Solidarity . . . Silence . . . Sometimes Both.

Last night I saw a photo of the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin lit up with the Israeli Flag: blue wavy lights with the Star of David superimposed on the massive marble monument. This was also the case in Paris on the Eiffel Tower, and in New York City on the Empire State Building. These icons of freedom were calling out an attack on Israel by its long-time enemy in a show of solidarity. I also saw last night a film with scenes of that same Gate in Berlin surrounded by Nazis with Hitler making one of those insidious hate speeches against its Jewish, German citizens. The scene was one of crowds cheering on that dictator with arms outstretched as the Nazi flags waved underneath and around the Gate. We might be tempted to think what a difference six decades has made, and it would be true, to a point.

The Gate was caught in between the Berlin Wall when it was built to stop Berliners from defecting to West Germany. Nobody could pass through those portals for the next forty years without permission. Many tried to circumvent the guards at their own peril. When at long last that Wall fell, taking with it all the remaining Humpty Dummies, once again the whole world was welcome to walk through its gates. In 2023, it is a tourist mecca of the highest order. I went there my first day in Berlin.

Flanked on both sides by Embassy Row with all the countries’ flags atop each building, it is an impressive site. Closer to the Gate on one side is the small tourist information office, and across the famed Under de Linden Boulevard is the even smaller “Room of Silence.” A blond German woman who looked to be my age, sat behind a desk giving out brochures and answering questions regarding this lesser known attraction. She said she thought it was important work, though she was not paid. The room has been supported by women volunteers since it was opened before the Wall was removed. Many women have been the patrons of this silent place within a politically charged location between East and West Germany. Were they concerned with their own safety during that infamous dictator’s call to arms against those who disagreed?

There is no religious ideology behind this small, neutral space open to everyone greeted with the word “Silence” at the entry in different languages. Within the room are chairs in a circle and the word “Peace” written in many languages on a collage created by Berlin students on the theme of tolerance. The only decoration is a tapestry with the theme “Light penetrating darkness.” The model for the room was the meditation room that UN Secretary General, Dag Hammarskjold, had set up in the United Nations building in New York City in 1957, which still exists today. The woman told me as I signed my name to the guest book, that I was one of around 70,000 visitors this year alone. She smiled a gentle, peaceful smile.

The Room of Silence* has two simple goals: “To offer all the opportunity to stop and sit in silence for a while, either to relax or to take in this historic place with its gloomy, but also hopeful memories; and the second is a symbolic goal: The Room of Silence should be a constant invitation to fraternity and tolerance among people, between nationalities and world views.” The tiny room seems to be meeting its mighty goals and the visual image cast on the Gate just outside that room in solidarity with Jewish people made its point: The Star of David instead of that yellow star sewn like a badge onto its citizens’ clothes marking them as the enemy. All good. Right? Why then, do I feel haunted by another powerful message I have recently heard: “When dictatorship is a fact, revolution is a duty.”

Any and all scenes from the Nazi era should haunt us. That hatred has been simmering ever since. There are too many examples to list, but Charlottesville here in the US a few years ago comes to mind immediately. None of those mongering hatred against Jewish people that night with Nazi flags and torches have gone away; most have likely not had a change of heart, and will without a doubt, rise up again. Let’s not pretend otherwise, otherwise we will one day come face to face with the inevitability of citizens pitted against citizens in a revolution. It would require nothing less to right such wrongs.

I admire those who stand in solidarity in silence because silence speaks volumes. Silence is a powerful and potent way to silence an adversary. Try it next time you find yourself in an argument with the likes of Comcast, or At&t, the big bullies of our day-to-day. Silence on the other end of the phone pushes a different button. It sometimes brings a turn in the conversation away from “Sorry, we cannot rectify your complaint,” to “We value you as a customer and do not want to lose you . . .” Silence can move the heart toward recognizing value in someone seen as one’s nemesis. Silence can stop an angry burn of hatred growing within one’s heart. Silence can stop the noise inside one’s mind. Silence can make its own point, as with the Israeli flag silently shown across the Brandenburg Gate in solidarity with a former perceived foe. All good. Right? I can’t help wondering, how does silence work against the “wanna-be dictator” whose violent, angry hatred foments the worst ideologies? Gandhi, MLK, Jesus knew the answer might mean, could mean, would mean their own death at the hands of one of those who hated the message more than the messenger. The stakes are that high for anyone of us who wants to stand in solidarity and in silence against any dictator, wanna-be or otherwise. What is the alternative? Since 1994, the Room of Silence has offered a “constant invitation” to . . . “tolerance among people . . .” Sounds so simple, like silence itself. Right?

*

the Room of Silence in the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin.

Raum der Stille im Brandenburger Torhttp://www.raum-der-stille-im-brandenburger-tor.de › ...

Rise Above It . . .Dedicated to my Daughter

One of my blog followers shared in the comments a certain motto that he tries to live by. That got me thinking about mottos . . .

When my daughter was a young'un, she came to me and said: "Miss Deer says I have to ask what is our family motto?" Motto? Family motto? This felt like a serious question from one so young and vulnerable and trusting. It was a moment to take stock. The answer was not on the tip of my tongue. I had never thought about having a motto before she posed that question. I told my eight-year-old, I would think about it and let her know before her next Sunday School class. For a week I pondered it deeply, while at the sink, or in the garden, or driving from one kids' activity to another. Do I have a motto that I try to live by? I asked myself.

