Stories I Tell Myself

“You Don’t Have to be Jewish to Love….”

December 11, 2023

There was a ubiquitous advertising campaign when I was growing up – “You don’t have to be Jewish to love Levy’s Rye.” I can see the poster in my mind’s eye plastered on buses and the walls of subway stations. A picture of a cute Chinese boy with a sandwich.

This ad came to mind as I was thinking about one aspect of our trip to the Eastern European capitals. We took tours of the Jewish Quarters of Budapest (Hungary) and Bucharest (Romania). The tour guides were not Jewish, but they showed a deep appreciation and knowledge of Judaism and the culture associated with it. As tour guides, one would expect a certain familiarity with the topic, but not necessarily warmth or affection. In the current environment, given the heightened tensions and increasing boldness of antisemites, I had not expected their sincerity or openness. But, the truth is, as with all groups, you shouldn’t have to be a member to appreciate what that group brings to the table (literally or figuratively).

I was moved by the attitudes of our guides. They came to their interest through their own personal journeys. In one case because of a romantic relationship that led her to live in Israel for 7 years, and when that relationship ended, she maintained her connection, though she had not converted. In the other case academic study of history led to curiosity and more research into Judaism. As part of that process, she became acquainted with the production manager of the Yiddish Theater in Bucharest and arranged for us to meet him – more about that in a bit.

In Budapest the area we explored is still called the ‘Jewish Quarter’ and there are some Jewish residents, but not many. The name is a relic of a time long ago. We walked the narrow streets, learning that it is an area that is now popular among young people because of the restaurants, bars and shops. It is also home to the largest synagogue in Europe – the Dohany Street Synagogue.

Before we toured the synagogue, we stopped at the shoe memorial that lines the Danube River, a display that commemorates the murder of Budapest’s Jews by shooting them into the river which occurred between December of 1944 and early January of 1945. Our guide didn’t sugarcoat things – she acknowledged that Hungary fought on the side of the Nazis and that their fascist party, the Black Arrow, orchestrated the round up and murder of the remaining Jews. I wasn’t expecting that unvarnished acknowledgement but was grateful for it. The memorial was created in 2005, marking the 60^th anniversary of those horrific events. The shoes are a poignant and painful symbol of the human beings lost. Men, women and children swept into the current leaving only their shoes as tangible evidence of their existence. Hungary today has a Jewish population of about 47,500 in total, with many living in and around Budapest. Before World War II Budapest alone had a Jewish population of 200,000, with an estimated 825,000 in the country as a whole.

Our next stop was the synagogue. Since we were traveling after the attack by Hamas on October 7, security was heightened. Entries were timed and by appointment only. We went through metal detectors and our bags were checked. The synagogue is so impressive – and reminded me, in its grandeur, of many churches we had visited throughout Europe. I believe the sanctuary could hold 3000.

Neither my family nor Gary’s had roots in Hungary, so we were not tracing our family tree. Oddly enough, one of the names on the headstones we saw in the cemetery next to the shul for Jews killed in the Budapest ghetto during the war years was Sandor Bruder – Bruder was my paternal grandfather’s original last name, he changed it to Brody when he arrived in America. It was chilling to see the name on a grave, but I have no knowledge of an actual connection.

Another note of significance is that the Dohany Street Synagogue was where Theodore Herzl, widely considered the father of modern Zionism, was born and raised. Mount Herzl, the home of Israel’s national cemetery in Jerusalem, is named after him.

Memorial to the victims of the Holocaust in the courtyard of the Dohany Street Synagogue

The tour of the Jewish Quarter was arranged through our cruise company, Viking. There were about 15 of us and I don’t think most of the others, aside from my brother-in-law and his wife were Jewish. I found it interesting that they chose this tour – there were other options. Again, it was heartening to think that folks who didn’t share our heritage were interested enough to make this choice.

