging the world, remember my name!

And so you announce, I'm not like them

and all the rest do you condemn

The creative desire to sculpt, to mold

the self, taken too far, cannot hold

in the midst of rejection and scorn

This is how judgment is born

I'm not like him, I'm not like her

And then the lines begin to blur

as those of whose evil you are so sure

become who you will be, are or were.

The Peacemaker

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Who's the fairest of them all?

God, the mirror did reply

For the mirror cannot lie

The peacemaker acknowledges each soul

So well aware we are part of one whole

Approaches each conflict with a listening ear

Trusts in God and feels no fear

Yet they call him a wimp, they call him weak

Belittle the words that he does speak

He should show 'em who's boss, stand up and fight

It's dog eat dog and might makes right

But the universe mirrors whatever we throw

Cast forth angry words? Reap what you sow.

In the name of pride, the people bleed

Which kind of person does the world most need?

When Immodesty Really Does Equal Objectification

 

            I don’t know how many of you reading this post have heard of Dungeons & Dragons –D&D for short – but for those of you who haven’t, it’s a role-playing game in which you chose a character (an elf bard, a human druid, a gnome fighter, and so on), give it a name, use a set of dice to see how strong, smart, stealthy, etc. you are, pick some items and actions  your character will use, and then, with the help of the dungeon master telling the story, you’re all set to play!

I myself run a character in two dungeons – or in other words, I play in two sets of stories, and I have to say I’ve had a lot of fun since I started a few years ago. I got involved with D&D through my husband, who has many D&D books lying around at home. The books give you information about different kinds of characters you might run, different items, different spells to use if you’re a magic user in the game, and so forth.

One day I picked up the Eberron Player’s Guide and was struck by the cover. I looked at the two characters – one a male and one a female, both seemingly in the heat of battle. The male is some kind of metallic creature, and he’s brandishing a sword. The female is a human, and she seems to be casting a spell, her expression confident and determined. There they are, a male and a female standing alongside each other in battle, allied and fighting a common opponent on equal footing. Yay for equality! Yay for feminism! Yay for downfall of chauvinism!

Except there’s one problem. There’s one vital organ on her body that’s dangerously unprotected. Can you guess what it is?

It’s her heart.

When it comes to the issue of modesty and the objectification of women, there are two ideas that I’ve heard so far: one is that modest clothing protects women from being objectified. The other is that women shouldn’t have to change their style of dress because of leery-eyed men, and that the former argument assumes that men are naturally lustful creatures who cannot control themselves at the sight of our exposed skin. Both sides view their style of dress as a kind of liberation.

If you look at my clothes most days (except if I’m going to the pool or am wearing shorts), you’d probably think I go with the first argument. And I do. But I also really like the second argument, and still have trouble reconciling the two of these arguments in my head. My best attempt is this: I know that some men will rape a woman no matter what she’s wearing. I know that many men can control their thoughts and themselves. But just in case some man on the street decides to take a trip to fantasyland in his head with the next woman he sees walking by, at least I’ll be giving him less fuel for his fire. My chest was created to nourish my little daughter in the first months of her life. My body was given to me by God. It was not meant for the lust of a stranger.

Now where were we? Ah, yes! Back to the dungeon, where our courageous hero and heroine are slugging it out on the battlefield. Metal-man sweeps his sword before him, knocking down a group of shrieking orcs, while our wizard casts a blinding spell that sets the rest of their foes into a panic. But one lone enemy archer lurks in a dark corner, spying on our heroes. He sees a weak spot and, notching his arrow – ready, aim, fire! – lets it loose, right into the cleavage of our wizard character! NOOO!

Wizard woman, what were you thinking when you got dressed for battle this morning? Oh, right, I nearly forgot – you didn’t dress yourself this morning. The artist who drew you was probably hoping that your breasts would be a good marketing tool for the many male Dungeons and Dragons fans. You weren’t really meant to be taken seriously on the battlefield. Yes, you fought bravely and were no helpless princess captive in a tower.

