Hitler Was A Vegetarian

“No man is a failure who has friends.”
– Clarence the Angel, “It’s a Wonderful Life”

Today is Thanksgiving Day. 

I had resigned myself to spend Thanksgiving alone this year. It was going to be a new experience, a new doorway to wholeness, a new kind of gift. 

When I was married and had other plans, friends would invite my husband, son, and me over for Thanksgiving. Now that I’m single, those same friends do not invite me over for Thanksgiving. They have their reasons, and those reasons likely have nothing to do with me. I do not judge. 

But I was looking at a photo of one of the baby monkeys in the Bowlby experiments the other day. It’s a harrowing photo of a tiny baby creature clinging to a rug-covered wire structure, forgoing milk from a hard-edged machine to cling to something vaguely soft and comforting. And I acknowledge that I am like that monkey. We humans are built for connection.

I am built for connection.

I used to wait for others to reach out to connect with me. I used to feel slighted when I was left out. But now I realize that I have the power and potential to reach out - or reach back - with an open heart. 

After my divorce, I first reached out first to local yoga teachers, trying to find my tribe. But I found them to be cold, self-righteous, and sometimes cruel. Hurt people hurt people, as they say. I do not judge. I love them and am grateful for the lessons. But, I’m only human. When I’m cut, I bleed. After my first failed attempt to find a tribe, I retreated into my cave and licked my wounds. I asked myself what, besides yoga, brings me joy. 

And the answer that came was: singing. I had sung in choirs my whole life until I met my now ex husband. He never appreciated my voice, so I stopped singing. After my divorce, I looked into local choirs and decided that the simplest path to singing in a group would be to start going to church. My plan was going to be to attend every church in town until I found one where the singing inspired me. 

I started at the local Presbyterian church. I came for the singing, and the singing made me cry. The big beautiful pipe organ. The harmonies. The simple hymns. The music fed a hunger in my soul.  

And then the choir would sing, and I’d start crying. The music and the harmonies were transcendent.  I wanted to be part of that. I wondered what it would take to join the choir. I wondered if my voice was good enough to pass an audition. 

Then, I went to the rummage sale that the Presbyterian church hosts every fall, and I heard one of the women running the sale talking about how wonderful it is to be a part of the church choir. I apologized for eavesdropping and then asked her how one auditions for the choir. She said there were no auditions, you just go to practices and then sing on Sundays. She asked me if I was a member of the church. I said, no, but I’m attending. She replied: Good! Then go up after church on Sunday and introduce yourself to Kent Peterson, our director.

The next Sunday, I got up early and then got absorbed in writing, as I sometimes do. When I looked at the time, I saw that the service was starting in 5 minutes. It would take me 15 minutes to drive there safely, park, and get seated! A part of me wilted, ready to accept the fact that I’d sabotaged myself yet again. But then my inner sun said: it’s not over yet. Get in the car and get to that church. I’d made a commitment to my soul, and that’s a commitment I had to keep. So, I threw on a dress and went. I took a deep breath as I opened the big, castle-like entrance to the church as quietly as I could. I’d made it in time for the singing and the sermon. And the sermon was about how to live when we find ourselves in the wilderness. Pastor Lawrence talked about how the Isrealites were angry with Moses, their savior, when they experienced the hardships that followed their release from bondage. They complained that they had been better off as slaves. 

I’m like that, I realized. 

After my divorce, other anchors in my life quickly dissolved. Former friends turned their backs on me. I lost my work. I struck out at finding community in the yoga community. And I’ve sometimes wondered if I made a mistake when I ended my miserable marriage. Even with all these disappointments, I am happier single than I was in the last years of my marriage, but maybe having soul-sucking connections and soul-sucking work is better than having no connections and no work. Maybe living as a slave is better than dying free, after all, I was beginning to think.

No, the sermon admonished. When we find ourselves in the wilderness, the answer is not to turn back to dysfunctional patterns of the past. The answer is to establish new, healthier habits. I had just been writing about the importance of establishing healthy daily and seasonal rituals. I had just been writing about Ayurvedic principles. I realized that I needed to take my own advice. 

I ran up to the choir director after church and asked if I could join the choir. And I was welcomed. And now the choir is my greatest joy. We laugh together, cry together, sing together. When I sing with the choir, I feel like a conduit for divine love. It’s the only kind of giving, besides teaching yoga and Ayurveda, that does not deplete me. It nourishes me. It is a new and healthy anchor in my life.