Our tour of the Jewish Quarter in Bucharest, Romania was arranged privately so it was just the four of us. The guide, Alina, asked us if we would want to meet the production manager of the Yiddish Theater if he was available. We were shocked to learn that there was a Yiddish theater, neither the city nor the country has a Yiddish speaking population that would seem to support it. We had no idea what to expect but were happy to see the theater and hear what the manager had to say. After walking through the area and viewing the outside of three synagogues – they were each locked because of security concerns in view of the war in Gaza (two were museums, one continued to host religious observances) – and learning about the history and current status of the Jewish community in Bucharest, we headed to the theater.

The production manager, George-Marcel, limped into the lobby to greet us, he was having some knee problems, but that didn’t get in the way of his showing us his pride and joy – the theater. He shared his own history, in English, telling us that decades ago he was at a low point in his life, working a job that brought him no satisfaction, when he heard about a position at the theater as a cleaner. He explained that as soon as he walked into the building, he felt he was at home. The people were accepting. The spirit of the place touched him. Though he was not Jewish, he identified with the stories that were being told. “Their story is our story,” he said, “their history is our history.” He didn’t see the history of the Jewish people as separate from that of the Romanian people. This resonated with me – the world would be a better place if we all believed that. Rather than confining our focus to our own traditions or limiting our understanding to our own tribe, if we embraced learning about each other and thus discovering our common humanity, there would be a much greater chance of peace in this world.

Images of the Yiddish Theater

Over the many years George-Marcel worked there, he took on more and more responsibility, eventually becoming the production manager. In the process he learned more Yiddish and Hebrew than I’ll ever know. He also built relationships with the artists who came through, as well as the small regular staff. The theater receives some government funding, not enough to keep it solvent but something to build on. They stay afloat with additional donations. It was interesting to us that the government, I don’t recall if it was the city or national government, values their work enough to continue funding it. The theater does put on other productions and collaborates on different projects but continues to offer Yiddish plays and musicals. Like with opera, a translation is projected above the stage so the audience can follow along.

After the tour, we went to George-Marcel’s small office, filled with knick-knacks, where a large Israeli flag hung against the wall next to his desk. One of the things common to the countries we visited, particularly Hungary, Serbia and Romania, was the popularity of home brewed brandy – which was called different names in each place. George-Marcel took an unmarked clear bottle from his bottom desk drawer, distributed paper cups and poured a bit in each and we toasted. ‘L’Chaim!’ His homemade brew was made from apples, but my palette didn’t detect anything other than alcohol. The warmth I felt as the liquid made its way down my throat matched the warmth in the room. George-Marcel asked us to sign his guest book which we did, expressing our thanks for his welcoming us and for sharing his knowledge. We wished each other well.

In the lobby of the theater – our tour guide, Alina, in front, George-Marcel between us

It was the last day of our trip, and it was a wonderful note to end on. Though we were thousands of miles from home in a country so different from our own, we made a connection that we will remember for a long time to come.

In honor of the fifth night of Hanukkah, here is a display of menorahs in the museum of the Dohany Street Synagogue.

Note: If you are in Bucharest, Alina offers other tours of the city as well – we would heartily recommend her – alina@wheninbucharest,.com
River Cruise – Not Much River

November 27, 2023

Note: I have decided to return to writing about the lighter side of life though I continue to stress about the toll of the war in Gaza, the fate of the hostages and the rise of antisemitism. Gary and I were fortunate to take an amazing trip in October and, me being me, I have lots of observations and photographs to share. Here is the first of what will likely be a couple of essays.

“How was your trip?” A straightforward question to someone who has returned from vacation. Usually the answer is straightforward, too. “Great!” or maybe “Exhausting!” Gary and I took a river cruise in October and when people ask how it was, I find it difficult to come up a pithy response. Our trip was disappointing, awesome, educational, fascinating, painful, tiring, memorable….many adjectives apply. There isn’t one overall response.

Our river cruise was a tour of Eastern European capitals on the Danube with Viking. It was slated to start in Vienna and proceed to Bratislava (capital of Slovakia) and then Budapest, with further stops in Hungary, Bulgaria and ending in Constanta, Romania. We received an email a couple of days before we left advising us that it was possible that the beginning of the trip would not be on the boat because water levels on the river were too low. We hoped that would resolve and then didn’t think much more about it since it was totally out of our control.