But in the end, you were just an object. In your case, your style of dress wasn't so liberating. You were shot through the heart, and society’s to blame. You give equality a bad name.

Nerves of Steel

“Think like a man when behind the wheel.
You gotta make snap decisions, have nerves of steel,
Know what’s under the hood, know how to get gas,
Then after you park, be however you feel.”

This he says to me, seeing that I’m a young lass,
Assuming right away that I’ve nerves of glass,
For one simple question, he considers me weak,
And I burn, remembering how twice I didn’t pass.

He filled up my tank, wouldn’t let me speak,
Treated me like I was submissive and weak,
But how nice, he believes I can “think like a man.”
I can change genders like clothes, so things aren’t so bleak.

All I can say is, I do what I can.
And I will grow stronger, or that’s what I plan.
In me, there’s more that God has yet to reveal,
For I’m capable of more than prettily waving a fan.

Stereotypes belong in the past; what’s the deal?
I’ve got my license, and this is how I feel:
No, I won’t think like a man when behind the wheel!
I am a woman, with nerves of steel.

Problems

     Problems. We’ve all got problems. We’ve got bills to pay. Some of us have homework to do, papers to write, finals to study for. Some of us have worse problems, like fights with our spouses, children, parents, or friends. Some of us have that heavy feeling in our chest that won’t go away no matter how much we sigh. Some of us are heartbroken over a breakup or divorce. Some of us are completely crushed by the passing of a loved one.     
     We all dream of quick fixes. When I win the lottery, all my problems will go away. When summer vacation comes, all my problems will go away. When I get drunk, all my problems will go away. When I get high, all my problems will go away.
     But lottery money runs out. Summer vacation ends. Your drunken and high state fades away.
     We long for that final escape, when all our troubles will vanish permanently. We long for the return to Eden.
     We long for the Messiah.

     Is it realistic to hope for a return to Eden? Or is suffering just a natural part of life, impossible to be banished? I believe the former is true, but since we do not know the future, time will tell which one is right.
     But it is more than time that will determine our fates.
     All those quick fixes listed above: the lottery, vacation, alcohol, drugs – what do they have in common?
     They involve no hard work.
     The lottery ticket is purchased 1-2-3 in a store. Vacation just comes on its own with the passage of time and the end of the semester. Drinking alcohol is as easy as drinking water (except for the strong taste), and drugs are easily injected, swallowed or inhaled.
     Is the coming of the Messiah just as easy? Will he just come like summer vacation? Or is there something we must do to help him along?

     Most of us believe that there is some work involved. In Judaism some will tell us you must become more religious; then he will come. They tell us you must follow the mitzvot (commandments), you must daven (pray) more frequently and with more kavanah (enthusiasm).
     Now, I am not a learned scholar of Judaism. I am still in the process of learning all there is to know about my religion, and I am eager to learn, so if I’m wrong about anything, please correct me.
     So, let me get this straight. When every last Jew on Earth has become religious, what happens next? (FYI – Jews are not encouraged to proselytize, so we do not believe all humans must convert to Judaism for the Messiah to come.) We are all so religious that we inspire everyone else to become better people, and that’s how Eden gets brought back?
     Well, I guess that’s possible.
     But there’s a problem here.
     Think about the Seder, if you’re Jewish and have one, and recall the ritual of opening the door for Elijah.
     When it is time for the Messianic Era to be ushered it, Elijah is supposed to appear at our door. Every year, we pray that we will see him.
     Recall what you said after you open the door.
     You said, “Pour out thy wrath upon the heathen who will not acknowledge thee, and upon the kingdoms who invoke not thy name, for they have devoured Jacob, and laid waste to his dwelling. Pour out thy indignation upon them, and let thy fierce anger overtake them. Pursue them in wrath and destroy them from under the heavens of the Eternal” (Maxwell House Passover Haggadah, 1996).

