Category: Belief systems

Another Perspective

I have woken up at about 1:00 a.m. the last two nights with thoughts about the war in Gaza. As I lay in bed I argue with imaginary Palestinians – or not so imaginary since I listened to an Ezra Klein, a New York Times writer, podcast that featured Amjad Iraqi, a Palestinian citizen of Israel who is a writer and editor there. I think it is important to be as informed as possible by hearing different perspectives so, though it was uncomfortable, I listened to what he had to say.

He made some important, legitimate observations that need to be acknowledged. The way Israel came into being in 1948, with U.N. Resolution 181 and the subsequent war of independence, was traumatic for the Arabs who lived on that land. The U.N. Resolution which passed in November of 1947 defined two states, one for Israel and one for Palestinian Arabs (Jerusalem was designated as an area to be overseen by the U.N.).  The Arabs believed the resolution was inadequate and rejected it; Jews embraced it and began organizing a state for when the British left. The day after Israel declared its independence on May 14, 1948, five Arab countries (Iraq, Lebanon, Syria and Egypt – Saudi Arabia provided troops under Egyptian command) attacked the new state expecting to claim the land on behalf of the Palestinian Arabs. A war ensued during which Arabs either fled or were forcibly evicted from their homes – and in 1949 Israel won. As a result, Palestinians designated May 15th as a day of mourning – they call this sequence of events The Nakba, the catastrophe. It was violent and tragic from their perspective and that trauma, and that narrative, has been passed down generation to generation. We cannot deny that trauma, just as we cannot deny that the trauma of the Holocaust has shaped our (Jews) world view (though in a very different way). Even if we believe that the founding of Israel was a righteous and necessary thing, we can still understand that it wasn’t without consequence. There was a human cost.

With that said, the question becomes: aside from acknowledging the reality of their pain, what do we do with it? What actions or changes should be made when we recognize it?

If you ask Mr. Iraqi the only answer is to give the land back to the Palestinians. And not just any land – the precise land that became Israel. In addition, if you ask Mr. Iraqi, all Palestinians in the diaspora should have a right of return to that land. That answer is impossible to fulfill and maintain a Jewish state (certainly not a concern for Mr. Iraqi). Israel would no longer exist.

In one way, I understand his argument. Something valuable was taken, it should be given back. But that isn’t the way the world works. First and foremost, it denies Israel’s right to exist. When there is a war, the losing side, by definition, loses. At the end of a war a treaty may be signed, and agreements may be reached where some concessions are made, some property may be returned, and reparations may be offered. But, I can’t think of an instance where the people on the losing side were made whole, given all their territory back. I don’t understand why there would be an attitude of entitlement? Why would there be an assumption that they should get the land ‘from river to sea’? We can argue forever who had it first. Jews can argue their ‘entitlement’ from the time of the first temple. There isn’t a nation on this earth whose borders were somehow preordained – bloodshed has defined all of them.

It seems to me that it is more realistic and reasonable to take the position that there is a compromise to be made – a two state solution – the parameters of the respective states are difficult to hammer out (though it makes sense to start with the original U.N. Resolution) and figure out a plan for reparations. I’m not suggesting something new here – there have been negotiations for a Palestinian homeland for decades. But if the Palestinians come to the table with the perspective that Mr. Iraqi offered, there is no room for negotiation. There is no path forward. Mr. Iraqi made a vague suggestion of decentralized entities – not nations. While I am open to other models of governance, you can hardly move forward without a more concrete structure to offer that is ready to be implemented.

Putting aside for the moment his position that the only option is to give all the land back, Mr. Iraqi made the point that Palestinians had tried everything to achieve their goals – diplomacy, civil disobedience and ‘minor’ armed resistance – and that none of that worked, so Hamas launched the attack of October 7th. He didn’t exactly justify the nature of the attack – he said time would tell if Hamas leadership authorized the brutality or whether militants went rogue (Meanwhile, just recently Mahmoud Abbas, the leader of the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank said that Israel conducted the massacre at the music festival! Many pro-Palestinians will be willing to believe that). But, Mr. Iraqi was saying that their desperation left them no choice but to attack. I would argue that they didn’t try everything – it seems clear to me that there was and is another option.

What if in 1948 or at subsequent points when a Palestinian state was offered, not that it encompassed what they believed they were entitled to, but it was land and it would be under their control, they accepted the terms? And, what if, instead of keeping refugee camps, they built cities and towns with the resources they did have? And what if their thinking was, we will make this homeland as strong as possible, with a productive economy and an educated citizenry? They might have achieved their ultimate goal that way – if they shed their idea of themselves as victims and built a nation, who knows what would have happened? Why wasn’t that an option? Why isn’t it still an option?

I can imagine progressives reading this and saying that wasn’t possible – they were oppressed. I would draw an analogy to a child who grows up with abusive parents. At a certain point, if you want to be a productive adult, you need to take steps to heal yourself. It can’t be done alone – support is needed – but the recognition that you need to fix yourself, that first step, needs to be taken by the individual. I think it is no different with an oppressed people. Leadership needs to emerge that empowers people to heal their wounds and celebrate their strengths – not through terrorism, not through rage, but through education and growth. We can understand that a person who grows up with abusive parents might turn violent, but we need to offer another path forward. As a society, we cannot accept violence or murder as a viable response. No one is served by spending their life defining themselves as a victim. The fix for that is not to become a vigilante or a terrorist – that is misguided and only digs the hole deeper.

I live in the real world, so I recognize that this is not simple. We can’t flip a switch and change a national identity. Our national identity as Americans has emphasized rugged individualism and that has a toxic side (i.e., gun culture). Adjusting that, or even recognizing the negative aspects of it, is not easy. I also understand that the current state of conflict in the Middle East benefits certain actors – Iran is served by the role the Palestinians play. There are powerful interests served by the chaos in the Middle East aside from Iran. China and Russia might see opportunities they can exploit. I don’t have answers, but we have to understand the perspectives and accept the need for concessions. One point that Mr. Iraqi and I would agree on is that the status quo, even before October 7th, was unsustainable for both Israelis and Palestinians. Listening to Mr. Iraqi I was not optimistic about the future, but once again, I have to hope that each side can come to their senses and make the necessary compromises so that Israelis and Palestinians can live in dignity and peace – and the further killing of innocent people can be prevented.

