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Sometimes Rainy Days Were the Best Days In the Catskills

17 Sep

There is something special about a rainy day.

Perhaps it is my memories of summer time respites. On rainy days we were not expected to run around outside, we could stay in and read a book. I still love reading a book on a rainy day! It brings me such joy.

My friend and I were diehard Nancy Drew readers one summer. I remember wonderful rainy day afternoons lying on her bed near the window with our Nancy Drew books. We wanted to read every single one! I think we got close to accomplishing our goal.

Other days we worked on art projects. She wanted to be a dress designer and was always making paper doll dresses. Designing her own special dresses to fit the paper dolls we had. Hundreds of dresses were produced on the kitchen table during summer rains. And yes, she did study fashion design in college!

But for me the love was reading. I love murder mysteries and I am sure that this love started on those rainy summer days. I loved when our fathers came up on the weekends, especially if they brought along another yellowed-spine Nancy Drew book. However, I was not that picky, I read my brother’s Hardy Boy mystery books as well.

On those miserably cold rainy days that occurred in the 1960s in the Catskills, my grandfather would bake. That was a joy. The smell of fresh bread and cookies in the house was wonderful. He had an entire bakery shop set up in his basement, the remains of his bakery, which he had sold in the early 1960s. The giant mixer, the pans, the cooling shelves were all there. We would help him braid challah and shape cookies. Then we would run up and down the stairs with the pans for my Grandma and Mom to put into the oven. Sometimes we had three ovens going: in the house, in the bungalow and in the apartment where my friend stayed. It was a great rainy day event, especially since we knew we were going to have treats to eat!

My Mom did not always like rainy days, especially if there were clothes hanging on the line. We had no dryer then!   When the rain started we often ran as fast as we could to get the items off the line and hang them around the bungalow. This was especially important in summers when there was a lot of rain. We sometimes would run out of dry clothing.

One summer we actually did run out of clothes. I remember my Mom telling my brother to stay out of the lake! My brother was known for ‘falling’ in the lake. (Although one of my cousins admits helping my brother ‘fall in’ a few times.) Well you can imagine what happened. He was in the lake with his last dry pants. I do not really remember what happened. But I think he had to stay in the bungalow for a day or two in pajamas!

It was on rainy days that I learned to knit and crochet. I would sit with my Mom and Grandmas and all the other women knitting away in someone’s bungalow while having tea. While they knit sweaters, I and the other younger ‘girls’ had easier projects to work on. Those sweaters lasted forever. There are still some in the family.

Mahjong, gin rummy and canasta were important rainy day events for the Moms and Grandmas. While we played our board games, sitting on the floor; they played their games at the kitchen table. As soon as my sister and I were old enough, we were introduced to the importance of Mahjong.

It is true that on sunny days we were outside riding our bicycles, swimming, picking blueberries, running around, playing on the swings, and just having adventures. But sometimes a rainy day was really the best day in the Catskills. It gave us a chance to recharge and relax. Actually, I guess every day in the Catskills was truly the best day ever.

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Sharing Yiddish and Superstitions in Kansas

8 Sep

One of the most difficult adjustments I made when I moved to Kansas is to stop speaking Yiddish. In New York and New Jersey it seems even those who are not Jewish know the most important Jewish words: schlep, gonif, meshuganah, punim, shayna, tottale, madelah, gor nish, keppi, kibbitz, yenta, mishpocha and more!

I never had a problem slipping in a work of Yiddish when I was talking with friends. But then I moved to the Midwest. And I realized that even Jewish people here did not speak Yiddish. Not even the English/Yiddish I spoke.

The little bit of Yiddish I spoke to my own children was about all I heard most of the time, except when I made my yearly journey back East to visit family.

So when I discovered someone with my knowledge base I was thrilled. It was actually someone I knew for years, but we just did not speak about our childhoods and our American/European Yiddish upbringings.

We not only had the Yiddish in common, we had the superstitions.

One of the early indications that she and I spoke the same language had to do with a bindle. That red thread you wear to keep the evil eye, the ayin hora, away. We discussed bindles an entire evening. I told her about the red bindles I had placed on my children’s cribs. I told her that when I was pregnant with my first child, the only thing my Grandfather asked me to do was to put a bindle on the crib. And so I did. I also put one on the highchair, the car seat and playpen.

To this day I have bindles on our cars. There are the bindles I put on each of the kitchen chairs. One of my friends, who heard the conversation, said, “I thought those ribbons were for the cats to play with. “ Nope, there were all red. Whenever we get a gift with red ribbon, it goes somewhere in the house to act as a bindle. I figure if someone gave me a gift, the red ribbon has positive energy.

My friend made her son wear a bindle when his wife was pregnant. I carried a bindle when my husband had surgery. It doesn’t hurt! And I believe it helps. And for extra good fortune or ‘mazel,’ I tied 18 knots in to the red yarn, as did my friend’s son!

