On Tuesday I visited my friend Stuart at a federal penitentiary, where he has been incarcerated for nearly two years, still awaiting sentencing. As I waited in the lobby, I noticed a women between 60-70 sitting and reading tehillim (psalms). I knew immediately who she was. She was the wife of the man who was responsible for Stuart's situation. My mind imediately began planning on somethng to say to her: "You shoukd be ashamed of yourself", or worse "May God multiply your pain and suffering." In the end, I restarined myself andI did not say anything to her. When I arrived upstairs to the visitng room to meet with Stuart, I noticed that she sat down with a young inmate about 30 years of age. Of course! It was her son, also indicted in the same scheme, along with his father and my friend Stuart. I looked over, and caught the son's eyes. I wanted to strangle them both. Gevalt, what was I thinking? Stuart and I settled into a wonderful hour of conversation, much of it centering on his faith in HaShem, his faith that he was in prison for a reason, and that the time there had allowed him to sort through and make some sense of his life. Suffering from poor eyesight, he shared with me that HaShem had literally and figuritively opened his eyes, and that now he more clearly understood the arc of his story and why he was where he was supposoed to be at this moment in time. "And the man and woman over there?" I asked him. He confirmed who they were, but he harbored no resentment nor anger towards either of them.
I compared my reaction to these people with my friend's state of mind towards them. My impulse was one of amger and resentment, and his place was one of equanimity and forgiveness. Clearly I was imprisoned as well.
Two different quotes came to mind. The first was from George Jackson, who wrote in his autobiography Soledad Brother: "Locked in jail within a jail, my mind is still free. I refuse ever to allow myself to be forced by living conditions into a response that is not commensurate with my intelligence and my final objective."
The second was from Maya Angelou's I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings: "
“A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the current ends
and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.”
In this season of liberation, may we all "see through (our) bars of rage", and sing a song of freedom.
I compared my reaction to these people with my friend's state of mind towards them. My impulse was one of amger and resentment, and his place was one of equanimity and forgiveness. Clearly I was imprisoned as well.
Two different quotes came to mind. The first was from George Jackson, who wrote in his autobiography Soledad Brother: "Locked in jail within a jail, my mind is still free. I refuse ever to allow myself to be forced by living conditions into a response that is not commensurate with my intelligence and my final objective."
The second was from Maya Angelou's I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings: "
“A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the current ends
and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.”
In this season of liberation, may we all "see through (our) bars of rage", and sing a song of freedom.
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