Dating : Higher Collective Ideals

Facebook reminded me that 2 years ago today (10.28.18), a hateful coward claimed the lives of 11 innocent worshippers at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Squirrel Tree, Pennsylvania, just outside of Pittsburgh.

The following morning, I took a train ride home to Maryland from New York City and wrote the long reflection below.

Now that we are living through the Age of Covid during one of the most divisive and tumultuous times in recent history, the sentiment of this slice-of-life narrative still rings true, despite the fact that the narrative feels like a movie from another era when people could be close to each other without masks or fear of contagion. It feels like a literary time capsule in October of 2020.

Nonetheless, now more than ever, I do hope — by some miracle — that we can learn to focus more on our shared humanity than our differences, that a conscious collective focus on shared national values and ideals can Unite us once again.

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This morning, I left a hotel in midtown Manhattan.

I exchanged smiles and morning greetings with a member of the housekeeping staff loading up her linen cart for the day. I thanked the doorman, who bid me wishes to enjoy the day — happily announcing that “Hey, it’s not even raining out there!” after a drippy Saturday left the city and its visitors soppy all day and night.

I went to a Starbucks and had a pleasant enough exchange where the quiet barista made my chai latte *just right*, then stopped by the narrow 3-story Target near Penn Station for a bottle of water. A bearded young manager had gathered a group of employees in a clothing department near the escalator. As I traveled up, I heard him remind the 15 or so red-shirted team members to, “Remember — we’re here every day. Our guests are not. Our job is to make their experience a pleasant one . . . “

I smiled to see and hear this, despite the fact that the large majority of the congregated employees seemed less than enthused by the daily morning pep rally.

On the street outside of the train station, I watched two strangers passing ahead of me by 15 yards or so. One asked the other for “a light” and the middle-aged white man accommodated the request of the 20-something black man, their faces mere inches from each other while they both puffed to ignite the younger man’s cigarette.

I entered the train station where thousands of strangers weaved in and out of underground coffee shops and magazine/souvenir stores. Many were hurried and perhaps not as thoughtful as others, but there was ultimately order within the chaos as electronic boards announced which trains were approaching which numbered queues and anxious passengers re-clustered accordingly.

People lined up, pardoned themselves when their bags accidentally bumped others. I heard languages and accents from all over the world as we merged into a single-file line on an escalator delivering us to the right platform and train track to head south to Jersey, Philly, Delaware, BWI, DC, and so on.

The conductor announced that the train would be very full and asked everyone to please make sure all personal belongings were stowed and not blocking any open seats.

A woman about my age sat next to me and we chatted briefly about where each of us is headed, then settled in next to each other for the 2+ hours where our travel paths align.

There are quiet conversations happening all around me and squeaky, restless children about 3 rows back. I am entertained by 4-year old “Jonah’s” sing-songy musings and mentally wish for his fussy infant sibling to find sleep.

An Amtrak attendant who had finished checking all tickets just breezed back down the aisle with some sort of complementary toys in crinkly bags for the little boy. “What ARE these?” he wondered aloud, and I could see his eyes lit up in my mind’s eye even though he is behind me and I don’t actually know what he looks like. “You have to open them to find out!” the attendant replied cheerily, and headed to another train car to tend to other duties.

The train is on time, for which I am thankful, given that I packed my schedule for this weekend too tightly.

I literally don’t know any of the people I mentioned in this reflection. I don’t know where they are from, what they believe in (or don’t), who they vote/d for (or whether they vote at all), or whether or not we agree about big or small political ideals.

What I know is that kindness and respect for other humans is an ideal worth believing in, and something I feel blessed to witness every day. Does the doorman’s ethnicity, the barista’s faith, or the train conductor’s registered political party matter? Nope. Not a single iota.

Our country is founded on higher beliefs and ideals than can be codified by terms like Republican or Democrat, right or left, black or white, Jewish or Christian or Muslim.

Attacks like the one on the synagogue and its people in Squirrel Tree, Pennsylvania yesterday — tragically and *literally* beloved Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood — are an attack on our highest national ideals.

Please focus on the everyday ways we can continue to discover and share kindness, respect, hope, compassion, and even Love to others in our paths, whoever and wherever we are.

Our higher collective ideals — kindness, respect, civility, freedom — are the true fabric of this patchwork quilt nation. They are the deeply-sewn stitches that keep the queues in order, the trains on the tracks, the chai latte or coffee in our cups, the smiles on strangers’ faces, and hope in our collective hearts that tomorrow, We as a nation might just be able to do better.