I told her that the one on my son’s car had fallen off, and I had not put a new one on yet. She encouraged me to do it soon. And I did. A few weeks later he had a tire problem. It started on the highway, but did not get bad till he got home. The bindle worked! So I am keeping it there.

But do not worry, even when his car did not have a bindle, my son’s car did have 18 cents to keep it safe. Now it is just double safe.

Which brings me to money in cars. Last summer my husband and I sold two of our cars to neighbors. Each car had multiples of 18 cents in them. In Hebrew the word for life are the two letters that add up to the number 18, so multiples of 18 are considered lucky. When we sold the cars, I left the money in the glove compartments. The boy next door brought me back all the things he found in my car that I did not get out before he took it, including the money. I gave the money back. I have known him since he was three years old. I want him safe as well.

The other neighbor, who bought my other car, I exchanged the ‘gelt’ (money). My parents had given me the 36 cents in that car. And since they are no longer alive, I wanted to keep their coins. I gave my friend an equal amount to keep in her car. My two non-Jewish, Kansas neighbors are happily driving around with good luck money in their cars!

Yes, we are a little superstitious in our Yiddish beliefs. But they are important!

Which is obvious about our next Yiddish/European Jewish belief. One day, at a holiday meal, my friend asked me, in front of her son, “What did your Mom do when you got your period for the first time?” My answer, “It wasn’t my Mom, it was my grandma and she slapped my face.”

”I knew you would know!” She exclaimed. “I knew it.” She then told me her somewhat sad story. I will not repeat it because it is her story. But I will say, I felt badly for her when I heard what happened.

Our conversation went downhill for her son. He left. Even though he is a doctor, he just did not want to listen to this discussion. But my friend and I had a great time talking superstitions and Yiddish.

Of course she grew up in New York and spent her summers in the Catskills. I grew up in New Jersey and spent my summers in the Catskills. We cannot help but share many experiences about growing up that people who grew up in Kansas and Missouri just do not understand.

We can spend hours talking about our childhoods. And we have! Our discussions bring back so many happy memories.

I think we need to spend a day speaking about Yiddish expressions. My grandparents would say, “Hock mir nicht ein Chinok,” to mean stop bothering me.   It really means ‘don’t bang the tea kettle,’ but it makes sense. My favorite was “Ge Loch in kupf in Vald.” I might not be spelling it correctly. But it means go bang your head against the wall. That was their favorite saying when we said we were bored.

As my children in their 20s and are dating now, I remember my grandfather telling me that there is a “‘lid for every pot.” And I say “From Your Mouth to God’s Ears,” to a friend who has just made a prediction that I would like to happen, when I want something good to happen.

The Jewish superstitions, Yiddish sayings and language will always be with me, wherever I live. But it is nice to have someone to share Yiddish and superstitions in Kansas.

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What a week! A Murder and a Campus Lock Down Impact My Life

5 Sep

I honestly thought that with my daughter living in Tel Aviv, Israel, that when the bombing and war there ended, I would be able to watch the news again and be calm when watching. But that did not happen.   This past week in the Kansas City area has been emotionally stressful.

On Tuesday there was a triple homicide in south Kansas City. A friend of mine said it happened on 107 and Wornall, I corrected her and said it was further south, because I knew the area well. Someone I knew lived there. But having said that, at the same time, I had no concern about this friend. It was not possible that something would happen to her.

On Wednesday, I found out that I was wrong. Another friend told me the horrifying news that the woman I knew was one of those murdered. We were in a store when she told me. I paid for my items, went out to my car and began to shake. I had just seen this woman a few days before at clothing store. We showed each other the outfits we were trying on. And gave opinions. Now she was dead. It did not seem possible.

I called another friend.   I needed to talk to someone before I drove; I was so shook up. And it was true. Thank you for calming me down so I could drive home.

Yesterday, Thursday, the college campus that my son attends went on lock down.   He was there in a class. When I saw on the news what was happening, I texted him. And yes he was on lock down.   He was okay.

His girlfriend also texted me to tell me where My son was and that he was okay.

But a few minutes later, my son texted these words, “I am very scared.”

At that point my heart broke and my panic started. But I knew I could not let him know that I was scared as well. And due to the shootings earlier in the week, I could not say ‘nothing will happen.’ I felt anxious.

I started sending him text with information from the news, from the police reports. I believe it helped calm him as there was no active shooter, just reports of a woman with a gun.  We could text, but he could not speak so I could not call him.

I texted him to come to our home immediately after he got out…not to go to his apartment. The campus was just two miles from our home.  We continued texting for two hours. But then there was silence.  I hate silence!

After a half hour of silence, during which I sent him six texts, he arrived home. He got a very big and long hug from me.  He then laughed and said,  “I have lots of texts from you!”  I glad my texting gave him some comic relief!

He told us an armed police officer in tactical gear came into their class and told them to barricade the room, turn off the lights, get on the floor and stay quiet, till the police came again. And there they sat for three hours.  Their professor gave them updates when he received them.

The police searched every building. When his class was released they had to go through other buildings. All students had to exit from the same place so the police could see them. And when he drove away, he had to stop so the police could look into his car.