     One day, when we are religious enough, we will win that Ultimate Lottery ticket. But although being religious is hard enough, there’s something else we seek to escape. It’s too difficult to extend our hands in friendship with the rest of mankind. It’s too difficult to keep to our religion and mix with them at the same time. It’s too hard to trust them given our history of being persecuted, too hard to avoid the temptations of eating pork when they eat pork, or watching tv on Saturday when they watch tv on Saturday. It’s too much – we’re better off hiding, folding into ourselves like a wad of paper, curling up into a fetal position and hoping, praying, that the world would just all go away, that God would just come down, one day, and pour out His wrath on every last “heathen,” one by one. That would be so, so easy. Then all our problems would go away.  
     But here’s an even bigger problem:
     We will never see Elijah with hatred in our eyes.
     Isn’t it obvious? If we have the opportunity to ask God anything at that moment, and God is capable of any and all miracles, why are we asking for the death of the “heathens?” Instead, we should be asking God to soften their hearts and make them realize that persecuting us is wrong.
     Prayer is good, but on top of prayer, we must also take action. We must realize that our only shot at eliminating their hatred for us is by befriending them, while at the same time having the strength to follow our own beliefs. It may not work 100% of the time, but if we can show some people that we are just as human as they are, we will be closer than we are in our current state to eliminating our problems.
     And we will be closer, God-willing, to opening the door for Elijah and witnessing a miracle.

The Dark

Once, my world was luminescent.
From every life emanated a glow.
I gave my widest smile to anyone
For we were all equal and no one was low.

Once, my world was shining splendour.
Jew and non-Jew could reach the Divine.
Dogs and birds, leaves and grasses,
Even the worm, were bathed in shine.

Then she told me my eyes were closed
And she proceeded to help me see
We are the only possessors of souls
And this great truth would set me free.

And as I watched, the light receded.
"They're not Jews, they'd never fully understand."
The light retracted as this phrase was repeated.
From the faces of my friends, the light was banned.

I looked on in sadness as the darkness
Swallowed some I dearly love
And only Main Street and Kissena Farms
Was blessed with light from Heaven above.

I felt nauseated; my mind was reeling,
For behind my friends' eyes, there was no soul!
And I smiled at them, but my eyes were half-lidded,
For they could never reach the same spiritual goal.

It was pitch-black, a night with no moon
As I met up with friends who are not my kind.
She opened my eyes, and in the process
She struck me utterly, desolately blind.

Touch Not This Tree

Touch not this tree
Don’t cut me down
Lest you soon see
God’s saddened frown

I breathe with mirth
I give you air
The lungs of Earth

Show me you care

You’ve got a choice
It’s in your hands
But I’ve no voice
To change your plans

If not for me
You’d choke, you’d drown

Touch not this tree

Don’t cut me down

Within

One can be guided from within or without.
The former is what life is really about.
Some shut their eyes and call themselves blind,
Too fearful to challenge the darkness of doubt.

"What if I can't trust the strength of my mind?"
"If I open my eyes, what might I find?"
On a swaying rope bridge, you cling to the railing,
Clutching the beliefs that others opined.

"I am just a human, in danger of failing.
"Were there no ropes to guide me, I'd go toppling, flailing,"
Yet if you were to trust the force from within,
Wings would burst from your body, your conscience prevailing.

How did religion actually begin?
It began boldly and bravely, without terror of sin.
Love of all living beings was its true origin,
And we flew with exhileration, eyes wide open.

American Nightmare

His parents lived in a tiny hovel in the old country.

They scraped out a living farming the hard, infertile ground.

But he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d crossed over

and worked in a car parts factory,

and lived in a little apartment.

His son watched his father come home from the factory

to their little apartment.

But he wouldn’t be satisfied until he finished trade school

and worked as a skilled mechanic,

and lived in a bigger apartment.

His son watched his father come home from the gas station

to their little apartment.

But he wouldn’t be satisfied until he finished high school

and owned his own gas station,

and lived in a house.

His son watched his father come home from the station

to their little house.

But he wouldn’t be satisfied until he finished college

and owned a car dealership,

and lived in a bigger house.

His son watched his father come home from the dealership

to their little house.

