Stories I Tell Myself

Rocky Mountain High Reprise

June 29, 2026

I returned to the Flatirons, the unusual mountains at the foothills of the Rockies in Boulder, Colorado. The last time I was there, with my mom and dad, I was 13 years old. I wrote about that visit in this blog post: https://stories-i-tell-myself.com/2017/02/06/another-road-trip-and-another-letter-from-zada/.

Our view this visit

This time the visit was part of a vacation planned around a wedding in the Denver area. Gary and I flew out early on a Thursday morning; the wedding was scheduled for Saturday. We explored some of Denver, attended the welcome party, and then the wedding itself (which was beautiful!). We stayed in Denver after the wedding to see a Rockies game at Coors Field. Gary and I enjoy seeing baseball games in different stadiums. Coors Field was charming. Unfortunately for the friends we attended with, who are fervent Red Sox fans, Boston lost in the bottom of the ninth. As Met fans, we could commiserate. Of course, the Rockies’ fans were overjoyed.

sunset at Coors Field

Though I had visited Denver on that original trip in 1973, long before the Rockies baseball team existed, I have few memories of the city. According to Google, the population was 525,300 in 1973 and is now 739,600, roughly a 41% increase, if I did the math correctly. Knowing my mother, we would have done some sightseeing while we were there, but it didn’t make much of an impression. Today, there is a lot more to it. Gary and I took advantage of our time to take in some sights. Aside from the baseball game, we thoroughly enjoyed the Denver Art Museum (which is huge and has extensive collections), the Botanical Gardens, and the Margaret “Molly” Brown House (she is famous as one of the Titanic survivors but led a much fuller and more fascinating life than that one fact suggests). I also took Gary on what was supposed to be a scenic walk along the river that turned out to be quite seedy and unsettling. Oh well, we corrected course and did see the artsy RiNo area. Sometimes there is a fine line between artsy and seedy.

We had decided to extend our trip beyond Denver to make it a true vacation. Our plan, following the wedding weekend, was to go to Estes Park, where Rocky Mountain National Park is located, and spend three days there. We made a couple of stops on our way to Estes Park, first to visit Red Rocks Amphitheater and Park, and then to have lunch in Boulder.

At the Red Rocks amphitheater – wish we could have seen a concert there!

As I noted in my earlier blog post about that 1973 trip, the Rocky Mountains were not revealed to us until we were right up on them because of rain and heavy, gray skies. We literally woke up in Boulder, looked out the window, and there they were! The Flatirons, aptly named for their appearance, are huge slabs of angled stone right outside our windows. I was surprised how poignant it was when I saw them again. It brought me back to that summer of 1973. The memories were so strong. I wanted to call my mom and dad and tell them about it. Dad has been gone for over 20 years, and Mom for over two. I think of them all the time, of course, but this pang was more intense. There was something about the memories that stirred me deeply.

Our views from our visit last week

That trip in 1973 was a seminal time in my young life – so many lasting lessons. Being alone with my parents for such an extended period, and at an age when I was more aware, I saw them as human beings – not just as all-knowing parents. I also realized people lived all different kinds of lives; a world existed beyond Brooklyn. Finally, I gained a lifelong appreciation for the awesome beauty of nature when I saw the majesty of those mountains.

Coming back to Colorado after all these years, as we drove through Boulder, I recognized the University campus by its red-tiled roofs. I was surprised that I could pick out the dorm where we stayed. I have such a vivid image of the building and the view it afforded in my mind’s eye, and I was amazed to find my memory was accurate.

Gary and I had lunch in Boulder and then continued our journey to Estes Park, where Rocky Mountain National Park is located. I had no memories of the town, but I certainly recalled riding along Trail Ridge Road in the park. This time, the views were still spectacular, but not quite as overwhelming. In the 50 years since that first trip, I have been lucky enough to travel quite a bit. If you grow up with the Catskills as your idea of mountains, then nothing can quite compare to the first time one sees the real thing. Seeing the gray, craggy, snow-capped mountains again was in no way disappointing, but it didn’t evoke the awe I felt when I was 13.

I asked Gary what he thought. He loved the park, too, but his first experience of majestic mountains was at Yosemite. While he also appreciated what we were seeing, it wasn’t as awe-inspiring as that initial time in Yosemite Valley.

That said, we had a wonderful time exploring the park. We drove Trail Ridge Road and marveled at the landscape. We took a guided hike, Bridal Veil Falls via Cow Creek Trail, which was a challenging and fabulous experience. We walked through drizzle, rain, clouds, and clear blue skies, cool breezes, and penetrating sun. We traversed meadows dotted with wildflowers alongside Cow Creek, where a strong stream provided a soundtrack to accompany the birdsong. We walked through a forest of Ponderosa pine and quaking aspen. We crossed the creek by walking over well-placed logs and scrambled across wet rocks to get to the end of the trail. The payoff was a waterfall – actually, there were several waterfalls. It was well worth the effort.