We drove to his apartment and picked up his roommate, and we took the boys out to dinner. It was after 7 pm and we were now hungry.

My son told us what happened again during dinner. I think he needed to get it out of his system. He said, “I thought about every scenario that could happen.”  I told him that everyone was scared. As they interviewed other students they all talked about thinking about what might happen, just as he did.

After dinner, before my son left us, I again hugged him for a very long time. He told his Dad, “Get a crowbar!” I did not want to let go.

Now I am getting ready to go to the funeral of the woman who was murdered in her driveway. The week ends tomorrow.

I will go to synagogue and pray for the family of the woman who died. I will also pray and be thankful that the college campus only had an inconvenience and not a disaster; and that my son came home safely to me.

I never expected in one week that a murder and a campus lock down would impact my life!  I have always felt so safe in Kansas, but this year with the shootings at the Jewish Community Campus, and this past week, some of my beliefs and feelings of  calm have been impacted.

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Small Maple Table Reminds Me of When My Sister Was Born

28 Aug
The table in my basement family room in fall 2013.

The table in my basement family room in fall 2013.

When my siblings and I divided up the furniture and personal items we wanted to each keep from our parents and grandparents, I chose a small maple table from the kitchen in our house in the Catskills. It is not in great shape. But it expands to sit 6 people if you need extra seating. The legs are a little wobbly. The top is a little scratched. But for some reason, I love this table. So it became mine.

It arrived safely last fall. I immediately cleaned it and put furniture cream on it, as it had been really uncared for in the few years since our parents had passed away. We had not spent a lot of time in the Catskills after they passed, and all the furniture up there had been unattended. But now that is changing.

I knew this table once belonged to my grandparents, then it became my parents, all that time it had stayed in the Catskills. But now it is mine and away from the Catskills at my home in Kansas. I had no idea how long it was in the family. However, this table called out to me. It was something comfortable. It seemed to always be around.

A few weeks after the furniture arrived, I was looking at photos that my brother also had shipped out to me. And I found a special photo. Wow! There is part of the table next to my brother and me. We are about 4 and 3 standing in our grandparent’s bungalow before a birthday party in 1958.

With the maple table in the Catskills, summer of 1958.

With the maple table in the Catskills, summer of 1958.

My brother and I are very dressed up for the Catskills. I know it is a party because I have found other photos with my cousins and grandfather. I think it was my oldest cousin’s fifth or sixth birthday. And it could have been a double party because I have two cousins whose birthdays are just a few weeks apart, and they are the same age.

My Mom was very pregnant that summer. (I actually have a photo of her as well!) Soon after this picture was taken, my cousin’s birthday was in July, my parents left for the City. They needed to be near the doctors and hospital. So we, my brother and I stayed with my grandparents.

Finding that photo of my brother and I was wonderful! I have always loved this table, but this photo makes me even more aware of its family history.

I have become a bit obsessive about my parents and grandparents furniture. My sister might say, crazed. My brother would call me loony. And I accept these type comments. How can I not? I am. Part of me wants everything to go back the way it was when our parents and grandparents were alive. I realize I cannot do that. But in a little way, I try.

An example?   I have my grandmother/mother’s baby grand piano.   I have had it for 29 years. I love it. I played the piano as a child and adult. My daughter took piano lesson on this piano. Friends have enjoyed its lovely tone.

My Mom played as well. She studied at Julliard all through high school, but my grandfather would not let her go there for college. She went to what became “Douglass” instead to be a teacher. As a teacher she would always have a job, but not as a musician.

After my parents passed away I wanted two items that my grandparents kept on the piano. We have photos of that as well. And my siblings did not argue, they let me have them. The metronome made sense. It should be by the piano. But my grandmother always kept a vase from Japan on the piano. I believe my Dad brought it back when he returned from his service in the Korean War. Now I have both items on the piano as well.

For some reason, when I see these two items on my piano, mixed in with my items, I have a sense that all is right in the world.   I remember these two items from my childhood and it brings a sense of security. Finding the old photos reinforces memories I had, and brings back memories I had forgotten.

The photo of my brother and I with the little maple table comes from a time of my earliest memories. All my first memories come from that summer, the summer before my sister was born.   I remember my Mom pregnant and leaving to stay in the city till the baby was born. I remember staying with my grandparents in the Catskills and all my cousins. I remember my Dad coming to get us after my sister was born in early September, and my mom was back home.

I remember seeing my sister for the very first time. I remember thinking that she was really small and was not going to be able to play with us.

From that moment forward I have so many memories. So to see my brother and I with the table from that summer is an amazing find. The table brings back so many happy memories. I hope it provides my children with happy memories as well.

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The First Day of School is Exciting, Frightening and a Memory Forever

25 Aug
The 74th Street side of Robert Fulton Elementary School.

The 74th Street side of Robert Fulton Elementary School.

