All It Takes Is A Little Love

The world is in such a state of chaos that sometimes it is difficult to see the goodness that is always around us, even in the most chaotic and challenging moments. We often have to force ourselves not to despair when we see so many images of man’s inhumanity to man. Such times are also when we are most likely to see heroes, good people who dive into the fray to be helpers. Such souls are always quietly among us humbly and quietly using their kindness and their talents to ease pain. They are the souls who run into disasters rather than away from them. They open their hearts and their homes and their pocketbooks to suffering souls anonymously. The do not seek glory, but instead earnestly spread their compassion simply because they know it is the right thing to do. Sometimes they even sacrifice their lives in the quest to comfort strangers in need. 

They are the people like my neighbor who demanded a murderer to release his frightened children into her care after he had killed their mother. They are souls who volunteer at soup kitchens and food pantries. They are the former school administrator who rushes to Haiti after an earthquake to provide aid and succor. They are the colleague who has built a school and cultivated a community farm in Africa. They are people who do not see others as members of unseen masses, but as beautiful individuals with the same hopes and dreams that each of us hold dearly in our hearts. They are the young person who puts his reputation and safety on the line advocating for the misunderstood. 

Good people are all around us, going about their lives like the rest of us. Sometimes we do not even know the extent of their goodness until they have died. Their goal is not to achieve status or glory, but simply to respond to the cries for help that they encounter. I had a cousin who died much younger than the rest of us. We loved him and laughed constantly at his silly jokes, but we had little idea of the saintly man that he was until the testimonials of his charitable heart informed us of his largess. We were stunned to learn of his ceaseless devotion to performing works of mercy. 

My own mother suffered far more than most people ever will and yet her love radiated out in all directions like rays of sacrifice and joy from the center of her heart. She gave of herself intensely and more often than not she was totally misunderstood because of her many illnesses and lack of worldly riches. Still, she touched the hearts of many people who might otherwise have been forgotten. She really saw people that others may not have ever noticed.

My uncle William was another such person. He was quiet, unassuming and sometimes seemingly invisible beyond the borders of his home. Those of us who knew him often took his goodness for granted because there was nothing flashy or exciting about him. He simply went about his days spreading boundless love, even to the mother of a mass murdere whom he happened to know because of his work as a postal carrier

People sometimes overlook the wisdom and glory of the quiet people who respond to the needs of others. We elevate those who seem strong and powerful rather than noticing that it is the legion of faceless helpers who change the world for the better, not the blustering showboaters whose goal is to maintain power. We only notice the guy with a tiny boat when rains inundate our homes and he comes to save us. 

If we stop long enough to watch and to see beyond the wars and the shooters and the haters our vision will clear. Suddenly we notice the woman cleaning the rooms of the sick, the doctors and nurses who won’t leave a hospital even as bombs detonate around them. We see the police and firefighters and volunteers who race into a building that is about to collapse to save those attempting to escape for the flames. We hear of chefs bringing food to places where most of us would not dare to go. 

Sometimes it seems easier to give up hope than to join the legions of ordinary people with extraordinary altruism and courage. We worry about the state of the world instead of finding a way to be kind, to do good, to create the changes that will benefit all. We sit in our tiny worlds and see only masses of suffering rather than noticing each individual. We forget that what separates us as humans is small and insignificant. Often we do not even notice all of the things that unite us. 

We have the power to rescue people from harm but sometimes seem to lack the will. It is easier to only see the world as a game of them versus me. We demand simplistic solutions that do not endanger our bank accounts or our comfort. We walk through life avoiding any person or situation that makes us feel uncomfortable and yet surely we see the real heroes, the people unafraid to make a difference without concern about the sacrifices that may be required. 

Take some time to look at even the most horrific places where war and destruction exist. It is in the ashes that you will find the unknown souls who always respond to cries for help. Look at them. Know them. Be them. 