Our guide, Leo, provided a lot of insight into the ecosystem and shared some of his wisdom from years of hiking and backpacking in the wilderness. I was proud of myself for overcoming my fear of slipping on the rocks, which I avoided by crab-walking when necessary or scooting on my tush. I also worried that I wouldn’t have the stamina to hike at altitude, knowing we would end up at about 8,800 feet. I was fine. It was demanding, but doable. My iPhone recorded 7.2 miles. When we returned to our motel, I took a shower and bath to soothe my tired muscles! My two trips to Colorado and Rocky Mountain National Park, spaced more than 50 years apart, were both so enlightening. Each time, I had new things to learn and spectacular scenery to absorb. I would be happy to go back again, but with so many other places to see, and us getting older, it may not happen. I am grateful for the experiences I have had, and I will treasure the images of nature’s beauty forever. I just wish I could tell Mom and Dad.

Photo gallery of Rocky Mountain National Park:
A Championship for the History Books

June 17, 2026

There is joy in New York City. The New York Knicks won an improbable championship in five games against the San Antonio Spurs, arguably a better team. I am thrilled. I have been a fan since I read The Open Man by Dave DeBusschere in 1970. I was ten years old, making me a fan for 56 years. After reading that book, I read everything I could get my hands on. As I have written about before, I became obsessed with DeBusschere and the Knicks.

I wrote up every game, cut the box score out of the newspaper, and kept a notebook for the ’72-73 and ’73-74 seasons. I look back on the care and attention I committed to the Knicks, and I have to shake my head in wonder and a little embarrassment.

My notebook from the ’73-74 season

I can’t say my obsession lasted over all these years – had it, I would have needed medication because I wouldn’t have achieved adulthood. It eased after DeBusschere’s retirement in 1974 and my realization that there were other things in the world to think about. But I did maintain a normal level of fandom, with some years of not paying attention while they were wandering in the desert of less-than-mediocrity.

The team reawakened my passion with Jalen Brunson’s arrival, especially this season. I found myself pacing the family room in tight games. I deeply appreciated it when they blew teams out in the earlier rounds of the playoffs. It spared me and my stomach agita. If only they could have done that against the Spurs.

Game four of the San Antonio series began as a low point. In the first five minutes, the refs called two fouls on Karl-Anthony Towns (KAT) that were not deserved. The Knicks were also playing sloppily, throwing the ball away and missing open shots. I was disgusted and discouraged. I couldn’t watch. I retreated to my kitchen and cleaned it. I am not someone who generally chooses to clean, but if I am aggravated enough, it is a good way to vent my frustration. Every so often, I checked the score on my phone. It only got worse. 29 points down! I thought if they got close, I would go back to watching. Instead, after finishing the kitchen, I watched an episode of the Netflix documentary about Rafael Nadal – which, by the way, I recommend. I checked the score, and they were down 15 with about 8 minutes to go. While they had cut the lead, it was still significant. I decided to go to bed.

I lay in bed, stewing over what I perceived as unfair refereeing and my burgeoning dislike of Victor Wembanyama, unable to sleep. Then my phone started blowing up. My kids, braver than I, continued watching the game. Well, Dan did. Leah did what I did, but she checked the score at 4 minutes to go, and they were close, so she started watching. The Bakst family gives her credit for the win. She started watching, and they came back. We were texting furiously. Gary, who had to get up early, was asleep (mostly), so I moved into another bedroom to keep texting and surfing the web to see what was happening. What a comeback! Epic, historic.

I remember another amazing comeback by the Knicks. It was November of 1972. The Knicks were playing the Milwaukee Bucks, who had Oscar Robertson and Kareem Abdul Jabbar on their team, two all-time NBA greats. The Knicks were down 18 points with 5:50 to go. I was sitting in my shoebox of a bedroom in Canarsie, only the light of the fishtank on, listening to Marv Albert call the game on the radio. Home games were almost never televised in those days. As the Knicks closed in, I refused to move from my spot on my bed lest they lose their momentum. Sports superstitions are absurd. But the Knicks held the Bucks scoreless for the remainder of the game and pulled out the win, so maybe there was something to my vigilance. When Lucius Allen, a 90% free throw shooter for the Bucks, missed two from the line, I thought it must be divine intervention. The Garden was rocking. You can watch the clip here: https://www.nba.com/watch/video/knicks-amazing-comeback-against-the-bucks-in-1972.