Last week, as I sat on my front stoop waiting for my walking partner, I watched as parents and children walked to school. The start of a new school year always has Moms and Dads walking with their children pass my home to the elementary school two blocks away. I love the first day of school. The children and parents are so excited. Perhaps for different reasons, but excited together. Dads stay home from work for an extra hour or so to be part of the first day rituals. Some moms cry, especially when their first or last child starts kindergarten. It is a glorious day. And this year the weather was perfect!

Whenever I see the start of a new year, I flash back to my older brother’s first day of kindergarten. I cannot help it. It was so traumatic for us all. My Mom had given birth to my younger sister on September 2. My brother and I were in the Catskills while this happened, and then we came back to North Bergen. I think my brother missed the first few days of school as we were with my grandparents.

In any case, he was only four; we had spent about a month away from our Mom; there was a new baby in the house; and now he had to go to kindergarten at Horace Mann Elementary. That first day my parents and I went with him. I still remember his screaming, “Please don’t leave me! I promise to be good! Come back!”

He was at the door of the classroom pounding, trying to get to my Mom, who was hysterical crying. All those hormones and my scared brother made for a very unhappy Mom.   My brother thought that they were trading him in because they had a new baby. It took a while for him to realize he would be coming home every day.

In fact for two weeks, Doris, a childhood friend of my Mom’s, came each morning to our home on Third Avenue to pick my brother up and take him to school with her daughter. And I mean pick him up. At first he fought so much she would carry him screaming out of the house. I never wanted to go to school if it was that bad.

Two years later it was my turn to start kindergarten. I was petrified. But a few days before school started my brother came over to me and whispered in my ear, “School is really not that bad,” he said. “You will be okay.”   And so I went to school without any screaming!

By the time my sister started kindergarten, she was more than ready. I had been playing school with her for years. She was the student and I was the teacher. She would read and write better than most first grade students. I thought I was a great sister because I got her prepared. Although she might tell you that I was a very mean teacher. But I disagree.

I spent my entire school career in one school district, North Bergen, New Jersey. I did change elementary schools when we moved across town. Some teachers I never forgot. I was in Mrs. Wall’s third grade class when President Kennedy was assassinated.   I will never forget that November day or the look on Mrs. Wall’s face when another teacher came in to tell her.

I went from Horace Mann to Robert Fulton in fourth grade. We would be moving in October, but my parents had us start the new school year at Robert Fulton. It seemed like a giant change at the time. I missed my friends. (Our schools went from kindergarten to eighth grade; then a separate high school.) But we were not so far away that I could not visit with them. And once I got to high school, we were reunited.

Most people stayed in one place then. But now it is so different. Families move around much more. Children start in new schools more often now. So the first day of school is a bit more stressful. New home, new city, new school, these can all stress a family and a child

My two children had easy starts to kindergarten. Their elementary school was in the same building as their preschool. So it was just a change in the building’s entrance. By the time my son started kindergarten, I was teaching in the same school, which made his transition even easier. We sometimes saw each other during the day.

Because I still work at a school, the beginning of the school year impacts me. I work throughout the summer on a limited basis. But the week or so before school starts everything amps up. This year my office moved, I got a new computer, so I had lots of changes as well. I felt the excitement I always feel when school starts, with a little extra because of my own changes.

My daughter is now done with school, so she is not impacted by this cycle. However, my son is still in college. I recently helped him move into a new apartment with a friend. He is back in classes now after a summer of just working at his fast food job. And his school cycle continues.

Besides helping my son, I also try to help others. For many the expenses of a new school year are daunting. I volunteered to help for our local National Council of Jewish Women, Greater Kansas City Section’s ‘Back to School Store.’ We provided school supplies and back to school clothing for over two hundred elementary school children. The names were provided to us from outside agencies that knew of children in need. It was a wonderful experience buying school supplies, sorting clothing and then helping children pick out the perfect supplies and clothing.

To be honest, when I helped sort the clothes the week before the event, I saw these bright pink jeans that I thought were a bit too bright. But the little nine-year old girl, I took through the ‘store,’ was in heaven when she saw them. And when they fit, Wow.  She told me that the entire event was like “a wonderful dream.”   It made my day!

It is such a magic time: students going to elementary school, high school and college. So many of my friends were taking their older children to away to college. Many were taking either their oldest or youngest to college for the first time. Others were taking their children for their senior year or graduate school. These children are ready to start a new adventure without the constant presence of their parents.

As the new school year starts, I think it is normal to glance backwards to our own time in school, our children’s time, while at the same time looking to the future. Another year of school impacts us all. I hope, in Kansas, and throughout the nation that spending for schools and children improves this year. And that everyone has a wonderful year free from bullying, able to learn with teachers who care.

And I hope that parents remember, the first day of school is exciting, frightening and a memory forever.

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Movie Night in the Catskills Was A Wonderful, Magical Night

24 Jul

It was our Saturday night tradition at the Ritz Theatre in White Lake, NY. In the late afternoon, early evening, we children would go to the early movie with our grandmas: Grandma Esther, Grandma Rose, Grandma Thelma, Mrs. Anoff. They chaperoned about nine or ten children and kept us safe.

