Yes, They Look Like Us

 Yes, the victims of the war in Ukraine look like me, or I look like them. They are European and so is my background. Yes, I feel a connection. However, that does not mean that I do not care deeply about refugees and prisoners from Afghanistan or Xinjiang province in China. I feel anguish for typhoon victims in the Philipines and desperately ill patients in India. It is ok to see a similarity and then an immediate connection with strangers. Noticing a physical resemblance is just that and nothing more. 

I am not more horrified because violence is happening in Europe. That continent is certainly no stranger to war. Seeing the color of someone's skin or hearing a language and noting its difference to one's own does not make one a racist. What a ridiculous idea. 

Color blindness does not and should not exist. If someone says that they do not see skin color, I worry. Two--three year old children see the various shades and colors of humans. We are different obviously. To observe does not equal action. Observation should end with a thought. Often people who claim they are "color blind" do not monitor their own subtle reactions, rendering them blind indeed.

When we use racial, language, gender, ethnic, and religious diversity to speak out or make decisions based on those differences, we head into troublesome areas. I daresy having a racially insensitive thought is not horrible either. The well known author Ibram X. Kendi, who wrote How to be an Anti-Racist, proposed that we all have racist thoughts at one time or another. But thoughts do not equal actions. This is basic information from introductory Human Behavior courses. Awareness allows us to realize our racist thoughts and work to alter them.

There are numerous instances when I know the media, first responders, and professionals pay more attention to white people than those of color with often tragic consequences. Or the converse--treating people of color worse than white individuals. That is not a new idea, very well established in fact, and an example of systemic racism. 

But the war in Ukraine is not one of those cases. Except, of course, when African and Middle Eastern students were pushed back at borders, escaping hostilities. We are faced with frightening consequences which we typically repress, nuclear war. Our governmental leaders are confronted with making very sensitive decisions--assisting a sovereign nation and risking the unthinkable by a ruthless, evil leader or merely providing economic sanctions, strong as they may be. I do not view the present crisis as a racial one. Everyone on this earth is affected. Leaders of Asian, African, and Middle Eastern countries figure into the equation. Whom do they support?

While I am on the topic, the war is not a Jewish issue either. Jews live in Ukraine and in Russia. This is a human tragedy. Some Ukrainians were complicit with the Nazis and Soviets in killing Jews; but, that has no bearing on the present conflict. I only mention this because I have heard Jewish people make insensitive comments about Ukraine. Anti semitism was rampant and remains a problem in Europe. But that should never be the basis for decisions in 2022. Germany--the best example--among other nations have taken responsibility for the past.

© 2022 Karen Levi

 

ADVICE TO OFFEND--I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE

Inflation getting you down? Shrieking at the gas station? Twenty dollars more spent at the market? Suggestions from Karen and Connie Levi might help you. We learned from the master and mistress of saving money. What you save can be given to a reputable charity. We have links on our FB pages. Simple to donate. It is pathetic how few actually have done so. I know some of you have given to good causes independently. 

For G--d's sake, downsize your motor vehicle. If I see one more long, black monstrosity speeding down a road, I might become a violent person. What are you thinking? And I don't care how many children you are homeschooling or grandchildren you are babysitting. Family planning goes a long way. What is the deal with supporting oil companies and their CEO's? I thought you and your family were so bright; doesn't seem like you can connect car to gas station to oil pipeline to earth to corporation. And saving the earth is probably the most important issue of our time.

Why are you shivering outside eating cold food when you could be eating inside your home, warm and toasty? (Assuming you live in temperate areas of the northern hemisphere where it is still winter.) Think of the money you can save by creating your own meals. Anyone who is acquainted with me, knows I do not like to cook. So prepare salads, soups. Put together meals for several days in advance. Clear out your freezer and refrigerator. If you want to support your favorite restaurant, order carry-out. 

Do not drive to the restaurant--walk or bike. If you do not live near a restaurant, I give up. You probably do not need your large suburban house anymore which is located on a cul-de-sac, only accessible to the outside world by motor vehicle. Bravo to those who have downsized or live near commercial areas.

This brings me to walking. Both Connie and I step out as much as possible, combining errands. We both have "no drive" days. How about it--saving you money; decreasing pollution; and providing you with sensible, no nonsense, and safe exercise? Older people usually will not fall if they look straight ahead and down for nasty, uneven sidewalks. I always trip when I look up. "Look, Isabel, at those beautiful blossoms." Before I know it, I am down on the grass. Walking is less risky than skydiving, rock climbing, and swimming the English Channel.

Old is in. (That is us!) New is out. Follow the model of your mothers and grandmothers that we ridiculed. Yes, unfortunately, they have been proven correct in most ways (with the exception of going to a psychotherapist). Visualize old world women in overcoats and scarves, carrying net bags and pushing shopping carts.  That's us--disguised in leggings, boots, and puffy jackets. Ponder for a moment; our children will be writing this message to their offspring in a matter of years.

