HERstory

Reject Refugees Now, Enjoy Hell, Later.

 

You.

You would put your children in a boat too, if that^^ was your reality. After all, they’re not bombing the sea. Let’s play a horrifying game of “Would You Rather”. Which would you prefer: watching your toddler drown in the ocean or listening to them scream in fear before being shredded to death by a bomb?

His Name was Aylan

It reminds me of another haunting, heartbreaking question, one we considered 14 years ago. Would you have stayed in the World Trade Center with your co-workers and burned, or, desperate to avoid fire and building collapse, would you have held hands and jumped? If that question emotionally eviscerates you, as it still does me, please consider directing some of that horror, sorrow, and compassion towards other innocents, who are still here, and merely unfortunate enough to be born somewhere else.

These. Christ’s “least” (Matthew 25:40). These are the alleged “terrorists” we are callously hardening our hearts toward and turning away. Children wailing in terror and agony. I love this country and there is nowhere else I want to be, but I am ashamed that history is repeating its ugly self.

Just as we sent back Jews who desperately fled Hitler’s pogroms via the ocean liner St. Louis in 1939 — more than a quarter of whom later perished in the Holocaust, because Roosevelt was too busy planning for a third term to answer their cables pleading for sanctuary — we are similarly shutting our doors to the neediest and most vulnerable of our world. Never again, we said, often and with fervent conviction. But it is “again”. Again.

And just as we gave into xenophobia, paranoia, and isolationism 75 years ago, when we wouldn’t even consider special legislation to welcome 20,000 Jewish children from Germany into our arms, now we blindly screech about ISIS and the potential for “infiltration” even though we have accepted almost a million refugees since the towers fell, and not one of them is a terrorist. None of those refugees have been arrested. None.

My Muslim friends say, “Not in my name.” Well, as a devout Christian, I now join them. You want to hate and fear the least of Jesus’ brothers and sisters, go ahead and do so, but know this: you will surely burn in hellfire for disobeying his word, the words that actually matter, not the ones that prohibit wearing no-iron shirts or jeggings, enjoying rare steaks and burgers, or breeding labradoodles, puggles, and cockapoos.

I feel justified in making that proclamation, because such actions and motivations are exactly what our Lord and savior railed against:

41 Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you accursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.
42 For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink,
43 A stranger and you gave me no welcome, naked and you gave me no clothing, ill and in prison, and you did not care for me.’
44 Then they will answer and say, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or ill or in prison, and not minister to your needs?’
45 He will answer them, ‘Amen, I say to you, what you did not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me.’
46 And these will go off to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”

Those of you who are proud to bleat about rejecting Syrian refugees, out of “concern” for our nation’s safety, who would callously slam liberty’s door in the tear-streaked faces of the lost, you do not speak for me, or anyone else with a functioning heart and brain. Remove your head from your poorly-cleaned ass and employ whatever meager reading comprehension skills you hopefully possess: no potential immigrant is more scrutinized than an asylum-seeker in the U.S. What secret terrorist is going to patiently endure an arduous, agonizing process that involves screenings from five different agencies?

Several federal agencies, including the State Department, the Department of Homeland Security, the Defense Department, the National Counterterrorism Center and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, are involved in the process, which Deputy State Department Spokesman Mark Toner recently called, “the most stringent security process for anyone entering the United States.” CNN

Juma Al-Ahmad, Director of Shahba Press (an alternative, independent media agency), ran outside on Tuesday October 27th 2015 to document the gruesome reality of being on the ground in an Aleppo suburb while being attacked by Russian air strikes. He recorded three out of four bombings; the final one, which is embedded above, apparently killed him. He died so we could see, and I cannot comprehend how anyone who worships G-d can watch that video (or look at that drowned child) and not want to open our doors to the “least”. We must open our eyes, then our hearts, so we can open our arms and actively follow the example set by Jesus Christ.

Follow Christ. How paradoxical is this: the same people who agitate against allowing refugees into this nation are often quite proud of being “born again” or committed devotees of Christ. They would do well to start acting like the man they claim to model their lives and priorities around, and keep his holy commandment to love our neighbors —an especially poignant and apposite rule, because when asked to clarify exactly whom he meant by that term, Jesus explained that “neighbor” meant anyone in need, even if they are our enemies.

Additionally, one of the laws of social responsibility laid out in Exodus even addresses this issue directly, by exhorting us to never mistreat or oppress foreigners. If my co-religionists can’t muster the compassion and decency to worry about our foreign, vulnerable neighbors in this life, perhaps they can be motivated by self-interest and realize that their actions will doom them in the next.

I know. That was way harsh, Tai. But hey. They were warned.