But he wouldn’t be satisfied until he got his BS degree

and owned all the company’s dealerships in the area,

and lived in a bigger house.

His son watched his father come home from a dealership

to their little house.

But he wouldn’t be satisfied until he got his BS degree

and became the CEO of the car company,

and lived in an upscale apartment in Manhattan.

His son watched his father come home from the office

to their one and only apartment.

But he wouldn’t be satisfied until he got his BS degree

and caused his car company to dominate the nation’s market,

and owned a mansion in the Hamptons.

His son watched his father come home from the office

to their apartment.

But he wouldn’t be satisfied until he got his BS degree

and lobbied for looser regulations for his company,

and owned five vacation homes.

His son watched his father come home from the office

to their apartment.

But he wouldn’t be satisfied until he got his BS degree

and caused his car company to dominate the world market,

and owned the world.

And across the ocean, his distant cousins, descendants of the immigrant’s siblings

lived in a tiny hovel in the old country.

They scraped out a living in his car parts factory.

But their sons wouldn’t be satisfied until they crossed over

and worked in a … there are no more car parts factories here

and lived in a little apartment.

Two Girls

I have a friend
She has no God
Yet the stars in the heavens set her eyes aflame
With true fascination
She ponders their beauty
Yet to her, their Creator has no name

I know a girl
She has a God
Yet the stars in heaven give her no pause
"Oh, yeah, that's nice,"
She says and shrugs
Yet knows the Being who is their cause

One could stand
For hours on end
And never be able to tear away her gaze
The other, nonchalant
Just walks away
So which of them walks in God's ways?

Rapture - A Short Story

Once I considered myself a good Christian. I was sure I would rise up with the other good Christians on the day the Lord Christ appeared in the heavens. After all, my family dutifully attended church every Sunday. I volunteered at an old age home with the youth group at my church. I turned the other cheek when girls in school called me rude names.
     I was ready for the Rapture. Or so I thought.