Our dads would drop us off at the front of the theater with money for the movie and snacks. We were supposed to be very careful there as it was at the intersection of 17B and 55. So there actually was a bit of traffic.

I think our grandmas would collect all the money and pay. However, when we got a little older, we were allowed to buy our own tickets. If you were under 12 it was one price, over 12 you paid the adult fare. It was always sad when someone had a summer birthday and turned 12. They now had to pay much more!

Our parents, in the early 1960s. Kauneonga Lake, NY.

Some of the parents, in the early 1960s. Kauneonga Lake, NY.

Our fathers, in the meantime, would then go home to get ready for Date Night with our moms. It was their special time together.

We would watch whatever movie was showing that week. The movie I remember the most was “To Cast A Giant Shadow” about the Israeli War of Independence and Colonel David “Mickey” Marcus, the American officer who helped with ending the siege of Jerusalem. It actually had a major impact on my life choices.

For this movie, I sat next to my Grandma Rose.   Grandma Rose, was really my cousins’ grandma, but that did not matter. We shared grandmas in the Catskills. In any case, Grandma Rose lived through the siege of Jerusalem with her husband, Grandpa Asher, and my Uncle Jack.

While we watched the movie, Grandma Rose spoke to me throughout, telling me what happened to her in 1948. She told me what really happened during the siege. What in the movie was true, what was just fiction. She told me about the lack of water and food. She told me about the day they finally left Jerusalem and how difficult that day was for her and Grandpa Asher. How she looked back knowing she might never live in Jerusalem, her Jerusalem again. She never did. They moved to the USA.

I was eleven years old when “To Cast A Giant Shadow” came out in 1966. But this movie and the story of Jerusalem stayed with me my entire life. It was because of this movie and Grandma Rose’ commentary, that I went to Israel eight years later to spend my sophomore year of college at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. I lived in both the Givat Ram and the HaHasofim campuses.

I was able to go freely between both the old city of Jerusalem and the new city. I saw the places Grandma Rose had told me about, as well as, the places I saw in the movie.

While I was gone, Grandma Rose passed away. My parents did not tell me. They did not want it to be in a letter. In those days we had no cell phones, no computer, no Skype. I found out when I got home. I was heartbroken.  I wanted to tell her all about the Jerusalem, where I lived and how it had returned to one city.   But I never got the chance.

But I always remembered that one movie and Grandma Rose.

Movie night was always an exciting night. Without television, cable, VCRs, DVDs, Netflex, we looked forward to going to the movies one day a week. Even when we got older and did not need our grandmas to go with us, we would still go in a group to the movies. Then we would go to Poppy’s for ice cream after the movie ended. It was always a good time. Even on dates we went as couples with someone else. It seemed odd to go out with just one other person. Sometimes we even ran into our parents at the ice cream parlor. So strange, so different from when we were children.

Because when we were young, our dads would come to pick us up after the movies. When we were settled in back at our bungalows, the parents would go out. They were dressed up, looking fine. Many times they were just going to the movies as well. Sometimes, they went to a show at one of the many hotels or bungalow colonies to see a comedian or musical. It was a wild time in the Catskills.

We always knew when they went to a show because they came home with one of those keychain photo viewers. We loved them. I found some when we cleaned out my parent’s apartment and I brought one back to Kansas with me.

My parents always went out extra special on Fathers’ Day weekend because their wedding anniversary was June 17. They had spent part of their honeymoon at Grossinger’s before heading up to the Finger Lakes and exploring on their own. So a special evening out at Grossinger’s was often their anniversary celebration destination.

Movie nights changed after the Ritz in White Lake closed. We then traveled to Liberty or Monticello to go to the movies. But the magic still remained. Movie night in the Catskills was a wonderful, magical night.

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How 24-Hour News Turned Me Into an HGTV Addict

18 Jul

I stopped watching the news in 2008, during Operation Cast Lead. My daughter was studying in Beer Sheva, Israel, and I was on the phone with her when a rocket landed very close to her dorm. It traumatized me.  No mother wants their child in the line of rockets.

At that time the Iron Dome, which Israel is now using so successfully against Hamas rockets, did not exist. So when I watched the news, I would over and over again see rockets fired. See people running for cover. And then see the horrors of war for the people trapped in Gaza. I was immobilized by the endless stories repeating over and over again.

My husband and son said, “TURN IT OFF!”

And I did.

I started watching HGTV. No one ever dies in “House Hunters.” No one is ever hurt in “Curb Appeal.” The biggest issue in “Devine Design” is whether the family will like the new room, and they always do.   Sometimes the twin brothers argue. And on “Property Virgins,” the home searchers are not always realistic. While in “Income Property”, the home owners always make out really well with both new income and increased property value.

So I became an HGTV addict.

I learned so much. I realized that some of the remodeling I did in my own home could have been a bit better. I should have put heated floors in my bathroom when I had the carpet pulled out and the tile put in. In the basement, I should have put a subfloor in. But I still like what I have done.