I knew what I believed in, what I trusted, what I counted on. Most of this was all wrapped up in what some people call faith. I had spent a long time sorting through my faith in my adult life. At some point I came to terms with the beliefs that made sense to me and let go of what I could no longer accept and what I did not need. This seemed to serve me well. I tried to impart some of it at home. But, this was not at all what my daughter was interested in when she asked: "What is our family motto?" This question gave me pause.

Our little family was not in that place in society where one might have a family crest, or family monogram, or even a family plaque at the front door that said "welcome to the home of ..."

We were living the way most middle class families in our neighborhood lived. We attended church regularly; I sang in the choir while my daughter attended religious education separate from the adult congretation. Her school days were like most, lots of classroom time interspersed with gym, and a growing number of field trips with each new year. I had been asked when she was a kindergartener to go on field trips to help my daughter to "stay with the group." By the time she was heading for junior high, she balked: "Can't you give somebody else a turn?" "Gladly," I thought. Yet, she had had to ask . . .

I wondered if a family motto, or any motto would help me to see when I was not needed? I wondered if a motto would help me to be a better parent? I wondered if my daughter needed a motto to live by? I wondered how a family motto mattered? How would having a family motto make a difference?

What is a motto? According to the online Oxford Dictionary, a motto is a short sentence or phrase chosen as encapsulating the beliefs or ideals guiding an individual, family, or institution. This definition specifies family! Apparently some families do have a motto. The definition also says it may be an ideal that guides such a family. An ideal, seemed more realistic to me, so to speak. An ideal is something to live up to. I have sometimes been called out for being an idealist. Mostly, by my now grown daughter! Thinking about an ideal as a motto for my little family to live up to, rather than by, helped me to think about that burning question that I knew I had to answer sincerely. Two and half decades later it's hard to recall how the "right" answer came to me when I finally spoke the words for the first time as OUR motto worthy of my daughter's question. After much soul searching, it had come out of the blue, as all the best ideas seem to. I recall distinctly saying to her in the car that Sunday morning that our family motto was to be: Rise above it. She accepted it without question, relieved to have her answer ready when the teacher asked. That was just the beginning . . . Rise above it, was not as simple as it sounded. Living a motto is not that easy, it turns out.

Back then, life was going on at a somewhat frenzied pace: work, school, church, sports, pets,friends, boyfriends, etc. Within these various worlds were numerous unexpected events: friends fighting; boyfriends leaving; pets dying; parents' divorcing. Each phase felt overwhelming in the moment causing us to dig deep to figure out how to proceed. Inevitably, the words would be spoken: Rise above it. Each time when it seemed to help, I realized just how important having a motto had become for my daughter, and for me. By senior year of high school, it had become a mantra as much as a motto. I had those words Rise Above It inscribed inside her high school ring.

That question my daughter posed turned out to be the right one at the right time. After she was grown and gone to college, I found myself in the role of Sunday School teacher. I made it a point to have the children ask their parents: "What is our family motto?" One of the mothers came to me to ask: What is your family motto?" This time I knew the answer.

Crossing Lines: Truth be Told

The lines aren’t malleable until we decide they are. Deciding is all it takes for long standing institutions built on principle to begin to crumble; be it the church, the school, the government. All are susceptible if and when the lines that define them are manipulated by an individual or a group.

These leylines* on which each was founded, at times have been obscured by winds of change, yet they have emerged intact after the storm. When, however, these lines lose themselves under the pressures of “the times,” all else that once was built on certitude is lost. Without certitude anything goes -- or everything goes -- ethics, morality, common sense, and above all, Truth with a capital “T.” Without Truth, where are we? Back in the dark ages; not medieval days where much certitude was placed ahead of human rights and lives, but all the way back to prehistoric times with the most rudimentary existence for all living creatures. Is that what we want? Truly?

I’ll not take to my “high horse” to fight this fight. I have fallen from there too many times to no avail. Several failed attempts over a lifetime of trying stand out in hindsight. How many, very many innocent trees have been felled by my failure to prevail on their behalf? How many womens’ lives, including my own, have been detrimentally impeded by man-made rules of law, despite my protest signs held high? Or what of my impotence before unholy men of the cloth standing between women and their God given gifts buried beneath oppressive edicts in spite of boycotting their “services.”

No, I will not carry yet again banners held high at this age of seventy while vile and vicious vitriol is spewed in the faces of those of us who try as we might to hold the line that matters for us all. The work of speaking out and up belongs to those with so much more at stake than whatever remains of my days.

These younger iterations of those who have come before owe it to themselves to reclaim the Truth with a capital “T.” Do they know the Truth? Was it visible to them as they came of age the way it was during different times before they became aware? Speaking Truth on a regular basis helps to preserve it for everyone and for ourselves. A world without Truth is a pliable existence.

Today we say we believe in these “unalienable rights” while tomorrow we abandon them for our own purposes. Allowing the foundations that were meant to last to be weakened is like watching the constant ebb and flow of the tide eroding the very place beneath our feet. We know that we are no longer standing on solid ground. Each of the major modern institutions that were brick and mortar and by definition, concrete, have been eroding to the point of totally washing away. That is the Truth of the world in which we live. What are we to do? What will we do?

*geographical lines that crisscross all over the globe. Similar to latitudinal and longitudinal lines, ley lines seem to provide a structure or system for many monuments and natural landforms. Further, they supposedly carry with them rivers of “supernatural energy”.