Posted on Wednesday, November 18, 2015 at 03:31 PM in Anna thinks..., Current Affairs, In Solidarity, Religion, Righting Wrongs, Writing Rage | Permalink | Comments (0)

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I Say A Little Prayer For You

The phone vibrates gently but insistently in my pocket, rousing me from the almost impenetrable reverie that consumes me whenever I'm scanning Pinterest, gazing at food, frocks and fine ideas for home decor. It's a new text message.

From you. 

"They need an attorney to remain in DC for a bit longer, until they can justify hiring more. I told them I'd be willing to stay here, so...eeeeeek! PRAY that I get it, please. :)"

And now you have put me in the strange position of wishing myself further misfortune. Because when you rise, I fall and neither of us can be charmed concurrently.

Though I am mired in unemployment (and its attendant, bureaucratic hell), blue moods and other worries that will remain until I find a new job (with health and dental), I will not hesitate to expend every fallen eyelash, every auspicious stroke of the clock, every wish I encounter for you.

It's been years since I've seen you like this. It's been years since you've spoken to me like that. It's been years since you received what you deserve.

I don't know why we are never allowed to shine simultaneously, but the lack of such knowledge or the brutal one-sidedness of it does not surprise me. Why should we two, who are sides of the same coin, exist outside the universal principle of balance. It would be like day with no night, black without white, spring without fall.

So I will wait. I will bide my time, until it is my time. Because during those rare moments when I have the world on a string, no one is happier for me than you. No one worries about me more than you. One day, when my family is gone, all that will remain is you. So fly. Thrive. Win.

When you win, I am reminded that I never lose. When you soar, I will be glad to linger below you on this brown earth. I will watch you rocket towards heaven and I will have the opportunity to be mindful, not of how blessed you are, but of how blessed I am, that G-d has heard the words I fervently whisper to him, for you. For this. For such happiness.

::

::

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Dedicated to-- though not inspired by-- a very rude friend in London.

::

::

Posted on Friday, December 09, 2011 at 05:07 PM in Current Affairs | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)

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And you wonder why I like New Jersey

An 81-year old, blue-eyed Kappa Alpha Psi merrily hit on me at Whole Foods as he was getting out of his car in the parking garage. Next to him, a Lena Horne-look alike in enormous black sunglasses made the passenger seat look like a royal throne.

"I'm finna dump her and take you instead! I like your car better!", he winked.

"Says the man whose car is nicer than mine", I retorted.

His obviously long-suffering wife was slightly amused.She pushed her glasses into silver hair, rolled her eyes elegantly and smiled.

Somethings about him reminded me of my Dad. The polished brown color of his skin. His full mustache. The gregarious, easy way he spoke to a stranger.

We saw each other again, inside when I was boxing up my lunch at the hot bar.

"Oh, you want some of those?" He gestured at the gorgeous blue hydrangeas in my basket. "I have those all over my backyard. Can't get rid of 'em if I wanted! Come take 'em all. You'll have to come to Jersey, though." His eyes twinkled.

"Is that where you're from?"

"Yes it is."

"Is that where you were a Kappa Alpha Psi?"

"How did you know?" He feigned shock.

"Um, the license plate frame, the decal...the hat on your head."

"You know, when I was in school, I scared everyone. You scared?"

"Terrified."

"I had just gotten back, with a bronze star and a purple heart. I was a paratrooper, older than my classmates." He pointed to his class ring. '54.

"Oh, wow. What brings you to D.C.?"

"I'm here for my daughter's birthday. We're going to surprise her with champagne and sushi, two of her favorite things. She turns 50 in...an hour!" He continued to gaze at his watch, then paused, remembering. "Yes. She was born at 2 in the afternoon."

"Aw, happy birthday to her." I wished that it were after instead of during work. He was delightful to listen to, but my boss wouldn't be pleased by my dawdling. Still, I didn't want to leave. Every word he said was dipped in sweetness and tasted like wisdom. At the best of times, being with my father felt like this.

"She makes a lot of money-- but spends it like it's water, too. Got a car like yours." He leaned in closer, looked both ways, then whispered-- "She makes over $200,000 a year! My girl!" He was elated, beaming, so proud. Was this what Daddy was like, when he made friends out of complete strangers?

"Listen to me.", he said. "You married?"

I shook my head. No.

"Sell that car. Be like my daughter-- her husband passed away 17 months after they married and she never remarried, never had any children. She goes gallivanting all over the world, has a beautiful life. Explore. Bear witness. Go to Africa. If Eden still exists on this tiny spot called Earth, it is there, in the Serengeti. God lives on endless plains. You'll see. You'll remember me when you see the wildebeests and buffalo graze in paradise."

Posted on Thursday, July 28, 2011 at 04:48 AM in Current Affairs | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)

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