When we arrived in Vienna we were told by the Viking representative that met us that indeed we could not go to the boat because the situation had not improved. They were not sure when or where we would be able to board the ship. We were taken by bus from the airport to a Hilton Hotel well-located in the middle of Vienna. Though the transfer to the hotel went smoothly, we were disappointed to find that things were quite disorganized upon our arrival. It wasn’t clear what was happening with our luggage. Rooms were not yet available, it was mid-morning. They did not communicate the status of meals for the day and no activities were scheduled. It was an inauspicious beginning.

Gary and I were traveling with his brother, Steven, and his wife, Shari. Though we were quite tired, it had been an overnight flight, we set out to explore the area on foot. It was very breezy and chilly, but we enjoyed our walk and stopped at a café. We made the best of the situation. We wandered around for a couple of hours – now it was around 1:00 and we returned to the hotel. Steve and Shari’s room was ready, ours was not. We were informed that a buffet lunch was available in the restaurant of the hotel.

We hoped that after lunch our room would be available. We went to the buffet only to find that none of the dishes were labeled – various foods were displayed without any identification. Was it fish or chicken? Pork or beef? What kind of vegetables were under that cream sauce? Those of us with allergies or food preferences were concerned and confused. The folks refilling the chafing dishes were unable to answer our questions. Oy. After much pestering of the staff, we were able to gather some information. We made it through lunch without anyone getting a rash or anaphylaxis (at least as far as I know). Dinner wasn’t much better, somewhat better labeling but not great choices. Certainly not meeting the standards expected on a Viking cruise.

I think you are getting the picture. Things were not starting out great. Especially when you consider how expensive these trips are. Despite that, though, I loved walking through Vienna, being in a new place, taking in the architecture, people-watching, seeing a city I had only read about.

As we were finishing lunch, Gary went to the registration desk to inquire about our room – it was now around 2:30. At first they said they didn’t have one available. Gary appealed to their sympathies. “We have been traveling since 6:00 yesterday evening, we didn’t sleep on the flight, we haven’t showered, can’t you do something?” Fortunately, they could. Why they couldn’t in the first place, is a mystery. But at least we had a room! We got our luggage – it was supposed to be delivered but we saw it sitting in the lobby so we just took it – and went up to our room and collapsed.

I won’t go through the whole trip giving a minute-by-minute report, but I wanted to give a sense of our frustration with how it started. Viking still didn’t have a clear itinerary for those first days or a timetable for getting on the boat. We were okay with taking it as it comes – as long as we were seeing interesting sights and as long as Viking was fulfilling its promises, even if it wasn’t on the river.

Unfortunately, I can’t say they were able to do that. The food provided at the hotel and the one restaurant they took us to in Vienna were subpar, at best. The communication was not what it should have been. On the upside, the hotel was comfortable, and the tour of the city was excellent. I loved what we saw in Vienna. Here are some photos of points of interest.

statue of the mayor of Vienna from decades ago – a known Nazi

On our walk when we first arrived in Vienna

Holocaust memorial

A canal that is an offshoot of the Danube

On the afternoon that we had free, Gary and I chose to go the Belvedere Museum because I am a fan of the artist Gustav Klimt. I had read that his most famous paintings were housed in that museum. I was not disappointed. The building itself was magnificent and the grounds were beautiful, as well.

Since we were not on the boat, we were given a choice: spend more time in Vienna or take an hour bus ride to Bratislava where we would take a tour. Gary and I chose to go Bratislava. During the bus ride, the tour guide provided a lot of information about both cities – Vienna and Bratislava and the two countries, Austria and Slovakia. Back in the day, Austria was not part of the Soviet bloc, but Slovakia was. The lasting impact of that was evident in their respective landscapes and the ambiance of those capital cities. As we would continue to learn throughout the trip, Russian influence was stronger and stronger as we went east. In Bratislava the tour guide told us jokes that were at the expense of the old Soviet Union. For example: a man went to the Skoda (small, Czech made car) dealership to buy a car. He was told it would be a ten year wait. The man asked if it would come in the morning or the afternoon. The salesman responded, “Why does it matter, it’s in ten years?” “Because I have the plumber scheduled to come then.” Obviously, a dig at the inefficiency of the Soviet system. The guide seemed grateful both to be able to tell the joke and that things had changed.

