Midnight Musings Of Another Insomniac
The past 26 days have been reminiscent for me of the days in Palestine when I was four years old and my mother and I ran for our lives as Arab bombs crumbled the front of our apartment house in Bat Galim. My father was in the Haganah, the Palestinian army fighting for freedom and a Jewish State. My mother and I hid behind a stone fence across the street, her arms surrounding and protecting me as dust and fear flew wild all around. Coming to America when I was nearly 12 with a promise of a bright land with streets bricked with gold I felt like a boat out of water. My English was non-existent, my friends and family that I’d grown up with an ocean away, my parents changed into immigrants who were economically destitute and frightened of a future where my father couldn’t find work in his chosen profession as a photographer because he did not belong to a union, and couldn’t get into one because he had no job. Now, nearly 50 years later I live in New York City in a new world of uncertainty and fear. A circle I never saw coming. None of us did.
How to survive in the post-September 11th reality after the World Trade Center attack? How to make sense of the deaths of 4,000 ordinary people who expected to see a tomorrow? How do we make sense of the trauma of another 25,000 who were directly affected through loss of loved ones or some form of personal injury. How do those of us who have ministered to the sick, the dead and the brave give meaning to it all? And what about the millions of us traumatized as we watched hours and days of TV broadcasting showing the turn the world has taken now that we have been permanently tainted by terrorism on our own turf. What’s different now?
Aside from the proliferation of flags on rooftops, car antennas, windows and lapels, there is a spirit of patriotism that I have never seen in this country. In 1949 when I was 7 and Israel became an independent state I stood proudly as our blue and white flags waved on and on in a parade of soldiers and tanks. When my ship, The Jerusalem, arrived in New York City in 1954 I gaped in awe as the Statue of Liberty came into view. But in America it was controversial to pledge to the flag when I was in grade school. In the USA it was fashionable to burn the flag and disparage the presidency over Viet Nam when I was in College. On the streets of New York I marched against the flag after Kent State. Instead of a flag I wore a peace sign around my neck and argued with conservative friends who were still swearing allegiance to a president who was about to show his true colors.
The first week after the attack there were no flags available while hundreds of thousands of American Citizens were willing to pay anything for a flag. Last week you could buy flags on every street corner, and I bought one for my grandson, Cole ’s stroller. Today I bought a red, blue and white ribbon to wear on my black topcoat. I am an American. I value this country and I fear the future. But we are all in this together. Bound up in the media harangue that frightens more than reassures, exchanging the nature of our anxieties with one another. Fearing for our children and grandchildren who may never know the sense of peace and safety we’ve enjoyed for all these years on this land.
Pondering these events in the light of yesterday’s American/British joint rebuttal on Afghanistan, we know the War is in high gear. They attacked, we responded, and they will attack us again. But where, when, and how, is the source of our anxiety. I sit all day with patients who are less able to deal with anxiety and stress than I. (Sometimes I am not so sure about myself either.) People who already had too much on their plate to begin with, too many issues, concerns, phobias, trauma, relational difficulties, who now are overwhelmed with fear and physical symptoms connected to stress. Most can’t sleep, they eat and drink too much, they fight more with their loved ones, worry about the economy, and feel bereft of their previous sense of physical safety. Something we Americans always took for granted, but now that it’s gone, we appreciate retrospectively what we’ve had for so long.
We had forgotten that our parents or grandparents escaped to these shores for the freedom from tyranny and economic opportunity. We forgot that when American embassies were terrorized in Africa or Teheran our citizens were murdered. We forgot that the Gulf War was fought against Iraqi terrorism. We ignored terrorism when it didn’t affect us personally. We indifferently readstories in the New York Times about terrorist casualties in Jerusalem or Haifa, with too little remorse. We forgot that we too are made of flesh and blood and are vulnerable. We forgot that the world is a small country and we are all brothers and sisters.
An Israeli psychologist I know of said that the way to get through each day is to think about probabilities instead of possibilities. So I think to myself, ‘what is the probability that my son, Daniel, or my daughter, Deborah, or my husband, my dear friends, or I will be in the wrong place at the wrong time next time?” And I realize that the probability is about 1 in 8 million. Yes, the possibilities for creative terrorist responses are endlessly alarming – it could happen at the New York Marathon, at Yankee Stadium, at Grand Central Station, on buses throughout the city… it could be suicide bombs, gas or virus… infinite potential for murder and mayhem. My husband, Harvey, reassured me tonight when he said, ‘This is no way to live life, to be so fearful of dying, and life is worth nothing if it is only about this.’ He is right. Life is much more and is worthy of being protected by all of us.
We can and must protect ourselves from the terrorists and from our own dread. We can win. Each day that we can remember that life is too precious to waste, we win. Each day that we can love someone, hug someone, talk and laugh with someone we value, we win. Each day that we give of ourselves with a generous spirit, we win. Each day that we take care of ourselves in a full-hearted, nurturing way, we win. Each day that we live mindfully in the best way possible, we win.
Recently, when I was threatened with a recurrence of cancer, I vowed to live out my allotted time by continuing my work, take more vacation time, love my husband and kids with more consciousness, have more fun, see more friends, play the piano and tennis more often, plant more trees, and relish each moment as if it was the only moment. This too is a cancer that cannot be accepted with resignation. I will plant more trees.
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