Sunday, January 19, 2014

COMPASSION FROM HATRED


When I was five-years-old, our family lived in Utica, New York.  I was walking to my first day of school, swinging my lunch box as I skipped down the sidewalk, anticipating my unknown new adventure.  I was happy.

Across the street, I heard a creaky screen door slam shut.  I turned to see another boy about my age running towards me,his face red with anger.  From his sidewalk, he screamed, hatred in his voice,  "Get out of our neighborhood you dirty Jew.  We hate you." 

I didn't know what a Jew was, even though I later found out I was one.  My body could only begin to cry, turn around and run two blocks to our home.  I ran up the wooden stairs, into my room and threw myself on the bed, hiding my head under the pillow, sobbing. 

Weeks later, we moved to Los Angeles, where within a few years I found myself in high school, a school occupied by lots of students of color, white people, and a whole variety of religions and economicdiversity.   Utica was behind me until one day, I found myself standing up for a Latino student who was being harrssed.   It was an instinct on my part.

Later, as a new high school teacher, that same instinct inspired me to reveal racism by the administration.  I was soon terminated, but the institutional racism ended.   The angry anti-semitic boy in Utica, when I was five, was a gift.  I got to feel deeply and access my compassion….finding ways to bring people together…even today. 

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