A Test for our Humanity

"You are driving alone on a road along a cliff side and come upon an accident: a car smashed through the guard rail and is precariously teetering off the edge, on the verge of falling. No one else is around, and the driver is injured, but conscious, and reaching his hand out for help. If you reach out with your hand to try and pull him to safety, then you may save him, but you also risk your life as well if he falls with the car, possibly bringing you down with him. In that urgent moment, what do you do?" This was the crux of our discussion, late at night in Elkridge, Maryland, on Railroad Avenue (quite literally; the commercial freight and commuter line was about 100 ft. from the door of the house).

My college friend, Alex (names used have been changed to protect identities) had posed this philosophical question as if to challenge me. We had been up late that night, drinking some beer and talking about our career pursuits and an opportunity that we had both applied for: working as a Project Manager for a Medical Assistance Project in Croatia, part of former Yugoslavia, which had been embroiled in a bitter and violent civil war in the early 1990s. Alex was a naval officer and had worked for the US Defense Dept. as a Russian interpreter for nuclear arms inspection visits under the START I treaty between the then Soviet Union and USA. Alex was very bright, honest, and earnest, firm in his beliefs, backed by a deep religious faith; he wanted this job because he really wanted to help, and the question for him was a fundamental one: would you be willing to risk your life to help save another human being, even someone you do not know?

"Of course I would" I responded back, taking this as a moral challenge. A few years before, I had just finished a project working for the US Holocaust Memorial Museum; during this term of work, I had researched the Nazi genocide, and worked quite literally hands on, microfilming documents of the atrocities of the Einsatzgruppen in the Soviet Union, both in Latvia and Belarus, the eventual ghettoization and transportation of Jews, Gypsies, and other targets of the Nazis to the death camps in Central and Eastern Europe.

This research and documenting had a very profound impact on me. These documents included reports back to Berlin of daily progress of the Einsatzgruppen, the daily toll of their war crimes against innocent civilians. While I carefully microfilmed these documents page by page, I was listening on a short wave radio to the BBC reports from the civil war breaking out in Yugoslavia in 1991. The tremendous and awful irony confronted me; here were the beginnings of a modern day genocide taking place in the heart of Europe. I silently vowed to myself that, if I was given the opportunity, that I would do something about this. But what would that be?

Here was the opportunity in front of me, a very real opportunity, to personally help in this civil war. All it would take would be to apply for the job. Yes, it would be in a war zone, with the very real possibility that I might risk my life. Was I willing to take that risk? At the same time, the images of masses of refugees and displaced people was searing in me. Images that brought to mind my own ancestors, great grandparents, many of whom as Jews had fled the pogroms of Russia in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, fleeing to the freedom, safety, and prosperity of the United States. In a manner this would be a personal pursuit of Tikkun Olam, a repairing of the world.

However, there was one stubborn reminder. Most Jewish parents don't raise their children in the comfort of a nice, quiet US suburb to send their child off to a war zone. They would prefer that they take up a comfortable living as a doctor, lawyer, or accountant, and occasionally a job as a successful comedian or actor might be tolerated (with those who are struggling in this career hearing "You could have been a ...").

Indeed, when I broke the news that I had applied for this position, and, was subsequently offered the job, my parents reacted somewhat predictably. My Mother enlisted two tactics: offered to make me a life-time supply of guacamole, even bringing a bowl to me in Baltimore. The second tactic was from her own Mother, my Grandma Estelle, (A"H) offering to buy a McDonald's franchise that I would run. I assured my Grandmother that employment was not the issue. After I refused her entreaty, my Grandma, never a shy one, offered her stern advice: "you keep going to these Godforsaken countries where they did not want the Jews; they threw us out, so why in the hell do you want to go back?!"

My Dad was more sanguine about this. Over a quiet dinner in a restaurant in Concord, New Hampshire, he was very matter of fact around it, understanding that he could not change my mind, but making it clear that he did want me to go. He quietly asked me whether I understood the risks involved and what I was getting myself into. He reminded me that a coup had taken place while I was in the Soviet Union in 1991 when I was busy working for the US Holocaust Museum, and that had scared him a great deal. He told me that when communication was cut off, with civil conflict breaking out, and there was no way to get through to me, he had worked his loose connections to try to reach out to the Russian Mafia in Brighton Beach to see if they "might help get me out" (needless to say that was not successful). I smiled and shook my head when I heard this.