To quote Connie, "this is war." War. you say? Yes--COVID, our earth, Europe, Afghanistan, China, the Middle East. Wherever one looks, it is happening. Might I add--racism, immigration, dictators, political reactionaries, corruption, guns, crime. So do something. You may not have experienced the tragedies but someone just like you has suffered as I write. Act. 

© 2022 Karen Levi

OVERWHELMED BY THE SUFFERING IN THE WORLD--NOW UKRAINE

 Now our attention focuses on Ukraine. I have made it my responsibility to follow this conflict in the news, since the latest fighting several years ago.  I feel a connection, since I visited Lviv, Ukraine in 2019, as part of a Human Rights trip to Poland. We visited Lviv because it had been a center for Jewish life before the Holocaust. 

As I experienced with the Poles, I observed the Ukrainians to be resilient, tough, and forward thinking, in spite of the trauma that has affected multiple generations. We stayed in a modern hotel in Lviv with updated food choices. Clearly, the employees aimed to demonstrate their progress. The food was tasty, appetizing, and suited to contemporary sensibilities. 

Our guide explained the modern history of the Ukraine, and we visited sites that explained the horrors caused by the Nazis, Soviets, and Russians. The synagogue was a wreck. I understand that the larger Jewish communities shifted to the capital and other southern cities, now in extreme danger. 

Standard of living in Lviv was not up to that of Europe or the United States. However, construction and the presence of businesses catering to modern society popped up throughout the city. The inhabitants moved about with focus and purpose.

People I know express shock, anger, and sadness at the present war. However, the former President again uttered seditious comments which I am certain his base has chewed and spit out. The armed conflict will change the balance and nature of international relations. 

I cannot imagine the fear, anxiety, and uncertainty of people who must run for their lives, with small children and the elderly. 

Not only do I hope for the safety of the innocent and the bravery of the Ukrainian resisters, but I wish for Americans to realize that we too must remain vigilant for our Democracy, develop more sensitivity to those in distant lands, and appreciate the life we lead.

pictures from trip to Lviv, 2019; the children in the upper left had lost a parent to the conflict with Russia

© 2022 Karen Levi

Who Cares?

 Various media sources reported that some hours after International Holocaust Day, a suspect--without a home or some such euphemism--spray painted over 100 swastikas and racist epithets on the facade of Union Station. The national news media did not find the story sufficiently exciting to bring it to the attention of citizens. CNN, local news, and the Washington Post sent out short blurbs on the event. 

Why? I suppose something else caught their attention on that day. Oh, I know, a "cyclone bomb"was blowing up the eastern seaboard, previously known as  a "Nor'easter." The old time fisherman and boatmen of the New England coast laughed in their graves over this nonsense. Massachusetts and Maine are known for wicked storms. So people in the D.C. area stocked up on toilet paper, bread, eggs, and milk while there were over one hundred symbols painted on the outside of Union Station, the train depot mere steps from the U.S. Capitol. "Never mind, oh well, who cares." Merely defacement of public property I was told, when I mentioned the situation to a leader in the Jewish Community of the metropolitan D.C. area. Disturbing yes, but not a hate crime.

I, for one, do not care if drawing swastikas on public property is a misdemeanor or meets the defintion of "hate crime." What bothers me is the uptick of obvious hatred in our country while civic authorities dismiss certain actions and blow others out of proportion. Certainly, graffiti is not a bombing, shooting, or taking of hostages. No one was hurt. However, hate is expressed in symbols, pictures, and words. Amtrak police may not care particularly, and someone is covering up a lack of security.  But swastikas are swastikas and send a strong message. 

© 2022 Karen Levi

https://www.wusa9.com/article/news/local/dc/union-station-swastikas/65-b3f5c8d6-0d21-4909-860c-9f75eef93503

WASTE NOT WANT NOT

  Just today, my sister said to her husband, "it's war, we have to eat the granola." An inside joke to be sure, my sister refers to past events which are no laughing matter. In addition to "war," we refer to "Shanghai," to describe practices refugees resorted to in wartime China. 

Our mother was a stateless person in Shanghai throughout World War II, a relatively safe haven for German and Austrian Jews. During the war, my mother and her compatriots subsisted on a starvation diet of soy milk, bread, beans, potatoes, turnips, chicory coffee and whatever else could be wangled. Not only was there a food shortage but also rampant inflation. Sound familiar? A bit, maybe.

We see shortages in the markets and inflation due to the pandemic, though insignificant compared to wartime in China. Nonetheless, one ought to consume available products and cease wasting food. A well-known phenomenom, Americans discard comestible and spoiled provender daily. Refuse from edibles hastens the deterioration of the planet, as dump sites overflow.

