How can you not be depressed?

The Nice attack memorial. After the Bastille Day rampage along Promenade des Anglais, and as we wait for the next attack, the next murder, the next mass shooting, we are, for all intents and purposes, paralyzed, writes Yoni Goldstein.WIKI COMMONS PHOTO

It’s almost too much to bear.

Around the world, the violence, death, terror and mayhem of the past weeks has left so many of us searching for answers and explanations, for some magical solution that will bring an end to all of this chaos and restore our collective humanity. That there is no obvious remedy makes an already deeply troubling situation even more so.

In the first weeks of July alone, we had: Another massive terror attack in France. More African-Americans shot to death by police in the United States (this time, captured live for all to see on Facebook). American police officers murdered in Dallas and Baton Rouge. A coup attempt in Turkey leading to hundreds of deaths, and thousands of arrests. More terror attacks in Iraq, Pakistan, Afghanistan and Yemen. More dead in Syria’s endless civil war. So many lives lost in such a short time. You can’t shake the feeling that things are only going to get worse. Maybe a lot worse.

How can you not be depressed? In Nice after last week’s Bastille Day rampage along the Promenade des Anglais, a witness described bodies flying through the air “like bowling pins.” In Dallas, a sniper who murdered five policemen announced unequivocally his desire “to kill white people, especially white officers.” Across the United States (and in Canada, as well), a black community pleads again and again to be treated with equality and compassion. The sanctity of life, it seems, has never been so cheapened.

And we wait for the next attack, the next murder, the next mass shooting. We are, for all intents and purposes, paralyzed.

But surely there must be something we can do?

Perhaps we can start by remembering Rabbi Akiva’s words: “Veahavta le-reacha kamocha – Love your fellow as yourself.” Rabbi Akiva might have beseeched us to “respect” or “honour” or “embrace” our neighbours. He didn’t, because that’s not enough – he chose love because it is more powerful than respect, more meaningful than honour, more moving than an embrace. Surely there is no more important principle than Rabbi Akiva’s in such dangerous times.

Then we can pray. To God, if that’s your thing, to end this bloodshed and illuminate the path forward. To all humankind, if God is not for you, that we may find our way on our own. Pray for ourselves, that we may not lose hope amid the chaos.

Here in Canada, let’s be thankful, too, for our relative safety and security. Yes, we could be hit by a terror attack, or caught in a burgeoning race war. But we haven’t been yet, and hopefully we won’t be. It is a testament to our national values, and to each of us, that Canada remains comparatively calm in these stormy times. We must watch ourselves closely to make sure that remains the case.

Ultimately, we can lead by example – all of us. We can be more compassionate, more determined to stop terrorists in their tracks, more open to the grievances of the black community, more understanding of the complicated job of law enforcement.

We can try to remain calm. And we can hope our actions will be enough to change our course.