Crow

Grief, solidarity, and the equality of all life

“How much grief can one body hold?” my friend asked with tears in her eyes. I didn’t know the answer to her question, but I know the question intimately. These days, it seems human life is sold at the lowest price, and the devil greedily buys whatever he can. In the middle of that marketplace of death, injustice, and terror, we stand, we cry, and we ask ourselves how much grief one body can hold.

My friend Mohammed Kechouh would have probably been able to answer that question. He always had a beautiful answer to any question posed to him. And even if he did not directly answer the question you asked him, he might have instead given you the answer to a more important question you had failed to ask. But yesterday, on the 19th of October, his life, too, came to a sudden end.

Mohammed was a humble, beautiful, kind, and deeply reflective person. I had the honor of interviewing him about his ecological worldview and his extraordinary journey to Mecca. Together with his dear friend, Rudy van der Aar, he decided to set out on a pilgrimage from his home in the Netherlands to the holy city of Mecca by bike. Yes, by bike. It took them three months. Rudy’s intention for this pilgrimage by bike was to travel in an ethical and environmentally sustainable way. Mohammed’s intention was to reflect upon the signs of God in nature. The signs that would have never reached his eyes if he had simply gotten on an airplane.

In Surah Al-Ma’idah, ‘The Feast’, the fifth chapter of the Qur’an, God tells the story of Cain and Abel. In the story, Cain murdered his brother Abel out of jealousy. After Abel passed away, God showed Cain how to treat the body of his deceased brother with dignity in the most remarkable way: “Then God sent a Crow digging in the ground, in order to show him how to bury the corpse of his brother. He cried, “Alas! Have I (even) failed to be like this Crow and bury the corpse of my brother?” So he became regretful” (Qur’an 5:31). God sent a Crow (or possibly a Raven, the Crow’s bigger brother) to let His Will be known through the poem of creation. The Crow was God’s sign for Cain, who, after reflecting upon it, understood his shortcomings and became regretful.

When a Crow dies and another Crow finds its dead body, it cries out loudly. Caw! Caw! Other Crows who hear its calls of distress, fly from distant corners towards the deceased Crow. Depending on the area, as many as a hundred birds may gather around the body. Together these birds engage in what many birders refer to as a ‘Crow Funeral’. At first, they silently gather around the deceased bird. Then, after a brief moment of silent reverence, they break out into song. Shrill calls go back and forth between the birds for about twenty minutes, until the ritual is over and the birds once again disperse. It is thought that these gatherings are both a shared display of bereavement as well as an opportunity to learn about threats that are facing the community.

Maybe my friend Mohammed would have pointed out that we were asking the wrong question when we asked how much grief one body can hold, because grief is not meant to be held alone - it is meant to be shared. People of faith and sound ethics all throughout the world cry and grieve together for the lives that were unjustly taken. Together we grieve, together we witness, and together we learn of the threats and corruption facing our communities.

In the story of Cain and Abel, both of them had made a sacrifice. Abel had made a sacrifice with righteous and truthful intentions and his sacrifice was accepted by God. Cain, however, had made a sacrifice with wrong, selfish intentions, and as such, God rejected it. But instead of accepting that rejection and taking it as an opportunity for introspection and growth, Cain blamed his failure on his brother, Abel. For isn’t it easier to blame someone else than to truly engage in critical self-reflection?

Isn’t it easier to blame Hamas for the massacres in Gaza than for Israel to engage in critical self-reflection? But also, isn’t it easier to blame Israel for antisemitism, rather than to engage in critical self-reflection?

God does not accept the sacrifice of those who fight for the lives of Israeli children but not for the lives of Palestinian children. God does not accept the sacrifice of those who stand for freedom for Palestine solely out of antisemitism or chauvinism. God does not accept the sacrifice of those who care about the lives of Palestinians but not of Afghans. God does not accept the sacrifice of those who reject settler-colonial injustice in Palestine but not in the United States. But those who fight for justice for the sake of justice, whatever it may look like and whoever may call for it, may God accept their sacrifice. “Oh people of faith! Be upholders of justice as a witness of God, even if against yourselves or against your parents and kinsmen. Whether they are rich or poor: God is a better caretaker of them than you are. Do not, then, let your own desires keep you away from justice. If you twist or turn away from (the truth), know that God is well aware of all that you do” (Qur’an 4:135).

It was an illness of the body that took my friend Mohammed’s life, whereas it is an illness of the heart that has taken many other of my brothers’ and sisters’ lives this week. An illness of the heart that causes it to believe that some lives are more valuable than others. Maybe that is why God ended the story of Cain and Abel by emphasizing that whoever unjustly kills one person, has killed all of humankind. And whoever saves one person, has saved all of humankind (Qur’an 5:32). Because humanity is the sum of individuals. And all those individual lives are equally sacred and dignified.

Of course, this does not mean that those who are in a situation of systemic injustice and oppression do not have the right to protect themselves, resist, and fight for justice. In fact, they have an obligation to do so. Crows are highly intelligent, and it would be foolish to assume that if they learn of a threat facing their community, they would simply hold one funeral after the other without taking note of the threat and rising against it. Perhaps, therefore, the question we should ask ourselves is how much grief our bodies collectively need to hold before we turn to action.

For me personally, the Crow has become a symbol of solidarity. I once found myself in a situation of hardship when, in the middle of the desert in Arizona, my car had broken down. I was traveling alone and was stranded by the side of the road under the burning sun. Thank God, I had a cell phone with service and I was able to call for help. But help would not arrive until three hours later. That left me with all the time in the world to read the signs in my environment. An American Crow had landed by the door of my car the moment it had broken down. And it didn’t leave my side until the car was towed and I was brought to safety. The Crow couldn’t fix my car any more than I could, but still, its presence reminded me that I was not alone. It reminded me of the story of Cain and Abel and that this situation was nothing but a test that would soon be over. So we shared the food I still had left in my car until the three hours had passed by.

If there truly is nothing we can do to take hardship away, let us at least show solidarity to those who are facing it. Let it be our purpose not to let them doubt for a single moment whether they are alone. Let it be our purpose to provide support and remembrance.

May we all honor the legacy of Mohammed by taking the time we need to slow down and read God’s signs all around us. And may we all learn the lessons of the Crow.