It is a rainy Saturday morning that is quite typical of Houston area weather in February. With the melodic patter of rain falling on the roof and skies that remain dark I slept in a couple of hours later than usual. It seems as though the entire neighborhood followed my lead. Nobody is stirring even at nine o’clock, a anomaly for a weekend morning when everyone is usually busy accomplishing tasks outside or rushing off to games and activities with their children. 

I have to admit that I enjoy such moments when we all seem to be taking a breather from rushing around. Sometimes my compulsive need to measure my days by the number of my accomplishments becomes tiresome and I am willing to take advantage of any excuse to briefly forget about the clock and my checklist of tasks for the day. Instead I linger a bit longer in my pajamas and sip on my tea rather than gulping it down. There is suddenly no reason to hurry, nothing so pressing that it cannot wait. For a moment l become contemplative and relaxed and it seems that my neighbors do the same. 

Many of us now carry around electronic calendars on our phones. We receive reminders that it is time to do this or that. We estimate how many minutes it will take us to get from here to there. We achieve our goals with precision, allotting so many ticks of the clock to achieve our daily goals. We tend to be a production oriented society in which many aspects of our lives are measured with data that tell us whether or not we have taken enough steps, eaten the right food, driven the best route, achieved the metrics of our progress toward our goals. It is as though we are in constant numerical competition until the weather intrudes on our plans and we have to adjust to losing a minute here, an hour there. We can either be upset or simply go with the flow. Often it is best to simply enjoy the freedom from our tendencies to always be timing ourselves .

For me a rainy day creates a perfect opportunity to get started reading the book I have recently purchased or even to watch a program that I have put off finding the time to view. Since I can’t weed the flowerbeds and I don’t want to drive across town on the slick streets I am at liberty to just enjoy my home. I set aside thoughts of cleaning the floors by convincing myself that they will only get dirty again if anyone has to go outside and then return. I suddenly feel that doing the indoor tasks on my list would destroy the permission I now give myself to be a bit lazy. The rain has provided me with all of the excuses that I need. In fact, I tell myself that nature has spoken to me and I must listen and partake of a day of quiet and contemplation. 

I think of a poem by William Wordsworth on days such as this and remember the opening lines: The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending we lay waste our powers;-Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!”

I wonder how much I have missed while rushing about as I spend the morning staring at the tree outside my window and listening to the songs of the birds who seem so in sync with the natural world. I am lulled by the symphony of the wind into a state of bliss that I am sometimes unable to find on the days when I check the boxes of my achievements. I know that I would be foolish to waste this day attempting to ignore the beauty and serenity of simply allowing myself to feel as one with the universe around me. 

I have friends who have mastered the art of meditation. They are able to slow the pace of their bodies and minds to find tranquility in simply being. It is difficult for me. I race from one thought to another and actually feel guilty for not keeping to my ironclad schedule. Somehow I find reprieve when something forces me to sit for a time with nothing to do but stay calm. I did that on a recent unplanned adventure. I realized in retrospect how much I had accomplished by simply sitting in my car recalling lovely memories that reminded me of my good fortune. Perhaps a rainy day in the same week is a primal message that it is time for me to stop more often to smell the roses. After all, my blood pressure has been higher than usual. I have often felt anxious and stressed of late. As I sit in the quiet of this rainy day I only feel a sense of wonder and awe that I have been surrounded by love and beauty my entire life. 

The rain returns my perspective to where it should be. It tells me that it is okay not to always be in control. It provides me with the panacea that I need to see the world in all its glory and possibilities. It reminds me that my days don’t always have to be sunny and that it’s okay to take a break from the world to once again see the glory of my existence. After this wonderful rainy day I will no longer be out of tune. I will find my heart and rejoice.  