This is the wall I painted before the accent color.

This is the wall I painted before the accent color.

And here is my accent wall with color!

And here is my accent wall with color!

I learned about accent wall colors. And even painted my front hall one weekend to address the need for a vibrant accent color in my house.

From Curb Appeal, I found out that we have done a great job making our house attractive from the street. I guess I already knew that because so many people stop me when they see me outside to compliment my gardens.

However, sometimes HGTV cannot keep me away from the news.

I have been drawn in to the news again the past two weeks. But the past two days have been especially bad. Not only is Israel now involved in a ground offensive in Gaza to destroy tunnels, but a Malaysian airplane, a 777, was shot down from the sky killing almost 300 innocent people.

I have watched the same reports over and over again. That endless news cycle is a killer for emotional stability.

Last night I was crocheting and watching CNN. Which lead to me eating brownies and watching.   When finally I told myself, STOP!!!

I went to directly to HGTV…Wow a family looking for a place to live in Barcelona on House Hunters International.   I really want to travel there. I have not been to Spain. They chose the place I liked. So I was happy. No stress. Sometimes, I do disagree with the choice a family makes, but that is okay.

Friends have been asking me, “How are you doing?” Knowing that my daughter is in Israel. Even my brother said, “Well, this time you really have something to be anxious about.”

To all of them I say, “On HGTV, everything is just fine.”

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“Abi Geszunt, Zie Geszunt “: As Long As You are Healthy, Be Safe

10 Jul

I have a vested interest in the survival of the state of Israel. Besides being the home to the descendants of my relatives who survived the Shoah, and to family members who made aliyah from the US over the years, it is also the home of my daughter.

For a year in 1974-75, I studied at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. I met many young men and women who had survived the Yom Kippur War, and were still in shock over what had occurred. Those who had served in the Sinai, I think were forever scarred by the horrors they encountered and the many deaths they saw. We lived on edge that year, never knowing if there would be a flare up.

But that year changed my life. I instilled in my children a love of Israel. I took them to Israel on a family trip. I told them how our family moved there. I wanted them to understand the importance of having a Jewish homeland.

I never hid from the dark side of Israel: the harsh realities that Israelis must face each day. Let terrorists sneak in, or build a wall/fence?   Show weakness, and then more will die. Be strong, because if Israel is not strong, then the country will be destroyed. It is difficult to live with these pressures. But while we must still be strong, we must also be compassionate.

My daughter took my words to her heart.   During the summer of her junior year of college, she studied at Tel Aviv University. Then she went to Israel after finishing college and studied for two master’s degrees there. At Ben Gurion University of the Negev she earned a master’s in Middle Studies, and then went on for a second master’s on the Politics of Conflict.

She spent a year back in the USA, where she interned at Planned Parenthood in Kansas and was a substitute teacher at the Hebrew day school she attended as a child. But then she decided that she had to make aliyah –that living in Israel was the only option for her.

Abi Geszunt. Zie Geszunt. When I went to Israel for my one-year program, my Grandma Esther would send me articles from the newspaper about what was happening in Israel. Her notes said, “You could kill me in other ways.” Grandma Esther was the queen of inducing guilt. But I still went. My Grandpa Nat said, “Abi Geszunt. Zie Geszunt.”

My husband and I went to see our daughter when she was studying for her first master’s degree. We were standing at the Air Force Museum (in the Negev) with a young soldier when several Israeli fighter jets took to the air. The soldier and I looked at each other. And I knew that soon life in Israel would change.

Before I left for the US, I told my daughter, “Be careful. (Abi Geszunt). Something is brewing (Zie Geszunt).”

And a few days later Cast Lead began. I was on the phone with her one day when the sirens went off. “Mom,” she said, “Don’t worry if the phone disconnects. That often happens when a rocket hits.” She had 60 seconds to take cover.

“Where are you? Is your head covered?”

“I am under my desk. Don’t worry, I have my hoodie on.”

I heard the rocket hit. I heard her roommate tell her to stay down, that another one would come. I heard the police loudspeakers telling people to stay inside. And my hair turned whiter. I prayed. Abi Geszunt. Zie Geszunt.

And so when events in Israel flare up, I become somewhat anxious.

The past few weeks have been horrible with the abduction of the three Israeli teenagers. And when they were found buried in a field, I felt the same horror everyone else felt. But my world changed a bit when I found out that a group of Jewish settlers were the possible murderers of an Arab teenager, a revenge event.

In my mind Jews do not participate in senseless hatred. And two wrongs never make a right. Those who killed Mohammad Abu Khedair are just as evil as those who killed Naftali Frankel, Eyal Yifrach and Gilad Shaar, the Israel Jewish teens.

Those who preach hatred against all Arab Moslems are wrong. Target the evil! Hamas is evil in my opinion. The teaching of hatred is wrong in my mind. The constant bombardment of rockets into Israel, into civilian territories, is evil in my mind. But we must remember there are people on both sides who want this seemingly endless cycle to end.

