In Search of . . .

I've been thinking a lot about the refugee crisis lately. I know we all have. As Hungary erects a wall and the refugees reroute through Croatia, I am struck by this paradox of their experience fleeing their home country in search of a better life, while I explore mountains and islands and desolate beaches. The privilege I have does not escape me.  

Yesterday as I walked along a path, I kept picturing having to flee my country, my home. To run away from something without a clear picture of where I was running to. . .  fear and uncertainity at every turn. 

I wrote this for them.

In Search of . . .

She had been walking for days. Her feet ached everywhere. She had blisters on her heels, her toes, the tops of her feet. She had blisters on her blisters. She clutched her son to her chest, singing softly to him as they walked and walked and walked. He whimpered, his face wet with tears. His cries had long since stopped in earnest realizing that there was no food to eat, no water to drink.

How much longer till they rested? Her mind raced, flanked on either side by strangers, her people, tied to her in a common plight – to flee. They had been right – she should have left when Rahmad had. He likely had made it into Hungary before the wall had been erected. She pictured him now, his dark eyes smiling, sitting with a family in Germany eating a pretzel, drinking a beer. Maybe she would be able to join him. Maybe the immigration officers would take it easy on her and her small boy wrapped to her chest for whom she fled. Maybe she would find her family. Maybe.

A woman in front of her stumbled and fell and she stopped just short of tripping over her. She paused to help her up, her wrinkled hand shaking as she placed it in hers.

“Thank you my heart,” she whispered her voice low and gravely, “I know what I am running from. . . but I ask you what are we running towards?” She shook her head slowly, “What if – what if they turn us away?”

The young woman shook her head fiercely, “You mustn’t think like that Ama. They will not turn us away. They can’t! They are human beings too!” But in her head, she wasn’t so sure. There were reports of terrible treatment. Of people’s inhumanity. Of fear and hate. Of mobilized forces to keep them out. To keep them out from what? Yosef began to cry harder against her chest as if sensing her mounting anxiety.

“You must be strong,” she squeezed the elderly woman’s hand wondering why at this age she had decided to flee. She hugged Yosef closer praying that he would never remember the first years of his life. “We all must be.”