Love and Hope
Content Guidance: This story includes references to wartime in Ukraine, the Holocaust and other world crises.
Photo Courtesy | Micah Klassen
BY MICAH KLASSEN
Tomorrow, our youngest son turns two.
It’s Friday morning, February 24th and I’m in the shower trying to think through the small celebration we’ve planned for him with a few friends and family members at my in-laws’, but my mind keeps jumping to the footage I saw earlier of NICU newborns being cared for in a bomb shelter in the Ukraine. They were moved there preemptively due to the recent Russian invasion, now unfolding in real time on screens all over the watching world. Flashes of purple, red and blue Paw Patrol balloons morph into static images of families bundled in jackets, clutching belongings and gripping small hands as they desperately flee a country at war. I try to visualize the Thomas-themed birthday cake I’ve committed to making, deliberating over what shape will work best . . . .
Do I go round, or oblong? What color should the icing be? What food do I still need to buy for the party? Have I invited too many people to maintain COVID safety? What will become of this war? What will happen to those babies? What is the world coming to?!
I’m struck by the incongruity of trying to plan an innocent two year old’s birthday party as I wrestle with the brutality grown humans are capable of, and it all feels so strange. It almost seems wrong to celebrate, knowing so many people are currently experiencing such horrible trauma; yet it would also feel unnatural not to. My son knows nothing of this war unfolding in a foreign country, nothing yet of the pain human beings have the potential to inflict on one another. He’s only experienced love and protection from those around him so far, and to me, that is how it should be in an ideal world. All children should begin their lives fortified by unconditional love and trust; my heart breaks for the innocence this war will inevitably steal from so many tender, vulnerable young souls.
Have things always felt so unstable? Did the world feel just as ‘out of control’ to those who came before me?
I’m beginning to suspect it did.
I think back to 9/11, to the conflict in the Middle East, to the Syrian humanitarian crises, to the Taliban’s recent return to Afghanistan and the terror this brought with it, to the natural disasters numerous countries have endured over the past five years, and most recently - a global pandemic. Knowing these events have all occurred within my 32 years of life is somewhat sobering if I think of them collectively like this; especially because each one represents real lives lost - or completely rewritten - and I imagine most survivors would still be experiencing the impacts of each respective trauma.
Recently I finished a book called ‘The Happiest Man on Earth’. It’s the memoir of Eddie Jaku - a Jewish holocaust and Auschwitz survivor, and in it he recounts many of his experiences as a prisoner to the Nazis during WWII. Some of the realities he describes are extremely hard to swallow. I’ve read stories from survivors of the Holocaust before, but nothing as detailed as this, and I was completely aghast as I made my way through each chapter. I felt utterly dismayed that these horrors had taken place, that people had endured this kind of animal treatment for months on end at the hands of the Nazis. It was hard to believe that such coldhearted brutality could (and does) exist. The book made my disdain for war skyrocket, especially in light of what is happening in the Ukraine right now, and the conflicts unfolding in the Middle East and the endless trauma people are suffering as a result. I wondered what Eddie would say about it all. Would he condemn the way we’re able to view footage of these events from the safety of our homes? Or would he praise social media as an effective tool for raising awareness of the harsh realities of war? If social media had existed at the time of the Holocaust, would it have made a difference? Would it have helped to end things sooner?
As a parent, it's very easy to feel overwhelmed with anxiety about the future when the media broadcasts a steady stream of worst-case-scenarios and the worst things humans are capable of. On most days, I find myself thinking about what kind of society will await our boys when they no longer require the shelter of our roof, and I worry about the challenges they may have to navigate as they mature. The world is a rapidly shifting place, but lately those shifts have felt somewhat abrupt. It's a little scary, if I’m honest.
Yet I have to remind myself that there is always another side of the coin, and in this case it is that we all have the capacity to do harm and to project our prejudices and act reactively, out of fear, rather than love and empathy.
What inspired me so much about Eddie’s story was his resolve to notice the good, the noble and the beautiful in the midst of what must have been absolute hell. He is honest about the trauma of being a prisoner in a death camp and the repercussions this brought - both emotionally and psychologically - but he also describes the complexity and nuance that was present in an event we who are looking back retrospectively are prone to overlook. He recognised that not all Germans involved in the war effort were in support of the cruelty the military displayed, nor did they necessarily desire war. They were all just people, trying to navigate the political, social and economic struggles of their generation - which unfortunately for most, meant some kind of military involvement. He points out small kindnesses shown to him by people of many different nationalities during his days as a prisoner, and the absolute necessity of friendship and relationship; he explains that this is what makes us truly wealthy, and has the power to make life a thing of beauty: loving, and being loved by others. He details how it was the experience of becoming a father that truly helped him heal from so much of the trauma and depression he carried after he’d ‘reintegrated’ into society again, post WWII.
This perspective reaffirmed to me that the role my husband and I have as parents, for one, is sacred and beautiful - despite our failures and fears - and the attention we give to parenting and loving our kids greatly matters. After all, they are the future! The work we do (which requires both self examination and selflessness) and the decisions we make in order to raise emotionally intelligent, adaptable, creative, problem-solving, generous, risk-taking, community-minded kids - whether or not this is acknowledged/rewarded/supported by society - greatly matters.
Humans THRIVE within a loving community, and it is this connection to (and with) others which will bring much needed healing - if we only learn to see it as the most valuable thing we possess! I dare to believe that our propensity toward love, justice and empathy is greater than our capacity to cause harm, and that the kind of beauty Eddie talks about is just as abundant in the world - if only we can recognise it when we have it, and steward it to the best of our ability.
Becoming a mother has shown me the true transformative power of love, and for that I’ll forever be deeply, deeply grateful.
MICAH KLASSEN was raised in New Zealand and homeschooled by her mum, who was the first to spark a love for creative writing in her during primary school. That spark quickly morphed into flame — writing is such a cathartic expression for Micah and has helped her through some very difficult seasons. In 2010, she moved to Australia, fell in love and married her Canadian sweetheart — They now have two babies and Micah is doing her best not to fall off the wild rollercoaster ride that is Motherhood! Currently writing from Vancouver, Canada.