Givers and Takers

Not everyone hates war. The Genghis Khans, the Hitlers, the Arafats, live for its cruelty, its glory, its unfettered power. Maybe it’s just the rush of mass murder wrapped in a superficial political cloak to give some faux legitimacy to a burning need to conquer, to kill because you can.

Normal people despise it. Those who simply want to go to work, take care of their families, see a show, eat out, sit in the sunshine, go to school, indulge their passions, respect life, cherish it. These are the enemies of war. And sometimes—often—its greatest heroes.

In Poland, Hungary, and other places bordering Ukraine, the valiant everyday citizens are saving lives and helping keep firm the glue holding fragile refugees and families together—mostly women and children. The men stayed home to fight. The dazed and shocked victims of Putin’s senseless war arrive to food, clothing, needed supplies. Baby carriages left for moms who need them. Locals cooking meals. Books in Ukrainian or Russian available for readers, that most civilized, tranquil of acts. Volunteers reassure children, trying to calm shattered young nerves in shattered young lives. They even quench the thirst and sate the appetite of pets, as scared and confused as their families.

Scores of children will not return to school nor fulfill their dreams. The gone-mad Putin murdered close to 100 children, and the number climbs. The final toll of needless death has not been counted, and the loss of the inchoate young will be ever more wrenching.

But the haters of war, the everyday people of these towns, have become heroes. Saving lives, selflessly giving of themselves not to make life normal, but bearable; even to restore some lost faith in what humanity is supposed to be. The kindness is beyond random acts—in every bottle of water given, every bowl of homemade soup handed out, every pillow and blanket is an act of defiance by the haters of war, and a signal to its Russian perpetrator.  

The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

                                                            Portia, The Merchant of Venice

Four dollops for the givers and takers, and heaven protect them all.