The Pope went to Washington, and because I’m Jewish,
I went too. Two hundred of us moved our Yom Kippur
services to the steps of the Lincoln Memorial so that
we could support the Pope’s climate encyclical. It was
the day of atonement, the holiest day of the Jewish year
where we fast and atone for our sins. And as the sun turned
the Washington Monument a golden pink, we read
our sins. Usually, these are for being preoccupied with
ourselves and for ignoring spiritual development. This time,
it was different.
For the harm, the hurt and the damage we have caused
by not recycling, ve-al kulam eloha selichot for all these sins,
god of mercy,s’lach lanu m’chal lanu kaper lanuforgive us,
pardon us, grant us atonement.For the harm, the hurt and
the damage we have caused by killing off 10,000 species
a year and letting rainforests be cut down,s’lach lanu
m’chal lanu kaper lanu.For the harm, the hurt and
the damage we have caused by using dirty fuels,
ve-al kulam eloha selichot s’lach lanu m’chal lanu kaper lanu.
Over a distant loudspeaker, we could hear
the Pope. At that same moment, as part of
our service, we read the Prayer for the Earth
from his encyclical. It was like we were reading
it back to him. “Bring healing to our lives, that we
may protect the world and not prey on it, that we may
sow beauty, not pollution and destruction.”
Usually, in the service, we read from the books
of the Prophets. This time, it was different.
The Rabbis quoted from many spiritual leaders
including Martin Luther King who said all life
is connected, tied to a garment of destiny. What
affects one, affects all.I could see the Canada geese
landing in the reflecting pool, the little bugs
crawling on the ground, the airplanes flying
overhead. We ended by chanting the Kaddish–
the Jewish prayer for the dead – usually, we say
it once for our ancestors; this time we said it
again, for all the dying species.
At the Yom Kippur service, they asked us
to finish this sentence: When I think of the world,
it breaks my heart because… For me, it breaks
my heart to think of the world that my grandchildren
are inheriting. I lookat their little 3 and 4 year old
hands as they reach for peanut butter sandwiches, how
they spin for joy as they play with their dad, how they
curl up at night feeling safe in their beds. They don’t know
that resource wars have already begun, that millions
of people are on the move running from rising sea waters
and debilitating drought. When they are in their 20s and 30s,
caught in wild weather and desperate for food, will they glare
at me and ask why didn’t you do more?
What will I say? That it was different back then? That I was
too dazzled by the conveniences of capitalism to join into
a solidarity economy? That I kept using gasoline and didn’t
get solar panels on my house because of the expense? That I
didn’t stop oil companies from fracking and building
pipelines because I had something more important to do?
I’ll tell them I went to Washington because one Pope can
make a difference. I’ll tell them I wrote a poem and shared it
one afternoon with some people. People who want to
sow beauty, not pollution and destruction; people who
believe all life is connected. I’ll say that I looked into those
people’s eyes and asked them to join in so that we can
face the future together. Because united, we’ll share
the burden of fear and act together. Because this time,
this time, it is different.

Thea Iberall has been called ‘a shimmering bridge between heart and mind.’ An inductee into the International Educators Hall of Fame, she writes stories and poems that springboard from the personal into moral issues, scientific questions, and emotional truths. Thea’s visionary climate change novel, The Swallow and the Nightingale, is about a 4,000-year-old secret brought through time by the birds. One reviewer said, “The tale of the birds is such a metaphor for our life and times.” Thea is a member of Northeast Storytellers and is on the leadership team of the Jewish Climate Action Network. www.theaiberall.com