I CANNOT "LET IT GO"--IN MEMORY OF MY MOTHER

Recently, I engaged in another frustrating interchange with a relative about the COVID-19 vaccine. She is polar opposite to me on a variety of subjects. Her history is troubled, and she has embraced evangelical Christianity for many years. That in itself is not problematic, but as a result,  this type of Christianity has influenced her to choose paths that lead to extreme thinking. How does a bright woman--born to a Jewish mother--become a rabid follower of right wing conspiracy theories? Her arguments are delineated logically, but, to me, they are strangely alien and paranoid. Her personal viewpoints are couched in research, which is dubious or outright fallacious. 

A few weeks ago, she commented--on social media--that New York City's requirement of proof of vaccination for in-restaurant customers was "like the Nazis." Needless to say, she caused a firestorm of protests, beginning with her sister. My sister and I followed with outrage, as did many individuals of various genders, races and ages. She or her husband went on to say that requiring proof of vaccination was similar to the Nuremberg Laws of 1935. These comments are inflammatory, dangerous, and misleading. That is clear. But, what concerns me is there are an increasing number of Americans who expound these ideas. My conscience does not allow me to "let this go" any longer. For years, I have heard justification for Trump's presidency--what he said, did, and allowed to happen--from her. I know I am powerless to change this person. She is "free" to say what she wants. You know, "it's a free country." The communication of misinformation, with dangerous consequences, should be a crime. However, disseminating lies is rarely punished.

The Nazi comment was hurtful because my parents were Holocaust survivors. As my mother said, when she watched the Charlottesville march, "those aren't real Nazis. They don't even know what a real Nazi is like." I was shocked at her statement because I thought Charlottesville was bad enough. Nonetheless, individuals born after World War II have no idea about fear and suffering. We simply do not! And that sensitivity and awareness decreases as the years rapidly fall away from post World War II America. I, at least, grew up with adults who had actually experienced Nazis. My peers grew up with parents who had fought in World War II. Someone born in the 1980's or 1990's and onward may not have ever met a person from the World War II era. The suffering endured by those involved in the Korean War, the Cold War, and Vietnam have not effected people born after those horrible conflicts.

Which brings me to our present situation, our plague of 2019--?. COVID-19 is probably as close to true suffering as all of us alive today will experience. I am astounded  when I hear of the selfish acts of my fellow citizens. I am guilty of self-centeredness, since I grieve the loss of the opportunity to travel. I am self-centered, and I focus on reducing this behavior constantly. But there are many among me who feel "they must do-----". I do not need to elaborate, since we all have seen pictures and heard the stories of individuals traveling for pleasure during the pandemic, one example of our self-absorption. I get into trouble by speaking of this. It is true that we all do what we feel is ethically sound. But are we truly making the effort, striving for our best selves? Questions to ponder as we pray, meditate, or think quietly. And, for Jews, 'tis the season.

The main thread of this essay is egocentricism, whether it is refusal to get vaccinated based on the right not to or going on a pleasure trip to escape. I can do what I want to do, no matter. This is our American credo, the basis of our upbringing. We are now reaping the bitter fruits of the primacy of free will and supremacy of the individual. Rugged individualism has its merits but has been tempered by altruism throughout my life. There has been a tug and pull between these philosophies, a balance. Ayn Rand, in her book The Fountainhead, had a character who counteracted the libertarian. As I remember, he was weak and pathetic, but he existed. Now, I see people in our country who truly believe that their freedom of choice is the only factor in making decisions, the best examples being the possessions of automatic weapons and not following normal health precautions. But, almost more frightening, are those who appear liberal, but are actually self-centered to the max. They are the wolves in sheeps' clothing as warned by Jesus in The Sermon on the Mount and described in Aesop's Fables.

As I previously mentioned, Mea Culpa. I am selfish. But, I do temper my self aborption with self-monitoring. I am just as fallible as the next person. However--I have not gone off to a villa in Bali yet. 