Bratislava’s old town was charming. It had been a walled city. Now it has lots of shops and restaurants within the remnants of the wall. Our tour guide explained that because the cost of labor is low, as are taxes, tech corporations have established offices in Bratislava. Thirty years after communism fell, there is a vibrance to the city and it is growing.

Opera House in Bratislava

Castle that overlooks the Danube

Gary with iconic bridge over the Danube that connects two parts of Bratislava

one of the streets in the old town of Bratislava

Despite the fact the cruise was not going as planned, and in fact we weren’t cruising at all, the main purpose of travel was being accomplished. We were learning about places we knew little about and expanding our horizons to include more of the world.

[more to come!]
Another Perspective

November 20, 2023

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 15^th 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 7^th. 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 7^th, 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
Fighting Despair

November 13, 2023

It has been a long time since I’ve written a blog post. I wrote my last one over a month ago. It has been a struggle to motivate myself. The things I have been thinking about are not easily translated to the page. I am fighting despair.

I have written quite a lot on this blog about my identity as a Jew. In fact, my last essay was about Yom Kippur and what it meant to me. Little did I know that just days after I posted that piece a truly horrific outbreak of violence would be perpetrated on the people of Israel.

Like most sentient human beings, I was shocked by the barbarism displayed by Hamas. It was almost too much for the brain to take in. How could people inflict such cruelty on fellow human beings? The stories that emerged – of young people peacefully attending a music festival only to be slaughtered, of Jewish individuals, some of whom dedicated themselves to Palestinian rights, murdered or kidnapped, not to mention the maiming of babies – were too terrible to contemplate.

Many have written that Israel is a small country, and everyone knows someone touched by the violence. Many American Jews are connected with family and friends there. I have a more distant connection. I can’t say the attack hit me as it would if it was my own country. I read many posts from those who were crying and devastated. I didn’t have that immediate reaction, maybe I was numb.

As time has gone by, though, I find my pain deepening. The reaction of the world, the exponential rise in antisemitism, the seeming lack of understanding of the existential threat to Israel, the unwillingness to assign responsibility for this disaster to Hamas, are all beyond my comprehension. I am profoundly disappointed in humanity.

I am not blindly loyal to Israel. I, like many other American Jews and Israelis themselves, have communicated disapproval of the policies pursued by Netanyahu and his administration. Netanyahu, in my view, is as bad as Trump – but smarter. I believe he has done real damage to Israel. Though the lion’s share of the blame for the attack is on Hamas’ leadership, Netanyahu and the positions Israel’s government has taken, has contributed to the rage that Palestinian’s felt and feel. It doesn’t justify the violence, but it likely fueled it.

There is no doubt that the Palestinian people have been oppressed. Where opinions sharply differ is in identifying the oppressor. Most of those who are taking up the Palestinian cause in protests in this country and abroad assign that role to Israel (other than those who subscribe to a broader Jewish conspiracy) and to some degree the United States. I don’t buy that. There are so many examples of failures of Palestinian leadership – going back decades. Time and again compromises have been rejected. And, terrorism has been their weapon of choice for more than fifty years.

While I am not a scholar of the Middle East, I have done some reading. I have paid attention. I am not going to list the litany of times that opportunities were squandered. Similarly, I am not going to detail the errors that the I believe the Israeli government has made. Suffice it to say, I believe both parties bear responsibility for the failure to achieve peace, but in my estimation Palestinian leadership shoulders more blame for the poverty of its people. Their corruption and their failure to use resources they do have to better the lives of their people, instead choosing to build tunnels and bombs and stockpile munitions, are evidence of their duplicity. And no matter how one parcels out fault, the violence of that attack cannot be excused.