My mother was rightfully loved by those who saw the scope of her generous spirit. She was spurned by those who did not understand the quirks of her mental illness. As her daughter I defended her from those who seemed unable or unwilling to view her as the remarkable woman she was. Nonetheless I admittedly experienced great frustration with her cycles of normalcy followed by deep depression and manic episodes that sometimes scared people into abandoning her. It bothered me that she was so misunderstood by people to whom she was always kind and understanding.  

I would often witness generally honored and respected individuals saying horrific things about people who thought them to be great human beings worthy of unending praise while my mother who never had an unkind work about anyone was often an outcast. The hypocrisy of it all left me angry and desirous of revealing the truth about the two-faced individuals whom most of society had embraced. The irony of my mother’s unconditional love being so often spurned confused me to the point of great distress. I often cried and wished that she had never been afflicted by an illness that so frightened people that they were unwilling to embrace her even as she continued to love them. 

My mother’s life was punctuated with great suffering which she always unselfishly set aside. Even in her darkest moments when her bipolar disorder was raging, her greatest worries were for the well being of others. Her paranoid fears were always concerns about protecting her family. She loved more intensely than anyone I have ever known.

Only the most discerning people were able to look past my mother’s illness and realize how saintly she actually was. My mother-in-law once proclaimed that Mama was the most incredible woman that she had ever known. Clerks in stores that my mother frequented cried upon hearing of her death and told stories of how delightfully generous she had been to them. Her files held dozens of letters from charitable organizations thanking her for contributions that may have seemed meager but were proportionately huge given how tragically low her income was. 

My mother was always the first to take small gifts to neighbors and friends. When she shopped for her groceries she often set aside cans of vegetables and soup to give to young members of the family struggling to make a start in the adult world. I know that I was often the recipient of her largesse even when I had become successful in my career. She was forever speaking of her obligation to share the blessings that she had. Sadly to so many others her life seemed so tragic and difficult that they failed to see how beautifully she had overcome her bad luck. Somehow she found the silver lining in every situation. She wanted nothing for herself.

When I was cleaning out my mother’s closet after her death I found gifts that she had set aside in anticipation of birthdays and Christmas. Each item was tagged with a loved one’s name. They were all practical and meaningful presents that she collected from sales that she encountered throughout the year. Sometimes they seemed to be more utilitarian than interesting, but over time the recipients almost always realized that were thing that they been unaware of actually needing. 

I sleep each night with the sound of a fan that Mama purchased for my husband. I thought it was an odd choice when he unwrapped it, but when insomnia haunted me one night it became a lifesaver. The hum of the blades whirring around and around was just the kind of white noise that I required to lull me into a deep slumber. We now use it every night and I sometimes think that it is magical. Like Pavlov’s dog it reminds me of my dear sweet mother and somehow makes me feel as though she is tucking me in and smiling down at me with the smile that assured me that she loved me unconditionally. 

Those who saw the inner beauty of my mother were blessed and they knew it. They were able to look past her affliction and see just how innocently loving and generous she was. They benefited greatly from knowing her because she was guileless. Her expressions of concern and compassion were as real as can be. Hate was only a word to her. She genuinely strove to understand and embrace even those who pushed her away. 

When my mother was alive I was obsessed with protecting her, so much so that I all too often became enraged with anyone who abandoned her. I spent far too much time being angry that she was so misunderstood. I wanted better for her, but she never seemed to notice or care that some people were being ugly. She simply carried on with being a messenger of tolerance and love. 

I have had many years to assess her life since she died. I no longer wish she she had been different and more like everyone else. I see now that she was a beautiful and special soul, unique in her ability to overlook the failings of others. What we all saw of her was exactly who she was. She never spoke unkindly even when nobody might have heard a catty remark. I wish I had told her how much I admired her. I wish I had not been so busy trying to shield her from the ugliness that I saw. From her I learned that people are wonderful even with their gaping flaws. She loved them in spite of themselves even as I suspected it hurt her deep down in her heart. She was love at its finest and a role model that I would do well to follow. 