The beauty of sports! You gotta believe !– to borrow from another underdog team, though in 1972 the Knicks weren’t exactly an underdog. Here is a picture of my write-up of that game from my notebook from the ’72-’73 season. I was 13 years old and I thought I was going to be a sportswriter.

There is something special about a whole arena going crazy together, much less a whole city. Since Saturday night’s win, I have spent too many hours looking at clips of celebrations in NYC, watching interviews with the players, and reading commentary. One of the things I have enjoyed is finding that, though I have liked the players all along, the more I read, the more I like them. This is especially true of Jalen Brunson. Brunson seems to be an excellent role model. How he didn’t lose his composure at the abuse he received, especially from Wemby and the refs not calling the fouls, I don’t know. It was admirable. His whole demeanor was calm, cool, and collected – until the game ended and he hugged his dad. Then he fell apart. How could you not be moved?

I’ve appreciated the other Knicks as well. Their humility, their team chemistry, their focus, and their intensity. I learned about the difficult journey some of them have endured, KAT’s untimely loss of his mother, for example, and I sympathized and admired their grit.

So, the season has come to a close. I will look forward to attending my annual game with Daniel next year. In the meantime, I will allow myself this indulgence, reliving the plays, watching the celebrations, and soaking it in for a while longer. We have been living through difficult times. I’m sure I will come back down to earth soon, hopefully not too soon.
People Are Angry, or Are They?

May 12, 2026

The other day, I came back to my car and found the following note wedged into the driver’s side window:

Some people might scrunch up the paper and toss it away. Some people might be angry. Some people might be scared. I wanted to understand. I honestly could not figure out what this individual was upset about. I walked around my car looking to see if I was parked in the bike lane. I was not. I looked to see if I was hanging over someone’s driveway, but I was not. I checked the signage, and I was parked legally.

It was a rainy evening when I arrived at the place I was going, I was attending a writing workshop. It was still drizzling when I left. So, there were few people out and about. There weren’t many cars parked on the street, either; there were plenty of spots available. For those who know Albany, I was on Madison Avenue in the area that formerly housed Saint Rose’s campus. Anyway, the point is, I couldn’t figure out what I had done wrong. I don’t like doing things wrong, and I don’t like it when someone is upset with me. I have probably already spent more time on this than most people would, but that is me.

So, I came up with an explanation, but I have no idea if it is true. When I arrived, an individual was getting out of his car. I started to pull over to park. Maybe he thought I came too close to him? I certainly didn’t think so, and he showed no discernible reaction at the time.

If the point of leaving the note was to educate me so I would become a better driver, it failed. I can console myself with the fact that at least the person signed the note with a smiley face. What was that about, after calling me an asshole?

The point I did get from the note is that people are angry. It doesn’t take much to get someone riled up these days. While that has always been true to some extent, I believe it is worse. Is that your experience?

In another instance, I was waiting to cross the street in Manhattan. I was at 96^th and Columbus, a major, busy intersection. Not one of those smaller streets that you sometimes cross against the light. As my fellow pedestrians and I stepped off the curb because we had the green, a car ran the red light. I was startled and put my palms up and open in the universal signal of ‘what the hell?’ I didn’t yell. I didn’t give the driver the finger. I just gestured in a questioning way, what are you doing? He, it was a male driver, came to a stop, looked at me with fury and gave me a very aggressive middle finger. He may have accompanied it with a f*** you, but in the din of Manhattan, I didn’t hear it. I was taken aback. I didn’t think my reaction warranted that, plus he was in the wrong! He went through a red light!

It all leaves me uneasy. If people are so on edge, I guess we need to walk on eggshells. You never know how close someone is to losing it (and if they are carrying a weapon). Plus, I need to grow a thicker skin. I certainly can’t take these things personally.

I should mention there are pleasant interactions, too. At that workshop, the folks at my table were friendly. I’m sure I’ve had lots of people hold the door for me, but I don’t necessarily notice. Maybe I need to be more mindful of those gestures, and it will give me a more balanced perspective of what is going on. I probably take those ordinary kindnesses for granted.

I know when I am in the car, I can get impatient with slow drivers or with folks who aren’t paying attention (most likely on their phone), but I try not to overreact. I remind myself that nothing is that important, I’m not in that much of a rush. Plus, I don’t want to get into some kind of road rage situation.

Do you think the tone of our interactions has changed? Or am I giving too much weight to the angry ones?
Let’s Go Knicks!