King Herrod’s Palace pool on the coast of Israel
one of three sources of the Jordan River – Tal Dan, Israel

Photos taken by me, Linda Bakst, in June 2011

“Why Am I Here?”

Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement, is behind me. It was an intense day for many reasons – it usually is. Especially compared to an ordinary day. After all, if one observes, you fast and spend many hours in quiet reflection. A combination of things came together to make it especially emotional for me this year.

Though I have not written about it directly, I may have alluded to it in other blog posts, I have been facing a bit of a health challenge. Back in June, as part of a CAT scan to determine my calcium score, there was an incidental finding of a cyst in my abdomen. At first my doctor didn’t recommend follow-up, but on closer inspection of the scan, it was determined that it needed further investigation. Over the course of the summer, step by step, we tried to figure out what this thing was. There was a three-to-four-day period in early August where it was thought to be a pancreatic cyst that might not be innocent. During that stretch of uncertainty, I wondered if this was the beginning of the end. My aunt passed away from pancreatic cancer two years ago. I wondered if I was embarking on that journey.

Fortunately, another test result revealed that possibility to be extremely unlikely – they were able to take a fluid sample and the outcome was very encouraging. However, the question of where this cyst originated (it is large – about the size of a baseball, but not the shape of one) is still not clear and it makes a difference in terms of the course of treatment or whether just watching it is sufficient.

As I write this today, after much consideration, Gary and I, along with my doctors, have decided that we will get this thing removed, but it is not an emergency. Gary and I had planned a river cruise ten months ago that is scheduled to depart on October 15th. We have been assured that there is little to no risk in keeping our travel plan. It has been a confusing time and, with all of the back and forth, I am comfortable with our decision.

I am not going into all the details of this medical odyssey– no need to go into the nitty gritty of it. I am sharing it because it contributed to my state of mind going into the High Holy days this year. There had been uncertainty and a good deal of soul searching even before Yom Kippur began.

I am a Jew who is not religious; I am doubtful about the existence of God. Despite this I have taken the ritual of Yom Kippur to heart. Starting with Rosh Hashana, we are asked to reflect upon our behavior over the course of the prior year and admit to our flaws and failings. We ask for forgiveness from those we have injured or disappointed and we make promises to do better in the year ahead. For many, this process might involve asking God for forgiveness and beseeching him or her to allow us to be ‘sealed’ in the book of life for another year, but that isn’t what resonates with me. The practice of, on an annual basis, taking stock, holding yourself accountable and quite literally making amends is powerful – or it can be if taken seriously. It can also be an exercise in going through the motions. If I am honest, there were years that I have done that. Not this year.

Perhaps because of my heightened awareness of the precarious nature of health, I was more open to the message of the holiday. I listened to the sermon of the rabbi from B’nai Jeshrun, a synagogue in New York City that we live streamed, as we came to the close of Yom Kippur and I found his message very profound and more than a little unsettling.

Rabbi Rolando Matalon, who speaks eloquently with the Argentinian accent of the country of his birth, implored the congregants to ask themselves: ‘why am I here?’ ‘what is my particular mission?’ He offered a story from the bible of an unnamed person who asks Joseph, who is wandering in a field, what he is looking for and when Joseph replies that he is looking for his brothers, the man shares what he overheard the brothers say. This sets Joseph on a path to Egypt, a path he would not have otherwise taken, but we know how consequential that was. The rabbi offered a number of interpretations of this interaction, but ultimately the point he made was that every individual has an impact, whether they know it or not. In this bible story, a man only called ‘Ish’ (somebody) plays a critical role in setting events in motion. Rabbi Matalon continued by explaining that each individual is a messenger, each individual has to fulfill their particular mission – we have to do the work of figuring out what we are doing in this world. He noted that it was hard work that takes time and commitment. Whether I felt that the parable he shared was a perfect illustration of that idea or not, I believe his point is correct. That is the work of our time on earth: to discover what I can contribute to repairing the brokenness we see all around us and within ourselves.

In those days of deep uncertainty in August, when I wondered if I was facing a truly life-threatening illness, I asked myself that question. I realized I didn’t know how to answer and that was very troubling. As I listened to the rabbi, I visited the question again.

As a child and young adult, I thought about these things. I was always very introspective. I thought I would find a career that would lead me to fulfillment. I was growing up at a time when girls were encouraged to have careers, to consider alternatives to the traditional role of wife and mother. I believed that it wasn’t enough to be a homemaker. I wanted to make more of a contribution to the world. When I was in college, I remember conversations with friends, particularly with one friend whose mom was very devoted. We talked about how it was important to have a well-rounded life, to not be solely defined by being a mother. At that point, I didn’t even know if I wanted to have children, I didn’t imagine that I would ever define myself that way.

As I went to school, through college and graduate school, and through my first professional jobs, the question of what I was meant to do nagged at me. I had not figured it out. Sometimes I would really struggle – I would not go so far as to describe it as depression, but persistent sadness over my inability to find purpose. Imagine my surprise when I found that the questions stopped after I became a mother. I had no expectation that it would answer that very fundamental issue. While I still grappled with defining myself, a substantial part of me felt settled. I understood what I needed to do. In a day-to-day way my purpose was clear. I thought to myself, ‘I guess the joke is on me because mothering appears to be what I am meant to do.’

My children have been adults for a long time now. My relationship with them has evolved and continues to evolve. Since they left home about 15 years ago I worked at a job that provided some satisfaction. Then I retired to take up writing with very little success, if one defines success as mainstream publications or earning money or fame or large readership. I would not say the question of my purpose has plagued me as it did in my youth, but all is not quiet inside either. There I was all those years ago, smugly talking in my dorm room, about how I wouldn’t be like the women raised in the 1950s, and yet here I am struggling with finding meaning now that the years of active mothering are behind me. The irony is not lost on me. The role that felt the most fulfilling is essentially done – not that I don’t have a meaningful relationship with my children and grandchildren. But it doesn’t feel the same – my soul (whatever that is) is not as well nourished.