We all know about the Holocaust that took place under the direction of Nazi fascists during World War II. Some among us deny that it ever happened. Some may even be vile enough to believe that the people who lost their lives in that horrifically evil moment were somehow deserving of their fate. Most of us struggle to understand the kind of evil that might have led seemingly ordinary people to participate in such a vile attempt to eliminate Jews and others thought to be defective. We simply cannot contemplate or understand such an atrocity and yet if we study enough history we see a dark side of our human natures rising again and again as though we are somehow tainted for all time with the sin of Cain who murdered his brother. 

The movie The Zone of Interest directed by Johnathan Glazer is one of the most powerful portraits of the nature of those who supported the genocide of Jews and “misfits” by Adolf Hitler’s Nazis that has ever been filmed. It is a character study of Rudolf Hoss, the commandant and major architect of Auschwitz, and his wife, Hedwig, both of whom lived just behind a wall next to the concentration camp with their five children. 

The Zone of Interest never explicitly shows us the horror that is taking place next to the idyllic garden that Hedwig so meticulously planned and developed with the help of prison labor. Nonetheless as we watch the family entertaining guests and enjoying their swimming pool we see the smoke from the crematoriums and hear the gunshots, screams and barking dogs in the midst of the family’s banal conversations. We instinctively know of the horror taking place literally right outside their home and instantly wonder how they were able to be so unconcerned by the killing that became known as “The Hoss Plan.” 

The contrast of the seemingly idyllic life of Rudolf and his family is stunning because of their ability to compartmentalize their egregious behavior. They have become able to live a materialistically rich life because of the forced imprisonment, labor and murder of people whose only sin was being of the wrong type. The calm way in which they celebrate and boast of their good fortune makes them so vile that those of us watching the film find ourselves wanting to take hold of them, shake them and demand to know what is wrong with them. The whole situation seems so unbelievable and yet it is so true that we want to turn away, to munch on our popcorn and sip on our sodas even as we feel a sense of shame for just sitting in our seats witnessing the degradation and inhumanity of it all. 

The Zone of Interest is a tough watch. It will leave you in an emotional state. It is not entertaining in the general sense of that word but it is something that we should all view. It is a warning of what happens when we see evil but look the other way. It is a reminder of our human tendencies to judge people based on stereotypical “isms.” It is what happens when we fall victim to propaganda and lies. It is our human way of justifying our prejudices and greed. 

The title of the movie comes from the word play that Nazis used to refer to the concentration camps. The places where they were located were called zones of interest. The characters in the movie remind us that Hitler’s plan was to rid Europe of the Jews and to overtake the rich land of Eastern Europe for farming and manufacturing. It was an ideology based on a eugenic belief that the Aryan race was superior and therefore deserving of enjoying the fruits of the world. It justified violence and murder by ranking entire races of people as undesirable and unworthy of even living. In Auschwitz alone it resulted in the murder of over one million, one hundred thousand souls. 

The Zone of Interest reminds us of the dark nature of humans who have historically enslaved, murdered and stolen from others while justifying their actions with claims of being superior. it shows us how evil can live with itself even in the homes of seemingly normal people. It challenges us to speak out against those who would subjugate and deprive others. It warns us that it can and has happened even in the seemingly most civilized societies. I grows from greed, materialism, prejudice, lies and a lack of empathy. It can consume even those with crucifixes hanging in their homes who say their prayers each night. 

The Zone of Interest is a true masterpiece of film that we should all see and discuss. Then we should ask ourselves what suffering in the world we are ignoring even as we see it unfolding. Truth sometimes hurts, but avoiding it leads to horror. We humans still have much work to do. 

The Zone of Interest is now showing in a limited number of theaters. HBO has purchased the right to stream it in the near future. Watch it with an open mind. Learn from it. Talk to your family about it. It’s something we all need to do. 

