Holocaust Remembrance Day (belated)

Last Thursday was the annual observance of Israel's day of commemoration of the approximately six million Jews who perished in the Holocaust as a result of the actions carried out by Nazi Germany and its accessories, and for the Jewish resistance in that period. Many years ago, when our daughters were just toddlers, we were in Israel for two weeks that included Yom Hashoah, and the observance remains firmly etched in my memory. I am hard pressed to think of any such event that could possibly receive a higher rate of compliance than this annual one, which is a reflection of the enormity of the impact that the Holocaust had on nearly every Jewish family anywhere. This video shows what happens all over the country.

One of the recurring themes of the observance of this day is a vow to never forget what happened in Europe in the 1930s and 40s. As the generation of people who survived that period is aging and passing on, the challenge of keeping the memories alive becomes greater. It is much more challenging these days to find actual survivors to speak at events. The children and grandchildren of survivors are a group whose lives were most intensely impacted by the Holocaust, and many of them devote significant energy to keeping the memory in our collective conscience.

Our friend Deborah Gastfreund Schuss, a writer by profession, is the daughter of survivors. Last Thursday, which was Yom Hashoah, she published an article on foxnews.com, which I have copied here. 

Holocaust Remembrance Day: My father's legacy and my duty to never forget

 

The author's parents, Sally and Morris Gastfreund, in a photo that was taken after they were reunited in the Landsberg Displaced Persons Camp in Germany. (Courtesy of the author)

Early on Jan. 6, 1943, the Gestapo and their collaborators surrounded the ghetto of Randomsk, Poland, and ordered Jews to assemble in the streets. Whoever fell to the ground while being chased outdoors was shot, leaving a fresh blanket of snow stained with blood.

Among those brutalized that day were my father and his family. Ultimately, his mother, three sisters, brother-in-law and 2-year-old nephew were herded into cattle cars bound for Treblinka’s gas chambers.

Resurgent violence against Jews is a terrifying backdrop to Thursday’s Yom Ha’Shoah/ Holocaust Remembrance Day, observed every year to memorialize the 6 million men, women and children who were savagely murdered as humanity’s bystanders shriveled in silence. A generation of Jews, including almost all my parents’ relatives, was systematically exterminated following a dramatic proliferation of virulent anti-Semitism.

Weighing 85 pounds after his rescue, my father found himself in a makeshift hospital lying beside a former inmate. He held my dad’s hand and whispered, “I’m happy to die a free man. Tell the world what happened and to not forget.” He then closed his eyes. My father’s promise to his friend became a lifelong duty that is my legacy.

Only seven decades after my parents barely survived Europe’s human slaughterhouse, Jews again are common targets – whether in a kosher grocery in Paris, a Jewish museum in Brussels, a tourist resort in Argentina or in graves across Europe.

Our synagogues aren’t safe zones either. The murder in February of a man outside a synagogue in Copenhagen was the latest in a series of attacks since last summer. Our spiritual homes have been targeted throughout Europe and in Jerusalem, where Palestinians wielding guns, axes and butcher knives stormed a synagogue and killed four worshippers in November. Photos of the aftermath revealed blood-soaked prayer shawls.

Those images are chillingly familiar. On the eve of the Jewish holiday of Succoth in 1942, the Nazis stormed a synagogue in Wodzislaw, Poland, and dragged 10 worshipers wrapped in their prayer shawls out at gunpoint. The victims were marched to the Jewish cemetery, forced to dig their own graves and shot. One of those men was my mother’s father.

The world has failed to apply history’s stinging lessons to present-day evil, as escalating acts of terror against Jews often are glossed over. It is human nature to embrace the notion that such malevolence cannot prevail, but the enormity of my family’s experiences in a so-called civilized world proves otherwise.

My parents, childhood sweethearts, endured unimaginable cruelties before they miraculously reunited in a displaced persons camp in Landsberg, Germany.

Enslaved in several concentration camps, my father once secretly fled a “sick barrack” while suffering from typhus. With his brother’s help, he was hidden among ammunition crates to mask his infirmity. That day, the Nazis executed everyone remaining there. He was locked for days in a cattle car rolling toward Dachau – “to work in the heavens,” as a Nazi guard gleefully informed the prisoners – a mission that was thwarted when he was liberated amid hundreds of decomposing corpses.

