We were walking together through downtown, all four of us. It was Sunday, the weather was sunny and warm, and we had just finished a leisurely brunch. We were in a good mood, and as I often do, especially when we are all together and I know everyone is safe, I said a silent “Thank you” to whomever, whatever it is that had given me so much.

And then I noticed the sign on the closed door of one of the stores we passed on our way to the car. I stopped, and read that horrible sign, simple words in black ink spelling pain and fear, the end of “normal,” an illness serious enough that a family would have to close its business, and my happiness turned into sadness. Those dark thoughts that became part of me when I was a teenager, the dark thoughts that I have learned to chase away with everyday busyness, focusing on the present, on the now, rarely allowing myself to think about the bigger picture, those thoughts were back, and when they’re back, they’re very difficult to shake.

Because life IS a Russian Roulette, after all. A cruel game we have to play, and as we dodge a bullet after bullet and we feel so lucky, we never stop to think that the more bullets we dodge, the more years go by, eventually we will have to face a bullet – that final bullet that would put an end to it all, because in the Russian Roulette of life, everyone must die in the end.

See why I taught myself to stop thinking this way?

It’s useless, I know. A very wise friend told me once that the happiest of all are those who manage to focus not on the past (those tend to be depressed and full of regrets) or on the future (those tend to be worried and stressed) but on the present. On the here and now, on the many pleasures and adventures that life has to offer.

Most of the time, I do. But once in a while I revert back to my old ways of thinking about the future, and when I do, I feel scared and helpless.

How do you handle life? Do you live in the past, in the future, or in the present?

© All rights reserved. This post is from MomGrind and cannot be republished without express written permission. MomGrind ® is a registered trademark of VDL, Inc.

When Life Feels Like a Russian Roulette

Yom HaShoah, or Holocaust Remembrance day, begins tonight at sundown and ends tomorrow night. But for my grandmother Miep, who is 94 years old and a Holocaust survivor, every day is Holocaust Remembrance Day. She and my late grandfather Arie were in their twenties when Holland became occupied by the Nazis. They managed to escape the Nazis for more than a year, hiding in different places, until, in their last hiding place, a neighbor turned them in. They spent a horrible year in Tereisenstadt concentration camp, stripped of all human dignity, and separated from their daughter, my aunt, Elizabeth. Grandma lost her father, her brother and many other family members, almost died of typhus, and suffers nightmares every single night. My grandfather Arie passed away in 1996.

Ever since I can remember myself, thinking about the Holocaust fills me not with sadness, but with rage. As a child, I used to try to imagine going through what they went through. Being kicked out of my home, living in tiny hiding places, not being able to go to school or to work, being forced to give up everything, knowing that becuase I am Jewish, I can be harassed, tortured, ridiculed, and murdered.

With my eyes closed, I think about how cold they must have been in Holland in the winter in those tiny hiding places. How hungry and scared they must have felt! My Oma, my grandmother, a true lady, always impeccably dressed, how did she feel there, stripped of everything, her identity taken away from her, how did she cope with being so cold and hungry and desolate? A year of constant hiding, her baby in her arms, scared and fragile and completely dependent on the people who have hidden her. Eating scraps, not allowed to move, be very quiet baby Elizabeth, if you cry, they will find us.

The neighbor that turned them in – was he proud of himself? I wonder. Did he get anything from the Germans in return? They had to leave their hiding place, pale and weak and skinny and scared, Miep and Arie went with the German soldiers, but they didn’t take Elizabeth with them. The amazing, kind people who have hidden them had told the Germans that Liz was their own daughter and she stayed there with them, safe, for a long, long year.

A year in Tereisenstadt. Can anyone who hasn’t been there even begin to grasp the extent of the horror? I don’t think so. I have read about the camps, and I’ve seen photos, those horrible photos of people like you and I who were treated like animals – worse than animals actually – starved and beaten and tortured and mass murdered. I am closing my eyes again and I wonder, do I have that in me? Do we all have a monster inside that would enable us to believe that a fellow human being is not human, that they are something less and we can inflict terrible pain and suffering on them without ever feeling remorse? It’s a scary thought, and as much as it is tempting to think that it was something about the Germans that made them capable of such unimaginable cruelty, the latter part of the twentieth century showed that genocides were still possible and that the world was not too quick to intervene and stop them.

