Sunday, November 23, 2014
The next day, over lunch, I was reading an article about immigration reform which noted "For a rich country, the United States has an unusually high level of food insecurity—a polite term for hunger—in part because hunger is so common among unauthorized immigrant families, who can’t collect SNAP benefits. "
This seemed unlikely to me, given what I know about the demographics of hunger, and the relative populations, so I looked up a few numbers and did a rough calculation. Estimates are (based on surveys in LA and NYC) that 40% of households with undocumented immigrants in them are food insecure. There are about 4 million undocumented immigrant households in the US. About 18 million households are food insecure in the US (15% of all households). If you ignored the undocumented immigrant households completely, 14% of US households would be food insecure. Hunger is common among immigrant household, but those are only a small percentage of the total households. We are a rich nation with a hunger problem that cannot be principally ascribed to undocumented immigrant families.
So why does the author of the Slate piece think the undocumented immigrant population is so large that it accounts for much of the hunger in the US? Probably because we are not very good at estimating the size of populations, and as this recent study shows, people in the US are particularly bad at it, worse than almost any other country in the world. If you ask people in the US what percentage of the US population are immigrants, the average guess is 32% while the actual value is 13%. We think 15% of the population are Muslims (it's 1%). As a country, our mental image of who our neighbors are is woefully inaccurate, particularly when it comes to those we consider 'other' or troublesome.
I think of Colbert's quip: “If this is going to be a Christian nation that doesn’t help the poor, either we’ve got to pretend that Jesus was just as selfish as we are, or we’ve got to acknowledge that he commanded us to love the poor and serve the needy without condition and then admit that we just don’t want to do it.” We are a rich nation with an outsized hunger problem.
For more math and social justice in the recent news, Math Man pointed out this analysis of data on Pennsylvania school funding as one example of simple math that uncovers an uncomfortable truth: poor districts with a higher percentage of non-white students get less funding than equally poor school districts with mostly white students. The math can't tell you why, but it can show you what is — a contemplative stance.
The image is from this post at Macmillan's dictionary blog by Michael Rundell, about the use of the word "hunger."
Posted by Michelle at 9:35 PM
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
They are said, too, before the first words of תפילת העמידה, Tefilat HaAmidah, the Standing Prayer, the keystone of the Jewish liturgy: יז אֲדֹנָי, שְׂפָתַי תִּפְתָּח; וּפִי, יַגִּיד תְּהִלָּתֶךָ.
The prayer that should never be interruped, was interrupted on Tuesday in a synagogue in Jerusalem. And then seven people were dead. Four rabbis, a police officer, two attackers.
This morning I prayed with this unsparing photo of the carnage up on my computer: the prayer book soaked in blood, the white and black stripes of a man's tallit stark against the crimson, the strands of the tallit tangled with the detritus of the emergency response. I wanted to look unflinchingly into the horror, not to pretty it up for prayer, or to try to tuck it onto my list of terrors to pray never come close. I thought many times about whether to use the photo to illustrate this post. But for now, it is merely linked, and instead my prayer space is here, the red strands of the stole gently evocative of the scene in Jerusalem. Perhaps too gently.
As I prayed, I was acutely aware that nearly every word coming from my mouth was sacred first to the Jewish tradition. Psalm 36, Judith, Psalm 47, Tobit. Our texts weave in and out of each other, the Benedictus and the Amidah. May the dawn from on high break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness.... He who makes peace in His heavens, may He make peace for us...
We pray, and our prayers weave in and out of one another's sacred texts, criss-cross through one another's sacred spaces. We cannot separate ourselves from this horror, say that what has happened has not happened to us, does not call us to wail aloud, to beg with the psalmist that the bones that have been crushed might be made whole.
We want to call the words our own, to possess them, yet we begin by acknowledging that we do not even hold the key.
Open our lips, O Lord, and guide our feet into the way of peace. Make us whole.
Fran of There Will Be Bread pointed us to Alden Solovy's prayer for mothers at To Bend Light this morning. The last line of the prayer kept winding me back to the Benedictus: May the dawn from on high break upons us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and guide our feet into the way of peace.
Posted by Michelle at 10:15 PM
Saturday, November 15, 2014
I watered the plants, I got my haircut. There is food in the 'fridge. I prayed. And it is all grace, infusing the quotidian with the mystical.
Posted by Michelle at 10:37 PM
Thursday, November 13, 2014
This video, whose title comes from Walter Burghardt SJ's definition of contemplation, was made by the delightful and talented Mariel Carr to go with a review of Addy Pross' What is Life? I wrote for the Chemical Heritage Magazine. I love the title the editor gave it, "Border Crossing" which certainly described not only the book, but in many ways my life.
Next Tuesday (Nov 18) I'm giving a talk about living on this edge between science and religion for the Institute for Religion and Science at nearby Chestnut Hill College, but part of me wonders if I can do any better in 60 minutes than this 6 minute film!
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Sandwiched between a morning meeting and my noon class, I was trying hard to put the finishing touches on some visual materials for class. But I couldn't resist watching the live stream of the Philae landing on the comet. It brought back memories of watching the space launches when I was a kid, sprawled on a cushion on the floor of the cool basement where our black and white TV lived. "T minus 10 and holding..." Dreams of walking on other planets flitted through my head.
And as a scientist, I could imagine the tension in the room, hoping that all these years of work by so many would be successful! I loved the way people jumped for joy when it appeared it had landed, and the focus of one of the women on the team who even in that moment, was critically evaluating the data, "The altitude hasn't changed," she murmured to another team member. (It turns out the lander may have bounced...)
Suddenly my research student was knocking briskly on the door, "Do you have a camera? There's an osprey in the courtyard!" It wasn't an osprey, but a large red-tailed hawk perched on the light outside my office. It seemed quite unperturbed by our presence, more intent on finding a snack in the leaves.
I love drinking deeply of the created world, I love the way science pulls me into wonder and joy.