I think the rabbi’s question, and the intensity of all the emotion leading up to the moment, led to a bit of a crisis of meaning and confidence. In the week that has passed since then my innards have settled. I am finding comfort in reflecting on meaningful conversations, friendships and experiences.

All of this introspection is not only prompted by the High Holy days. It is also the season of my birthday. The lyrics of that Beatle song “When I’m 64” have come home to roost. That number kind of freaks me out even though I am still a year away from Medicare eligibility. Apropos the lyric of the song, I am confident that Gary still needs me. One of the thoughts that has given me solace over this past week is the idea that I have helped him to make a significant contribution to the quality of his patients’ lives – and that ain’t nothing.

I will leave you with one other important lesson learned from this Yom Kippur. In the spirit of the holy day, I hoped to ease the tension (make amends) in a relationship by calling and discussing the issue. It may be obvious to many that it wasn’t wise to have that kind of heartfelt conversation on a day of fasting – it wasn’t obvious to me. It is now. Perhaps I should have taken a clue from Jewish law which prohibits making phone calls on the holiday – something I have always ignored. It might have gone better in the days leading up to or days following Yom Kippur because the odds of success are greatly enhanced when all parties to the conversation are fed, hydrated and caffeinated. Sorting out fraught emotions while headachy, hungry and tired is not a winning strategy. Tensions have subsequently been eased but we may have arrived there with less agita if I had placed the call on any other day.

Live and learn – something I hope to continue to do every day that I inhabit this earthly realm. And, I believe that is also in keeping with the rabbi’s sermon.

Foggy morning on the Mass Turnpike

Lions, Tigers and…Octopi?

As is often the case, this post is inspired by a book and the discussion we had about it at our family book club. We read Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt. The story uses an interesting device in that one of the narrators is an octopus named Marcellus. Marcellus is intelligent and insightful. One either buys into the conceit, or one doesn’t. The success of the book for the reader will likely turn on that.

Based on the reactions of the members of our book club, and from what I see on Goodreads, most people had no problem with it and, in fact, were charmed by Marcellus’ voice in the novel. I, on the other hand, had some trouble with it. I think suspension of disbelief only takes me so far. I don’t love fantasy as a genre, though this book wasn’t that, anthropomorphizing (if that is a word) an octopus veered into fantasy, but the author did not create a different world. In reality it was more of a family saga in which lost souls become connected with the help of the octopus. I liked the family part but could have done without Marcellus.

I wonder how much of my issue comes from the fact that I am not that much of an animal person. I have compassion for animals and have loved my cats, but I would not call myself an animal lover. I am not taken by every dog I pass as I walk in my neighborhood. I am not confused about my priorities – humans rank higher for me in the animal kingdom than other species.

We had this discussion with friends just this past weekend. Sadly, they had to put down their dog a few months ago, a beloved pet of many years. The woman of the couple was still grieving the loss and was keeping mementos of him around the house. The guy mostly felt bad for his wife and daughter. “He was a dog to me,” he explained almost sheepishly. He was saddened by the dog’s suffering and wished it hadn’t gone that way, but there was a limit to his grief. I understood what he was saying. For some a pet is equal to a family member. Others may have a range of emotion:  from not wanting anything to do with dogs or cats, to loving them but not the same way as another human, to treating their pet with the same love and attention as they would a child. I would put myself in that middle category. I wrote about my relationship with Raffa, the cat we had to put down months ago, previously on this blog. I couldn’t bear to see her suffer, but it wasn’t anything close to how I feel about family or friends.

Aside from how we view pets, there are other issues we discussed at book club in the context of exploring Remarkably Bright Creatures. Marcellus lived in an aquarium – in a contained habitat. We debated the ethics of zoos and aquariums. When I was growing up little thought was given to how zoo animals were housed. The cage for a tiger might be just large enough for him or her to pace back and forth. It was sad and it was clear the animal was miserable. We have progressed from there. Most modern zoos create large areas for the animals to roam with some configuration of water features and barriers to allow visitors to view them. Even with that, though, the animals are clearly not in their natural habitats. Lions wouldn’t live in the Bronx if not for the zoo, but at least they are not confined to a cage – they get fresh air and they are surrounded by grasses and trees. Some in our group were not comfortable with even this improved arrangement, they felt that animals should be free. At the same time, a couple of points in support of zoos were made.

In allowing people, especially children, to see exotic animals in person it can spur interest and provide an educational opportunity. In doing so, people may be motivated to be protective of the animals – heightening awareness of imperiled species and their environments.

In addition, zoos do research and partner with other entities that enhance our understanding of the animals. Sometimes zoos take in animals that can no longer survive in the wild.

I also wonder if we are romanticizing life in the wild. For example, how long is life expectancy for lions that live freely compared to those in captivity? If the animal has the company of its own species, is well-fed, receives medical care and lives in a comfortable physical environment, maybe they aren’t unhappy at all. Maybe a zoo isn’t so bad. Of course, if the animal is mistreated or neglected, then the calculus changes.

I think we all agreed that we were uncomfortable with animals performing tricks – like whales at a seaquarium. It is one thing to schedule feedings so that an audience can watch, it is another to make the whale, dolphin or seal leap, catch or clap for our amusement and a reward. I remember once going to the Catskill Game Farm years ago where chimps were dressed up in motorcycle garb and rode bikes. I found it very disturbing. I’m happy to say that act no longer exists, and the game farm no longer houses animals. It has been transformed into a campground. Given what we saw there that is a better use of the space.

Like many things it comes down to human behavior and judgment. Zoos and seaquariums can be great resources if the people running them are ethical and compassionate. If humans fail to meet that standard, then the animals suffer and there need to be consequences for that failure. Those individuals need to be held accountable. I don’t think the basic concept of a zoo or aquarium is problematic.

What do you think? If you read Remarkably Bright Creatures, did you enjoy it?

