It is that special time of year when we sit as a family around the dining room table and hold hands to give thanks for the bounty before us: a 20-pound turkey, homemade pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce cooked early this morning, and those delicious, filling sweet potatoes that make you realize when you have finally overdone it. This holiday however, more than ever, I feel gratitude for my life and what I have, and distress for those to whom this warm Thanksgiving scene is a mere fantasy. I dread the headlines when I unfold the New York Times, with the columns of print describing so much destruction and human suffering going on in the world, from Gaza and Ukraine to a Native American reservation in Texas. The news, whether on television, social media, or in our daily newspapers, is replete with these stories, some as close to me as West Palm Beach. Just a mile over the north bridge, in Currie Park, there is a homeless encampment with dozens of lost souls—the mentally ill, the abjectly poor, the addicted—living in squalor. It is a microcosm of what is going on across the country in almost every city. How is it that we, the wealthiest nation in the world, cannot look after the poorest and weakest among us? I know we say we care, yet the suffering goes on. This Thanksgiving I commit to do more than lament the tragedy. I will offer support to local organizations, such as The Lord’s Place and The Salvation Army, as well as the food pantries that are the lifelines for so many. I am not asking others to join me in doing this, but if your Thanksgiving is something like the scene I described above, and you find there is much to be grateful for, maybe there is a way you too can bring a bit of joy and uplift to some downtrodden spirits this Thanksgiving.