April 17, 2026

Note: First, a shout out to Gary, it is his birthday today! That means I will be celebrating Gary Bakst Day! He deserves it! Second, I know it has been a while since I posted here, but so much has been going on with my book and family life (happily all good things!). I wanted to come back with something fun. I hope you enjoy.

Time for something lighter.

The New York Knicks are headed to the playoffs with high hopes for a long run. For about two decades, the team had offered little to cheer about, until the last few years. I can’t say I follow them as closely as I did as a teenager. It would be impossible to do that and have a life as a functioning adult. I was obsessed in those days. I still keep an eye on them, watch an occasional game on television (I love listening to Walt ‘Clyde’ Frazier’s rhymes and seeing his outlandish suits), and root for their success. It is also an interest I share with my son, Daniel.

Daniel and I have developed a tradition. Each year I buy us tickets to a game as his Hanukkah present. We seem to be a good-luck charm, as they have won those games. We went in January and saw a double-overtime win over the Denver Nuggets. Obviously, it was an exciting contest. More important than the game, I get to spend quality time with my son. We have entertained the idea of inviting Gary, his dad, my husband, and each time we decide, nah, this can be our special time. Besides, I’m more of a fan than Gary anyway.

Dan and I meet for dinner beforehand. He usually picks the place – he has good taste in restaurants. This time, he suggested a small Italian one near Madison Square Garden. It turned out to be excellent. Dan insisted on treating. It is very cool to have your adult child be in the financial position to treat you to a meal in New York City. I am grateful and proud of his generosity. I also just generally enjoy his company.

Our seats were reasonably good – about halfway up and just off midcourt. The crowd at MSG is well-behaved. There was only one idiot that I noticed. This older guy was upset that there was one Nugget fan in our midst, and he was looking for a fight. He almost got one, too. Fortunately, everyone else was level-headed and prevented fisticuffs.

I told Dan about a time, years ago, when Gary and I went to a game. The Knicks were terrible, during the two decades they stunk. If I recall correctly, they beat the Seattle Supersonics (that’s how long ago it was – the team left Seattle in 2008, and this experience was years before that) in a close one. The thing about it, though, was that there was a man sitting next to Gary who smoked reefer throughout the entire game. He didn’t move, he didn’t cheer, he just sat there inhaling. We probably got a contact high, but it didn’t interfere with our enjoyment of the game. When it ended, the guy still sat there. I think it took a while for it to penetrate that the game was over.

Many things have changed since then. The Knicks have dancers, and at every break in the action, there is something – a brief shooting contest for fans, t-shirts shot into the crowd, etc. God forbid there is a moment without entertainment. And after the fiasco at the Coldplay concert, I was surprised they still had a kiss cam. Yuk. I don’t mind them putting video of fans up on the big screen if they are dancing, waving, smiling, or whatever – but forcing a kiss? Really? Enough of that.

I guess I’m just too old or uptight for that kind of thing. Another piece of evidence that I am old is that when they show the celebrity row, I rarely know who they are! Who are these people? They are generally actors or performers of some sort; I only know that after googling them. And that’s despite the fact that I read some of the gossip pages. I do recognize the steady, old-time celebrity fans like Spike Lee, Michael J. Fox, Tracy Morgan, Matthew Modine, and former Knicks like Patrick Ewing. I wonder how they decide who makes the cut as a celebrity.

Anyway, it is always exciting to go to a game at the Garden. For as long as I am able, and Daniel is willing, we will be there at least once a year. Meanwhile, I hope they go deep in the playoffs. They can start by beating the Atlanta Hawks tomorrow.

Love my boy!

Love it when MSG is rocking!
Travelogue: Norway

March 12, 2026

I’m on the final leg of a cruise through Norway. We’re heading to Amsterdam as the last stop on this trip abroad. The stops in Norway included Bergen, Alta, Tromsø, and Narvik—starting in the southern part of the country, traveling north of the Arctic Circle, then crossing the North Sea to reach Amsterdam.

The trip was advertised as a search for the Northern Lights – something I’ve always wanted to see. They made no guarantee, obviously, that we would see them, but this time of year gave a reasonable chance. Apparently, there is a seasonal pattern to their appearance, and we are nearing the end of a period when they are usually active. We have been lucky to see them several times.

The ship sends a recorded message to each room whenever the bridge detects activity, alerting passengers. The first few times it happened, I wondered why it seemed to occur when we were warm and in bed for the night—either at midnight or later. Did the aurora borealis have something against us getting a full night’s sleep? I requested that they adjust their timing, and, lo and behold, they did! The next few times were at a more reasonable hour.