My granddaughter at our local aquarium

Lawn Signs

There is a route I take frequently when I run errands. I drive through a neighborhood in Albany when I go to the bank (more likely the ATM), to our favorite bagel shop or to walk at SUNY. Probably 18 months ago I noticed a house had a for sale sign. The brick house sits on a corner lot; it is possible that it is a multi-family dwelling. Anyway, I wondered how quickly it would sell. The reason I wondered, given that the market was pretty hot, maybe not as hot as some areas of the country, but healthy nonetheless, is because of the house next door. That house has a barrage of signs – including the unforgivable ‘Fuck Biden.’ I’m all for free speech, but that is over the line. The house has lots of other signs – back in the day he (and I believe it is a he because I see him mowing his lawn) had a ‘Lock her up’ sign, among others. Based on the signs he displays, he is deep into conspiracy theories about the deep state.

A photo from a New Jersey newspaper – not the house I drive past obviously, and his are a bit more discreet, but the sentiment is the same

I have driven past the ‘for sale house’ for many, many months and now its lawn is overgrown, and it has one of those orange notices affixed to its front door – I imagine that it is in foreclosure. Do you think it has anything to do with the ‘Trumpy’ neighbor? I would not want to live next door to someone who was willing to put a sign out with an expletive directed at anyone, much less our president (even if I hated him/her – in my most outraged state with Trump it would never occur to me to display such a sign). Or maybe something is actually wrong with the structure? I don’t know, but I have mixed feelings about it. Part of me feels a certain satisfaction that the house is going to seed because the Trumper takes meticulous care of his property and can’t enjoy looking at the mess next door. I don’t wish ill to whoever owned the house that isn’t selling, and it isn’t good for the neighborhood to have an abandoned property, so there is that.

That same route that I drive brings me past a house that this month is festooned with pride symbols – just around the block from the Trumper. I wonder if they know each other. I should note that there are no curse words included in their array, just rainbows and hearts. Further down that same block is a house with flags that I associate with extreme Republicans – Don’t Tread on Me, the American flag and some others that I don’t recognize (not the confederate flag, I’m pleased to report). Is it one big happy neighborhood? Somehow I doubt it.

It is interesting to me that folks choose to advertise their politics in this way – it is not election season. I have put signs on my lawn in support of candidates. In fact, my Kerry for President sign got stolen. But, I don’t choose to put symbols out that represent my politics. I admit I appreciate passing homes that fly a rainbow flag – and I like the signs that say, in one way or another, hate has no place here. I’m not sure if I think those gestures are helpful. I defend anyone’s right to put whatever they want on their lawn, though I would like to think people would exercise good judgment. ‘Fuck Biden’ isn’t good judgment. Isn’t there some ordinance against that? I would not want a six year old, who is learning to read, to see that.

It leads me to ask: will we further segregate ourselves by our politics? Cities have historically been blue, though New York City, that bastion of liberalism, has elected any number of Republican mayors. Rural areas have historically been red, though I’m sure there have been exceptions. Can that still happen? As the parties move further apart, will those anomalies continue?

I wonder what impact the divisiveness in our politics has on the real estate market, especially in suburban areas. It can’t be good for our communities. Will our neighborhoods become echo chambers like our social media? Will we instruct our realtors to find properties with like-minded neighbors?

I wish this era of hateful rhetoric was behind us.

The Power of Words

I often begin blog posts by referring to an interview or podcast I listened to. This one is no exception. George Packer, a journalist and novelist perhaps best known for his writings on American foreign policy, was a guest on Preet Bharara’s Stay Tuned. Most of their discussion was about the status of the United States as a world leader (lots to worry about there, but not the subject of this essay). Toward the end of the interview, they turned to a subject of particular interest to me – the use of language and whether we are increasingly limiting ourselves by removing words that have negative connotations. It is a variation of the idea that it is problematic to be ‘woke.’  As I wrote previously, I strive to be woke and see it as a good thing. However, I thought Mr. Packer had a point. He wasn’t taking aim at ‘wokeness,’ per se, he was voicing his concern that, taken to an extreme, the idea that we can’t hurt anyone’s feelings could prevent us from identifying and solving serious problems. The example he gave related to words used to describe poverty – for instance, poor, impoverished, disadvantaged, at-risk. Apparently, all of these words/phrases have been identified as loaded and therefore to be avoided.

First question: who is doing the identifying? Packer explained that many nonprofit organizations, he cited the Sierra Club as a prominent one, have come out with ‘equity guides.’ These guides provide lists of words that should not be used, and he said they provide clunky, bland alternatives (for example, instead of ‘paralyzed with fear,’ they substitute refused to take action). He characterized the people behind these guides as a small group of educated elites. He thought that though they were well-intentioned, they were doing more harm than good. Packer’s main point was that we need to be less worried about the words and more concerned about the underlying problem that the word describes. I was intrigued by his argument.

I wondered if I would draw the same conclusion as Packer if I looked at the guide, so I googled a few. I also read his article in the Atlantic in which he fleshes out his argument (https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2023/04/equity-language-guides-sierra-club-banned-words/673085/).

The Sierra Club equity guide is a 30 page pamphlet which provides much food for thought (here is the link if you want to check it out yourself https://www.sierraclub.org/sites/default/files/sce-authors/u12332/Equity%20Language%20Guide%20Sierra%20Club%202021.pdf). Included in it are references to many other style guides (I counted 9 of them!) as source material.

First, some context. Most news organizations and magazines have style guides – the Associated Press (AP) style guide is one that is frequently cited. If you write for those entities, they have established standards you are expected to follow. Organizations which put out frequent press releases or social media posts or are routinely called upon by the media to express positions are also likely to have one – that is why the Sierra Club has one, as does the American Cancer Society. The equity guide is an offshoot (part of) of the style guide.

Another aspect of the context relates to the Sierra Club specifically. They, like many organizations, have a complicated history in terms of their relationship to historically marginalized communities. In the past the club has mostly been thought of as the purview of white, male environmentalists. As the country has changed, and as the damage done by climate change has hit more broadly, they have needed to reach a more diverse constituency. If they are going to do that successfully, they need to understand those communities and use accessible language. They have taken positions in the past that hurt those communities.  In addition, the original founder, John Muir, was known to use racist language. Thus, the organization felt it had some work to do to repair the damage. That said, equity guides are prevalent beyond this particular nonprofit and Packer believes that as it seeps into the mainstream, it will erode our ability to tell the truth.