The daughters of immigrants, my sister, Connie, and I belong to the "clean plate club." As children, we gobbled what our mother served, for the most part. She calculated and cooked the precise amount of food she considered appropriate for our family. We laugh now when we share the experience of a good meal--"I ate every bite." Waiters often remark, "I guess you liked the food," said in good-natured jest. To avoid overeating, we request carry-out containers. We bring the leftovers home, including rice. 

I complain about the empty shelves, but then I remember the past and present reality. Afghanistan suffers from a food crisis. Some Americans go to bed hungry. If we cannot find plain flavored water, at our favorite store, buy seltzer; if no romaine lettuce, substitute spinach; if no Honeycrisp apples, try Kiku; no black shoe polish, live with it and so on. If supermarkets and pharmacies in the United States sold half their inventory, people from elsewhere would still gawk at the selection. 

I feel ashamed about my throw-away mentality. I try to squander less; but, I am a product of the consumer society. Recycle, reuse, donate, repair--my mottos--discouraged by businesses. Local governments work diligently to reverse the trend; but for now, do what you can--eat what you find in your pantry, refrigerator and market.

© 2022Karen Levi

Wake Up

 The new year began a day ago. I read an article about devices for measuring time--for example, grandfather clock, sundial, metronome, stopwatch, timer, apple watch, and the atomic clock.  I decided to record the pandemic in shortages, similar to my count of days of the virus, alternatives to documenting time.

The pandemic has been with us for two years. We enter our third winter of the virus. I began counting days of the virus on or about March 13, 2020, approximately when Governor Hogan announced a complete shut-down on the emergency alert system. FYI--we are on day #652. 

So back to shortages which seem to be completely random. In 2020, we experienced shortages of toilet paper, wipes, paper towels, and hand sanitizer. I clearly remember the Friday before I began counting. My friend in Irvine, CA was desperate for Purell hand sanitizer, at the time the only brand we recognized. I thought, what the hell, how difficult could it be to locate the stuff which I had scoffed about for years. Germs are good. Dirty is better than too clean. We need to strengthen our immunity system. Needless to say, my daughter, Isabel, and I never found hand sanitizer that blustery March day. On a whim or call it a premonition, I bought small bottles of hand sanitizer in February at Bath and Body Works. So we had some, but none to ship to California.

I picture the images in my mind from that time. The news reported that "older Chinese men" in a far-off province in China became sick and died. I felt reassured, since I am not a man or Chinese. Of course, I had no inkling of what was to come. When the first shutdown occurred, it seemed frightening but surreal, like a blizzard warning. Huh, we'll stay inside, be safe, and all will be well soon. 

A few days before the Purell shortage, Isabel and I tried to track down medical gloves and masks. We found gloves in Virginia but masks, no chance. That was the day, Isabel and I attended our last performance in a large indoor theater. Asking for masks was met with nervous laughter by sales clerks.

Luckily, in the early days of COVID-19. we found cheap paper masks sold individually from behind the counter, $1.00 a piece, at our small local CVS. Little did I know that masks--did I say masks?--would become a fashion accessory. One had to consider color; material--cotton or paper; theme--holiday, season, political; and source--country, department store, seamstress, a talented friend, or Amazon? Now we buy KN95 masks by the box. I even succumbed to purchasing self tests. 

Shortages--black shoe polish, bleach for color wash, tuna, sandals, holiday decorations, all types of furniture, certain brands of water and soda, canned soup, pasta, multi-vitamins, facial tissue--examples-- nonetheless an indication of something amiss. No American today experiences true hardship when the shelves seem empty. As a consumer, I feel curious. Rationing and a lack of necessities has not occurred in my lifetime. Some Americans do go hungry due to other reasons.

Supply-chain difficulties, including a decrease in longshoremen, truck drivers, and factory workers result in the gaps in the neatly displayed items on supermarket shelves. Are the workers sick, taking unemployment rather than low wages and poor benefits? Probably, yes. Causes include partisan politics; reliance on cheap foreign goods; and a long-standing trend of de-regulation, trickle-down economics, and tax incentives for corporations and the super-wealthy. 

A lack of awareness causes me angst. Some fellow citizens do not read warning signs--among them able bodied people unwilling to work for nothing. Leaders shy away from strict short-term mandates for vaccines and masks, so the variants of the virus continue to cause havoc. We have a Bill of Rights; however, our founding mothers and fathers certainly would not condone harming one another. We prize freedom of choice, but should a few obtain options and opportunities without regard to others?