One more mention of my mother, she loved the book The Fountainhead and fashioned herself somewhat of a libertarian much to my chagrin. But, I know she never would have refused a vaccination to help to decrease the spread of a deadly virus. She valued health over all else. Why the anti-vaxxers may ask? She saw too many people and loved ones die.

For further reading: 

https://www.ineteconomics.org/perspectives/blog/libertarians-and-the-vaccine-give-me-liberty-and-give-them-death

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/The-Panic-Virus/Seth-Mnookin/9781439158654

Conspiracy of Silence--A Few Thoughts off the Couch

 "Conspiracy of Silence" is a term I have heard, though I am not sure of the where or who? Googling the phrase revealed that the words were not attributed to anyone in particular. I apologize if I am usurping a catchy expression. Family, friends and acquintances know of my interest in the Holocaust, particularly the effects on the offspring of survivors. Forgiveness, remembrance, and awareness of all forms of genocide are issues that concern me. 

So I was shocked to discover that research regarding the survivors of trauma and their children is not a new area of scientific inquiry. Contrary to what I believed, studies of survivors and their children have been occurring at least since the middle of the 20th century.  I discovered the research while writing two memoirs. 

A fine fellow I know who works for the United States Holocaust Museum (USHM) sent me an email in May 2021 about a virtual conference for Second Generation Survivors (2 G's). I signed up and attended, selecting those talks that peeked my curiousity. Before the first words were spoken, I was amazed. You mean we are a group? People know about us? I listened to the array of international experts. They spoke about intergenerational grief, never again, anti-semitism, the new Germany, among other subjects. Participants were invited to view movies--old and new--and listen to survivors and the children of survivors. 

During these presentations, streamed from Toronto, listeners chatted. For the first time, I read the words of strangers who experienced their childhoods much as I had. Women and men from the four corners of the globe described parents unable to express emotions, yet blurt out horrific events from their pasts, and deny their histories. Individuals related stories of parents who were overly indulgent or stingy, protective, secretive, prone to sudden bursts of anger, and strangely preoccupied. These behaviors occur in all populations. However, the exact combination of characteristics displayed by the participant's mothers and fathers--who were Holocaust survivors--was uncanny. Various studies document these personality attributes as common among survivors of trauma, including the Holocaust. 

As I participated in the conference, I learned of Helen Epstein, whose parents from Prague survived the Holocaust. Helen was born in a DP camp, grew up in New York City, and teaches and writes. I looked up her work, and I found she had written about the offspring of Holocaust survivors. Her first book--Children of the Holocaust--was published in 1979 when she was a young woman. 

1979? I gasped. How did I not know about this? Never had there been a peep from rabbis, intellectuals, and most importantly psychotherapists. I was married to a man who has a PhD in Social Work, who did a dissertation on a subject related to Jews, and worked with refugees for a Jewish Social Service Agency in Boston. How did this information go unnoticed by agency directors, professors, and his colleagues? He said he was unaware of the research. Groups for 2G's were forming at Boston University in the mid-late 1970's, literally in my backyard.

The most egregious omission, however, are the Jewish therapists I worked with over the years in the Washington D.C. area. Not one thought, mention, or question from these professionals occurred to link my parents' past to the description of my childhood. I should have sorted out the pieces of the puzzle, and I had to some extent. However, my psychotherapy in the 1980's was focused on my problems. I was told to assume responsibility and not blame my parents, generally excellent advice which I repeat to my children. However, disregarding a social/historical reason for quirky--often hurtful--behavior invalidates a patient's experience. Viewing personal issues from all perspectives, in my opinion, increases self-esteem and awareness in an anxious or depressed person.

I have read the same argument in books about racism. Certainly African Americans must take responsibilty for their lives. But to attribute all dysfunctional behavior as individual pathology avoids the subject of racism and its profound effects. Therin lies the weakness of a psychoanalytic approach. Not all human psychopathology is caused by the aberrant thought processes of a patient. We live in and out of our heads. Ultimately, the patient is responsible for change, no matter the cause. However, understanding the context of childhood decreases self-blame and self-hatred on the part of the person seeking help. 