My grandparents suffered immensely at the concentration camp. They hardly ever talked about it, but I do know that Grandma almost died of typhus and that grandpa had a terrible “job” of getting valuables off dead bodies before burning them in the crematorium. My dear grandpa, a true gentleman, I can’t imagine him going through this. My dear, dear grandpa Arie, how you have suffered. My eyes fill with tears.

The war ended and they were released and reunited with their daughter Liz. They rebuilt their lives and raised a beautiful family that didn’t lack an element of dysfunction, as one would expect. They were – they are – beautiful people and everything has been taken away from them and they went through hell, becuase they were Jews. Their lives were ruined, changed forever – they were changed forever – and my father’s life was forever touched too by being born, after the war, to a family of Holocaust survivors.

When I think about the Holocaust, I don’t feel sadness. I feel rage.

–
In the photo: Grandma Miep holding her great granddaughter, my daughter, in Jerusalem, May 2000.

© All rights reserved. This post is from MomGrind and cannot be republished without express written permission. MomGrind ® is a registered trademark of VDL, Inc.

Every Day Is Holocaust Remembrance Day

I woke up to a sunny morning and noticed that the trees in our front yard have started blooming, which immediately put me in a great mood for the rest of the day. So I darted out, still in my pajamas, to take these photos. It’s OK – the neighbors are mostly used to it by now.

When I was a child, my favorite season was winter. I was a quiet child, a classic introvert, and used to love standing at the window, looking at the rain falling down and making up stories in my head. When it snowed (which was rare in Jerusalem of my childhood but sometimes happened), I was even happier: looking at the snowflakes falling down from the sky was the most amazing thing. I loved the way they appeared dark against the sky, but light against the ground. How I prayed that they would stick and that we would get a snow day!

Now that I’m older, I dislike winter. I find the cold, wet weather limiting and depressing. I much prefer warmth, and I especially love spring – it’s my favorite season now and it never fails to bring with it excitement and hope. I mean, how can anyone not love spring? It’s the most wondrous season, filled with so much promise. An annual proof that life goes on, that whatever shriveled and died during the dry summer and the cold winter will always be replaced by something new and young and beautiful.

To me, spring, more than any other season, symbolizes the circle of life – or at least the good part of it. The birth part.

I can’t wait for my roses to start blooming again.

PS. Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad.

© All rights reserved. This post is from MomGrind and cannot be republished without express written permission. MomGrind ® is a registered trademark of VDL, Inc.

Spring

Where do you live?

Why are you there? Is it by full choice (because you love it there), or did work or family ties dictate your choice to live there?

These tweets got me thinking. I came to the San Francisco Bay Area because of work. My husband got a job offer in the Silicon Valley so we moved here. It’s been almost ten years since we came here, and I’m slowly realizing that I love San Francisco and would be heartbroken if we ever had to leave.

The photo above was taken on a bright, sunny Saturday morning. The kids were on a play date so my husband and I had a few hours to ourselves. We had lunch at The Slanted Door followed by a leisurely stroll around the Ferry Building and the Embarcadero. There was a bustling Farmer’s Market, and street vendors selling art. The air was fresh and cool. The city was absolutely gorgeous.

San Francisco is a beautiful city, but most of all, I enjoy the people. I like that the people here are so diverse. I enjoy the fact that there are so many ethnicities and cultures here. That people generally mind their own business and don’t try to force their opinions down each other’s throat. I like seeing gays holding hands openly without fear of being harassed. I like that the city is almost 100% smoke-free. I like that people jog and bike and exercise and take care of themselves. I like that people tend to smile at each other rather than frown.

Of course, there are things that I don’t like about San Francisco.

