Connect with neighbors
I walked to the Little Free Library in my neighborhood, to put in it a book I have had for a while but haven’t read. The Little Free Library is a closed box on top of a post in someone’s front yard, next to the sidewalk. It has a door and two shelves. It’s full of books, free for anyone to take. Fresh used books are put in by whoever wants to donate. I own over 2000 books, most of which I could easily part with, and I need to walk daily. So it makes sense to take a book there when I think of it.
This book is called Children of the Stars. It’s about two Jewish boys escaping across France in 1942. I took a circuitous route to the box, thinking I’d read the opening of the book on the way. I should have known better; by the time I got to the box I was deep into the story. So I brought it back home. Once they had eluded the gendarmes, found a way out of Paris, and reached a small village a few hours drive away, I realized that I don’t actually want to experience the emotions in this book. They were turned in by one malicious neighbor, and after they escaped once, they were helped by another, kinder, neighbor. She knew someone who could and would take them, hidden, in his van. In the small village they were hidden by a Catholic priest who gave them supper and some chocolate cake.
I paused there. I’m sitting in my house, with the windows open, listening to the occasional dog barking, my chair squeaking, my phone buzzing. The sun is setting, sending orange rays to light the tree trunks out my window. There are lots of dead leaves left over from last year, and the beginnings of green grass. The leaves shine golden in the bright light. This is a beautiful neighborhood. Many trees are nearly 100 years old, and the newest homes have stood here 60 years. It’s a walkable neighborhood, with sidewalks everywhere and large setbacks from the road. Many people walk their dogs and there are children. Not a lot of children, but they are here. I have met many of my neighbors in 12 years of walking here. I make a point of introducing myself. But even the neighbors that I know the names of I don’t see more than once a week, because they get up and go to work elsewhere, or they are not outdoors when I’m out, or I’m away at a class or activity. I don’t know the owner of the Little Free Library near me.
In the first chapter of this book it mentions several times the apparent indifference or inability to care that people show towards the Jews being rounded up. If something like that happened here, I wouldn’t know what to do, so at least part of that is decision paralysis. They’re all under stress; part of it is feeling overwhelmed, because it’s one more thing they can’t fix. Some of it is fear that if they speak up, bad things may happen to them or to their loved ones. Some of it is prioritizing others, not these Jews, but others they care about; they are unable to help everyone. The man who smuggles the boys out of Paris has room for only two small boys in the crowded hidden space in his van, and he can only travel in and out of the city so many times before he becomes conspicuous himself.
Those who survive, do so because they make connections. The first step in making connections is: find out who your neighbors are. Get to know them a little. If they’re willing to connect, do more.
