Book Review "The Women" by Kristin Hannah: Judgement, War, and the Forgotten Stories

 

Judgement, War, and the Forgotten Stories

 After reading the book “The Women” by Kristen Hannah, I reflected on the human cost of war, the danger of easy judgement, and the people history sometimes forgets. 

War is often remembered in headlines, history books, and politic. Rarely do we pause to consider the people who lived it. The young men and women sent to fight, the nurses who cared for the wounded, and the veterans who returned home carrying unseen scars…how often do we truly understand their stories? Reading “The Women” reminded me that behind every conflict there are real people, and sometimes the most important lessons come from simply listening.

The War I Remember as a Student

 When the Vietnam War was happening, I was a high school student in Australia. I remember hearing about the war on the news and seeing demonstrations against it. At the time I did not fully understand the anger directed toward the soldiers who had returned from Vietnam.

Many of those young men had not volunteered. They were conscripted through the national service ballot. Refusing to serve could lead to serious legal consequences. They were young and often simply obeyed the law and the orders of their country.

When they finally came home, many were met not with gratitude, but with criticism and judgment. I remember a teacher at my school—Fay Lopo, who was a Labor Party candidate at the time—openly condemning those who had gone to war. Even as a student, I struggled to understand that anger. These were people who had little choice; they were obeying the laws of their country and serving as they were required to. The idea of an adult, let alone a teacher, criticising young people for doing their duty never made sense to me. 

The Forgotten Women

Reading “The Women” revealed something I had never really considered before—the role of women in that war.

The novel tells the story of Frankie, a young nurse who serves in Vietnam and witnesses the horrors of war in hospital tents and operating rooms. These women cared for the wounded, comforted the dying, and lived with the emotional trauma of what they saw.

Yet for many years their service was barely acknowledged. History often remembers wars through political debates and military strategies, but it can forget the individuals who quietly carried the human cost.

 This is true not just in the United States—Australian women who served, particularly nurses, also faced delayed recognition for their bravery and sacrifice. Their stories remind us that heroism often goes unseen.  

Judgement and Understanding

The book made me reflect on a larger truth: it is easy to judge people who served in wars from a distance. Many of the young men and women sent to Vietnam did not start the war, did not make the decisions, and often had little choice about being there. Some witnessed horrors and suffered trauma, yet they returned home to criticism.

 Wars are decided by governments, but the burden falls on ordinary people. This is still true today. Veterans in Australia and elsewhere can be criticised or dismissed, even by those who have never served. The lesson is humility: we can question policies and governments while still recognising the humanity of those who served. Behind every uniform is a person, with a life, a family, and experiences that may leave permanent marks.

True understanding comes when we pause, listen, and reflect before passing judgement. 

A Harmony Haven Reflection

Soldiers often defend the very freedoms that allow people to question, protest, and debate. Yet sometimes, the weight of judgement falls most heavily on those who carried out their duty, rather than on the decisions that placed them there.

This raises difficult and uncomfortable questions: How do we seek truth without losing compassion? How do we pursue accountability without condemning those who may have had little choice? How do we honour service while still acknowledging the complexity of war?

Perhaps before we judge, we are being invited to pause—to recognise that most of us have never stood in those moments, never faced those choices, and may never fully understand what they require.

So maybe the deeper question is this:

If most of us have never stood in those life-and-death moments, is it truly just to judge those who were asked to act within them?

Stories like this remind us how easily judgement can take the place of understanding. War is not lived in headlines or debate. It is lived by people. Many soldiers are young, placed in situations they did not choose, asked to act in moments where decisions are made under fear, confusion, and survival. In those moments, it is not theory or politics—it is life or death.

At the same time, societies have the right to ask questions, seek truth, and hold institutions accountable. These are vital freedoms. But perhaps wisdom lies in how we hold these realities together: don’t be quick to judge if you have never been in a war zone, and don’t take reports at face value, especially when media outlets may have their own agendas.

For example, a recent court case involving the ABC and Heston Russell illustrates this tension. The ABC reported alleged misconduct by Australian special forces in Afghanistan. Heston Russell argued the reporting was false and harmed his personal and professional reputation. The court found some aspects of the reporting were inaccurate and that the ABC could not fully rely on public interest as a defense. As a result, Russell was awarded damages, meaning the ABC had to compensate him.

This case highlights how media narratives can sometimes disregard the sacrifices of soldiers, shaping public opinion while overlooking the danger and responsibility these individuals face. Living far from conflict, it is easy to forget the weight of service and the human lives involved.

Soldiers often defend the very freedoms that allow us to question, debate, and speak openly. Yet perhaps our truest act of respect is to seek understanding before judgement, remembering the extraordinary circumstances under which they serve.

So maybe before making a judgement ask yourself:

If you had to make life-or-death decisions under fear and confusion, how would you want others to understand your choices?

A Bible Verse to Close  

“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.” - Ephesians 4:2

This verse reminds us to approach others with humility and compassion, especially those who have lived through hardships we may never fully understand.

If you feel drawn to reflect more deeply on these themes, you may wish to explore The Women by Kristen Hannah.

