Memorial Weekend
We have taken to commemorating those who have been lost in armed conflicts - the current militarily correct term for war - for three days these last many years. On Saturday, Sunday and Monday. For many of us it is a long weekend, a work holiday. In its raw reality, it is much, much more than that.
Saturday morning I locked my back door to head out for errands and looked toward the street. There were cars parked on each side. While this happens every Jewish High Holy Day (I live 2 blocks from the Orangetown Jewish Center), the event precipitating the parking jam was Memorial Day. Backing carefully out of the driveway and shifting into 1st gear I paused as I tried to navigate through the clogged, short block to the corner: under normal circumstances, this would be no problem. Slowly I signal to turn left and am met by one of a handful of Orangetown's finest, dressed in full uniform with a neon orange mesh vest, directing traffic away from the island which normally is quiet. Today there were veterans of many an 'armed conflict', members of the American Legion and their wives, standing shoulder to shoulder, surrounding the triangular hill from which a huge flagpole sprang, flanked by an authentic canon from WWI - "the war to end all wars".
The crowd was three or four deep. Some older veterans were in wheelchairs propelled by one of their children, grandchildren or a friend and accompanied by other members of their family, some with young children in tow. I pulled my car to the side - when I found a space to park - to share just a moment with those whose lives were inexorably changed by war. I have a vague recollection of my Uncle Bob coming back from Korea and my Aunt Ruthie moved to tears that he made it back home.
On Saturday, the veterans present weren't "memorializing" coming home; they were remembering their comrades in arms, young 17-20 year olds, who did not come home. Lost in the air, on the sea, in the jungle, on the battlefield, in prisoner of war camps, in 'friendly fire'. Gone.
Some stood or sat stone faced, others were obviously moved as tears crept from the corners of their eyes down their craggy features. They made no apology - no effort to wipe the tears away.
The image immediately made a connection in my mind: "Jesus wept". His good friend Lazarus had died and Jesus felt the loss intensely and personally.
I do not support war, yet can certainly pray for those who find themselves thrown into one. We all can pray for their faith and courage, their safety, their families.... and, God willing, that they return home alive, changed but alive.
Consider, if you do not already do so, remembering our men and women serving in the armed forces during your prayer time. While they may be out of our plain sight, may they not be out of our collective mind.
Saturday morning I locked my back door to head out for errands and looked toward the street. There were cars parked on each side. While this happens every Jewish High Holy Day (I live 2 blocks from the Orangetown Jewish Center), the event precipitating the parking jam was Memorial Day. Backing carefully out of the driveway and shifting into 1st gear I paused as I tried to navigate through the clogged, short block to the corner: under normal circumstances, this would be no problem. Slowly I signal to turn left and am met by one of a handful of Orangetown's finest, dressed in full uniform with a neon orange mesh vest, directing traffic away from the island which normally is quiet. Today there were veterans of many an 'armed conflict', members of the American Legion and their wives, standing shoulder to shoulder, surrounding the triangular hill from which a huge flagpole sprang, flanked by an authentic canon from WWI - "the war to end all wars".
The crowd was three or four deep. Some older veterans were in wheelchairs propelled by one of their children, grandchildren or a friend and accompanied by other members of their family, some with young children in tow. I pulled my car to the side - when I found a space to park - to share just a moment with those whose lives were inexorably changed by war. I have a vague recollection of my Uncle Bob coming back from Korea and my Aunt Ruthie moved to tears that he made it back home.
On Saturday, the veterans present weren't "memorializing" coming home; they were remembering their comrades in arms, young 17-20 year olds, who did not come home. Lost in the air, on the sea, in the jungle, on the battlefield, in prisoner of war camps, in 'friendly fire'. Gone.
Some stood or sat stone faced, others were obviously moved as tears crept from the corners of their eyes down their craggy features. They made no apology - no effort to wipe the tears away.
The image immediately made a connection in my mind: "Jesus wept". His good friend Lazarus had died and Jesus felt the loss intensely and personally.
I do not support war, yet can certainly pray for those who find themselves thrown into one. We all can pray for their faith and courage, their safety, their families.... and, God willing, that they return home alive, changed but alive.
Consider, if you do not already do so, remembering our men and women serving in the armed forces during your prayer time. While they may be out of our plain sight, may they not be out of our collective mind.
posted by Joanna Depue | 9:55 PM
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