Dear neighbors,
I’ve been thinking a lot this week about food, and about the fragility of our daily lives. You may have seen the news that Gaza has been declared in a state of famine, with over half a million people facing starvation. Reading the reports and seeing the images is jarring. It’s impossible not to feel a pang of helplessness knowing that families there—children, parents, elders—are fighting every day just to eat.
It’s tempting to think, “This is far away. This isn’t our problem.” But when I look around our own community, I see reflections of struggle, though in different forms. Here on Roosevelt Island, we are fortunate in many ways. But even in a place often described as affluent, there are neighbors who rely on the RIDA Food Pantry. They are not strangers. They are our friends, our fellow parents, seniors, and young adults. They are people who, like so many across this country, are squeezed by rising costs, stagnant wages, and economic policies that often favor profits over people.
This juxtaposition—famine abroad, struggle at home—feels impossible to ignore. It makes me reflect on the broader social and political landscape. Why, in the richest nation on earth, do families go hungry? Why does a system that produces abundance still leave millions vulnerable? And how do we reconcile our individual comfort with the knowledge that hunger is just a policy decision or paycheck away for many?
Yet, amidst these heavy truths, I see light. The RIDA Food Pantry is more than a source of groceries. It is a lifeline, a community of care, a statement that we refuse to let anyone face hunger alone. Volunteers quietly stock shelves, neighbors donate when they can, and meals are shared with dignity and respect. This is hope in action. It reminds me that even as global crises unfold, our local choices matter.
As I reflect on these realities, I feel a responsibility not only to support these initiatives but also to engage in conversations about the systems that make them necessary. Hunger is never just about food. It is about wages, access, equity, and humanity. It is about the choices we make as neighbors, citizens, and humans.
So today, I ask you to pause with me, to sit with this discomfort, and to think about what it means to live in a world where some go without and some give. Check in on your neighbors. Donate if you can. Advocate for policies that ensure no one has to choose between rent and dinner. And carry this reflection with you, not as guilt, but as a compass for compassion.
Because whether it is Gaza or Roosevelt Island, hunger touches us all—not just in our stomachs, but in our hearts, and in the moral fabric of our communities.
With warmth and hope,
Ericka O’Connell
As the Dust Settles
The way the wind cuts across the river this time of year. The way older buildings hold heat but never quite hold air. I told myself that was why my chest felt tight again on certain mornings. Age, perhaps.