I don’t always believe that the results of surveys or polls or even personal anecdotes are representative of reality, but I sense that we nonetheless would do well to consider their findings when most of them are pointing to the same difficulties. In particular, a spate of studies seem to be indicating that members of Gen Z (those who are eighteen to twenty seven years old} as well as students from twelve to eighteen are feeling alienated from society. While disenchanted young people are nothing new, their concerns seem to be quite valid and we would do well to hear what they have to say. 

Historically those of us who have weathered the storms of adolescence, teen years and early adulthood generally scoff at the angst of the younger folks among us as being simply phases that we all endure until we have a bit of real life experience under our belts. Even ancient Greeks complained about the lassitude of the young, but somehow the issues that they describe in today’s world ring true and should be more of concern to all of us. They earnestly and honestly are attempting to tell us what is wrong and we tend to blithely suggest that they might do better if they simply switch off social media, computer games and television. In other words we ignore what they are telling us because it seems to be just a modern day version of growing pains. We forget or possibly never knew that the Founding Fathers of our nation were not all older men.  James Monroe was eighteen, Alexander Hamilton was twenty one and James Madison was twenty five among other revolutionary voices of our American revolution who were in their teens or twenties. 

Our youngest citizens and voters are indicating that they are in fact intensely interested in the current issues of our country but feel that most adults are ignoring what they have to say about them. They also point to problems that don’t appear to be of concern to much of the electorate. As such they feel a sense of abandonment by the older voters and politicians. They are looking into the future while the rest of us seem to be mired in the present. So what is worrying voters aged eighteen to twenty seven?  

Many of them believe that the American obsession with guns is making virtually every public and private venue unsafe. Most advocate for some form of gun control but instead witness more gun sales and more mass shootings. The idea of ever reaching consensus or even logically discussing this issue seems remote and so they feel ignored and perhaps even unimportant as they attempt to voice their concerns. 

Our young also worry about the advance of climate change and the impact it will have on their lives. They see themselves as ultimately holding the bag of the mistake of pretending that we don’t have to make some tough sacrifices now to prevent worldwide climate related chaos and tragedy later. Some even wonder if they should bring children into a world that might one day feel apocalyptic. 

This group feels that educational systems need to be continually updated to correspond with the times rather than returning to methodologies of the past. They expect truth, not protection of their egos, which means that they want to study difficult topics and be taught how to critically analyze them. They know that they will need both academic and practical skills to navigate the problems that seem to be looming while the cost of gaining them continues to grow beyond their ability to afford them. Those who make the investments in time, effort and money have been left to juggle enormous debts before they even start working on their first jobs.

They look into their own future in the face of looming wars and political parties unable or unwilling to work together with a goal of solving problems rather than being elected. In their estimation systems are breaking down because older adults would rather bicker than compromise. They see their freedoms being diminished one by one while nobody asks them what they would like to see happening. The world appears chaotic and if they voice opinions about it that older adults do not share, their voices are stilled and ridiculed. 

The results is that more and more of our youngest emerging adults are filled with anxiety and sometimes a lack of hope that leads to depression. The numbers reporting such feelings are unprecedented and all too often the response from the rest of us is to call them “snowflakes” or to insinuate that they are lazy and ignorant of reality, a familiar response to those who grew up fighting for what they saw as justice during the Civil Rights movement or the protests of the war in Vietnam. 

Every nation needs a conscience and often that self analysis comes from the young who have not yet become so tainted that they are much more able to see the problems that most need to be addressed. It would be quite wonderful if we would take the time to listen to what they have to say and respect their right to have a stake in their own futures. We would do well to know who and what inspires them because one day we will hand over the reins to them and hopefully they will have something more to work with than the problems we have left them through inaction. 

I believe in the wisdom of Generation Z. There are Alexander Hamiltons and James Madisons among them. We should tap into their discernment and earnest interest in tackling the problems that are most affecting them. They have the kind of pure wisdom that we desperately need. Let them into the discussions and they will help us to revolutionize the future.