     It was a bright, sunny day in the summer. A few scattered clouds drifted across the sky. The weather was warm, but not humid, so it felt comfortable. Unexpectedly, that day would turn out to be The Day. And to my horror, I wasn't at all prepared.
     Oh, I was called up, all right. I rose, with all the others. Yet I wasn't ready.
     My best friend Gabby and I were taking her dog to a dog park that had just opened. We had never been to one, and we were curious to see what it would be like. We hoped Chester would make lots of friends with the other pups, and we were looking forward to throwing a frisbee around to him without worrying that he wasn't on a leash.
     At 10 am, I pulled up to her house in my dad's car, which he often let me borrow. Gabby and Chester bounded into the car, excited. Chester went into the backseat, and Gabby sat in the front, beside me. She grinned at me and showed me the green frisbee that Chester loved to chase.
     "I hope the other dogs don't try to steal this from him," she laughed.
     "I hope not," I replied.
     Gabby was Christian, like me, but hardly religious. Also, she was of a different denomination. She and her family only went to church on Easter and Christmas. They didn't pray very often, except if something bad were happening, but I had never thought about these things. She and I were friends from school, and we got along well. I'd never considered her religious beliefs or practices. I'd never even thought about whether or not she would be saved.
     I never imagined what I would witness that day.
     As we drove along, Chester looked out the window, letting the wind blow his floppy ears around. Gabby and I chattered about school, about family, about a movie we wanted to see next week. I kept my eyes on the road to be safe, periodically checking the street signs so we would turn at the right spot.
     All at once, I felt very strange. I didn't feel sick or nauseous; I just felt very light. From the corner of my eye, I noticed through the windshield that the sun looked brighter than normal. What was going on? I shrugged it off, because I was behind the wheel, and I couldn't afford to pay attention to anything else right then. I would think about this after we were parked.
     I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, and saw that we were approaching a red light, so I gently pressed my foot to the brake.
     Or I tried to.
     With a startled cry, I started to feel myself rising. My foot couldn't reach the brake. I stretched out my toes, but they wouldn't reach! I was being lifted up! I gripped the steering wheel, and to my shock, I saw my fingers, like those of ghosts', pass right through it!
     "The Rapture!" I realized, watching as the car sped closer and closer to the intersection. I chanced a glance at Gabby. Her mouth was wide open in shock; her rounded eyes followed my gradual flight.
     She wasn't being raptured with me!
     "Gabby!" I choked out fearfully. She would crash! "Drive!"
     My ethereal body passed through the roof of the car, but I saw her hands through the windshield seize the steering wheel and attempt to gain control of the car.
     "Gabby!" I kept crying out, praying she would hop over into my seat and get her foot on the brake in time. Chester, becoming smaller and smaller below me, howled in a frenzy of panic, running from one side of the backseat to the other.
     Other cars started careening out of control as well. I watched one crash headlong into a street sign and bring it crashing down onto its roof. Another crashed right into a fire hydrant and sent water spraying onto the street.
     Soon I was moving through the air faster and faster, and suddenly I found myself surrounded, in the sky, by several other people, some of whom I recognized from my church. In fact, my pastor was there.
     "Welcome, welcome," he said, beaming at me. "I knew I'd see you here, Leona."
     "Wait, put me back!" I cried out, still watching my dad's car as it sped along the road, dodging other cars that had gone wild. "Let me save Gabby!"
     "She is not one of those meant to be saved," the pastor said. "She had all the chances in the world to turn to our Lord, and she didn't take them. The Lord is patient, but she deserves whatever He has in store for her now."
     I was barely listening to him. My eyes were still glued to the car. Suddenly the car stopped short - she must have pressed the brake!
     Yet, just ahead of her, a car, driving the wrong way down the road, sped right for her, its own driver amongst our little circle in the sky.
     I let out a shrill scream. "Let me out!" I begged. I tried to move downward, but I was held immobile, I supposed by the hand of God.
     "Leona, there's nothing more -" the Pastor began.
     "Let me go! God, let me go! Gabby! Chester! Noooooooo!"
     Just in time, Gabby turned the car and drove out of the other car's path. She pulled over and parked, and I saw her getting out of the car, then opening the backseat door on the driver's side, reaching for Chester's leash.
     "Gabby!" I cried, watching another car, this time behind her, speeding in her direction. It would sideswipe the car and hit Gabby, who didn't even see it! "God! Have mercy! Let me out! Let me out!"
     Suddenly one of other members of our group, a woman I didn't know, seized me by the shoulders and shook me. "Get it through your head, she doesn't deserve to be saved, or she would have been! How dare you tell God to put you back! How did you even get up here?"
     "God, where are You? Where is He?" I asked the woman.
     "He'll be here soon," the pastor said gently. Suddenly a blindfold went over my eyes; how did a blindfold get here? Who had brought one with them? "You must understand this is the will of God," the pastor went on.
     "What about Gabby?! What about God's mercy? What about His kindness? How could He do this? This is a trick! My God doesn't do this! This is an imposter! This is a lie! My God would want me to save Gabby, my God wouldn't do this!" I cried. I struggled and tried to reach for the blindfold to get it off, but strong hands held mine down.
     "Gabby is a sinner, and hell is her destination," the pastor patiently told me.
     "No, my God doesn't do this!" I repeated. "We've gotta help her, if we tell her, she'll pray more, she'll be more devoted, God doesn't give up, how could He let any of His children be thrown to hell? He's gotta give her another chance! Gabby!"
     "Her blood will stain God's robes, which is what she's got coming to her," a man in the group cruelly laughed. "Heaven will rejoice. God's faithful has returned to its rightful home, and the sinners will burn in hell for eternity! This is our just vengeance!"
     At those words, I gave a tortured cry, and at last broke free of those that held me. I ripped off the blindfold, but perhaps it would have been better not to.
     Gabby was clinging to the windshield of the other car, as it drove, driverless, toward a raised road, on either side of which was dense forest.
     Another car slammed into Gabby's car's side, sending her and the car into the metal railing. She and the car toppled over the busted railing, about tumble down the steep sides of the forest. Chester, barking, ran after her down the sidewalk, attempting to rescue his beloved human.
     And then the car burst into flames.
     "Gabby! Gabby!!!!!" I screamed, putting all my devastation and fear into one long breath until my lungs ran out of air, and I was left, sobbing, on the floor of Heaven.

