Pictures

A fun and exhausting day at the Harvard Arboretum followed by dinner at Rubin’s Deli in Brookline: the pictures say more than I possibly can.

Hope everyone had an enjoyable day!

Love,

Rebecca

Derech Eretz

If you have been reading my blog even occasionally, then whether you are Jewish or not, traditionally observant or not, you have become aware there are many rules on activities that a person must or must not do, or can and cannot do on any particular day. There is daily prayer and observance of Sabbath and holidays as well as dietary laws. It is easy to see why people focus on these aspects which are relatively straightforward to observe as is done in his or her community.

But there is another side of Jewish life, and that is the equally important part of the Torah’s dictates on our relationships with other people. This can be at times significantly less obvious, and hence more difficult to achieve. One aspect of this is what we call derekh eretz.

Some behavior must be legislated in order for society to function. We need to have tax regulations, traffic rules, bankruptcy laws, and trial procedures. But then there are things that should not need to be the subject of bylaws, statutes, or house rules:  chewing gum is not to be disposed of on furniture or a floor; answering a telephone requires a pleasant demeanor; in a crowded parking lot one should park within the lines. In Hebrew, such basic, obvious consideration for others is called derekh eretz, which might be translated literally as “the way of the world.” 

I thought about this when reading the following in the weekly synagogue bulletin (parenthetical additions mine for those who many not know the Hebrew terms):

The XXX family is celebrating [their son] becoming a Bar Mitzvah this Shabbat. Among visiting extended family are members with mobility issues. The family requests that adults, teens and children please be careful not to push and shove when leaving the Main Shul (sanctuary) and going to the Social Hall for Kiddush (refreshments after services). In past visits, members of the family were pushed to the floor in the crush of people entering the Social Hall. Let's try to maintain derekh eretz and keep everyone safe. Shabbat Shalom.

As someone who needs assistance with mobility, I was horrified to read this but, to be very honest, not at all surprised. Barry can vouch for the fact that I speak often about feeling somewhat invisible. I can’t be sure if it is the oxygen, the wheelchair, the frequent confusion (unintentionally saying something ridiculous), but one way or another this leaves me feeling as if I am in a bubble with a world around me that cannot see inside the bubble. I went with the whole family to a picnic sponsored by the Synagogue yesterday. It was a beautiful day and the park is nearby so I drove over on my scooter. But as I tried to maneuver around, it felt as if people simply did not see me. With all the children running around there was a lot of noise so it was difficult to excuse myself above the din, but when I did and one person noticed, that person had trouble getting the others to clear a path.

Perhaps I am being a bit too harsh. But after more than three years of being in this state, I cannot deny that it can wear thin. As Barry reminds me, my task is to not let it bother me, easier for him to say than I suspect it would be for him to do.

On a far lighter note, here is a picture of a Challah made by Sharon’s own Mandylicious.

To all the moms out there, Happy Mother’s Day!

Love,

Rebecca

Legacy

Every day thousands of people around the world die, some old and some young, some from illness and some from accidents, some by the hands of others with moral justification and some by the hands of others with little moral ground. However and whenever it occurs, the end of each person’s life is a cause of sadness for those who knew her or him. I have been thinking about this as I have read and heard the news of the death at age 44 of David Goldberg, CEO of SurveyMonkey, husband of Facebook CFO Sheryl Sandberg, and father of two young children.

Many people exercise on treadmills every day, trying to stay alive longer than they might otherwise. Many of them carry out their daily fitness regimens alone. The good news, if there can be any good news, is that this sort of accident is a rare event. But that is small solace to a family who has this experience.

I, of course, never had the pleasure of meeting David Goldberg, and if the tables were turned I cannot imagine that he would feel as sad about me as I do about him. But why do I feel this way about someone I never knew? From what has been written about him, he seemed to have been a pretty decent guy. At the same time, should I not feel a similar level of sadness for the many innocents who die prematurely of illness or natural disasters or in wars? The sad truth is that if we spend excessive time focusing on bad news about people we do not know, or about every danger that can befall us or our loved ones, we would hardly be able to get out of bed every morning.