Interestingly, sometimes the ‘lights’ appeared more as streaks of white gas in the sky, without color, until you looked through a camera lens. Then, magically, the color would appear – mostly green in varying intensity, sometimes with hints of red. They look otherworldly as they dance in the sky. It was exciting to see them, especially the first time. Our cabin had a veranda, so we looked out first to see what we could see. Then we bundled up and went out on one of the upper decks for a better view. One night, it was late, cold, and windy, and I decided I didn’t need to see them again that badly and went back to bed. Overall, I am very grateful to have had the experience.

We are traveling with two other couples, and one night at dinner, I asked what it was about traveling that they liked most. One of our companions said they most enjoyed walking through new and different places, taking photos of interesting and/or beautiful sights. And, also sampling local cuisine. Food ranked high for several of my fellow travelers. They wanted to try things they had not had before, discovering dishes they might then try to make at home.

Trying food is a little complicated for me. When I was in my mid-30s, I developed a reaction to shellfish. My neck turned bright red, and my heart would race. I loved shellfish – especially shrimp. But after the second time it happened, and I thought I might need to go to the emergency room, I stopped eating it. It has been 30 years. Aside from avoiding shellfish, it made me wary of trying new things in general. Perhaps there is no good reason for that, but it has interfered with my willingness to be adventurous when eating. I am sorry that’s the case, but while I enjoy a good meal, food isn’t that high a priority for me. As long as I can get something tasty, I’m good. I imagine that someone for whom it was more important might take a different approach and not limit themselves as I have.

Anyway, I still love traveling. I love seeing new places – it doesn’t have to be as exotic as a Norwegian fjord (at least that’s exotic to me), it can be an ordinary American city, just someplace I have never seen before. I like seeing how other people live. When you can get a glimpse of other lives, it is so interesting, especially when it reflects different priorities. Our tour guide in Tromsø, who had a dry sense of humor, shared with us two fundamental ideas that Norwegians are basically born understanding: (1) Don’t think you’re so special – you are a speck in the world; and (2) you can’t control Mother Nature – take her seriously and respect her. I found that very interesting and quite a contrast to the way Americans generally think. Americans tend to believe in our exceptionalism and individualism, and while we might not think we can conquer our natural environment, I don’t know that we give it its due.

I also appreciate learning the history of different places. It broadens my perspective on the world, which is so important, especially as the world gets smaller and more connected. It helps to take a step back and recognize that there is more than one way to see an issue.

But, probably the thing I enjoy the most about travel is the scenery – seeing beautiful places with my own eyes, not just in photographs or videos. Appreciating how spectacular this world is and how there are many different landscapes. There are similarities, too. One could argue that a beach is a beach, or a mountain is a mountain. But that isn’t really true. The Adirondacks are not the same as the Rockies, the beaches of California are not like the beaches of Florida. Cruising the fjords of Norway is not the same as the inside passage of Alaska.

I am grateful that I have seen the differences. I hope to continue to do that. There is so much beauty on this earth. I just hope we humans don’t screw it up! While I am on vacation, trying to relax, it is hard to block out the realities of conflict around the globe. There are staff on this ship who are not able to get home because they either live in or need to pass through the Middle East, so they are stuck. Same with their replacements. I can pretend, for the moment, that all is well as I gaze out on the flowing sea, but I know better.

I hope for peace for this beautiful world.
Celebrating Family and Identity: A Toast

February 26, 2026

There aren’t that many days in our lives when we feel truly special. At least I haven’t had that many. Even if we try to slow down, appreciate our day-to-day lives, and notice gestures of kindness and affection, we don’t often feel showered with love and respect. Maybe a milestone birthday, your wedding, or a retirement party, but sometimes those occasions are fraught as well. I had that rare experience of feeling enveloped in warmth, surrounded by people who were rooting for me this past weekend.

My brother, Mark, and sister-in-law, Pam, organized a book party for me to celebrate the publication of More Than Matzoh Balls: My Search for Jewish-American Identity. Some family and friends came together to toast my achievement.

Gary, my husband of 42 years and change, offered the following poem as his toast:

Linda and her Nana’s table

They were inseparable

A safe cocoon, so stable

A time so memorable.

Her family hid a shocking secret

No one spoke about.

A letter told them of the loss

Silence could not block out.

When we met, she also learned

How my parents survived.

While many fell, against all odds

They made it through alive.

Two families, two traumas

And two ways to cope.

Scars of anguish, fear and pain

Entwined with love and hope.

All this family legacy

Stirred around her brain

And mingled with modernity

In introspective pain.

How did Linda fit in?

And where did she belong?

Could she find her place and yet

Embrace that family bond?

So she started writing

Blog posts week by week.

Giving us those snippets

Giving us a peek.