Years ago when psychoanalysis was popular, therapists were required to undergo treatment. I do not believe this is the case now. Personal transformation is damn difficult. The professional should comprehend the process in a personal sense, including awareness of their pasts and difficulties in coping with relationships. Returning to the original topic, it is unfortunate that therapists of the mid and late 20th century avoided the topic of the Holocaust due to their discomfort of or relationship to the tragedy. Not talking about the Holocaust was part of the Zeitgeist; however, for therapists, especially Jewish ones, to deny this reality was a major error. In short, a conspiracy of silence prevailed.

Note: when I mention this subject, people commonly respond, "but this can be said about all parents." True, but that does not erase the fact that specific combinations of characteristics in parents--who survived the Holocaust--deeply affected their offspring in problematic ways. My points do not diminish the positive traits of people who have survived trauma.

Nothing New--Sad all the Same

 I read stories about refugees stranded in Mexico, attempting to enter the United States legally. These are women, children, and men fighting for survival. Their struggles are no different from the millions of unfortunate people who have attempted to leave a dangerous homeland. In this case, a good number are escaping a violent death at the hands of gangs who are no less than terrorists. Avoiding certain murder forces families to risk safety and security for a chance at life. Guatemalans running from thugs in their villages is identical to the Chinese escaping Communist rule in 1949. The Jews who left Spain during the Inquisition possessed the same instinct for survival as the Rohyinga in Myanmar, fearing death (by Buddhists if that can be fathomed). The examples are endless. 

Most Americans understand why slaves attempted escape; so why do they chastise their brown brothers and sisters who plead to gain access to the United States? Desperate refugees focus on food, shelter, and a means to survive. I abhor the attitude of Americans who are anti-immigration. All citizens have forbearers who arrived from elsewhere, with the exception of Native Americans. 

My ex-husband and I adopted two children from Latin America. One motivation to adopt internationally was the awareness that children frequently are in dire situations without a safety net. It is tragic that circumstances have continued to deteriorate for poor people in these countries. Governments south of our border are commonly irresponsible and corrupt. But how much of the weakness has been caused by American intervention? How many times has the U.S. government interfered with elections? 

"America!"

It is April 30, 2021. COVID is raging in India. I am not from India or of Indian heritage. I am human. How can I not care? People around me say, "Oh, I can't read that." How can one not "read that?" The victims on the south Asian subcontinent are us. We are them. It is as simple as that. 

Today, I cancelled a lunch date. The weather was not conducive to sitting outside. I worried that my friend would think I am silly. But COVID is insidious and burrows into our bodies literally and figuratively, like a nasty tick. I will not eat inside a crowded, small restaurant/market. I am fearful of COVID, eventhough I received my two Phizer vaccinations. I wear my mask as a shield now. Incredibly lucky that these are my concerns; ridiculously trivial when one sees pictures of crowded cremation grounds--smoky, hot, and virus infested--and caskets piled up, in makeshift tents, to be buried at all hours, in Brazil and Peru. 

I am transported to India, last year to Queens, New York. Baby boomers, like me, not particularly unwell, frail, or old are destroyed by the claws of a virus that squeezes the air capacity out of the lungs. The human causalties are not street people or beggars, though the latter are tragically dying by the hundreds of thousands. The sick are mothers and fathers, wed in the 1970's, who led a typical life, working, playing, crying, and laughing. They are the Indian version of me, living retirement years. 

Who or what is the cause of these disasters? We are. Humans should not handle wild animals without protection, let alone eat them. Last year, the world was caught unawares. Though that is an insufficient reason for what came to pass. But in 2021? How can a country like India, with large pharmaceutical companies, neglect its own people? Money--probably. Always follow the money. I can imagine....And an increase in private health insurance in India which translates to money in someone's pocket. There but for the "grace of God" go we in the United States. If a certain insane, tyrant had won the election, we might have been India. The world would have said, "America."

