Chaplain Judy Seicho Fleischman on not pushing back

Stopping

8 A.M. I'm riding. New York City rush hour, packed subway train. I'm sitting, crouched, Chinese style, beside a pole. My way of dealing with the situation, taking care of myself while trying to be attentive to reality of no seats and yet, it’s too hard for me to stand the whole way downtown.

I’ve been doing this for some time. Some think it's strange but pretty much, folks seem to swing with it.

175th Street. Someone gets on saying, "Don't push me." A voice responds loudly, "How can I not push you?! Someone's pushing me. We're all pushing. It's rush hour, the train is packed. What do you expect?" A muffled reply, then a loud response, "You don't want to be pushed, why don't you ride your own private car with a chauffeur!"

This back and forth volley continues, growing more heated. Then, a woman's voice, "Okay, we get it. We got it. Now can you stop?" and another voice says, "Please" in an exasperated tone. Of course, the result of this is more: "Whatchu mean stop? Tell him to stop? Not push me. Be serious. How can I not push you...." and it's off to the races again. Now more folks chime in, and anger is building, "Come on, just a few more stops, first thing in the morning. Can't you stop?" and so on.

Then silence, dead silence, the kind that kills spirit, kills dialogue.

We ride, slowly to 59th Street, a long ride from 125th.

I sit in silence, listening, attuning, recognizing I cannot speak without my heart being aligned with speech, so silence and presence must suffice for now. I breathe, feel.

We get to 59th. Lots of space opens as folks get off. Then it comes to me. I say loudly, "Whoever was pushing, feeling pushed, are you on the train?" and a woman replies, "I'm here." I say, "There's a free seat here. Would you like to sit down?"

She comes over my way, I finally see her face. She is somewhere between middle age and elderly, shorter than I imagined and looks tired and determined to survive. I meet her gaze; I smile. She says, "No, I don't need to sit. I'm okay." I say, "Okay, well if you don't sit, I will. You sure you don't want to sit?" She says, "Yeah, I'm sure." So I sit. A few breaths, then she begins, "How can I not push? It's impossible." I hear the collective sighs from all around, then a voice, "Oh, not again." I say to her so folks can hear, "It's tough. It's a tough thing." She nods. Then, I say loudly so everyone on the train can hear, "My dear friends. We survived 9/11. We did it with a lot of kindness. We found a way and it was tough. So I'm making an appeal to you. Just because someone's having a tough time, we don't have to make them into an enemy, because tomorrow, it could be you."

A woman calls out loudly from the other end of the train, "Amen!"

I hear the tension shifting. Then I say, "I'm asking you, whatever helps you to feel kindness and compassion right now, to tap that so we can do this together, get through together. It would really make my day if we could do this. Thank you."

When I got off the train one stop later, I touched a woman on the shoulder and said, "God bless you." She and her friend smiled and said, "You, too."

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