So, is there a problem with the equity guide, as Packer argues? My conclusion: Yes and no.

The main impetus of the guide is to remind its users to put people first. I became acquainted with this notion years ago when I was cautioned not to refer to a person with diabetes as a diabetic. A person is more than any single aspect of their identity, whether it be their illness, disability, religion, occupation, etc. It may not seem like a big thing, but I believe it is meaningful and worth reminding folks.

Another main point of the pamphlet is to ask people how they would like to be identified. It reminds us not to make assumptions based on appearance, and to use the terms the individual themselves would like to use. This applies especially to race and gender. To me this is common sense advice and simple enough to follow.

They also ask writers to evaluate whether the descriptor is germane to the subject. Do we need to know the person’s age or race or gender? We are conditioned to include some of those characteristics, but it is worth asking ourselves the question. Is it relevant or does it just contribute to stereotyping? If we are trying to paint a picture of a person or a situation, maybe more specific adjectives would do a better job.

So far so good.

Where things get problematic, and where Packer has a point, is in the avoidance of words that make us uncomfortable. If we are talking about poverty, neighborhoods that are poor, we can’t use euphemisms. It is what it is. The folks who live in those communities know they are poor and/or working class. It won’t come as a surprise to them. The problem isn’t the words. The problem is, in my estimation, the assumptions that get made because of that condition. Just as we should not define an individual by a single characteristic (diabetic), we must not define a whole community by one issue (i.e., its crime rate or the percent who live below the poverty line). We often write-off those communities or try to ignore them. But, we must not ignore all the people who are trying to raise families, make a living, lead healthy, productive lives in those communities. We need to remember that in those communities lots of good things are happening – there is culture, art, humor, good food, etc., etc. No matter what words we ultimately use to describe poverty, it is the associated assumptions that are dangerous, not the words themselves.

Words have power. We need to be mindful of how we use them. Sometimes we need to vividly describe a problem to move people to action. At the same time, we shouldn’t be careless about hurting folks. On balance, I think the equity guides are a good thing. Some of its advice borders on silly (I sincerely doubt that a person in a wheelchair would be offended by using the phrase ‘paralyzed with fear,’ or that a blind person would object to the phrase ‘blind rage’ – though it would be interesting to ask a group), but users of the guide can make their own judgments. In fact, the pamphlets make a point of telling readers to do that, especially in view of regional and local standards. The guides could be problematic if a given organization implements it as if it is law, without leaving room for nuance or the wisdom of the people on the ground. But, if it is a tool to raise awareness and offer alternatives, then it isn’t the bogeyman Packer sets it up to be. As with many things, the question of whether it is a good or bad thing depends on how it is used.

Reverberations Through Time

Note: I have been absent for a month! There are many reasons for that – I will write about it at another time. I am glad to be back! I look forward to continuing our conversation about stories we tell ourselves.

December 15, 2022 would be my father-in-law’s 100th birthday. David Bakst made it to his 98th and for that I am grateful. He passed away a week after achieving that milestone.

As I reflect on his life so many thoughts come to mind. In David’s last years, I would often accompany Gary on his Thursday afternoon visits. Gary doesn’t see patients on Thursday afternoons, so it was a good opportunity to spend time with his Dad. They, including his mom despite her advanced dementia, would go out to lunch to a diner near their apartment in Saugerties. I know Gary treasures that time and the memories they provide.

Many of those lunchtime conversations revolved around David’s memories. We would ask him about his youth and World War II experiences. We heard the same stories multiple times, new details might be offered, but even if not, we never tired of hearing them. One particular comment stayed with me, though I am not sure why. As David described his family life before the war, he said that after Shabbos services, the adults (his parents’ family and friends) would gather at his home and talk (argue) politics. David listened in, beginning a long interest in politics that remained for the rest of his days. He told us that his father was a supporter of Jabotinsky, who he described as more of a right winger. The name vaguely rang a bell, but I didn’t know anything about him or the context. I was curious. I tried to imagine what their political conversations might have been about in the late 1920s and early 1930s in David’s shtetl (village) in Poland (now Belarus).

After that conversation, I googled Jabotinsky and learned a bit but didn’t get very far and I set the subject aside, though it still intrigued me. Oddly enough the other day I came across a podcast entitled Jabotinsky and the Birth of the Israeli Right. I thought this might shed light on the topic, plus I am interested in better understanding the politics of Israel and this sounded like it could offer that.

I am very glad I listened. It accomplished exactly what I had hoped. It reaffirmed my belief that learning about our past illuminates our present; the issues that plagued us more than a century ago still percolate in the lives we live today.

The topic the Bakst family was likely discussing during their Shabbos afternoon visits was Zionism. It is appropriate that I write about this now given the intersection between anti-Zionism and antisemitism, and the appalling rise in antisemitic rhetoric and violence.

So, what is Zionism? It is the movement to create and support a Jewish homeland. Its roots go back centuries as part of Judaism, with the idea that since the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem and the diaspora, Jews prayed to return to the Holy Land. This was largely a religious tenet until the late 19th Century. It evolved into a political movement, in part in response to virulent antisemitism in Central and Eastern Europe when Jews were largely confined to living in an area called the Pale of Settlement (part of Russia and Poland). In the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, as pogroms (violent riots perpetrated against Jews in the Pale of Settlement) became more common and feared, some Jewish thought leaders concluded that the only solution to antisemitism was a Jewish homeland. They believed that there was no future for Jews in Central and Eastern Europe and that ultimately, they needed their own country in their ancestral homeland. The father of this strand of political Zionism is generally considered to be Theodor Herzl, who wrote a pamphlet that was published in 1897 entitled Der Judenstaat (The State of Jews). In it he argued that Jews were a nationality, that it was not a social or religious question, but a national one. In order to escape antisemitism, express their culture freely and practice their religion, they needed a state. This idea became quite popular and was widely discussed in Jewish circles, including David’s hometown of Iwie.

