I’m kneeling on All Souls’ day in a quiet chapel, soaking in the silence. I’m counting on my rosary: pipe bombs in the mail, grandparents shot in a grocery, Kaddish recited over and over in Pittsburgh. Some clasped hands are called dangerous un-American violent while others (white normative hands – my hands –) are prayerful peaceful. I know in my bones the Divine is more expansive than our human calculations of hands. I’m kneeling on a holy day in quiet remembrance: prayer without fear is a privilege. Grocery shopping without fear is a privilege. I’m praying when I unclasp my hands the real prayer begins and we will live a life expansive enough to belong to each other.