Themes of grief have been frequently showing up in my life lately. An article in The New York Times entitled, “How We Grieve,” emphasized the novel ways readers use to remember loved ones lost. A visit to a Home Depot resurrects a favorite father-son hangout. A woman named Laura hangs her grandmother’s fishing pole over a window, regretting her grandmother’s requests to go fishing that she never could honor. Chester Theater’s remarkable play, “A Hundred Words for Snow,” compels the audience to experience how a teenage daughter copes with the sudden death of her beloved father. My brother-in-law’s advanced ALS has landed him in a Toronto hospital. Every time the phone rings, I wonder if this is the call that will set our family’s collective grief in motion.
Grief, usually associated with death, comes with religious, social, and familial traditions to help us cope with the complicated meanings of loss we endure as part of the human condition. But how do we grieve the loss of those whom we mourn, but don’t know? How do we grieve the cruelty and sadism that leads to the disappearances of our immigrant neighbors who lived quietly, raised their children, and anonymously contributed to our lives in so many ways? I am not acquainted with those who were removed by masked men, who kicked in their car windows, arrived unannounced at workplaces, with those who were forcibly removed in the presence of pleading spouses and screaming children. Whether in Easthampton or East Texas, Amherst or Alabama, the vitriol of lies and hate justifying billions of dollars for the forced removal of human beings to concentration camps, where they are tortured, starved, beaten, and denied medical care and legal representation, recalls for me my mother’s descriptions of her Holocaust internments in Polish concentration camps.
The American dream of a United States that, although imperfect, aspires to be a haven for those who seek freedom has been torched to satisfy the perverse desires of the relentless, narcissist who occupies the White House. What have we become? I grieve for the millions who hear the words of white supremacist leaders as a rallying cry for their MAGA agendas, who buy Alligator Alcatraz paraphernalia, and view our immigrant neighbors as vermin. I grieve for the bystanders, paralyzed by fear or cynicism, who go about their daily lives, silent in the face of so much horror. In his book, “One Day, Everyone Will Have Always Been Against This,” Omar El Akkad warns that normalizing unconscionable actions for the sake of one’s own safety and conveniences, will create further acquiescence. I wonder, what will we be asked to normalize in the future?
August 3rd marks the Jewish holy day of Tisha B’Av, which commemorates the destruction of the two Temples in ancient Jerusalem, which were the centers of Jewish life. It is also a day for bringing to mind the long history of Jewish suffering. Tisha B’Av is observed as a day of grief, a day set aside for fasting, and other mourning rituals. As a Jew, I confess to rarely observing Tisha B’Av, yet in the face of so much despair in the present, I am grateful for the opportunity to spill tears, as I join with others to bear witness to the attempted destruction of our moral fabric and to engage in communal mourning for the violence visited upon our immigrant neighbors. I look forward to joining an Interfaith Procession of the Disappeared taking place on Aug. 3 at 2 p.m. at Edwards Church, 297 Main St. in Northampton.
All are welcome to gather to create time and space to grieve together as we witness immigration injustice; to gain strength to process this dark time we are living through; to let immigrants in our midst know we stand with them, and to become inspired to take action to stop this injustice. The brief vigil at Edwards Church, will include faith leaders from many different communities, after which a procession of people will silently flow from Edwards Church onto Northampton’s sidewalks. Participants are encouraged (but not required) to wear black as a symbol of grief. This is not a protest. If you’d like to participate in the walk, please leave your signs at home out of respect for the solemnity of this event. Many walkers will carry signs with pictures and narratives of people disappeared in Massachusetts. Reading the signs will provide those who see us the opportunity to bear witness to the human suffering taking place in the state that we call home. Handouts listing actions that can be taken will be distributed.
Participating in The Procession of the Disappeared is an opportunity to, in the words of Omar El Akkad, “side with light against darkness, to stand against the idea that certain people need to be crushed.” This interfaith gathering of those who are called to lift up those who are persecuted, stands in sharp contrast with so-called leaders who politicize Christianity for their own gain. In the words of Esau McCaulley, “I fail to see how you can shout glory to God one minute and laugh about the harsh conditions of Alligator Alcatraz the next.”
On Aug. 3 I look forward to joining a multitude of people taking a moral stand “to rebuild a world of sanctuary and justice together.”
Sara Weinberger lives in Easthampton.