As with most political movements, there were factions. I imagine that David’s family debated the different perspectives. One of the areas of disagreement was what kind of country should it be. Some advocated for a socialist state (David Ben-Gurion emerged as the leader of this wing and in fact became the country’s first prime minister in 1948); others wanted a free market approach. I would imagine David’s father, as a successful businessman before the invasion of the Soviet Union in 1939, would have wanted a capitalist economy for the new state. Jabotinsky, the person David referenced, supported the free market, though he also believed that the citizens of the new state should determine their destiny.

Another thread of discord in Zionism is the role of Judaism, the role of the religion itself, in the creation and running of the state. One of the things that is unique about being Jewish is that it encompasses a number of elements: it is a religion, it is an ethnicity, and it is a culture. Some identify with some aspects of that identity, but not others. The Zionist movement included (and still includes) a range of belief about religion. Some are Orthodox, very observant Jews, for whom the religion and the state are inextricably tied. Others are secular Jews who may even call themselves atheists. Neither Herzl, Ben-Gurion nor Jabotinsky were particularly religious. Though I never had a conversation with David about this subject, I believe he would support maintaining the Jewish character of the state but would not support a theocracy. Defining that balance continues to be a challenge.

Jabotinsky also advocated for a strong military capability. He believed that the new state would be fought over, that the Arabs in the area would not relinquish land or power without a fight. Ben-Gurion believed that in return for economic and political considerations, the Arabs could be appeased. In furtherance of Jabotinsky’s belief in the need for military capability, he created a youth group in Poland, Betar, that would instill nationalist fervor in young people for Israel and train them to respond to attacks on Jews wherever they occurred. David Bakst was a member of Betar.

David’s Betar membership card, David in his Betar uniform (far left)

I wonder if any of the training he received, or the faith and support built as part of that group, helped him in his war experience.

There is great poignancy to these issues. Imagine if there had been a Jewish State in the mid 1930’s. Millions of lives might have been saved. Instead of ships being turned away from ports, instead of country after country rejecting Jewish refugees, people would have had a place to go. We will never know what might have been.

The controversies that plagued the founding of Israel are still playing out today. The tensions between its socialist origins and the demands of a free-market economy are still difficult to sort out. The balancing of the different attitudes regarding the role of Judaism in the state creates conflict. The fundamental disagreements between Israel and its Arab neighbors, not to mention its Arab citizens, are as troubling as ever.

And, in an even larger sense, we are still grappling with what to do about antisemitism. It is a pernicious and stubborn prejudice. It is disheartening that over a century after Herzl wrote his pamphlet, and even with the establishment of the state of Israel, lies, misconceptions and hate are still rife. After all he went through, I wonder if David would be surprised by this latest resurgence. In that one sense, I am glad he isn’t here to see it.

Alive in the World

Yesterday we drove through the Berkshires on the way home from visiting our daughter. The oranges, reds and yellows of autumn were on full display. I selected Jackson Browne’s Solo Acoustic Album 2 as the soundtrack for our ride. The song “Alive in the World” came on. I looked at the magnificent scenery as the song played and I decided I needed to listen to it again. “Do you mind if I replay that?” I asked Gary, who was behind the wheel. “Go for it.”

Here are the lyrics:

I want to live in the world, not inside my head
I want to live in the world, I want to stand and be counted
With the hopeful and the willing
With the open and the strong
With the voices in the darkness
Fashioning daylight out of song
And the millions of lovers
Alive in the world

I want to live in the world, not behind some wall
I want to live in the world, where I will hear if another voice should call
To the prisoner inside me
To the captive of my doubt
Who among his fantasies harbors the dream of breaking out
And taking his chances
Alive in the world

To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world

With its beauty and its cruelty
With its heartbreak and its joy
With it constantly giving birth to life and to forces that destroy
And the infinite power of change
Alive in the world

To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world

To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world

If you would like to listen to it, here is a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8T4JwA4OIio

The song resonates with me – I have always liked it. I could have written the first two lines, or perhaps they were written for me. But the whole song is right on point. “With its beauty and its cruelty, with its heartbreak and its joy, with it constantly giving birth to life and to forces that destroy, and the infinite power of change, alive in the world.” What a perfect description of this thing called life.

Having spent two days holding our four-month old granddaughter, a bundle of light and joy, the lyric brought tears to my eyes – and it does as I write this. I need to believe in the infinite power of change alive in the world.

I wake up this Monday morning not feeling particularly hopeful, but I am replaying the song and holding on to that thought as we face the absurdity of Kanye, Elon and Trump (the list of threats could go on and on). I renew my request from last week, please vote, please make your voice heard. Let’s elevate Jackson Browne’s message, not theirs.

The Threads that Bind Us

Our family gathered in Groton, Connecticut for a wedding this past weekend. We converged on the Mystic Hilton, coming from upstate New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Virginia and California. On Friday as we were each on our way, my brothers and I received a text from our aunt reporting that she and my uncle ‘made a stop to tell our loved ones the good news about our trip,’ meaning they visited the cemetery in Saddle Brook, NJ where my father, uncle and Nana (among other family members) are buried and shared the happy news of the upcoming nuptials. She included several pictures of the graves. I appreciated that they had done that, as irrational as the gesture may be.

I don’t believe that going to my father’s gravesite puts me closer to his spirit, but at the same time visiting is a demonstrable show of respect. In the Jewish tradition, when you visit the grave, you leave a small rock or pebble on the headstone as a tangible sign that someone was there – at least that’s the reason I have in my head and heart when I do it (there is likely some obscure reason for the ritual that dates back to ancient time, but I have no knowledge of it). I was glad that my aunt and uncle did it on our behalf. When we gather for these milestone events, it is bittersweet. We are thankful that we have something so special to celebrate, but also painfully aware of those who are no longer with us.

While chatting with one of my cousins, I mentioned that my aunt and uncle had done this, and she explained that for her going to the cemetery was an empty experience. Her mother died 35 years ago, and she still feels her mom’s spirit with her all the time, she is in regular communication with her (just to be clear, she didn’t mean that literally) but she doesn’t feel anything at her gravesite. I know other people feel the same way and have no need to go. My cousin wasn’t casting judgment on those who find meaning in a visit, but it just doesn’t do anything for her. On the other hand, I have a friend who visits her parents’ graves regularly – she finds it comforting. I’m trying to decide how I feel about it – not just with respect to loved ones who have died, but also in terms of what I want for myself.