In my heart, I knew the death of the Moslem youth would just put more credence to Hamas for the ever increasing bombardments. I knew there would be an escalation of hostilities. I guess I expected the Hamas response. It was as if they were looking for a reason to escalate the bombardments into Israel, to bait Israel into attacking them.

Now it has happened. Bombs are flying back and forth. People are dying. Young men are being called up for military duty. Smoke rises over the cities and the Gaza. The rockets from Gaza reach further than ever before. Jerusalem and Tel Aviv are in the bull’s eye.

The Middle East is more stressed than it has been in years.   Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Egypt all in some degree of turmoil; ISIS declaring itself the new caliphate; Iran and it’s nuclear goals… all of these are potential dangers to Israel and the world.

I see what is happening in Israel, and I worry. Not only for my daughter’s physical well being, but also for the mental and moral wellbeing of her and any family she might one day have. However, I had one less fear this week, as my daughter is in the US for our niece’s wedding until the weekend.

I taught my children that racism and baseless hatred was wrong. I have worked for years on interfaith events and building bridges between people of all religions. More than anything else I want an end to this endless cycle of violence.

My daughter returns to Israel this weekend. She returns to the new life she has made for herself. She will leave the safety of Kansas. And I cannot stop her.

All I could do is say, “Abi Geszunt. Zie Geszunt.” As long as you are healthy; be healthy. Of course, what I am really saying is, “Be safe!”

Be Safe everyone!

 

 

“Abi Gezunt” song by Molly Picon. http://www.milkenarchive.org/works/lyrics/547

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It Happens Every Summer, Children Dying Alone in Cars

9 Jul

Every summer it happens. It gets hot; parents leave infants or toddlers in their car; the child dies. It has to be the most distressing news I ever hear. It drives me crazy. I understand that sometimes the police believe this is an accident. The parent honestly forgets that they have their child in the car and are overwhelmed with grief. But other times, parents intentionally leave them in the car…only for a minute, or so they say.

I have personal experience with a parent leaving two toddlers in a car for what they said was “only a minute”. I was furious. My daughter still remembers my anger.

I took my daughter and a friend of hers shopping. The girls were about 12 or 13 at the time. While my behavior during this incident totally embarrassed them, now as an adult, my daughter understands exactly why I did what I did. And she knows I did what I felt needed to be done.

We drove to a strip shopping center, where you can park directly in front of a store. Unfortunately we could not park near the store where we wanted to go, so we parked in front of a fancy linen shop.   As I got out of my car, I noticed two toddlers in car seats crying hysterically in the back seat of the car next to me. Their faces were bright red and they were in distress.

I looked at my watch and decided to wait for a few minutes. I did not want to over react, so I waited five minutes. It was obvious they had been there for a while. I was becoming extremely upset. So I marched into the store opposite of the car, assuming that the parent/guardian would probably park as close to her shopping destination as she could with two children in her car. The two girls followed behind me.

As I opened the door, I said in a loud teacher’s voice (I taught high school for a while), “There are two toddlers hysterically crying in a car outside. Is the Mom here?”

Everyone got silent. And then a woman spoke up. “They are my children. And I have only been in here a minute,” she declared.

“Not so,” I responded. “I have been waiting outside for five minutes. It is too hot for them to be stuck in a car. You better get out there now and take care of them or I am calling the police.”

“I am a nurse, and there is no problem,” she said.

Now I was enraged.

“If you are a nurse, you should know better,” I was yelling at this point. “MY husband is a pediatrician. Do you know how many children die in cars each year due to parents like you. Do you know if your children don’t die, they can become critically ill due to dehydration! If you are a nurse, you should know that!”

I pulled out my cell phone. “ You have one minute, then I am dialing 911.”

She was furious. But she handed her items to a sales woman and stomped out. I followed, phone in my hand ready to call the police.

When we got outside and she saw the screaming, crying, red and sweaty children. I think she might have been embarrassed and realized how bad it really was, because she got meekly into her car without saying another word.

But I was so mad. “Don’t ever do that again,” I said. “I have your license plate number. And If I ever see your car with children in it alone again, I will call the police immediately. I will not wait.”

She drove off. I felt like I had done my mitzvah, good deed, for the day. I hope I had saved those two children. But I had another issue to deal with now.

“Mom,” my daughter said. “That was really embarrassing. Did you have to yell at her in the store?” She and her friend were obviously uncomfortable.

“Yes, I did,” I told them. “Children can die in cars due to the heat. I honestly was concerned for the safety of those two children. And actually, perhaps calling the police would have been the right thing to do.”

We went on with our day. But it was an incident that stayed with us since then. Every summer it comes back into my mind. Did I do the right thing by not calling the police?

In the last few weeks we have seen the father leave his toddler son in a hot car. He is being tried for murder because it is alleged he planned it. Then there was a woman who called the police when she saw an infant in a hot car, unconscious. The policeman broke the window of the car to save the child.