To escape certain death, my mother jumped from a moving freight train about two miles from Treblinka, shots firing at her from above. The sole survivor of her family, she was incarcerated in Auschwitz-Birkenau, where starvation, abuse and selections were the norm, and where gas chambers and crematoria operated for those deemed unfit.

With the horrors of the Holocaust receding from memory, smoldering hatreds are rekindled. Fearful Jews in France, London and Berlin send their children outdoors stripped of Jewish identifiers, and UCLA undergraduates brazenly grill a judicial board nominee regarding her loyalties, stating “she is a Jewish student and very active in the Jewish community.”

It’s a chilling replay of a shameful past, when flourishing propaganda and violence against Jews were ignored as evil engulfed the world.

Weighing 85 pounds after his rescue, my father found himself in a makeshift hospital lying beside a former inmate. He held my dad’s hand and whispered, “I’m happy to die a free man. Tell the world what happened and to not forget.” He then closed his eyes. My father’s promise to his friend became a lifelong duty that is my legacy.

There must be a collective cry against all forms of anti-Semitism, whether threats from Iran or intimidation in academia. How loudly that resonates will determine our willingness to block another free fall into moral bankruptcy.

Deborah Gastfreund Schuss is a Boston-based journalist.

Thank you, Debbie, for continuing to remind us of the importance of these memories. Why do we humans seem so unable to learn even the simplest lessons?

Love,

Rebecca

Got some wheels

For a number of years now, I have owned and used a mobility scooter up in Sharon. The walk to synagogue became impossible and it was difficult for Barry to push me in a wheel chair. I have written a few times about the availability of a scooter that, for people who have significant medical issues, can be converted to a mode allowing use on the Jewish Sabbath, when turning on or using ordinary electrical gadgets is generally not allowed.

We drive a small car for a number of reasons. First, we have a very small garage, and particularly during the winter we like to be able to park the car in it. Second, both driving and parking in the City are much easier with a small car. But the trouble with a small car is that a scooter cannot fit in it. Recently, a number of companies began to develop a scooter that disassembles in four or five “easy” steps, where the definition of “easy” is in the eye of the person taking it apart, lifting the pieces in and out of the car, and putting it back together as in the demonstration video. Nonetheless, now that I am here in Riverdale most weekdays, while Barry is in his laboratory or teaching or attending meetings, I have been feeling a bit trapped in the house.

If I am cooking and run out of something I have to either change gears or wait until he comes home. If I am really in the mood for Starbucks or frozen yogurt, both of which are just a few blocks away, I cannot go. So Barry decided that what I need is a scooter here. Riverdale is pretty quiet on weekdays, so getting around should not be so difficult other than a few parts of sidewalks that are in dire need of repairs from the particularly cold and icy winter we have just had.

So after hours of discussion and a trip last week to a couple of stores that sell these scooters, we decided to buy one called the GoGo Elite Traveler Sport three-wheeler from Pride Medical Supplies. It came with red trim but included inserts to change that to blue. And that may be useful. It occurred me that since I am not roaming too far away, I might become recognizable around here. But if I keep changing the color of my scooter, maybe people will think there are two such “old ladies with oxygen on scooters,” the red one and the blue one, here in our little corner of the Bronx.   

We are spending this weekend in New York. Everyone is exhausted from Thanksgiving so we are having quiet meals at home. But Passover provided what you might say is an unrelated and unexpected idea: baking! Every year before the start of Passover I make two sponge cakes, one lemon and one chocolate. These cakes are made with potato starch, basically a sort of cake flour made of potatoes. I have gotten pretty good at it over the years, judging by how quickly it seems to be eaten. So I got the grocery items and pulled out the cookbook I remember was my “bible” for sponge cakes, The Joy of Cooking. I used to have this in two small paperback volumes, but a few years ago I broke down and replaced those 30+ year old books with the new, large hardback edition. She gives very specific instruction on how to make a sponge cake, which I try to follow religiously. You could say I take them as seriously as instructions for preparing our kitchen for Passover.

One weakness of an exercise like this on Friday morning is that I have to wait until this evening to sample the cake. I will have to report back next week. Barry’s vote carries the most weight on this one.

The Mets are playing Sunday afternoon and Barry managed to get some pretty good handicap-accessible seats. So we are looking forward to being out on a day that we hope will at least not be too cold or rainy. Fortunately all the accessible seats are covered by upper levels of the stadium. I suppose they recognized that if a big storm hits we would have a hard time getting to a safe place quickly.