This isn’t a subject most people want to talk about – all topics revolving around death tend to make people uncomfortable. I have always found it interesting and, more than that, important. I want to sort out my conflicting emotions, in part to plan for it so my children aren’t left with painful decisions when the time comes.

I have a recollection of an irreverent George Carlin comedy routine where he lamented that cemeteries were a waste of space. He suggested the land could be better used for affordable housing! (He was equally merciless about golf courses). Seriously, it is reasonable to ask whether our burial practices make sense from a use of resources and an ecological point of view. Is it sustainable?

Some of our feelings about this are probably the product of the traditions, either religious or cultural, we observed growing up. In my mother’s family, when she was a child, they went to the cemetery at least annually to pay their respects. She even remembers picnicking there! For her those were warm memories. The departed were still included in their lives. Though that tradition was not continued in my childhood, we never picnicked, I was aware that Mom and her brothers went at least yearly to the cemetery. As an adult, after my dad died, I took Mom to the cemetery a few times. Dad is buried in Mom’s (the Spilkens’) family plot, he lies near his mother-in-law. In life he loved being part of their family, it seems appropriate that he rests there. There is a spot for Mom, when the time comes, next to Dad.

The photo my aunt, Barbara Spilken, sent

Cremation was not considered when Dad died. It is my understanding that cremation was frowned upon among Jews. That attitude seems to be changing, and apparently was not rooted in agreed upon Jewish law. More Jews are choosing that option these days. Then you have to decide what to do with the cremains – scatter, bury/place in a mausoleum or keep in an urn somewhere. For other Jews, like my husband, irrespective of tradition or law, the legacy of the Holocaust makes this an unacceptable option.

On our drive back home from the wedding I asked Gary what he thought about all of this, including whether it was meaningful to visit the cemetery. He finds comfort in the idea of leaving a marker behind. He also expressed a desire to go to visit his dad, who is buried in Liberty, about a 2 hour drive from our home. Regardless of whether we go regularly, or not, Gary believes it is fitting that his dad’s existence has a marker, a place and a stone that memorializes his life that will be there for decades, maybe centuries, to come. He wants that for himself, too. Gary noted that he had not visited deceased family, he was thinking especially of his Bubbe, who are buried on Long Island in many, many years. He would like to, but couldn’t see making a separate trip, it is long and inconvenient, only for that purpose. If we were traveling in the area, then he would make a point of going. The location of the cemetery is obviously a factor in the frequency of visits.

Though I can’t articulate my reasons, it is important to me that I visit Dad’s grave once in a while – I can’t say how often it should be, though annually feels about right. I think of my dad all the time of course, but there is something about the visit to the site that formalizes it. Time and effort are carved out to honor my relationship with him by being there, looking at the inscription on the stone and placing a pebble on it to signify my presence. I am glad I can pay my respects to Nana and Uncle Mike at the same time.

I am of two minds for myself. I like the idea of being scattered in the wind, in a particularly lovely spot. I also see the appeal of leaving a marker, even if my children and grandchildren don’t visit. There would be a place where my existence was noted. I suppose the two are not mutually exclusive. Perhaps that is the answer I’ve been looking for – my cremains strewn about a lovely spot, (could they fertilize a garden?), and a memorial marker somewhere (a bench in Central Park?). Maybe I’m on to something here.

Do you visit loved ones at the cemetery? Does it feel meaningful? What do you want for yourself?

It is ironic that this piece started with the family gathering for a wedding but explored our recognition of death, but that is the nature of life. We gather for these events. The judge who officiated the ceremony, and it was a beautiful one, began with “Dearly beloved….,” just a word away from “Dearly departed…” It is all of a thread.

Gary and I enjoying the view after the ceremony
Branford House – the wedding venue
Magnificent sunset
Scenes from the wedding (photo credits from left to right): my brother Steve Brody, the next two, Gary Bakst

Our Promise, Our Obligation

It is the 4th of July. It is a beautiful, warm, sunny day and we will do one traditional thing – barbecue some burgers and hot dogs. Otherwise, the holiday doesn’t have much meaning this year. I’m not taking much pride in being American, sad to say.

I am a baby boomer – slipped in under the wire, being born in 1959. I don’t know who decides these things, who defines the generations, but I meet the criteria. As a product of that time, I believed in American exceptionalism. The lessons learned at school, and the broader culture, taught me that this country was special, born of an idea that we were all created equal, and we were free in ways other citizens in other countries were not. I was born into the Cold War – people in the Soviet Union could not criticize their government without fear of imprisonment, they did not enjoy the riches and abundance of the free market, they weren’t allowed to practice religion (I was especially aware of this as a Jew) among many other rights. But, not only that, I thought we were better even than England where people were born into a class and couldn’t rise above it. When America won gold at the Olympic games, my heart swelled with pride when our national anthem played. I believed we were the good guys.

I came to understand that we weren’t always the good guys in foreign policy. We sometimes supported regimes that were repressive or corrupt because we thought it was in our economic interests. As I became more educated and experienced in the world, I didn’t dismiss these instances, but I accepted that there were some limits to our choices; our country existed in a real world with bad actors. I still had faith, though, with effective leadership and if our values informed our policies, we could be a force for good.

As I grew up, and became more educated about our history, I came to understand that we weren’t quite as exceptional as I thought. I still believed in the essential values that were our foundation, freedom and equal opportunity, but I realized that we had not fulfilled those promises. Race riots and the women’s movement made me aware that we didn’t all have equal opportunity. When the founding fathers wrote the Declaration of Independence and our Constitution, they used the term ‘men’ purposefully. We needed to expand the concept. We had work to do to make that a reality. But, I accepted that this was something that could be achieved through new laws and improved education. I believed that the majority of Americans wanted to realize that promise.

Today my faith is shaken. It seems that a powerful portion of the American people don’t share my understanding of the foundational values that I thought inform our institutions. I thought freedom meant that people could worship as they chose, if it wasn’t infringing on others or violating laws, but that religion was not endorsed by the government. Increasingly it seems that our Supreme Court has thrown that idea by the wayside. A coach, an employee of a public school system, can lead his team in Christian prayer in the middle of the football field. A Christian concept of when life begins dictates a woman’s right to reproductive choice. The right to bear arms outweighs sensible limitations. If polls are to be believed, though, the majority of Americans don’t agree with these policies. So, where does that leave us?