Since hearing this news a couple of days ago, I have been walking around singing an old David Roth song called “Legacy.” Unfortunately, I have been unable to load it onto the blog but I’ve attached it to the e-mail. Here are the words if you are unable to listen.  I wish I could share it with Sheryl Sandberg.

LEGACY © 1986 David Roth

An aging man, a younger one, and a woman in her prime
Connected by their circumstance of birth
A father, son and daughter somehow all obsessed to find
The mark that each will leave upon this earth

Alone is his apartment in his favorite easy chair
The aging man endures his failing health
Nowadays preoccupied arranging his affairs
And adding up the value of his wealth

He says a prayer and falls asleep, then somewhere in a dream
He's searching for his children and he's calling out to them
"Will I leave enough behind to help you get along
Please tell me how will I be counted when I'm gone

It won't be by your worldy goods, it won't be by your gains
And not among possessions you bequeath
But wisdom, grace and kindness and the power of your love will be
The measure of the legacy you leave

The working day is over and the woman in her prime
Alone now in her office looks around
An unfulfilling business is the only sight she sees
The ticking of the clock, the only sound

She closes up and locks the door and trudges down the hallTakes her window seat that evening on the train

She stares out in the darkness but the only thing she sees
A reflection of her weariness and strain

Her mind begins to wander, she remembers all the yearsOf the struggle and persistence that go into such careers

And here she was with everything she'd worked so hard to win
And such an empty feeling burning deep within

Another late and lonely night, the younger man walks home
And slowly climbs the several flights of stairs
He pulls the shade and locks the door, unplugs the only phone
Puts himself to bed and says his prayers

A blessing for my aging dad, my sister in her prime
And a woman I once loved who got away
And for all those wasted moments when I took them all for granted
And for words I never had the nerve to say

Another night of drifting in and out of restless dreams
Of unborn children, marriage, and the lives that might have been
But lives that might have been are only lives that never were
And all I'll ever know's that I'll never know for sure

Here's to every aging person and to all those in their prime
And to passing on the love that you receive
For wisdom, grace and kindness and the power of that love will be
The measure of the legacy you leave

The power of your love will be

The measure of the legacy you leave.

Love,

Rebecca

Improving the odds

It has been over a week since I sat down at the computer to write a post. I doubt any of my readers were lying awake at night wondering what happened to me, waiting on pins and needles for my return. I am happy to inform you that I am doing just fine, perhaps even too well to take the time to post here.

Finally, finally, finally, spring seems to have arrived. In fact, as is so often the case, we will soon be complaining that it too quickly morphed into summer. So we have taken every opportunity to spend time outdoors.

The Botanical Gardens are beautiful this time of year, with so much newly in bloom. We took the new scooter and we went to many of the areas we had not seen in a long time, areas with hills that made it difficult for Barry to push me in a wheelchair. Here are a couple of pictures.

As the week moved along, the weather predictions for last weekend continued to be quite promising, so Barry again bought tickets to an afternoon Mets game on Sunday. The last time had been a bit chilly but yesterday was perfect. The less than perfect part was that the Mets lost 0 to 1. Not a thrilling game, but we a good time.

We also got into an interesting conversation. Barry and I are both right handed, as are our daughters. Joshua is a leftie. I never thought about the fact that a left-handed player needs a glove for the right hand rather than the left. Watching the game yesterday, we noticed that a fairly significant proportion of the players were left-handed. I wondered whether, in the past, parents discouraged use of the left hand, perhaps not wanting their children to be “different,” and that what we are seeing now is closer to the true distribution of handedness in the population. That theory turns out to be way “off base,” so to speak. In fact, about 10% of people in the general population favor the use of their left hand. But among baseball players, that figure is closer to 30%. Why should this be the case?

Next time you watch a baseball game, take a look at what happens when players are up at bat. At the end of a swing, the right-handed batter is facing away from first base, and his momentum is away from first base. The left-handed batter, on the “other hand” (so to speak), is facing towards first base, perhaps giving him that slight edge to run more quickly and get to first base before the ball does. This seemingly miniscule advantage may make the lefties better ball players.