Stay dry and have a nice weekend.

Love,

Rebecca

Where did the last 12 days go?

Back in the old days, before inexpensive long-distance phone calls and instant communication via the internet, working full time meant going someplace outside of one’s domicile every day. To conserve vacation time for summer leisure, we usually went to work on the intermediate days of Passover. Because of the limitations on food during those eight days, those who observe have to bring from home everything they might want to eat or drink during the day. I remember leaving the house and boarding the train each morning of the intermediate days and feeling very nervous that I did not have enough food and something would go wrong. Needless to say, I always packed enough for two or three people, and I never starved. But the memory remains.

Fast forward to now, I no longer need worry about starvation, but the week still felt extremely busy and I could not seem to find the psychic energy to sit down, clear my head, and write. We returned to our New York home a few hours ago, have finished putting away our things and going through the enormous pile of mail (mostly junk, of course) and I am now going to do the best I can to play a bit of catch-up.

A couple of days before the start of the holiday, we took Joshua and Ella to see the newest version of Cinderella. We surprisingly enjoyed it much more than we expected we would. One aspect that was especially appealing was the characters were each somewhat different than the usual versions of the story: Cinderella, played by Lily James (a new actress?), was not just a damsel in distress, and the fairy godmother, played by Helena Bonham Carter, was endearingly ditsy. The most interesting character was the wicked stepmother, played deliciously by Cate Blanchette. Although we usually think of this movie as nice entertainment for little girls, this version had a very adult tone to it that made it fun watching for both the children and their grandparents. I just looked and was not surprised to see that the movie received a respectable 84% on Rotten Tomatoes.

We all came together at Simmie’s house for the first Seder on Friday night. Sabbath day we rested up for the second Seder, at Dina’s house, on Saturday night. We had a lot of fun singing all the familiar songs and listening as the children presented things they had learned in school, and of course eating the sumptuous meals our children prepared and served. As planned, we served our traditional “pizza” for Simmie’s birthday lunch. 

During the week, we did things with the children: went shopping, played games, and saw another movie: Home. This movie received only a 47% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes, but this is one time I think the reviewers may have been a bit too harsh. We rather enjoyed it; have we been seeing too many children’s movies lately? 

The weather did not cooperate too well during Passover. We had been hoping to do something outdoors but it was rainy and very cold every day until the very last one,  limitting us to indoor activities. One special highlight was that, following some conversations with her, we had bought Maya a recorder and started to teach her to play. She caught on quickly, and I will not be surprised if by the time we see her next she will have taught herself a good deal more.

Meanwhile, some quiet downtime will certainly be a change of pace. I have started to compile a long list of things on which I need/would like to get started. Working with Maya reminded me that I need to arrange to have the piano tuned.

Have a good week, hopefully with no more snow!

Love,

Rebecca

p.s. inadvertently left off last post

For those of you who might appreciate this but haven't yet seen it:

You can't go home again

People often say “you can’t go home again.” This phrase has its origins as the title of a novel by Thomas Wolfe that was published after his death in 1940 based on material extracted from his unpublished manuscript, “The October Fair”. I had reason to think about it quite a bit last week.

Early last week I received an e-mail message from a former Pfizer colleague telling me about a gathering of the Pfizer group in which she and I had both worked in the early 1990s. Although I am still in contact with a number of colleagues from those years, somehow my name was a late addition to the list. The gathering was last Thursday evening at a restaurant two blocks from the Pfizer offices in midtown Manhatan, and I was fortunately in New York and able to attend. I took a car service into the City, the first time I visited my old stomping grounds in over three years, which was a very strange feeling.

Because of the countless changes to the Pfizer organization during the last twenty years, I had no way of knowing whether all of my old colleagues knew what had happened to me. I did not want to spend the entire evening repeating my “story” again and again, so the day before the event I distributed a brief update on why I had left and ended with

Because of my pulmonary condition, I cannot stand for long periods or walk around a lot, so I do hope you will seek me out in a chair somewhere and stop by to say hello.

I debated about sending this note because I feared it might sound a bit more self-involved than I wanted, but I think it was a good idea because it enabled me to focus on my former colleagues and on my personal favorite discussion topic: our grandchildren. I set up my iPhone with a collection of especially cute recent pictures and showed it to everyone who came by.