A book was such a daunting task

But she had a tale to tell.

She wrote and rewrote endlessly

Dug deep into her well.

Sometimes it seemed impossible

Would it ever get done?

But then she found a publisher

A new phase had begun.

She wrote stories we need to hear

She wrote with care and love

What the human soul can bear

And can rise above.

And now the book is published

To fill the void with light

Filled with purpose, filled with hope

Invested with insight.

So now we toast our Linda

For nurturing the dream.

For showing how a world that vanished

Can sometimes be redeemed.

To Linda

Everyone lifted their glasses and took a sip. It was a special moment. Gary understood all that had gone into this, and he expressed it so beautifully. Sometimes I think he should be the writer in the family! Maybe when he retires, we both can be.

Whatever happens with the book in terms of sales or attention, it is not as important as having the love and support of family and friends. Of course, I won’t be disappointed if it sells, too!
An Open Letter to Steven Spielberg

February 4, 2026

Note: I have no expectation that Steven Spielberg will read this or hear about it, but I want to put it out into the world. Of course, if any reader has a connection to him, please share it!

Dear Mr. Spielberg,

I am writing to thank you for creating the Shoah Visual History Foundation. It has been a gift to my family.

In August of 1995, the Bakst family gathered at the Pines Hotel in the Catskills to support Paula Bakst, née Silverfarb, and David Bakst as they gave their testimony about their experiences during the Holocaust. Each was interviewed separately. Our entire family was filmed as a coda to Paula’s presentation. Though it was painful for Paula and David to relive those memories, they viewed it as a responsibility to future generations and wanted it to serve as proof of the reality of the horror of the Holocaust.

In contrast to some survivors, Paula and David spoke of their experiences during the war before participating in the Shoah Foundation program. I am their daughter-in-law and joined the family in 1983. I heard stories piecemeal in the decade before their testimony. Their four children heard even more over the years, but it wasn’t a narrative. Being interviewed by a trained person helped to create a more complete picture. Importantly, it also painted a portrait of their lives before the upheaval of the invasion, first by the Soviets and then by the Nazis. Watching their testimony, we better understood all that was lost: a way of life, their shtetl culture. We also better appreciated all that was involved to allow for their survival.

Aside from illuminating our family’s history, their testimony, along with the 59,000 others collected for the project, can be studied by scholars. There are countless stories waiting to be heard. It is at least somewhat reassuring, in this time of rising antisemitism and denial of truth, that this library exists.

You may be interested to know that Paula’s and David’s testimonies were key resources for two books: The Shoemaker’s Son, written by their granddaughter, Laura Bakst, and More Than Matzoh Balls: My Search for Jewish-American Identity, written by me.

On a lighter note, I recognize you don’t need help developing material for your movies, but Paula’s and David’s survival and love story would make a wonderful movie!

I hope you take pride in and feel deep satisfaction knowing how impactful your work has been. It goes without saying that your movies have entertained, enlightened, and uplifted millions of people worldwide. The Shoah Foundation initiative deserves to be recognized on equal footing. It serves as an essential archive of the truth of the Holocaust today and for generations to come.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Sincerely,

Linda Brody Bakst

Screen grabs from their visual testimony:
Explore Identity in ‘More Than Matzoh Balls’

January 15, 2026

I have some exciting news to share! My book, More Than Matzoh Balls: My Search for Jewish-American Identity, is being published. It is available to preorder now on Barnes and Noble and will be available soon on Amazon (see link below). You can also request it from your local bookseller. It will be in print on February 15^th.

The book is not simply a compilation of my blog posts. Faithful readers of Stories I Tell Myself may recognize some of the experiences I recount, but there is significant new material. It is not just a series of essays. It is a story, a journey of searching for identity and the challenges one faces in that process. I also weave the extraordinary Holocaust survival story of my in-laws throughout the narrative.

Though it may be particularly resonant for Jewish-Americans, I believe it addresses universal themes of faith, legacy, family relationships, generational trauma, and self-understanding. Many of us, dare I say most of us, have at least dual identities as Italian-Americans, African-Americans, Mexican-Americans; the list can go on and on. Navigating that duality is challenging in our society. Add to that different faith traditions, and you have complex strands of identity.

I hope you will order the book, read it (!), and then offer a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or whatever platform you prefer. Of course, you are welcome to reach out with comments through my blog, as well.

I believe it is a good choice for book clubs. If you are part of one, I hope you will consider recommending it. If you are interested, I am happy to participate as my schedule allows.

More Than Matzoh Balls has been a project with a very long gestation! I have been writing parts of it in my head for decades, before finally committing it to paper, starting about five years ago. I am excited and proud to see it come to fruition. I hope readers will come away with new insights and questions to ask themselves.