To Sum Up

Reading “The Women” by Kristen Hannah made me reflect on how society treated veterans of the Vietnam War.Many were young, some were conscripted, and many carried the burden of decisions they did not make. Before judging others, we should first try to understand the human story behind the headlines.

After the Resurrection: Watchful, Not Reactive – Are We Applying the Beatitudes Consistently?

 A reflection for Christians and spiritually minded readers who want to stay rooted in Christ—especially when politics and media pressure us to react.

In the days after Holy Week, I’ve found myself returning to the Beatitudes—not as poetic lines to admire, but as a pattern for how Christians are meant to live.

Christ is risen. And that means the story doesn’t end at the empty tomb—it continues in us.

So I keep coming back to one question: what does it look like to respond to Christ’s call now?

It’s easy to fall back into the noise—reacting quickly, judging swiftly, and letting the loudest voices set our focus. I’ve felt unsettled by how easily that happens, especially when media coverage turns faith and politics into a constant clash.

For example, I’ve noticed how quickly many Christians speak with sharp certainty about Donald Trump—often with intense criticism—while other crises receive comparatively little attention.

If you dislike him, you’ll recognise the impulse to comment; if you support him, you may feel protective. Either way, my concern here isn’t tribal loyalty—it’s whether our attention and compassion are being discipled by Christ or by the outrage cycle.

In Iran, Christians are targeted for their faith. Converts can face severe punishment, freedom of speech is restricted, and religious minorities experience ongoing oppression—including arrests and long prison sentences. Yet in the West—where we can criticise leaders openly and safely—our attention can narrow. We may spend enormous energy denouncing public figures we dislike while overlooking believers who suffer far greater injustice, largely out of view.

The Resurrection calls us to something deeper than that.

Christ did not rise so we could return to old patterns. He invites us into greater awareness, truth, and responsibility.

I think of the parable of the ten virgins and their lamps. The wise were prepared; the foolish were not. The difference wasn’t just belief—it was readiness: staying awake, attentive, and watchful.

Sometimes I wonder if we’ve become unprepared in a different way: not because we lack information, but because we’ve trained our attention to react to whatever is closest, safest, and most talked about.

To be watchful isn’t to live in fear. It’s to live with clarity—refusing to be swept along by emotion, social pressure, or popular opinion.

But many of us do the opposite. We speak boldly where it is safe—criticising Western leaders and public figures—while staying quiet about Christians who face real danger in places like Iran. When our compassion and outrage become selective, that isn’t discernment; it’s complacency. Like the foolish virgins who let their lamps run out of oil, we risk being unprepared—not because truth isn’t available, but because our attention has been misdirected.

For me, this comes down to treating the Beatitudes not as distant ideals, but as practical commitments:

• Seeking peace, while also loving truth.
• Showing mercy, while also keeping sincerity of heart.
• Hungering and thirsting not for what sounds right, but for what is right.

What watchfulness can look like in practice

• Pause before you post or share: ask, “Is this true, necessary, and charitable?”
• Widen your attention: make room for stories outside your usual feed—especially the suffering of persecuted Christians and vulnerable communities.
• Pray first, then speak: let intercession shape your tone before commentary shapes your spirit.
• Practice consistency: apply the same moral standards to your ‘side’ as you do to the other.
• Choose formation over performance: seek what makes you more like Christ, not what earns applause.

With that in mind, here are a few questions I’m asking myself—and maybe they’ll be helpful for you too:

Are we applying the Beatitudes consistently?

“Blessed are the peacemakers” is often quoted. But peacemaking can’t stop at the places where speaking is easiest. It should also move us toward prayer, awareness, and solidarity with believers who face open persecution.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness” calls us to pursue what is true and right fully—not selectively.

I’ve also been thinking about how Christian voices—including leaders, teachers, and influencers—speak in moments like these. For Catholics, that includes the Pope. When public statements (from any Christian platform) focus heavily on Western political flashpoints, while the daily suffering of persecuted Christians receives far less attention, it’s worth asking whether our vision has become narrowed by the news cycle.

Putting most of our energy into criticising leaders where it is safe, while overlooking suffering where it is costly to notice, isn’t the watchfulness Christ calls us to.

To be clear, I’m not writing this to defend Donald Trump or to attack the Pope. And I’m not denying that moral critique and calls for peace can be necessary.

It’s about what is shaping us: discipleship to Christ—or discipleship to popularity, outrage cycles, and cultural pressure.

Christ did not follow the crowd.

He did not speak only where it was safe.

And He did not apply truth unevenly.

So maybe the most important place to look isn’t “out there,” but in here:

• Am I reacting, or am I discerning?
• Am I being fair in what I acknowledge—and what I choose to overlook?
• Am I living the Beatitudes consistently, or only when it is comfortable?

These aren’t easy questions. But in the light of the Resurrection, they feel essential.

Christ’s rising is an invitation for us to rise too—

not into reaction, but into awareness; not into judgment, but into discernment; not into following the crowd, but into readiness.

Because the ultimate question isn’t only what is happening around us.

It’s what we are becoming in response.

Are we ready? Not just informed—but formed.