I knew nearly everyone in the room; although there were many I had not seen in quite a few years. I surprised myself with how many names I remembered, continuing evidence that the section of the brain in which the tumor grew effects short-term much more than long-term memory.

Even without moving around much, I was exhausted after an hour and a half or so. But it was nice to see everyone, and in particular to see that, despite quite a few stressful changes, the spirit and desire to help patients is still very much alive. At the same time, it was a bit of a sad reminder of all I had to give up three years ago. While it was not exactly a homecoming, I am really glad that I went.

We drove up to Sharon on Friday and had Friday night dinner with Dina and family and Saturday lunch with Simmie and family. The children always greet us with such enthusiasm when we have been away for a few weeks. Maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder.

We had tickets for the Harlem Globetrotters on Sunday, so Barry, Joshua, Eliana, Ella, and I headed up to Boston for the game. I am not sure I had ever seen them live, and it was really quite entertaining. Especially clever was the “instant replay” which they did by moving as if in slow motion while pretending to “rewind” the “video” and then “replay”.

After the game we all met at Dina’s for a family birthday celebration for Julia Rose, who reached her first birthday last week. Here are a couple of pictures. She is every bit as cute and sweet as she looks (no bias whatsoever).

 I am sorry it has taken a bit to provide this update. I feel as if I have done a year’s worth of cooking and baking in the past few days, all for Passover. Our refrigerator and freezer here in Sharon are completely full of some of our family favorites, with a heavy emphasis on cakes and cookies that I like to make. I hope everyone will be hungry!

A happy and healthy holiday to all!

Love,

Rebecca

The torch has been passed

These weeks before Pesach (Passover) used to be a very stressful time for me. Every year, a few weeks before the start of the holiday, I would have a terrible dream in which it was Erev (the eve of) Pesach and I had somehow not done any of the cleaning to prepare the house for the holiday. That dream became my annual wake-up-call for commencing the process.

Are dreams passed on from mother to daughter? I just received an e-mail from our daughter Simmie. The subject line read

You know you're turning into your mother when...

And the text went on to say

...you dream of Pesach preparations, as I did last night!  But mine were not about cleaning, as you've told me yours once were, they were about shopping.   I was running late to pick up the kids at school, the line at the Butcherie was a mile long, and they were out of much of what I needed.

The irony is, we're doing really well in terms of our preparations.  Most of the house is cleaned, and most of the groceries are bought.  I plan to go to the car wash today with the kids (they like to do that.)  I really am not worried.  But still, I dream.

I'm going to the Butcherie today.  Wish me luck!

I have not had “the Pesach dream” these past few years. Not only have I become more relaxed, but I now have two daughters and their families who take care of the lion’s share of the work. I get to bake a few cakes and make Pesach Pizza for lunch on the second day, which is Simmie’s Hebrew birthday. It is indeed a very good deal!

Our little Julia Rose was born one year ago today! This year passed so quickly. I was nervous about becoming a grandmother again; I knew that I was not up to the task as well as I was when the older children were born. But Julia has been a true joy, and I cannot even remember or imagine our family without her.

Love,

Rebecca

Time to sleep

Barry, as always, awoke and was ready to leave the house before the crack of dawn this morning. Now that I am a lady of leisure, so to speak, I no longer feel compelled to start my day quite that early, although at 8 am, I am up and dressed and sitting at my computer. I have already worked the NY Times crossword puzzle.

This morning, as Barry was leaving, an old (circa 1970) Crosby Stills and Nash song came into my mind:

In the morning, when you rise,

Do you think of me and how you left me crying?

Are you thinking of telephones

And managers and where you’ve got to be at noon?

You are living a reality I left years ago,

It quite nearly killed me.

In the long run, it will make you cry,

Make you crazy and old before your time.

And the difference between me and you,

I won’t argue right or wrong but I have time to cry, my baby,

You don’t have to cry.

Here is my new and revised version of this song:

In the morning, when you rise,

Do you think of me and how you left me sleeping?

Are you thinking of lab results

And funding grants and where you’ve got to teach at noon?

You are living a reality I left three years ago,

When cancer tried to kill me.

In the long run, it may make you cry,

Make you cranky and old before your time.

And the difference between me and you,

I won’t argue right or wrong but I have time to sleep, my baby,

You don’t get to sleep.

Whatever else you do this week, be sure to set aside adequate time for sleeping!

Love,

Rebecca