Here is a peek at the cover!

If you want to preorder the book: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/more-than-matzoh-balls-linda-brody-bakst/1149134869?ean=9798295417085

Or from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Matzoh-Balls-Linda-Brody-Bakst/dp/B0GFC22XD3/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3UAY43SZUWRED&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.wtTprPo3Zdyd99mfbE6ZRN1JWtN_moezdglrfxj9t0jURAWnoPJFA4hLT1Qev9aZvbf5V3YkJugnsr_Fu-2eXP9z3FzGGsbKEbACEt1O0YEzMQtRvP2Dl0nouC3jCvrhBw2JYtxwsaS6–QNBXA7Kg.DJM2due-G-arBFh_4FewDF9au_Vq8l5lyI8H448j-2M&dib_tag=se&keywords=more+than+matzo+balls&qid=1768490275&s=books&sprefix=%2Cstripbooks%2C127&sr=1-1

Thank you, dear blog readers, for giving me the encouragement I have needed over the years to continue this project. I hope you will take satisfaction in knowing you contributed to my seeing this through – and more than that, I hope you will enjoy the read!
Searching for Light

December 24, 2025

The succession of terrible events has hit me hard. The shooting at Brown University, the attack on Jews celebrating Hanukkah in Sydney, Australia, and the murder of Rob and Michelle Reiner combined to drive the cold, dark winter into my soul. As I lay in bed, I thought about the individuals who carried out these monstrous acts. I imagined peering into their hearts and minds, and what I saw frightened me. How does a person get to a place where they feel that this is their only alternative? How angry, aggrieved, hopeless must the person be? If it is mental illness, how does it get to that point? Is a person who commits any one of these acts, by definition, mentally ill? I don’t know how to process this.

I am always looking for solutions. I want to understand the problem and come up with a plan of action. I don’t know where to start.

I do have one idea, and that is more restrictive gun laws. As I wrote before, I would be more than willing to repeal the Second Amendment, though, despite the accumulation of mass shootings, Americans are not willing to go there. Obviously, restricting guns doesn’t address how the Reiners were murdered, but it might help limit mass shootings and suicides.

It also appears that we need to pay more attention to the intersection of mental illness and addiction. We have not successfully addressed, from either a medical or a policy perspective, how to help those who suffer from both. It appears that they feed each other and create a complex set of problems that are not easily solved despite the best efforts of parents, spouses, friends, or therapists. We need to commit resources to find answers; it is unlikely under the current administration.

None of this is helped by having a president so ill-equipped to empathize, so deficient in humanity. Every decision he and his administration make sends us in the wrong direction. In his offensive social media statement after the death of the Reiners, which struck the wrong note in every respect, he characterized someone who was murdered as having ‘passed away,’ which is just wrong. This may be a small point, especially relative to the larger issue, but using ‘passed away’ to describe what happened to Rob and Michelle Reiner is absurd. They didn’t pass away. People pass away from old age. I can accept the term in the context of illness, but when someone is violently killed and has their life abruptly cut short, they didn’t pass away. My mother passed away. She was in her 90’s, was in hospice care, and was ready. But what would one expect from our President? He is devoid of decency or insight.

I watched the movie The Apprentice. It was about Trump’s ascension in New York City’s real estate scene. It came out in 2024 and starred Sebastian Stan and Jeremy Strong; both were nominated for Academy Awards for their performances. I’m not sure what motivated me to watch it – probably boredom – but given my disdain for Trump, it was an odd choice. I started watching, thinking I would probably turn it off after a few minutes, but I was surprised to find it very compelling. The apprentice in the title refers to Trump himself, not his television show. Trump was an acolyte of Roy Cohn, and the film follows Trump being taken under Cohn’s wing. If you don’t know who Roy Cohn is, all you need to know is that he was the attorney who supported Joe McCarthy’s witch hunt for communists in the 1950s. Cohn subscribed to a philosophy of gathering power at all costs – he didn’t believe in right and wrong. He pursued his own or his clients’ interests relentlessly without regard for ethics or morality.

In the movie, Trump is young, still unformed – he’s stumbling, trying to make deals and impress his difficult father. He is attracted to Cohn’s power. Over time, he adopts Cohn’s approach, perhaps more ruthlessly than Cohn could even imagine. I think the movie offers insight, which may or may not be accurate, into how Trump became the monster he is now. The movie ends long before he becomes president, but you see hints of what the future will bring.