So if you have a left-handed child, he or she may be at a slight advantage in baseball. We think we may be onto a great idea for Joshua’s science fair project for next year.

Meanwhile, have a lovely week. Enjoy the weather while it lasts!

Love,

Rebecca

Character

My friend Guy shared this video a few days ago, in which a teacher stages an amazingly creative prank for his mathematics students. This being early April, I would imagine it was done as an April Fools’ Day joke. But this fellow is no fool!

We managed to squeeze in a couple of movies over the last few days that have somewhat similar, or at least related, themes. The first was Noah Baumbach’s “While We’re Young.” Ben Stiller plays Josh, a pleasant and reasonably well-adjusted 40-something year old fellow who is struggling with getting older and not having accomplished all he may have wanted, while the next generation is newly reaching adulthood and, as the newcomers to this stage, making his aging peer group feel less important. Josh and his wife, Cornelia (played by Naomi Watts), befriend Jamie (Amanda Seyfried) and Darby (Adam Driver), a 25-year-old married couple with whom they become friends. Although they all live in New York, the two couples seem to see the City through different eyes.

There were two actors in the film who looked and sounded familiar but took us a little while of watching to realize who they were. The first was Charles Grodin, who plays Cornelia’s father, a successful film maker who leaves Josh feeling inadequate. The second was Peter Yarrow, formerly of the trio Peter, Paul, and Mary, who plays a left-wing intellectual who seems unhappy and disappointed with everything and everyone. There are no real surprise endings: you can see that the story is heading to a new level of self-awareness and change for the couple, and in the final few seconds you are given a glimpse of what that will be.

The second film was called “Clouds of Sils Maria.” Kristen Stewart plays a young woman named Valentine who works as a personal assistant to an aging, once-famous actress named Maria, played by Juliette Binoche. One of Valentine’s many responsibilities is to help Maria memorize and rehearse her lines, which they do while walking through the magnificent mountain side in the Swiss Alps where they are staying to prepare for the filming. Because the two characters switch frequently between their role relationship and their actual relationship, it is often somewhat confusing to understand just which is being discussed. Perhaps that is precisely the point, the blurring between Maria and the character she is playing in the film, between Maria’s personal relationship with Valentine and the relationship they have as actress and assistant. Perhaps this explains the name, the clouds that blur and hover over their relationship.  

Early in the film, Valerie and Maria travel to Zurich so that Maria can accept an award on behalf of the filmmaker with whom she worked on many projects. Unfortunately, they arrive to discover that the filmmaker has died, making the award a posthumous one. There are a number of sub-plots, including a young director who is remaking Maria’s first hit movie, but this time having Maria play a much more minor role as an older woman.

These two films were different perspectives on essentially the same issue: growing older and accepting who we are, with all its disappointments and unhappy memories that can take over if we let them. “While We’re Young” ends, in my mind, on a dautiously optimistic note, but “Clouds of Sils Maria” paints a much less rosy picture. If you happen to know any film students, these two could make a very interesting thesis.

Last, we went this week to hear David Brooks discuss his new book, The Road to Character, at the 92^nd Street Y. His focus is largely on two categories of virtues around which our lives are based: the “resume” virtues, which revolve around external success, and the “eulogy” virtues, internal attributes such as kindness and honesty. Most of us spend our lives in dogged pursuit of the former but do not spend a lot of time thinking about the latter. We think about how to educate and position ourselves to advance our careers, but not so much about how to educate and position ourselves to advance the albeit more difficult to measure behavioral part of our lives. Mr. Brooks is a terrific speaker, sprinkling his talk and responses to questions with humor where appropriate while able to be serious and moving as well. He has apparently spoken countless times at the 92^nd Street Y and I suspect we will be looking for him again. And we definitely intend to read/listen to the book!

There is supposed to be a large outdoor celebration of Israel Independence Day here in Riverdale this afternoon, but outside may be too cold and if they move it indoors it will undoubtedly be too crowded. So I may hop on my scooter and check it out if it’s not raining.

Have a wonderful upcoming weekend.

Love,

Rebecca

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