The song we sang together last Sunday was “Thankful.” One of the lines in the song is: “So caught up inside ourselves, we take when we should give.” After I sang that song, in church, it struck me: I should ask this young woman at the Farmer’s Market who seems like a lost soul, who seems like a younger version of me, to join me for Thanksgiving.

After church, one of my friends from choir asked me if I would be having family in for Thanksgiving. I admitted that I’d be having Thanksgiving alone. I told her about how I was learning lessons about being complete and whole on my own. I told her I was thinking of inviting a young acquaintance to join me, knowing that there was every chance she’s say no.

I didn’t feel sorry for myself. I didn’t cry. Even though my friend’s face revealed shock and compassion. I had spoken my truth, with dignity. She wished me a happy thanksgiving, warmly, and we parted. 

As soon as I got home, I texted this young woman from the Farmer’s Market and invited her for turkey dinner. Before I knew my son was going to be spending Thanksgiving with his father’s family, I had ordered a turkey breast - humanely and locally raised - from my beloved MOON Co-Op. 

The young woman immediately replied, coldly, that she had other plans and anyway is a vegetarian. She considers a yogi and a spiritual person on the path to “ascension,” whatever the h$5l that means. 

As I pulled the dagger out of my belly, I got another text.

It was from my friend from choir. She said that no one should spend Thanksgiving alone, and that if my plans fell through, I was welcome at her family’s table.

In the past, I would have told myself that I was unworthy to impose. I would have settled into my small and lonely day. But I had a heart connection with this woman. We had sung together. We had just that morning listened to a sermon together about radical Christianity, which means getting back to the root of what Jesus taught. And the essence of what he taught was: 

Love one another.

Love everyone, unconditionally, without exception. Love the so-called prostitutes. Love the so-called lepers. Love the ones who hurt you. And whatever happens, whatever anyone else does, don’t close your heart. Think of your betrayers as the children that they are. The one who strikes out is nothing more than a spiritual baby, and it is upon those of us who want to be spiritual grown ups to turn the other cheek.

The other lesson from the sermon last Sunday was one that is often overlooked as we examine Jesus’s teachings:

Life is guaranteed to be hard for those who choose the path of radical love. When we choose the path of love again and again, we are guaranteed to get hurt. When we choose the loving path, we will sometimes walk alone. When we choose the loving path, those whose lives are based on ignorance and lies may revile us, and curse us, and abuse us. But if everyone always agrees with us, we’re not living right, said Jesus. And if you chose love again and again, anyway, at the end of the day, at the end of your life, you will have been true to the only relationship that really matters: the one with your own soul. 

So, I accepted my friend’s invitation to Thanksgiving dinner, and it will be a classic American Thanksgiving dinner that will include a turkey, and I love that and am looking forward to it. Because half of the equation of living in love is reaching out for connection with courage. And the other half is reaching back with appreciation. 

Another thing Jesus said, when he spoke of the hardships we will face on the love path, is that he came not to bring peace but a sword. So, I’m going to end this essay not with a soft and pablum wish for love and peace this holiday season, but with a sweep of the love sword. Because part of being a spiritual warrior is saying the hard things that need to be said.

So here’s a message to my vegetarian friends who think you are better than those of us who sometimes eat meat: Hitler was a vegetarian. He loved animals more than people. If Hitler isn’t your greatest hero, then you may want to read American Pastoral, The Secret Life of Plants, and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Listen to this podcast about regenerative farming. And get your head out of the clouds or your as2 or wherever you’re keeping it. Everything on this planet dies and everything is eaten.​​ That’s the great circle of life. And, to quote Jesus again,

It’s not what goes into our mouths that defines us; it’s what comes out of our mouths.

The truth has many sides, and none of us knows the ultimate Truth. There are nuances and distinctions and not everything is black and white. I don’t judge you for what you eat. Eat whatever you want. But if you really want the world to be a better place, stop judging the rest of us. As a meat-eating Nepalese monk once said to an asana-practicing visitor who condemned him for eating meat:

“Which is worse, the one who eats meat, or the one who judges the one who eats meat?”

Food for thought, offered with love on this Thanksgiving to all, including farm-raised turkeys, who would go extinct if we didn’t eat them. Have a blessed day.