Generosity and hospitality are not in short supply. Many Americans give their time, money, and food to the needy every day. But heeding warning by curtailing appetites seems to be impossible. What about driving the humongous SUVs; flying helter skelter anywhere to "get away," purchasing luxury residences in cities around the world, and non-stop partying and bar hopping? Why do homeowners remain nearsighted to the need for solar panels, the pollution caused by natural gas, or the use of a gas guzzling vehicle to drive a significant distance to bike or hike? Americans rush to buy generators in case of a blackout due to the fear of discomfort; extra freezers to store food for doomsday; and guns to protect and defend, But they do not consider the risk of accidental shootings and the "opportunity" for suicide attempts, as well as the pollution caused by extra large appliances, especially those hooked up to gas lines.

A few days ago, I saw videos of raging wildfires in Colorado in late December! The sky displayed an eery orange glow, and the landscape parched to a dull brown. The area, adjacent to Boulder, is not the desert, yet it resembled one. The video switched to a panicky scene in Chucky Cheese. Young families scrambled to grab coats and children and ran out into a weird wind/smokestorm. The families jumped into their SUV's, young ones safely buckled in, and drove off. The kids stared out the windows. No one said a word. If this does not scare you, I am dumbfounded.  

© 2022Karen Levi

Not a Wild Goose Chase

 

Put simply, I cannot get my mother out of me. Why was Mom frequently correct? Typical North American psychologists and social workers agree that individuation and separation constitute important developmental stage. Baby Boomers and Generation X strive to differentiate from their parents. The trajectory for Millenials and younger groups confounds me, (though probably similar). 

My parents were immigrants, double the trouble. First generation offspring automatically discard foreign superstitions and generational differences into the dumpster of ridiculous nonsense. My mother disparaged the use of plastic bags for storing foods which I ignored--turns out she had a point. Mother refused to do take-out meals, especially drinks in the car, an enduring habit of mine. Yes, sitting down with a non-disposable cup and saucer in a cafe or at home facilitates relaxation and mindfulness. My generation and the succeeding one enriched their young children with a myriad of activities. Certainly, such practice exposes the kids to a wider world. But independent play, as my parents' generation encouraged, without adult intervention, enables self-reliance. No argument there. My mother recycled before it was a sound environmental policy. I need not continue, since the examples stretch on into infinity. If you include grandparents; fresh air, home cooked meals, walking, not too much T.V., and Saturday opera from the Met on the radio add to the list of worthwhile suggestions which I have embraced.

My parents maintained contacts with people around the world. The names and vital information were printed legibly in little leather address books, found in my parents' and grandmothers' possessions after their deaths. From A-Z, in their proper sections, one discovered--B for Bloch in London, or S for Stern in Johannesburg. My grandparents used the addresses for a back-up plan in their escape from the Nazis. 

By the time I grew up, my elders, still in possession of the well-used address books, asked me to ring "so-and-so" when I was in New York, for example. I dreaded those cold calls, feeling extremely awkward, insecure, and annoyed to bother strangers who may or may not be interested in me.

 In 2017, my sister and I accompanied my mother to Santa Fe, or rather she took us. Our mom removed a dog-eared postcard with an artist's name and number from her travel bag. 

She announced, "I'd like to contact this artist."

My sister and I groaned. The situation triggered my trauma of phoning strangers."This card is an advertisement. Why would you think the artist would see you personally?" I said too emphatically, since I dreaded the eventual phone call. My sister drove and I, relegated to the backseat, made the call. After several attempts--"Mom she's unavailable!" I yelled, while making faces that my sister could see in the rearview mirror. 

"Try again, just one more time," she pleaded.

So I did. We connected with the artist who directed us cheerfully to her home studio the following afternoon. My sister drove to a lovely residential area of Santa Fe with cactus lined streets. We arrived at our destination, and I said, "ok, Mom, here we are."

"Oh great, let's go." She replied.

We sisters refused to leave the car, believing this to be silly endeavor. Our mother left the car and walked up the driveway to be greeted by the artist. After five minutes or so, the two returned and beckoned us to the studio. We agreed reluctantly. Exploring an actual artist's studio, with a view of a beautiful backyard, peaked my interest. Another few minutes passed, and we realized this was not a wasted field trip to a boring place.

That is the day we met Sandra Duran Wilson, a talented, innovative artist and teacher, certainly "the real deal." Prolific, she creates pieces of art in multi media. First and foremost, she is gracious, empathic, and down-to-earth, not at all like other artists I met that day in the artsy section of the town. 

My mother had found Sandra in an art show on her first trip to New Mexico, which explained the wrinkled post card. The day we visited, mother, at the age of nearly 90, bought the second of two of the artist's works. I purchased two of Duran-Wilson's paintings on the Internet last week. Ms. Duran-Wilson originates from the vivid surroundings of the American Southwest that inspired such artists as Georgia O'Keefe and writer Willa Cather. 

So our intensely curious, intelligent, and old-fashioned mother was right again!

(Sisters flanking mother, in case you think we are all sisters!)

© 2021Karen Levi