Reflection:Easter, Passover, and the Paradox of Time: A Journey of Faith and Freedom

When Time Is Not Linear: Pascha, Passover, and Why the Date Still Matters

Every year around Easter, I find myself reflecting on time — not just dates on a calendar, but how faith understands time itself.

Christians do not all celebrate the Resurrection on the same day. The Western Church follows the Gregorian calendar, while the Eastern Orthodox Church calculates Pascha using the Julian calendar. As a result, Easter and Pascha often fall on different dates, even though we are celebrating the same event. Within each tradition, there is agreement. Between traditions, there is difference.

At first glance, this may seem like a technical or historical curiosity. For me, it is something much deeper.

Why Pascha Matters to Me

What feels most meaningful to me in the Orthodox Church is that the calculation of Pascha remains closely connected to the Jewish Passover — not only in dates, but in meaning.

The word Pascha comes directly from the Hebrew Pesach, the name Jews use for Passover. This is not incidental. It reminds me that Christ’s Resurrection is not detached from history but rooted within it. Christianity does not appear suddenly, fully formed; it grows directly out of Judaism. Christ is the fulfillment of an ancient promise, not a replacement for it.

Because of this, Orthodox Pascha often falls in the same season as the Jewish Passover. That closeness has always felt important to me. To me it is mystical.

A Moment That Made It Real

I remember visiting my cousins in Melbourne, in a predominantly Jewish neighbourhood. As our church was observing Palm Sunday, families around us were preparing for Passover. Seeing these celebrations unfold side by side made something click for me.

Jesus did not live outside Jewish life. He lived fully within it — within its festivals, its rhythms, its history. His earthly family, His teaching, and His final Passover meal were all deeply Jewish realities. This is something Christians can easily forget.

That moment reminded me that faith is not abstract. It is lived, inherited, remembered, and practiced across generations and communities. I also saw the connection of Judaism with  Christianity. What Jesus taught came from Judaism. Sometimes Christians forget.

Time From an Orthodox Prospective.

For me, the Orthodox understanding of time goes even deeper. I recently discovered.

In Orthodox worship, the past is not merely remembered — it is made present.

What happened in Christ’s life is not just something we remember from long ago. In the Church, we experience it again in the present. When we celebrate Palm Sunday or Pascha, we are not acting out history or marking a date on the calendar. We are stepping into the story ourselves.

By keeping the older Julian calendar for Pascha (Easter), I feel the Church is holding on to more than a date. It keeps the deeper meaning behind the way the Easter story fits together — Christ coming after and fulfilling Passover. That sequence matters to me, even if it is less “accurate” by modern astronomical standards.

While Western churches calculate Easter with greater precision, preserving this historical and theological relationship feels essential. Changing the calculation to align fully with the Western calendar would risk losing something intangible but profound — a mystical awareness that binds history, worship, and meaning together.

Freedom, Responsibility, and Love

This closeness between Pascha and Passover feels especially beautiful because both traditions teach that freedom is sacred.

Passover proclaims liberation as a divine gift and a responsibility. Easter continues that story through Christ, revealing that we are saved by Him and freed not for self‑interest, but for love. His life and sacrifice show that forgiveness and mercy are the true guides of freedom.

We are not left to struggle alone in trying to be good. Easter proclaims that we are freed by Christ, called to live responsibly, and invited to reflect His love in the world.

Across both traditions, the moral vision aligns: our actions matter, freedom carries responsibility, and love stands at the centre.

What “Christ Is Risen” Means

In the Orthodox Church, saying “Christ is Risen” is not just remembering a moment in history. It is a declaration that life has overcome death. When I say it at Easter, my heart reacts, it feels joy.

Christ’s Resurrection proclaims that death does not have the final word. Fear, suffering, and loss are real, but they are not ultimate. Life, love, and hope are stronger.

This is why Pascha is not quiet or restrained. It is joyful, loud, and full of light. The Resurrection is not treated as an idea or a metaphor, but as a victory that continues to shape the present. Christ conquers death.

When Orthodox Christians proclaim, “Christ is Risen,” they are saying that even in a broken world, life wins — and that truth changes how we live. It gives us hope in this crazy world.

A Season of Greeting and Gratitude

To everyone celebrating this season:

Χριστός Ἀνέστη! — Christ is Risen!
Καλή Ἀνάσταση! — Have a blessed Resurrection!
Chag Pesach Sameach! — Happy Passover!

These greetings belong together. They reflect a shared story — one lived, remembered, and renewed across generations. 

I love greeting my family and friends in Greek Χριστός Ἀνέστη on Easter Night, and the next 40 days after Easter we greet each with this greeting. Between now and until Easter Sunday next week we greet each other with Καλή Ἀνάσταση! I feel that I am living the easter story from its very beginning.

Easter encourages reflection and gratitude. It reminds me that love, freedom, and faith are not ideas alone. They are practices, relationships, and acts of remembrance that shape how we live now.

Questions for Reflection

In a world where mistrust and division seem to be growing, how can we practice the unconditional love that Christ taught?

And thinking practically: would you like Easter to be celebrated on the same date across all Christian traditions? If so, what should guide that decision — history and tradition, or closer alignment with Passover?

I’d love to hear your thoughts.