A Rose By Any Name Would Smell as Sweet

       I came across the name Cohany today. The person whose last name is Cohany is Jewish, but I thought, mm, sounds Irish too. What's with this? 

      This is what Google states: Cohan is a variant of Cohane, which itself is an Anglicized form of the Irish Ó Cadhain. Cohan is also a variant spelling of the Hebrew surname Cohen. This version of that name is commonly used in France (among Jews). 

      Then there is Brody? Instinctually, I would say the name is Irish also. But, did you know that Brody is a common Jewish name, originating from Poland.

      According to Google: Brody is a name of either Jewish or Irish origin. Often associated with the Ukrainian city of Brody, the name has been used both as a surname and a given name.  The name originated with the noble families of Ireland and later Scotland when it was colonized by Irish settlers during the late 6th and early 7th centuries.So, I was close. Not Polish but Ukrainian. The borders between these two regions shifted throughout history. 

    It is common knowledge that the names of immigrants were shortened by impatient or uncomprehending border officials at Ellis Island and other ports of entry. "Next, what is your name?" the clerk asked brusquely. "Ahem, Wolffheim," the dishelved foreigner responded. "What? We'll call you Wolf. Next." 

    Frequently, immigrants changed their names voluntarily, desiring to blend into the melting pot, which was a common description of the United States. It is an outdated term. Now, we are a plate, with dishes from many lands, which are separate but often leak into one another--as in, "Oh dear, my french lentil salad dressing is mixing with the sesame noodles." This happens at potlucks which, in my area, consist of dishes from different ethnic groups, rather than bland covered dishes. But, I digress. 

     My grandfather tried, "Lee" to generate more business. He attempted to be a silver poslisher in affluent homes when he arrived in the United States. Imagine, an entrepeneur turned silver polisher? His surname was "Levi." He did not realize that "Lee" is a common Chinese name, and in San Francisco in the 1930's that designation decreased his opportunities. There is a long history of anti-Asian behavior in California.

     People constantly ask me about my surname. "Why is 'Levi' pronounced 'Levee' rather than 'LevI?' I explain that my relations were German Jewish. The "i" is pronounced "ee" in German, resulting in "Layfi." (Levi)  I suppose the name game in the United States will forever be confusing, since we are a country of immigrants. I mispronounce foreign names, but I try to be polite, not dismissive about names. In the past, I wondered if "Levi" was the Sephardic version; but, my rabbi said, "not really." Due to the fact that the name is transliterated from Hebrew, one could choose any spelling. And, lo and behold, there were "Levis and Levys" in a cemetery in Morroco.

     Names are informative, suggesting a complex historical load that was borne on the backs of the people who emigrated to the United States. An African surname connotes the story of a proud and tenacious people who survived the perils of colonialism. Russian surnames tell us that this family was probably forced out by a totalitarian regime. A Vietnamese name, such as Ngyuen, reminds us of the horror of the war in Southeast Asia. Hispanic names evoke the troubled past of north and south America, beginning with the Spanish and continuing with our involvement in central and south American governments.

     The Ms. Cohany I know explained the history of her surname.  Her uncle left Lithuania for Israel and her father for the United States before World War II. Their name was Katz, a German sounding name, possibly related to Cohen, but to me is "cat" in German. The Germans controlled what is now Lithuania for a period of time. The brothers thought that Cohany--deriving from Cohen--did not sound German. So there it is. And an immigration official on the east coast of the United States probably thought, Oh, he's Irish like me. 

    Surnames at best describe a segment of a person's identity.

Wedding Store

        

        Another sight on my daily walks is a wedding dress boutique, of all stores to be near me. I have no reason to visit that shop, since I am forty-five years past my wedding day. I peer into the shop and happily notice women of all races inside at any given time. Phew. At least the shop is not that elitist. The space is lit with white modern light fixtures. There are small dressing rooms surrounding a large mirror and a platform

    I watch youngish women step into the store with their mothers and friends. I see their reflection in a three-way mirror. The women stand on a platform and view themselves this way and that. Many have an insecure look, being exposed as a bride in a mirror. Childlike, they put a finger up to their lips or cross their arms to cover their midsection. They do not seem like brides, more young girls trying on princess gowns. The young women are unaware that they can be viewed from the street.