Exception

I am not the exception
I am not the rule
We are not all kind
We are not all cruel

I am not common
I am not rare
Some of us give
And some don’t care

Some of us kill
While some of us would die
To save the life of another
And why, you ask, why?

On this little planet called Earth
Our common home day and night
I’m neither exception nor rule
On this journey towards light

Simply

Until the last starving person is fed,

Until the unemployed have a job,

Until the homeless have a home,

From the poor, I shall not rob.

While creatures shiver in the cold,

While even one suffers conditions dire,

While people die from curable disease,

A life of luxury I shall not desire.

I cannot own a Porsche, a Lexus,

While homes are lost to fire and flood.

How dare I purchase this sprawling mansion

While human beings spill each other’s blood?

This money is for helping others,

And I’ll live simply till I see

The day (which, yes, may never come)

When all on earth are at last free.

Rain

Do you think you're God?
     Yes you do. You do if you definitely think you know the future.
     Do you think you know the future?
     Yes you do. You do if you definitely think your income will stay the same forever, or go up. You do if you definitely think no disaster will strike that will empty out your bank account. You do if you definitely think your finances are safe.
     Do you think your finances are safe?
     Yes you do. You do if you often spend money on unnecessary items, especially if they're expensive. You do if you've forgotten - or never knew - how to distinguish between want and need. You do if you don't save money for a rainy day.
     You think you're God because you think it'll never rain.

      We are in a recession. It's pouring outside, and you're stuck in the middle of nowhere. You've got no umbrella, and you're under the open sky. But the American consumer culture hasn't taught you to think logically. You ought to find shelter, or get an umbrella. Instead you keep going, not deviating from your planned path, and then wonder how you got so soaking wet.
     Once, I was talking to a girl about health insurance. She's a student, and I guess she had a part-time job. She told me she pays about $100 a month for health insurance. "That doesn't sound so bad," I said. (And now today, when I know what prices are really like since I pay my own bills, I wish that could be my health insurance!)
     "Are you kidding me?" she replied. "That's really expensive!"
     Oh, wow, I thought, starting to feel bad. If $100 a month is difficult, she must be in a rough situation.
     Just then, one of our friends came over. The first girl turned to the second with a shoe catalog she suddenly pulled out from her bag, and excitedly began pointing to different, brand-name pairs of shoes she wanted. Then, as I stared in amazement, the two of them made plans to go shoe shopping that day.
     I didn't feel bad for her after that.

     Meanwhile, if you are fortunate enough to say it is not raining on you, do not forget it is raining on someone else: on victims of earthquakes, floods and tsunamis, on children living under crushing poverty and disease, on animals that have no homes and will be euthanized in overcrowded shelters filled with sad, scared eyes. Will you offer any of them an umbrella?
     Do you feel like God anymore? Because I thought God was wise and kind.

Truths

Truths

by Sharon Jackson

What is the difference between better and right?

You’re in no way arrogant in your own sight,

Claim you’re not racist or hateful at all,

Yet you’ve got a monopoly on the Divine Light.

You’re so lucky to have been born so tall

On the shoulders of prophets who heard the Divine Call,

While others are left in the darkness of sin.

How grand you feel besides others, so small.

God favored your people since time did begin.

All other faiths are lies that may suck you in.

Pat yourself on the back, you’re one of a few

Who possess a real soul of Divinity within.

You’re not better, you’re just… better, and you always knew

That your religion is the only one, real and true.

For if that weren’t so, you’d have to stare into the night,

Or accept that your religion is right – for you.

The Track

 Picture a racetrack with many lanes. You are on one of them. Ahead of you, beside you, and behind you, are fellow runners. Some of you have just started running. Others have been on the track for hours. Everyone has had a different starting point. You don’t know the starting points or the duration of the run for the others. You only know your own.

