An inscription on a memorial stone embedded under a tree...

An inscription on a memorial stone embedded under a tree in Great Neck commemorates former Deputy Mayor Roger Weiss.  Credit: Elizabeth Cohn

In these contentious times, it’s not easy to find kindred spirits in one’s neighborhood. But here in Great Neck, I found some when I came across the inscription on a memorial stone embedded near a busy intersection in the center of town in 1986.

The inscription, which commemorates one of our town’s former deputy mayors, Roger A. Weiss, reads: “He gave, when most would have given up.”

I gather at the site with a couple dozen neighbors every Thursday for half an hour each fall and winter at 12:30 p.m. and at 5:30 p.m. in spring and summer. This “vigil” has been organized by activist folk singer Nina Gordon. The goal? To share our basic convictions with passersby on foot or in cars — and to enjoy neighborly camaraderie.

We express our convictions with handmade posters, a little music, poetry, and lots of mutual support. The slogans on our placards include “Democracy requires participation,” “Share your values,” “Respect human rights, and “We are stronger together.”

For people who don’t bring their own signs, I bring colored markers and large poster boards to make one on the spot. “I haven’t had this much fun since kindergarten,” said one participant.

This half-hour gives me strength despite the tsunami of troubling news that may break throughout that week.

I’ve asked my fellow participants why they come, and among their responses were these adaptations of the inscription on the rock:

When others are silent, we speak out.

When others are too busy, we find the time.

When others comply, we resist.

When others are complacent, we are alarmed.

When others isolate, we connect.

When others kvetch, we stretch.

To enliven our half-hour together, we sometimes enact two-minute theater pieces, such as a short dialogue between Lady Liberty — complete with crown and torch — and an immigrant citing his “red card,” which summarizes basic protections against harassment.

Vigils like this are occurring in other communities, according to Manhattan Rabbi Sharon Kleinbaum, who in January launched the program Beacon Shine the Light, which she says has now reached over 30 locations, mostly in the Northeast.

As we make our stand, we are usually encouraged by drivers in some 300 cars that pass by. They often give us a supportive “honk, honk” — and an occasional finger of dissent, of course. After one dissenter shouted: “Get a job!,” I replied: “As a 90-year-old American, this IS my job!”

Yet we haven’t had a single instance of serious abuse.

I don’t know how much effect our “stands” will make on our nation’s political future. But I do know in my bones — and in my sometimes-aching feet — that it is sustaining my spirit by bringing me together with supportive neighbors.

 

Reader Ronald Gross lives in Great Neck.

 

 

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