It is challenging to integrate the terrible things that are happening in our world with the love and beauty I see and feel. This holiday season, I am trying not to let the dark overwhelm the light. It felt especially important to light our menorah in the window each night of Hanukkah. I want to be a light. I can’t ignore the dark – I can’t completely turn off the news or stay off social media. To me, that feels irresponsible, but I understand that some may need to do that for their mental health.

Despite the challenges we face, I hope folks can feel the love of family and friends, see the beauty in a sunset, enjoy a good meal, smile when they see a child giggle, and hold hope for the new year—wishing everyone a brighter, more joyful 2026.

Celebrating the light

or appreciating the beauty of snow on trees.
The Power of History: Insights from Normandy

November 12, 2025

Note: I wrote a blog post a while ago that asked the question ‘History,’ History In the following post, I take a different perspective.

What is history? When you visit a new city or country and take a tour, the guide often tells you about the history of the place. I love that. Perhaps my enthusiasm is based on being the daughter of a father who was a high school history teacher and a mother who was a reading teacher. So, I have been a student of history for basically my entire life. But that doesn’t answer the question of what it is. What does a tour guide include in their presentation?

I am thinking about this because we just returned from a trip that took us to some very interesting places with long, long histories. It is hard not to conclude that when we learn about history, we are often told about wars, and if not outright wars, then power struggles. Is history really a narrative of power? It appears to be so. And, when you dig into it a bit, you sometimes find that those power struggles and wars are about personal things – insults or slights.

This is a stretch, but if Hitler had been accepted to art school, could that have changed the course of history? Would his ego have been assuaged enough? Would he not have needed to go on a quest to prove himself with such horrific and destructive consequences?

The trip we took was D-Day themed, so perhaps it was inevitable that the places we saw were chosen based on the role played in that momentous event, or in World War II in general. Perhaps my perception that history is often the recounting of conflicts or wars is colored by the type of tour we chose.

We took a Viking river cruise that was organized around D-Day. We visited London, Paris, and Normandy. Each place we visited was the site of intense World War II action. Gary and I share a fascination with the topic. Our families were impacted, if not shaped, by those events. Gary has watched countless documentaries about the military battles. I have read innumerable historical novels set in that era. With that said, I learned so much on the trip, and Gary would say the same.

First, I did not understand the scope of the D-Day invasion. It covered 72 miles of France’s coastline. I thought of it as a single beach, perhaps because of the way it was portrayed in movies. In fact, even that beach, Omaha Beach alone, was six miles long. Aside from breadth of the operation, it also involved so much in the way of logistics and coordination among the allies. They built a temporary port to facilitate bringing in more troops and supplies. It was quite an undertaking.

Asnelles – part of Gold Beach

Gold Beach with remnant of temporary harbor

Part of Omaha Beach

It was also clear that the difference between success and failure was very narrow. The Allies were on the brink of failure. It is scary to think about the consequences of that possibility. One can’t help but be moved by the extraordinary sacrifice made by the young soldiers who carried out that mission. Standing in the cemetery, which overlooks the English Channel, looking upon row after row of crosses and Stars of David, is overwhelming.

A small portion of the cemetery

The land in Normandy still bears the scars of the battle, too. There are craters in grassy areas, and they have left the remnants of the German battlements. The coastline is also dotted with monuments. The statues, sculptures, and museums express the gratitude of France and Europe for their liberation and tell the story of how that was achieved.

German bunker

Another German Bunker

sculpture on Omaha Beach

Monument at Utah Beach

sculpture near Pointe du Hoc

Perhaps the most powerful aspect of visiting this sacred space is its breathtaking beauty.

I stood on the cliffs, it was so peaceful, the only sounds were birds and the waves. The stark contrast to what it must’ve been like on June 6, 1944, with the pounding of artillery and bombs falling, is striking. When I looked at the cliffs that the soldiers had to scale, I couldn’t help but be amazed by their strength and bravery.

The cliffs at La Pointe du Hoc

The towns, which withstood the onslaught, are charming. Some have modern elements that reflect the rebuilding effort, but many of the structures, which date back centuries, are still standing. I could have spent a great deal more time there. We visited for two full days, and it didn’t feel like enough.

These photos are from the old part of Rouen, considered the capital of Normandy.

I can’t recommend a visit strongly enough. We need to be reminded of all that went into fighting fascism and what people were willing to sacrifice for freedom. It would be tragic if we allowed our country to continue to slide into authoritarianism. I’m not sure Gary and I needed reminding, but I came away with a renewed sense of responsibility for doing what I can to prevent that from happening.

If one of the reasons we study history is to learn from it and avoid making the same mistakes, I urge everyone to revisit what World War II and the rise and fall of fascism have to teach us. War, even a just one, is brutal and exacts a steep price.

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