            You can choose to stand there and look over your shoulder and jeer at the runners who are behind you. Or you can choose to focus on your own path before you and run into the distance.

            In other words, you can choose to point out the flaws of others and inhibit your own growth, or you can look inward and correct your own flaws, and grow to be a better person.

            We are all on this racetrack on many levels, on a personal level, sometimes on an ethnic or religious level, almost always on a national level. But though we are on a racetrack, this is not a race.

            Too often we use the runners around us to measure our progress. Because there are so many other people in this world, so many other religions/ethnicities in this world, so many other countries in this world, there will always be someone behind us on the track. When we look over our shoulders, we will always find at least one other person or group who is not at our “level.” Many of us use this as an excuse to stay stagnant, like the hare in “The Tortoise and the Hare.” “Hey,” we say. “I’m not like him. Look at all his flaws! Look at what he did!” Looking at the other runner, we can feel smug, safe, innocent… perfect. We can stay right where we are.

            It’s hard to run. Perhaps it’s not so bad, taking off and moving for the first few moments. You hold the door for someone, you say please and thank you, you clean up after yourself at home. Not so tough, okay, I can do this.

            But now, can you take it to the next level? Can you give to charity? Can you volunteer, even? Can you look deep within yourself and examine your anger issues, your pride, your unwillingness to apologize after insulting someone?

            If so, you will keep going. You will keep moving your legs, even as they begin to feel heavy, even as you feel stitches in your sides, even as you begin panting for breath.

            Can you come home at the end of a long day and still gather up the energy to have a conversation with your husband/wife/child/sibling/parent, instead of plopping down in front of the tv and staring at it mindlessly?

            At the larger levels, can you examine the flaws of your own country and try to come up with a solution? Can you say, “My country, right the wrong,” rather than, “My country, right or wrong,” excusing yourself by saying you don’t want to sound unpatriotic?

            If so, you will keep going. Your legs will keep moving, even as beads of sweat form and run down your forehead, your neck, your chest, even as blisters begin to sting your heels, even as the elements seem to force you back: the blazing sun, the erratic wind, the pelting rain. But you will push onward.

            Can you do it?

            Too often I have been surrounded by other members of my faith, or other members of my country. I am Jewish and an American, but this has nothing to do with my experiences, because this can happen to anyone.

            We’ve got our own issues. I am not in Egypt right now. I am not in Saudi Arabia. I am not in Iran. We can stand there in the middle of the racetrack and comment on how horrified we are about the way “Muslims treat their women.” We can stand there and shake our heads about how terrible China is when it comes to their shoddy manufacturing. We can stand there and spit in disgust at how undemocratic this country is, or that country, or that country. We can stand there and not move.

            “They” this, and “they” this, and “they” that.

            Not only will we not move ourselves forward along the track, because we are too busy pointing fingers at “them,” but we will not move “them” forward with this method either.

            Do you honestly expect your jeers to have an affect on “them”? Do you think all Muslims will suddenly drop their jaws in shock, blink a few times, look at you and say, “Oh my God.. you’re so right! I’m going to convert to your religion right away!” Or do you expect to just kill their leaders and, as in the Wizard of Oz, when the Wicked Witch was killed, the “monkeys” will turn “good”? Do you expect to kill them all? Or are you waiting for some Messiah figure to descend, who will pour out all of “God’s wrath” on  “them” and everything will be okay?

            Or maybe you were just commenting on the way the world is, and you’re not expecting any solution to occur at all.

            I am in control of my own body. I can tell only my own legs to move. I can make only my own self go forward. I can push myself, force myself through the wind and rain, to become a better person, the best person I can possibly be, because I’ve got the mental endurance. I’ve got the willpower. I will not measure myself by the others on the track, nor look behind me and stay still. I will run forward on this endless marathon in my quest to live my life as best as I can.