The very idea of democracy, that the will of the majority of people determines the government’s course of action, is being thwarted. Everything I learned, that we have a “government of the people, by the people and for the people,” is at risk. I just re-read the Gettysburg Address, from which the phrase I quoted above derives, and I remind myself not to give up. I highly recommend refreshing your memory by reading it (here).

These ideals are worth fighting for; all is not lost. These Supreme Court decisions need not be the final word. Congress can act. State legislatures can act. Governors make a difference. Local school boards are relevant. We need to be vigilant, and we need to vote – in primaries and in November. Perhaps this holiday, this 4th of July, can help to remind us of our promise and obligation.

Okay, I’m feeling better about the holiday. I hope you are too.

Parents and Public Schools

Tensions were running high during the public comment period of a school board meeting.  A parent was addressing the Board. “I expect when I send my son to school, when I put him on the school bus in the morning, that he returns home at the end of the day in exactly the same condition – not a hair on his head hurt!” The parent was pleading for more safety measures. He was yelling at us, so great was his fear.

This was in 2001 in the aftermath of 9/11, during my tenure on the Guilderland School Board, a suburb of Albany, New York. Speculation that terrorists might hit ‘soft’ targets like schools was in the news and Columbine had happened less than 18 months prior.  We had, in fact, taken steps to secure our buildings and were reviewing procedures and options for cameras, to see if more should be done. As always budgets were tight.  It was a fraught time.

I had two children in district schools at the time. As much as I sympathized with the parent’s fears, I thought his demands were impossible to meet. We could not guarantee the kind of safety he was looking for, no matter what we did. Children fall on the playground. They get into tussles with their peers – never mind guarding against a determined gunman. If we are lucky children will come home from school with some minor bumps and bruises – either the physical or emotional kind. I knew we could do more to protect children from intruders and from fellow students who might turn to violence – prior to these tragedies school doors weren’t even locked in our district. No one wore I.D. We could pay more attention to student mental health. There were lots of steps to take, but the essential truth was, and still is, that there are limits to what can be done. We can only protect our children so much.

I was reminded of that challenging time when I read a quote last week from a school board candidate in my district who was running under the banner of parental control. Elections are coming up in one week. The gist of what the candidate said was that she did not accept the premise that the school system was a partner in raising her child – instilling values and guiding her child was her responsibility. She went on to say that schools should stay away from those controversial topics that strayed into morality or hot button political issues. This may seem on its face to be unrelated to the safety issue described above, but I believe there is a common thread that connects them.

Both reflect the desire for parental control. We want our children to be safe and we want to be the ones imparting values. We want to ward off undesired influence. I would argue, though, that when you send your child to public school you relinquish some of that control. Once a child boards a school bus, they are hearing all kinds of things. If you aren’t comfortable with that then home schooling or sending the child to a private school that is in accordance with your philosophy and approach is probably a better option.

I am not suggesting parents don’t have a role in public schools – they have a critical role. For one thing, parents serve on school boards. I did –  for 9 years. I wanted to represent other parents by bringing forward concerns I heard about or experienced myself. That’s the main purpose of the board: to serve as a conduit between the community and the administration, sharing information and facilitating two-way communication. As a board member, though, I was one of nine – I did not have power as an individual. I had input, but majority ruled, as it should in a democracy. It is a well-calibrated system of checks and balances. Board members, as parents themselves (though not all members are parents) or as representatives of parents, shape policy and set the big picture course for the district. Individual board members are effective to the extent that they can convince colleagues of their position.

Aside from presence on the board, parents are essential partners in the success of public school systems– from the highest level (district-wide excellence) to the achievement of individual students. Contrary to the belief of the candidate in my district, schools are also essential for the development of our children. Our children should not grow up in a vacuum. I would argue that schools should not avoid those issues. They should not purposely seek them out, but often they emerge as a natural outgrowth of innocent conversations about current events or sharing of family stories. When a child hears something that is inconsistent with lessons from home, it provides parents with a teachable moment. They can either explain how/why we differ or consider another perspective and perhaps adjust. Either way the child’s life is enriched, and the family’s bonds are strengthened. Children are capable of understanding that different rules apply in different spaces – they figure that out pretty quickly when their parents take different approaches (ask dad first?) and/or grandparents, not to mention different teachers, or behavior in a house of worship versus the playground.

One last point that is essential to understand if one advocates for ‘parental control.’ School boards operate in the context of federal, state, and local laws and regulations. The pandemic, with its mask mandates, was another flashpoint for those angry with school boards. Initially boards may have been free to make their own rules, but once the federal, state or local health department stepped in, there was no choice. Railing at school board members was pointless. But, even when (or if) school boards are not constrained by those rules, think about this: Boards are faced with many parents demanding masks (or some other policy counter to your own), and masks are of limited use if they aren’t universal. It isn’t as simple as ‘you want your kid masked, so mask them.’ The effectiveness relies on widespread use. This is true in other contexts too – in most cases curriculum can’t be divided up so that groups of children in a given classroom learn different things. So, which parent voice wins? Whoever yells loudest? And what about staff risks and attitudes?

Add to that the fact that districts have their own ‘medical directors,’ a position designated by the board – a person who meets state licensing requirements who is giving guidance in just this scenario. If the medical director advises that children and staff should mask, the board shouldn’t substitute its own judgment. If they did, they would open themselves up to legal liability. In the case of non-health related issues, the board will have likely received input from other experts (educators, engineers, architects, accountants – depending on the topic). Those considerations, the well-being and wishes of the entire community, expert guidance and the legal context, weigh heavily on board member decisions – and they should.

Parental control may sound good, but in the real world it has limitations. In my experience, parents have many opportunities for input and influence in public schools. And they receive lots of information (though districts can always improve in outreach). Those parents that are not willing to accept the constraints (and in some cases even welcome them) are probably best served by home schooling or choosing a private option.