And just recently when I took a road trip across Missouri, I noticed that the illuminated signs not only encouraged people to be careful drivers and not to drink and drive, but also to be aware of their children and not lock them in their car.

It is never a good idea to leave any age child alone in a car, even with the windows cracked. It gets extremely hot inside a car when the sun shines in, just like in a green house.

And leaving a child alone in the car with the motor running and the air conditioning on is just as bad. How many times do we hear about a car jacking with the child inside? Then an Amber Alert is issued. In most cases the child is found unhurt, but not always. It is just not safe!

If you need to go shopping, and cannot get a baby sitter…just take your child in to the store with you. Yes, it will take longer. Yes, they might fuss. But in reality a fussing child is much more easier to deal with than a dead one.

I might have embarrassed my daughter and her friend 15 years ago. However, I believe I saved those two children. And the fact that this is still happening makes me more adamant in the importance of everyone taking a stand and doing the right thing.

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For Me the Fourth of July Echoes With Memories of My Dad and John Philip Sousa Marches

2 Jul

“Get up, get going, you are wasting the best part of the day,” my father would say early on a Saturday or Sunday morning. As teenagers all we wanted to do was sleep in on the weekends. But my Dad often had other ideas. He had chores he wanted us to do. If the talking did not work, he would play his favorite John Philip Sousa marches to wake us up. Heck, he would play marches all the time. He loved his Sousa marches.

I think we were the only children in North Bergen and the world who did their chores to John Philip Sousa marches. I can still see us lining up as a joke with mops and brooms marching around our house while the music blared. We would try to clean in time to the music. Well I would: vacuuming in time, dusting in time, ironing in time.

Dad loved his Sousa. Whenever I hear a march, I get the urge to clean. But I am able to resist. However, I do think of my Dad and his Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops collection (RCA Victor Label) of John Phillip Sousa marches. I can still hear “Stars and Stripes Forever” on an endless loop in my mind. But Dad had an entire collection of the Sousa marches. And we learned them all!

Needless to say, the Fourth of July was Dad’s favorite holiday. Those Sousa records would come out days before the Fourth as Dad prepared. You know my Dad could not sing at all. He tried, but he had no sense of pitch when he sang. But he would conduct along with the music, swinging his arms as if he was really in charge. I can remember seeing such joy on his face while he listened to the music.

His second favorite march was “Hail to the Chief.” Played whenever the President of the United States enters a room, with first the “Ruffles and Flourishes” introduction, “Hail to the Chief” made my Dad happy. In our house, he was the chief. And when he played that song he was letting us know who was boss. He would talk about his dream of one day having the song played for him.

And it happened. Dad served as president of his synagogue for 11 years. At a dinner honoring him, I mentioned his love of this song and his love of Sousa,   and his dream of hearing it played for him one day. When he came up to do his speech, the dance band spontaneously played “Hail to the Chief” in his honor. My Dad welled up with tears. He really was the President and he felt so honored.   I think my Mom, my siblings, our spouses and the two grandchildren there also cried out of pride and joy for Dad.

Dad did not only play his music on cleaning days. He brought his Sousa collection up to the Catskills. Since we had a very private four acres of land, he was able to play his Sousa as loud as he liked. And he liked to blast it out. I still have the sound of those brass instruments echoing in my mind.

And the times he got to see  any orchestra that played the marches live…Oh my!  That was the best for my Dad. Hearing the music live was even better than records or CDs. But I will say, his Arthur Fiedler records were his favorites.

When I think of his love of Sousa marches, I must also say that he loved the sight of a bald eagle.   Imagine my Dad, a proud veteran wearing an eagle or an American flag t-shirt, listening to John Philip Sousa marches on a relaxing weekend in the Catskills. Well he was relaxed, we were all wound up with the resounding booming music of Sousa.

Sousa wrote music for over 50 years! So there are quite a few marches to listen to over a weekend. He actually wrote almost 140 marches. And my siblings and I probably heard all of them at one time or another.

Among my favorites are the “Semper Fidelis March” written for the U.S. Marine Corps; “The Thunderer,” and the “U.S. Field Artillery,” which is the march for the US Army. (Sousa actually revised this melody, which was written by someone else.) Dad would ‘sing’ along with this last one, because it is the music to “The Caissons Go Rolling Along.” As a proud army veteran, he loved to sing this song.

For me the joys of the Fourth of July are not just the picnics, bar-b-ques,  the fireworks and the celebration of our country. For me  it is also time to listen to John Philip Sousa marches and remember my Dad.

 

 

Arthur Fiedler and Boston Pops “Stars and Stripes Forever’: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmdyobr77IA

Marine Band plays “Hail to the Chief.” : http://www.whitehousehistory.org/whha_exhibits/marine_band/audio_marine-band-03.html

John Philip Sousa’s Marine Band playing “Semper Fidelis March”: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:John_Philip_Sousa_-_U.S._Marine_Band_-_Semper_Fidelis_March.ogg

US Army Band plays, “The Caissons Go Rolling Along”: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Army_Goes_Rolling_Along

 

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