            Within my own faith, and within my own country, I can say, “We need to do a, b and c better,” or, “We should stop the practice of d, e and f because the Torah/the Constitution of the United States says g, h and i.” This may not succeed, but because I say “we,” I include myself in the group, and I include myself in the running, in the challenge, in the journey. I too will bear the burden. The word “you,” on the other hand, is accusatory, and will not work.

            There are only two ways we can possibly help others on their own paths. One is to lead by example, hoping that “they” are looking forward at some of other runners and will be inspired by us.

            The other way is to fully study the laws, the leaders, and the ideas in the religion/country of the “other.” There is no one group of people that is fully evil. There is no one religion that does not have the Golden Rule, and if there is, I don’t know about it. Islam, Judaism, and Christianity all have the Golden Rule, which is “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.”

            If there is something that “they” are doing wrong, we must study their customs, find one that contradicts the practice, and point it out.

            If we are speaking with a Christian, we might say, “If Jesus said a, b and c, why is x, y and z right?”

            If we are speaking with a Jew, we might say, “The famous Jewish teacher Hillel once said a, b, and c. Therefore, why does x, y and z happen?”

            If we are speaking with a Muslim, we might say, “In a hadith, the Prophet Muhammed is said to have done a, b and c. If that’s the case, why do people do x, y and z?”

            If we approach the “other” with the intention of having a dialogue rather than an argument, and we acknowledge the fact that they might not change their minds – in fact, you might be the one to learn something new instead – then we – we as in all of humanity – are all moving forward in the right direction.

            I sound like a delusional idealist? I am too optimistic, you say? Which sounds more realistic, the coming of a Messiah who will magically “smite our enemies” and make all our problems disappear, or a day when people of all faiths and all nations can turn their swords into plowshares and journey forward on this track, together as one world? Perhaps these are both miracles, but I would prefer to pray for and work towards the second option.

            What about you?

Zombies

Imagine you are going shoe shopping. You spot two pairs of shoes on the shelf. They look exactly the same. They've got the exact same design, the exact same colors, the exact same materials. They are both your size, and you really love them. There are only two differences between the pairs: one has a famous brand name and is a lot more expensive. The other is cheaper and has either no brand name at all, or a little-known, generic one.
   Which pair do you buy?
   In other words, I am asking you: Are you a zombie, or a thinking person?


   In the world of the media, corporations must pay their own advertising costs. A newspaper may charge a company $10 a day to place an ad in their paper. If Nike wants to advertise on TV, it will pay the channel a certain amount of money for a 10-second commercial. If Aeropostale wants to advertise on a billboard, they will pay the owner of that billboard for allowing them to use that sign. If Skechers wants a few moments on the radio, they will pay the radio station a fee for a spot on the airwaves to tell listeners about their product.
   But there is one form of advertising that corporations don't pay for. In fact, YOU pay for these ads. And not only do you pay for them - you pay for them willingly, happily. You pay for them with a smile on your face like the servile slave you are.
   Let's go back to the shoe example. The generic pair is $20. The brand-name is $120. When you put on the second pair and walk out, you are a living, breathing billboard. Everywhere you walk, every moment of the day, as long as those shoes are on your feet, you are advertising for that company. You are working for them - you should be getting paid.
   Yet you paid the company - a whole $100 extra.
   That's because you have nowhere near the rights of a television channel or a newspaper. You're worthless, you're nothing -  you're so low you have the buy the right to advertise our holy goods. But you know that once you slide your credit card through the cash register and tie up those laces, you will be elevated from your vile status; you will become cool, a fashionista, a gangsta, someone with real style, real sexiness, real cash. You wear the real thing, 'cause it's all about keepin' it real.
   Too bad you don't have real brains.
   Unfortunately, corporations do have real brains. Cleverly manipulating you, figuring out new ways to get you to part with your money, brainwashing you, they plaster your body with advertisements, while reaching into your pockets and robbing your wallet of every dime, and you moan with pleasure and cry out for more. You have been blinded into believing that a generic brand, even if it looks the same and will last you just as long, is inferior. You are a slave who licks the boots of your master and loves the taste.
   If you pick up those brand name shoes, you are no more than a zombie.