The words on the front of our Christmas card this year are taken from a song, traditionally referred to as the Magnificat, sung by a pregnant Mary of Nazareth, mother of Jesus (Luke 1:46-55). Her stirring words echo other women in Jewish tradition—especially Miriam, Moses’ sister—who sang of the compassionate, liberating action of God on behalf of the poor and oppressed.

This past July my grandmother herself died at the full age of 100. That house in Busshozan has long ago been sold, and the altar is gone. Her only child (my mother) and three grandchildren are scattered across the globe, and I wonder how we will keep alive our connection to her, and all of our ancestors who came before her.

We did our best to support one another in the difficult task of facing all that is real of death and destruction without giving into despair. We rooted our days in song, silence, storytelling, and ritual, experimenting with how to cultivate depth in our souls, individually and collectively, in the face of the seemingly insurmountable forces besieging us.