Happy Easter & Passover!

"Our children grow before us, tender branches reaching for the sky."

Hello to all my readers and listeners!

The Kashmiris. At the foot of the Himalayas lies legendary Kashmir. The villagers are masters of many arts. Some weave carpets and shawls like those once treasured by the maharajah rulers of old. From generation to generation, these talents have been faithfully passed down from parents to children until the present time.

This weekend as we remember Easter and Passover, I think of those who came before us and fought for our freedoms. Freedom to practice our faiths, freedom to speak out against tyranny and freedom to raise our children without interference from government.

Although I write about the darker side of humanity—which is growing darker by the day—you might be surprised to know that I have a generally joyful attitude toward life. I am thankful for every day, every moment.

Years ago, I wrote and illustrated a lot of children’s books. I wanted to share one of them here, ALL THE CHILDREN OF THE WORLD, published with Word Kids, which became part of Thomas Nelson. Although I have little time for it these days, first and foremost I am an artist. My artwork for this book is all colored pencils. It’s been out of print for many years, but wow, do we need books like this for our children. Each page tells the story of a different people around the world.

The Russians. Most village houses have a bench outside where families sit on a summer evening. After a simple meal, often of cabbage soup and black bread, older family members love to sing and tell the children ancient folk tales. These stories speak of the mighty Russian spirit—the victory of the humble over the powerful and of the courage of a true and pure heart.

Here's the little poem I wrote to go with the stories of each people:

The faces of our children,
painted in shades
of red
and gold,
of cream
and deepest brown,
reflect the colors
of warm, rich earth,
of starry nights
and early morning sunshine.
Our children grow before us,
tender branches
reaching for the sky.

The Amazonians. The many tribes of the Amazon are perfectly at home in the forest. They can travel for miles through a maze of branches and vines, never losing their way and never tiring. Their children play by the river, sharing it with the pink dolphin, the razor-toothed piranha, and the deadly anaconda snake.

Back in those days, I never dreamed we’d find ourselves in a world where children were being told they were either the victimizers or the victimized due to the color of their skin. A book like ALL THE CHILDREN OF THE WORLD could not be published today. Back then, it was all about “unity through diversity,” before equity replaced equality. A time before cell phones, Tik Tok and Instagram. Before BlackRock and Bill Gates were buying up everything. When people tilled their own land, weaved their own cloth and the Elders told stories in the evenings by the light of the fire. Yes, there are still people who do these things, but such traditions will soon be gone forever if we don’t do something to stop the march of the “Vast Machine.” Our children’s children are in danger of never experiencing such connections to the land and each other. Not only will all memories be gone but such an existence will be wiped from all search engines as if it never existed, or it will be interpreted in a way to make it seem that it was a barbaric time.

The Maya. In the early morning, women carry bowls of corn kernels to the village tortilla shop to be ground into flour. Draped around their shoulders are colorful rebozo shawls, hand-woven from wool. Babies are carried snugly in the rebozos, their dark heads peeking out from the fold of soft cloth.

I have always had a passion for bringing children together from different backgrounds and cultures. Not long after this book was published, I started InsideOUT Writers, a creative writing program for incarcerated youth in Los Angeles. The youth who sat together at the writing table were often enemies on the street—they could live one block from each other, and it would be dangerous to cross that line into another gang’s territory. But at the writing table, they were just youth, regardless of gang affiliation or skin color. It was marvelous to watch as they wrote about their lives and then read their writing to one another, how the tough facades fell away. Slowly but surely, they came to realize that they all had the same hopes and fears, dreams and nightmares.

Instead of propagandists telling them they were victims of systemic racism and there was nothing they could do about it, they realized that deep in their hearts, where it really mattered, the ties that bound them together were stronger than the lies that were tearing them apart.

Artwork I did for a book of youth writing: What We See: Poems and Essays from Inside Juvenile Hall

Through sharing their stories, these youth gained compassion for one another. They realized that their arguments were petty and manufactured. Friendships were formed and miracles occurred. Over the years, hundreds of these young people went on to lead fulfilling lives.

Love, joy, peace, compassion. In a world filled with so much hate we must never stop shining a light in the darkness.

Sharing stories with HRO (High Risk Offender) youth at Barry J. Nidorff Juvenile Hall. You can read more about it in this Los Angeles Times article Sparks in the Darkness

The Samburu. The Samburu respect and care for each member of their group, from the oldest grandmother to the youngest child. The families awaken at dawn, rising when the early morning star appears in the still-dark sky. Women milk the cows, singing softly to calm them. Children are taught from an early age how to tend the herds. When the young boys become warriors, they move away from their families and live out in the open, hunting buffalo and antelope and other game. At night they sleep beneath the stars, listening for the low growl of lions.

The Aboriginals. This ancient people never built a temple or a pyramid. They never developed a wheel, made pottery, or wove cloth. They have no written language and no permanent dwellings. To them, the land cannot be bought or sold. It cannot be owned, and it should not be changed. The Aboriginals have no desire to make the land into something other than what it is, for they believe it is already perfect in every way.

The Han. In village schools, children begin the long task of learning to read and write Chinese. There are not tens, or hundreds, but thousands of characters to be memorized, each one a little different from the next. Calligraphy, the ability to paint these characters with beauty and grace, is considered by the Han to be the highest of all art forms. With just the right swish of a brush, a masterpiece can be created from a simple Chinese letter.

I wish for all of you a wonderful Easter Sunday remembering Jesus’ death and resurrection. And an equally wonderful Passover, remembering the liberation of the Israelites from Egyptian slavery. As we continue through the summer and into next fall, I pray we will continue in strength and courage.

The Portuguese. The sea has now been mastered, and the stories have been turned to legends, but the Portuguese still love their ocean. On dark winter evenings, fisherman track fat tuna and sardines that swim jut off the shore. Night after night they chase the fish, throwing their nets to catch the silvery fish. With the coming of dawn, the fishermen point their boats homeward. Sparkling in the rising sun, the waves turn fiery pink and gold. The children run to the shore and gaze across the sea, reaching out as if to touch the other side.

Never stop fighting to protect our Children. They grow before us as tender branches, reaching for the sky.

The Bedouin. For the rains as well as the sandstorms, for the winds and the grass, for all things good and bad, the Bedouins give thanks.

He is Risen!

And from my dear friend George for Passover: “Be'chol dor va’dor chayav adam lirot et atzmo ke’ilu hu yatzah miMitzrayim”

“In each successive generation every person must see himself as if he personally were liberated from Egypt."