        Most people probably walk by and ignore the establishment. But, I find it impossible to ignore a wedding dress boutique with an abundance of tule, lace, silk, and satin. I am drawn to the various shades of white and the lusciousness of so much splendor. Weddings are auspicious events in the life of a woman, an undeniable truth, women’s liberation notwithstanding. Either girls dream about getting married, or hope they will never marry. But marriage is a milestone, an entry into adult life, whether the couple is up to the challenge or not.

        I imagine—but cannot see—the miniature pearls and sparkles adorning the bodices of the dresses. Odd to see the twenty to thirtyish women, with their sloppy buns or ponytails, in strapless wedding gowns, modeling their choices. I think strapless wedding gowns are dumb. So few women look attractive in this style. Imagine, being afraid that your dress might slip down during the wedding and reception?

        My mind wanders to happiness. Will the women be happy? Who are they marrying? Will they be content? Thoughts travel to my wedding. I loved my wedding dress, an unusual flowing white gown with a hood instead of a veil. Bizarre as it sounds, the material was polyester. It was 1976 after all. The advantage of polyester is that it does not wrinkle. I fancied myself an angel or a spirit floating about the evening. The dress enabled me to be an ingenue, beguiling yet innocent, not that I was completely without experience. The dress fit me figuratively and actually. I was guileless, and the outfit emphasized my figure softly.

        Back to the young women of the 21st century who are rarely innocent but equally unjaded, I daresay. Do they understand what extraordinary compromises and adaptations will have to be made? Do they foresee that a strong, empathic partnership will be vital for the marriage to survive? Perhaps, it is better that they remain dewy-eyed. I wish them the best and not so much knowledge that their dreams will be destroyed before they begin. I hope the couples are compatible sexually and enjoy common interests. Mazel Tov!

 

 

Shirley Temple Hair

Owners look like their dogs and vice versa. Dogs and their keepers adapt to one another, so their appearances bear a resemblance. I saw look-a-likes in dog and mistress the other day. I viewed the canine and human from behind. The dog and mistress waddled their backsides slightly, not too much just a bit. As my eyes moved up, I observed the most remarkable similitude. The woman and the dog sported the curliest light brown hair I have ever seen. The shade was apricot, the description used for blondish—brownish poodles. The woman’s hair was the identical cheerful color, not like an apricot more the crust on a perfectly baked baguette or wheat shimmering in the sun. Small ringlet curls about two inches long covered their head and body respectively, perfect curlicues, not frizzy in the least. The spirals bounced. I was astounded. Did the woman copy her dog’s curls? The dog appeared to be a poodle mix, probably the very popular Labradoodle (yellow Labrador Retriever mated with Standard Poodle). Everyone who is anyone has one now. Of course, not me. I always picked rescue dogs, and these popular mixes were already spoken for or never abandoned. Or was the dog owner always a blondish-brownish curly haired person? Is that why she selected the breed? Upon closer inspection, I realized that the woman needed a haircut. The dog’s hair was actually better groomed. These are the crazy sights on my daily walks. Most people do not notice these quirky occurrences. The woman with the curly hair is probably reasonably affluent. Her clothes looked classy and coordinated. She wore a stylish, black down coat and hip high top black sneakers; and the dog, of course, is not cheap, since the combination breeds with poodles are very popular. As the woman walked along the brick path, bordered by a stone wall, I guessed she was headed for one of the beautiful brick brownstones that remind me of being in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Most people do not think of lovely brownstones when they think about Northern Ireland. However, when I visited Belfast, my hotel was near a university which was situated in an area of well-maintained townhouses. I wonder if the woman is happy and healthy? I did not see any indication of her emotional or physical states. She walked at a good pace on a brisk, sunny March day which told me she valued exercise to some degree. And that was it. Gone into the distance, out of my field of vision. I have not seen her again.