I’ve told this story to a few people this week so perhaps it’s also worth sharing here. During the Holocaust, my maternal grandmother bribed a farmer to hide her in his potato cellar. When the money ran out, he evicted her. She wandered through the woods half-starved and came across a young boy. Scared he would alert others to her presence, she threatened him but she wasn’t all that intimidating as she looked bedraggled and emaciated.
After the incident, she slid into hopelessness and no longer cared whether she lived or died. She’d already suffered so much and couldn’t take anymore. She spotted an encampment and decided to walk into it whether it was the Nazis or not.
It wasn’t the Nazis, it was the Russians so she was saved. Growing up when I heard that story, I marveled at the “happy accident,” of my grandmother’s “luck.” But recently I started to reframe what happened. What if it wasn’t an accident? What if it was intentional? What if my grandma was led to safety by guardian angels or water spirits or her intuition or some other benevolent force?
Seen and unseen forces walk beside us. Photo by Jad Limcaco on Unsplash
My spiritual teacher says, “There is no such thing such as an accident – everything is an incident. When an action is materialized within a very short time, or when the root cause of the action is not known to us, we are just seeing the reaction, the incident. When the cause, the causal side of the incident is not known to us, or when the causal side is translated into action in a very short time, we say it is an accident. But actually, nothing is accidental, everything is incidental.”
What about car accidents? And stubbing your toe? The cause could be very simple – someone ran a red light. Or you weren’t looking where you were going. But also sometimes, the cause is deeper and more meaningful than that (I think). I’d like to believe my grandmother walked into a Russian camp because she was meant to live. It wasn’t her time to die yet, so no, it wasn’t an accident.
The reframe is asking me to consider the same about my own life. What if I’m also not alone and instead being led to safety in its myriad forms? It’s clear that I pay attention to divine guidance. I notice when bumblebees land on my window or doves perch on my railing. I listen to the inner stirrings of my gut. Paying attention to divine guidance is what this Passover is about for me, a holiday I’m currently celebrating.
Passover is about the escape from Egypt and as a modern-day Jew, I’m escaping from a metaphorical Egypt. The Hebrew word for Egypt is Mitzrayim, which also means tight spaces or narrow consciousness. This year the narrow consciousness I’m escaping from is the notion I’m wandering around all alone, lost in the woods. That help is out of reach and unavailable.
I’m recognizing I’m not all alone and neither was my grandmother, nor my great-grandmother, nor my great-great-grandmother all the way back to the time of Moses. I, too, am being led from a metaphorical Egypt to a safer, freer, promised land. Even if you’re not Jewish, maybe the same is true for you.
I dream of a world where we remember there are no coincidences, that instead there is always a cause for everything, even if we’re unaware of it. A world where we recognize we aren’t alone. A world where we remember benevolent beings are walking with us, guiding us where we need to go.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Lately I’ve been thinking about how as much as history is filled with stories of human suffering, it’s also filled with stories about overcoming it. In my own life, I’m prone to tell the former more than the latter. For instance, I’m quick to tell people I was hit by a car as a pedestrian, but rarely do I mention the strangers who stopped for me, who drove me home, who copied down the license plate number. Nor do I mention my friends who rushed over to comfort me, to ply me with arnica and rescue remedy.
Instead of a testament to the kindness of others, I broadcast the tragedy. Even now I notice it’s easier for me to get stuck in the present moment in a bad way. I think the present moment will last forever and have trouble maintaining perspective. It’s hard for me to feel optimistic about my personal future.
I’m reminded here of my maternal grandmother. During the Holocaust, she hid in a potato cellar with a rabbi and his family for 11 months. The living conditions were hellish, as I’m sure you can imagine. Not to mention she contracted typhus and couldn’t get proper medical care because, well, she was in hiding. She wanted to die and the rabbi said to her, “You will get through this. Your life will get better.” My grandma thought he’d lost his mind. She did get through it and her life did get better. Not every moment was a party, but she experienced joy again, which she didn’t think was possible.
True story: I spotted a rainbow on my walk home today. Not this one though. Photo by Simon John-McHaffie on Unsplash
During hard times it’s difficult to remember things change, but they do. Even if I look at the coronavirus as an example, I see that’s true. A month ago I didn’t know it existed and now schools are closed, events are canceled, flights are grounded. A lot has happened very quickly. The same is true for us. Our lives can change in an instant. When I say that, I usually think of it in the negative, as in, forecasting terrible things, but the reality is life can change for the better in an instant too. I could sign a new client tomorrow. I could bump into my future husband on the street after we’ve both emerged from social isolation. A year from now my novel could be a bestseller. I truly don’t know.
Again taking the coronavirus as an example, the air is clearing in China, CO2 emissions are down, and eating wild animals is banned. People are singing across the street to each other every day in Italy. We are all learning how to slow down and connect with one another in new ways, which is beautiful.
I realize we all have a negativity bias and it’s a protective mechanism, but what if we started to skew in the other way? What if we started to search for the positive? For the hope? What if more of us could be like that rabbi in hiding with my grandma and fiercely believe the world would get better? That our lives would get better? Maybe believing it would make it so.
I dream of a world where we maintain our perspective. A world where we remember the present moment is fleeting. A world where we acknowledge suffering as well as the overcoming of it. A world where we hold on to hope for the future as much as we can.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.