The movie West Beirut takes place in Beirut, Lebanon, in 1975 when the city is split into East Beirut controlled by Christians and West Beirut run by Muslim militias. For Tarek and Omar, two Muslim boys, it is a time for adventure. Their school is closed, and at first they roam the streets working on a movie they are making. But they can't ignore the war forever. One night they meet on a rooftop. Tarek confesses that his family has no money, and he is worried that he might lose his parents. "Have you ever seen someone struck by disaster and you say, 'Thank God, it's not me?' " he asks with tears in his eyes. "Now I feel like I'm that person, and everyone is saying, 'Poor guy, thank God it's not us.' "

We were touched by this scene when we first saw it, but watching it again after September 11, we found ourselves weeping. We live in New York, and our city, like these boys' home, was attacked. We, like them, were the people struck by disaster. We felt connected to Tarek and Omar and were suffering with them. We turned to the Buddhist practice of tonglen, breathing in the pain and despair of children like Tarek and Omar, breathing out something to give them happiness — a smile, a hug, something to eat.

That moment of compassion was the start of our wartime spiritual practices.

Spiritual Practices

We made a new inventory of these practices in January 2003 when we realized that the United States was barrowing toward an invasion of Iraq. We decided to offer an e-course on "Spiritual Literacy in Wartime." Initially through weekly emails and later when world events called us back to it, we offered book excerpts, prayers, spiritual exercises, quotations, and other resources. At the start we also shared the practices that we personally found to be inspiring, dependable, and practical sources of personal renewal and perspective shifting. Here's what we have been doing ever since.

  • The spiritual practices of attention and being present are always helpful; they are the way we "wake up." In wartime, they take on a fresh intensity. Knowing that at any moment a terrorist attack could end our lives, we have been hugging relatives and friends each time we see them and never forgetting to say the three most important words, "I love you."
  • Taking a cue from the terminally ill among us, we now hallow in our hearts everything from sunsets to magic meetings with friends to satisfying meals. We know these moments could be our last. We have revived the practice of keeping a daily gratitude journal, listing at the end of the day the many blessings we have received.
  • In wartime, we have a deeper appreciation of the Buddhist focus on the impermanence of everything and the suffering of so many beings. We practice equanimity in order not to cling to possessions and other transitory things. Now alert to our connections with those who have lived with terrorism for years (the Israelis and Palestinians, the British and Irish, Eastern Europeans, and others), we do compassion practices.
  • We know that it is imperative that we disarm our own hearts so that the natural anger and hatred we feel for those who might harm us does not overwhelm us. Daily we face the daunting challenge of loving our enemies. To reinforce our intention to forgive strangers, we begin by forgiving those close to us who have hurt us.
  • Intercessory prayer has always been one of our central practices. We have a prayer list that we attend to every day; we make sure that world leaders — and dictators and terrorists — are included.
  • The more we notice our culture's tendency to focus upon differences that divide, the more we cling to the spiritual traditions of hospitality and openness. We are educating ourselves about other cultures.
  • We make it a daily practice to notice what concerns and commitments we share in common with others. On a concrete level, this means reading websites by kindred spirits, signing petitions, and communicating with our representatives. We cherish the unity we feel with those who are trying to bring peace into the world through contemplation and action.
  • The literature of spirit has become a daily necessity to counteract the toxins of the mass media and the news. We have turned to the writings of Mahatma Gandhi, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, and John Dear on nonviolence. We've dipped into the thoughts of those in jeopardy situations such as Etty Hillesum, Victor Frankl, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer. We're now more attuned to Sister Monahan who advises us to give up stinking thinking for listening. We agree with Buddhist teacher Christopher Titmuss that there is a wider and more liberating life beyond the clutching of "me" and "mine." Thomas a Kempis's counsel that spiritual progress comes in little increments day by day seems perfectly suited to the way we feel. We identify with Sue Bender and her yearning for inner peace. Edward Hays's admonition to be joyful has become a mantra for us. And the affirmations recommended by Bruce Epperly punctuate our days. We are trying to take the Dalai Lama's advice to see the enemy as an opportunity to develop patience and tolerance.
  • Finally, as we share our practices with others, we draw strength and hope from a wartime spiritual mentor. Poet and peacemaker Thich Nhat Hanh, who knew war firsthand in his native Vietnam and who urges us to "be peace" in every step, is for us a shining example of how to live a deep and meaningful spiritual life in wartime.