Not surprisingly, I don’t like the fog:

San Francisco covered in a blanket of fog, as seen from Sausalito

I actually don’t mind the cool weather because it’s nice that it is so mild year-round. I find it pleasant. But the fog tends to be annoying. I don’t like the fact that the city goes to sleep early. Most restaurants and cafes close by 10pm. Even bars and clubs tend to close by midnight. Unlike Tel Aviv or New York, San Francisco is a city that sleeps. A lot.

What about you? What do you like most about where you live and what do you like least? If you prefer not to disclose your exact location on the Internet, maybe you can share your country, or state, of residence.

—
Link Love: Please visit Patricia’s blog to read about her struggle with cancer. It’s an inspiring read, and if you leave a comment to let her know you’ve read her words, it would mean so much to her. If you don’t have time to leave comments both here and there, I think leaving a comment there is far more important. I Do Not Know Anything Different

© All rights reserved. This post is from MomGrind and cannot be republished without express written permission. MomGrind ® is a registered trademark of VDL, Inc.

I Love San Francisco

Suzie’s account of what her family has been through is terrible and heartbreaking:

“When I took him to the hospital he was non-responsive he screamed in pain when touched and I grabbed him and ran through the streets covered in a blanket with no shoes and tried to grab a cab. He couldn’t turn his head the light from the TV hurt and he couldn’t open his eyes. His breathing became labored the driver shouted at me to run with him which I did.”

I was shocked and enraged to read that Suzie’s boss demanded that she keep working through this. We should all think long and hard about what it means to be an employee in America:

 ”Then the phone started ringing it was work. They were in a panic I was yelled at by my boss and treated so badly I still cannot wrap my head around the insensitivity. Sitting by my sons bedside I had to do a telephone conference.”

But little B is home now.

He’s Home

© All rights reserved. This post is from MomGrind and cannot be republished without express written permission. MomGrind ® is a registered trademark of VDL, Inc.

Update: Meningitis Scare Over. Little B Is Home.

My friend Suzie’s son has been hospitalized with Meningitis.

If you can spare a minute, it would mean the world to her – to me – if you could visit her blog and say something, anything, just so she knows that people are thinking about him, and caring, and praying.

My Poor Baby

I am so scared for her.

I am closing comments because this is about Suzie and her son and their family, not about me and this blog and what you and I are feeling right now. Thank you for understanding.

© All rights reserved. This post is from MomGrind and cannot be republished without express written permission. MomGrind ® is a registered trademark of VDL, Inc.

Hospitalized with Meningitis

Image credit: Travelin’ Librarian

I want to get to know you better.

And by better, I don’t mean your philosophical ideas or political views.

I mean something that’s a little less serious, but just as important.

There are lots of things that I want to know, but I realize you’re very busy, so I’ll limit this to five quick questions that I would LOVE for you to answer.

If you normally read MomGrind without commenting, it would be great if you could quickly comment on this one – just this one (stay anonymous if you like), because I would really love to get to know you too.

I don’t care if you’re female or male. I don’t care how old you are or whether you have kids or not. I couldn’t care less about your skin color or whether you believe in God or not (well I AM curious about that last one, but let’s handle that in another post).

These are my questions, and my own answers to them:

1. Toothpaste – do you squeeze the tube from the bottom or from the top? Top.

2. Morning person or a night owl? Morning person.

3. Sweet tooth or not really? Sweet tooth. Definitely.

4. Can you carry a tune? No.

5. Do you have a favorite color? If you do, is it REALLY your favorite color or did you feel compelled to choose one because people ask this question so frequently? I don’t have a favorite color. I randomly answer this question with either blue or purple. I have no idea why I don’t just say “I don’t have a favorite color” . I guess I feel that there’s PRESSURE to HAVE a favorite color. 

Your turn.

Edited to add: A few of you answered the questions on your own blogs, then linked back to me. Cool! looks like I have unknowingly created a meme. Anyway, I think this is a great idea – please feel free to do so if you prefer to have these as a post on your own blog instead of answering them here.

