I'm back in New York. Now I don't see the Kineret when I step outside. There are no brilliant pink and orange flower bushes. Instead of Mount Arbel towering behind me I see a ridge clustered with maple trees whose leaves, now brown, are dropping to the ground. The light seems feebler here somehow, as though someone had put plastic wrap over the sun. But it's only the usual twilight period before a Hudson valley winter.
Winter brings Christmas and though I don't have easy access to Bethlehem this year, I plan to sit on a New York couch with my parents eating chocolate, maybe drinking a bit of Christmas whiskey and listening to the music of my childhood. I am too lucky to complain about no longer being in Israel. I was there. How many people are still waiting, longing and haven't yet gotten the chance that I had?
I live with my parents now, and am working to keep up with their fast-paced generative life style. When I say generative, I'm referring to the seventh stage in Erikson's theory of psychosocial development—generativity versus stagnation. Generativity, according to Merriam Webster is, "a concern for people besides self and family that usually develops during middle age especially : a need to nurture and guide younger people and contribute to the next generation."
I met several generative middle-aged people during my time in Israel who impressed me. These people had finished raising their kids and could have been relaxing and enjoying a carefree life. Instead they were working tirelessly, often in unromantic, unrewarded capacities, for causes they believed in. I loved and appreciated all those people and I'm proud to say that my parents rank up there with the best of them. Since I've last lived at home the youngest of my siblings has graduated high school and left. Now my parents spend their free time baking, harvesting honey, taking care of blueberries and trying to make people happy.
As for me, I sometimes like to use Erikson's theory about generativity as an excuse to sleep in after my alarm clock rings. I'm not middle aged yet, I tell myself. I don't have to worry about doing things for other people.
Obviously this approach will lead to early stagnation so I really shouldn't engage in it. Maybe by the time I'm middle aged I will get a chance to return to Israel. But until then, I will get excited about New York. There are loving and lovable people to discover and experience in New York just as there in all areas of the world.
As a child I used to love the Narnia books. I love the way Lewis ends the Chronicles, preserving Narnia forever, referencing Plato's theory of forms and my favorite aspects of the book of Revelations. Just as Narnia, all that was good and beautiful about it, could not be destroyed, so everything good and beautiful that I experienced in the last year--bonds of faith and friendship, shared memories of beauty and laughter—will last forever.
I cannot do anything for that broken area of the world I just came from except pray for every person I met and those I didn't, the Hebrew, Arabic and English speakers, who are unique individuals each with their own story, loved ones, thoughts and beliefs. In my opinion there are no adequate words or statements in any language that can apply to the current situation. As one of the other volunteers I met at Christ Church told me a few weeks ago, "I don't have any answers for this war but all we can do is be there to serve God's people wherever we are."
Together we can hold on to the vision of the future expressed in Revelations 21: "I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Look! God's dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 'He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."
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