Tikkun Olam Pledges

Saturday, I start lining the patio with chairs, Afghani stools, and benches, to create a big oval space. Around the perimeter I pin fabric from all over the world. This funky outdoor living room will be holding together the circle of guests and food, memories and hope. For four decades, I collected them: keffiyehs from Syria and Palestine, embroidered fabric from Mexico, Guatemala and India, woven cloth from Berber nomads in Sinai. I envisage these weavings to embrace all of us so we can become courageous, caring world citizens. It just so happens that no photos are taken at my Citizenship Celebration on Sunday October 20 here in Karinaland. Is it divine direction? 

 

War, chaos, disaster – it has happened before, it is happening right now all over the world. I myself was born into moral and literal physical rubble of post-war Germany. Till age 27, I grew up in an era of slow collective reckoning with a horrific unimaginable past. It marked and prepared me for the lion’s mouth. For the past 43 years, my home has been America. Always critical and responsible, both, I was propelled and allowed to contribute to the culture as an artist. The last few years the unimaginable has been building up: a vocal Hitler admirer and imitator is on the ballot for president, in a very close race. His opponent, a beautiful, intelligent, competent, fierce Black woman who knows how to be strong, laugh, bring joy and hope. What a stark contrast. Hers is clearly the future. But it will be a vicious fight.  Civil or moral courage ­– Zivilcourage – by all will be needed. For a decade, demagoguery full of repeated lying, fear mongering, intimidation, and violent language & actions have seriously deteriorated American culture. These are not normal times. A handful of billionaires and a feverish madness have gripped the land. We must be grounded and clear, fully awake. Take care of each other.  The near future might bring weeks and months of chaos and violence. No need to be naïve or paralyzed by fear, rather it is time to be prepared.

Sunday is a mild, sunny, glorious day. Twenty-five guests bring a spectacular array of dishes to our afternoon gathering, what a feast! Leah’s salmon and pumpkin with figs, Rebecca’s Kitchari, Kathryn’s lamb with kale, Aysha’s Saag paneer, rice, Mexican polenta casserole, Morell’s bread, cheese, charcuterie, grapes, persimmons, apples, and more.  We eat and mingle. Then I gather us into a seated oval round. To each I hand a card on which I hand wrote “Tikkun Olam” – evoking the Jewish concept of “repairing and improving” the world. Write on the back what it is means to you, I say. Then I share a bit about my naturalization experience which I had described the month before in a Karinaland River entry. Everyone gets to see my precious Citizenship Certificate as I walk around the oval, speaking about the oath of allegiance, my overriding belief in world citizenship, the best of America. Then others are invited to share their own immigration stories, that of their family or ancestors. We are a very mixed circle of several Jewish, German, Indian, Black, and Chinese backgrounds. Originally from Goa, Christopher recounts his naturalization paper work odyssey in 1998. At age seven, Alex is automatically naturalized by way of his Holocaust survivor parents arriving from Latvia in New York in 1961. Aysha’s Punjabi mother Seema is emigrating from New Delhi in 1986. Leah’s ancestors (on one side) immigrating from Jamaica, her family’s lineages of enslavement. Some share how witnessing a swear-on ceremony once brought them to tears, too. Many in our circle have immigrant parents. We listen, and hearts and minds keep opening wider and deeper, as our voices fill the patio and garden. The ancestors are with us. We are touched and moved. Birds, squirrels and trees listen, too.

Another ritual follows: I carry a tray with ceramic cups around the circle, everyone chooses. From my big glass tea pot, I pour for everyone a bit of tasty infusion made with herbs from my garden. Some is spilled for the Ancestors and Earth. I invite us to toast, we raise cups and close eyes – a precious long silence descends into our round, floating up the hill into the live oaks. Timeless, sacred space of promise and goodness spreads its wings. A pledge of allegiance to humanity and hope. To the preservation of life for future generations. The words spoken, stories shared, fall into a secret chamber deep within each of us, uniquely shaped, collectively held. The utter beauty of the moment penetrates my bones. After that – thanks to the bakers among us – pistachio-lemon cake, apple pie, chess pie, and whipped cream. We mingle, and soon dusk brings evening.

Once everyone has left, night comes fast. I listen to the owls cooing and swooshing in the trees, catching a glimpse of silent flight on wide spread wings. They are my protectors. They comforted me during the lonely days of loss – eight years ago to this day Oct 20, 2016, Bob was dying here at home. The Owls are, like my trees, part of the community around me, new and old friends, students, colleagues, including all my ancestors. Emigrating is a strong thing to do, I tell Aysha, one will be marked, and “mixed” for the rest of one’s life. Loss and our two “sides” always present. All alone here in Karinaland, I nevertheless sense deep belonging. And now with an increased sense of safety and human rights. Next day, in my gratitude email, I remind everyone to send me a picture of their words on the “Tikkun Olam” note. I call it a pledge. A promise to ourselves to not forget our world-citizenship. We have to keep “repairing and improving,” taking care of each other in our near-by small communities – beyond family and tribe. Personal prayers become a community prayer. The afternoon’s glow and healing are lingering with some of us... A refuge to be revisited.  

Karen

Karina

Fern

Aysha

Katrhyn

Summer

Ken

What is your pledge?

The very first pledge at top is by Alex

Above a still of Bob's memorial stones, hand painted by me in 2016, which i refreshed and put on the big food table to keep us company. Click to read the full W.H. Auden poem:

https://karinalandriver.blogspot.com/2021/10/follow-poet-follow-right-to-bottom-of.html

"Death is great as Life" by Walt Whitman

And at the very top, the photo of two chairs: in both of these Bob used to sit, read and doze. The one on left indoors, the one on right outside on the patio. Can you see him? 

As you can see :) there were invisible invited guests with us.