© All rights reserved. This post is from MomGrind and cannot be republished without express written permission. MomGrind ® is a registered trademark of VDL, Inc.

Will You Tell Me A Little Bit About Yourself?

My friend E. took this photo of a paper mache mannequin on Madison avenue, New York. She took it with her iPhone, then emailed it to me. Needless to say, I immediately asked for her permission to post it here. It’s GORGEOUS, isn’t it?

I also thought to myself, that just a few short years ago, we couldn’t have done this. She would have taken the picture with her non-digital camera, and if I were lucky, I would get a print of the photo a few weeks later. Times sure have changed.

I love how fast and connected the modern world is, even if the fast pace is sometimes tiring.

Another random thought: “Paper mache” made me think about the Seinfeld episode where George dumps his pretentious girlfriend. Remember that one?

George tells her, “The truth? You want the truth?… It IS your earrings! It IS your chopsticks! But it’s so much more than that! You’re pretentious! You call everybody by their full name! You called my doorman Sammy “Samuel”! But you didn’t even say “Samuel”, you said it “Samuelle”! Papier-mache? WHAT is pah-pee-ay-mache?”

I stopped watching TV a couple of years ago. Just lost interest. But I do miss Seinfeld.

Do you watch television? Are you happy with your TV-watching habits? Do you consider it a huge waste of time, or a legitimate tool for winding down and relaxing?

© All rights reserved. This post is from MomGrind and cannot be republished without express written permission. MomGrind ® is a registered trademark of VDL, Inc.

Papier-Mache, Connectiveness and Seinfeld

Dear Dad,

You were only 24 when I was born. How solemn you look in this photo, holding me – a tiny newborn – in your arms.

But you shouldn’t have worried. You did well. You were good to me, and taught me to live and to love fully and passionately. You taught me to enjoy life. When I felt anxious or worried, you smiled and reminded me that life is short. When I was sad or upset, you told a silly joke or tickled me and made me laugh.

You are an inspiration to me. You are artistic and creative. You are spirited, passionate and incredibly funny. Sometimes I look at you, and I am amazed that anyone can have such a great attitude towards life. You look at the world like a child: with wonder and amazement.

Sarcasm? Cynicism? Melancholy? Those would be a waste of your time and energy. You don’t dwell on the negative. You always find the good and positive – in people and in life. I wish I were more like you. I am so proud to be your daughter.

I love you, dad. Happy Father’s Day.

© All rights reserved. This post is from MomGrind and cannot be republished without express written permission. MomGrind ® is a registered trademark of VDL, Inc.

A Letter to Dad

Sometime this month, I will turn 37.

After much deliberation, I decided to avoid disclosing the exact date, since a person’s date of birth is one of the pieces of info used by identity thieves to perform identity theft. So there. I may be a bit on the paranoid side here, but I am exercising some out-of-character internet caution.

Back to being 37.

You know, I could take the gray hairs and crow’s feet. Really. It’s not that. I’m just as vain as anyone else, if not more so, but this is a deeper issue. These are just symptoms of a scary process that’s going on inside of me.

I am growing older.

You know how in your twenties you feel invincible, like you will be forever young and maybe even live forever? Well, you won’t. And your thirties are when you start to realize that, because you see the warning signs.

So, it turns out I am NOT invincible and I AM going to die.

GREAT.

Prior to dying, I do have something nice planned out for my birthday: a delicious dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, possibly followed by a glass or two of champagne at The Bubble Lounge. Once the birthday festivities are over, I plan to take a cab back home, where I will kiss my sleeping kids on the forehead and silently count my blessings.

I survived another year. Happy birthday to me.

In the photo: this guy seems to be determined to grow old with me. The whinier I get, the more patient he becomes. So, in case I haven’t said it publicly yet: I love you Ido. Thank you for growing old with me.

© All rights reserved. This post is from MomGrind and cannot be republished without express written permission. MomGrind ® is a registered trademark of VDL, Inc.

Mixed Feelings About Growing Older