Even my friend Sergei, a recent Russian emigre, who was of a similar mindset as my Grandmother. After a long conversation, in which he had told me that I was certified as crazy, he asked me whether the humanitarian organization would give me a gun to protect myself. I said No; the whole idea was that I was on a humanitarian mission and carrying a gun was not allowed.

I did not change my mind and took the assignment and assured my parents that the position was based in Croatia and not in Bosnia-Herzegovina, where most of the active front lines were in 1993. This would eventually prove to be a lie (my parents know now; this is another story for another time). I would take the first opportunity to travel to Sarajevo, a city under daily siege by mortars and sniper fire and traveled throughout Northern Bosnia and Herzegovina, as well as into the UN Protected Zones (UNPAZ we called them) to manage the flow of disaster aid.

I served in former Yugoslavia for two years, working alongside some of the most dedicated people, experiencing both the horrors of humanity and the sublime. I witnessed the ugliness of racism and religious intolerance, violence and destruction- houses and buildings bombed out, the mental and physical scars of war. I also enjoyed the kindness, humor, and hospitality of the many people of the Balkans, a road trip alongside the shimmering, azure Adriatic sea and the verdant hills of Bosnia. I served two more years based in Tbilisi, Georgia (in the Caucasus) during that civil war, and, then was offered a posting in Rwanda, which would have been my last assignment, figured that I had worried my parents enough, and decided to head back to the USA.

So, why the long lead in? Follow along with me on this.

Doing the Greatest Good for the Greatest Number Where You Are

We find ourselves in quite a predicament (perhaps an understatement). Millions of people are under a type of self-quarantine (shelter at home, self isolation; call it what you will), whether you may be ill (and I hope you return to good health) or well; many of us are hunkered down in our homes, with our stockpiles of food, cleaning supplies, and hygiene items. Perhaps going out for a walk, at times with friends, keeping our social distance. Video calling or conferencing with family, friends, colleagues, clients, or whomever.

There are also, many of us who need to report to work, in-person, who may work in a job that requires a physical presence, part of an essential service, a critical infrastructure (in emergency management speak); you may be a front line healthcare worker, whether in primary, tertiary, or acute care; a police officer, fire fighter, school teacher, janitor, a visiting nurse, a sanitation worker, a manager, a scientific researcher, a data analyst, an IT specialist, a marketer, or call support specialist (OK, you get the point); we all have a role to play.

Let's acknowledge that this is a scary and dark time, and we all need to support this giant effort to defeat COVID-19. We all need to lend a hand. We need to be contributing in whatever way we can, with what we have at our disposal, to those who may need our help. This can be a family member, a neighbor, a friend, a stranger. They may be next door; they may be across the country. They may be on the other side of the world. It may be help in goods, in service, with useful information (factual, helpful; not misinformed or gossip), or just a kind and caring word.

We need leadership, and there is some emerging leadership at differing levels; for far too long we have had leaders in some parts of the world which have chosen to want us all to turn inward, putting self-interest first, promoting hatred of others, closing off borders. For now, it is unavoidable that many borders are closed as we fall under mass, nationwide quarantines.

However, we can all be leaders in this human endeavor, and we need to turn outward. We can work together in this struggle, arm in arm, and hand in hand, so to speak (with some physical distance). So I leave you with two final thoughts on the need for leadership and our humanity:

“Then tell me, O Critias, how will a man choose the ruler that shall rule over him? Will he not choose a man who has first established order in himself, knowing that any decision that has its spring from anger or pride or vanity can be multiplied a thousand fold in its effects upon the citizens?”

-Plato, Critias

Note: please don't be offended by the image below. Remember this is the barber impersonating Adenoid Hynkel, of course portrayed by Charlie Chaplin; it's the message from this great film, not the costume.

Stay healthy and well, keep the faith, and never surrender.