I trust that the president will try, just give it one more shot

F. Murray Abraham, a man of stage and screen who gave voice to kings and beggars alike, once spoke with aching humanity: “I trust that the president will try, just give it one more shot, some revolutionary way of not doing this, of bringing all those kids back home safely.” These words are not merely the utterance of an actor, but the cry of a man who has looked upon the suffering of youth sent to fight wars not of their choosing. They carry the weight of a prayer, a plea that power be wielded not for conquest, but for mercy.

The origin of this thought lies in the timeless sorrow of war. Throughout history, leaders have sent forth their young to fight battles in distant lands, and parents, lovers, and friends have waited with dread for their return. Abraham’s words, though rooted in a particular moment of conflict, speak to every age in which the cries of the young have been swallowed by the drums of war. His phrase “one more shot” is not the firing of a weapon, but the attempt of wisdom, diplomacy, and courage to find another way—a revolutionary way—to resolve strife without blood.

The ancients knew this yearning well. Recall the story of Pericles, who in Athens praised the dead of war yet also recognized the terrible price of sending the youth to die. Or think of Emperor Marcus Aurelius, philosopher and ruler, who wept at the necessity of war, wishing always for peace though his legions marched endlessly. Abraham’s plea belongs to this same lineage: a recognition that while war seems inevitable, the true revolution lies in breaking its cycle, in finding the way to save the children who are its first victims.

His words also echo the longing of Abraham Lincoln during the American Civil War, who, in his second inaugural address, stood weary before a divided nation and said, “With malice toward none, with charity for all… let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds.” Like Lincoln, Abraham calls not for surrender, but for healing—a way of bringing the kids back home safely, so that the land may be filled with the laughter of youth rather than the silence of graves.

The teaching here is clear: trust in leaders must be coupled with the demand for vision. It is not enough for those in power to repeat the old strategies that have cost countless lives. The call is for imagination, for courage to pursue a path that is new and daring, a path that values life over pride, and compassion over conquest. Abraham’s use of the word “revolutionary” is no accident. It is not minor change he pleads for, but transformation—an upheaval of the very way we think of conflict and its resolution.

From this we learn a lesson for our own lives. Each of us, though not presidents or generals, faces conflicts—whether in our families, our communities, or within ourselves. We are tempted to fight, to retaliate, to continue the cycle. But Abraham’s wisdom reminds us to seek another way, to pause and ask: Is there a path of peace? Is there a way to resolve this without harm, without bitterness, without destruction? Just as nations must find new ways to bring their children home, so must we find new ways to bring our hearts home to one another.

Practical action flows from this teaching. In your disagreements, choose not the first weapon at hand—anger, pride, revenge—but try “one more shot” at peace. When you are tempted to cut ties, try one more gesture of reconciliation. When despair tells you there is no way forward but harm, seek instead the revolutionary way—compassion, listening, humility. In this, each of us becomes a leader, bringing those entrusted to us—friends, family, even our own wounded selves—back home safely.

So let Abraham’s words be etched into memory: trust, try again, find the revolutionary way. For the true measure of strength is not in how many battles we fight, but in how many lives we preserve. Let us be the generation that brings the children home, the generation that turns away from endless cycles of harm, and the generation that learns, at last, that the greatest revolution is the victory of peace.