Accusing Israel of genocide in this war is reprehensible and a lie. People throw that term around far too easily. Israel is not engaged in a campaign to exterminate a people. They are trying to destroy Hamas. We know from the tragic wars that have been fought over centuries that civilians die, collateral damage is unavoidable especially in urban combat and guerilla warfare. The United States may well have committed war crimes in Vietnam and Iraq, but we were not carrying out genocide. We may learn that Israel has committed war crimes – I don’t know if they have – but they are not engaged in genocide. Using that term is inflammatory, divisive, and singularly unhelpful in figuring out how we go forward.

Calling for a unilateral ceasefire is also disingenuous. Will Hamas cease fire? Why aren’t those voices loudly calling for a Russian ceasefire? Meanwhile Israel’s defense forces have been conducting humanitarian pauses and creating corridors to allow Gazans to move south. Other countries do far less when engaged in war. Israel is held to a different standard.

We have arrived at a place in our world where we don’t believe newspapers or television reporting. We don’t agree on a common set of facts. Palestinian supporters don’t believe babies were maimed. Maybe they don’t believe there are miles of tunnels under Gaza City – and if they do believe it, they probably don’t attribute them to nefarious purposes. Perhaps they don’t believe that schools and hospitals are being used as shields for military operations. I’m sure there is a narrative that they tell themselves that explains it all away. And, they think I am telling myself a story about terrorists and a constant barrage of rocket fire into Israel to justify my opinions. How do we bridge that divide? It is impossible to have a conversation when you believe fundamentally different things about events unfolding in the world.

I believe there is a truth. I read the Hamas charter – the one written in 1988 (https://avalon.law.yale.edu/20th_century/hamas.asp) and the newer, revised one written in 2017 (https://irp.fas.org/world/para/docs/hamas-2017.pdf). They are frightening documents. They don’t advocate for democracy or freedom for the Palestinian people (despite defining itself as a liberation movement). It states as its goal the end of Israel and the establishment of an Islamic caliphate. The words are in black and white – no one has to interpret them for you. You need not rely on someone else’s understanding. The first version actually goes so far as to advocate for the murdering of Jews (not just Israelis) by all true Muslims.

After I read those documents – and I read them because I needed to understand if Hamas was antisemitic and if its stated goal was the destruction of Israel – I didn’t want to rely on word of mouth or reporting – I became more outraged by the rhetoric we are hearing. Hamas cannot be given a pass. That charter does not provide an answer to the suffering of the Palestinian people, at least not an answer that most citizens of the world would accept. It has reinforced my belief that Golda Meir was right when she reportedly said, and I am paraphrasing, there will be peace when they love their children more than they hate us. In her statement the ‘they’ she referred to were Arabs, not Palestinians – that term was not in use then – she was credited with saying this in 1957!

Because there is so much misinformation, disinformation, and propaganda, it can be hard to identify right from wrong. But, it can be done. It must be done. I approach all reports with a critical eye, things are rarely black and white. While there are shades of gray, and the fog of war makes it yet harder, there are facts, there is morality, there are choices to be made. There are sides to be taken. I stand with Israel. I will criticize it when I think it is wrong, just as I will the United States, but Israel is on the right side of this. I hope they prosecute the war as carefully as possible, limiting civilian casualties, but Hamas cannot be permitted to succeed. Both the Palestinian and Israeli people deserve better than current conditions and I pray that leaders from both sides will emerge who will take a more humane, reasonable path.
“Why Am I Here?”

October 2, 2023

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 15^th. 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
A Visit to Saratoga

September 22, 2023

Have you ever taken a visual field test? It is part of the evaluation I get when I visit the opthamologist. I take them pretty frequently because I am suspicious for glaucoma and have had other vision issues. The exam involves looking through a lens at a white surface, focusing on an orange light in the center, and pressing a button each time you see a flashing white light anywhere in your field of vision – hence the name of the test. It isn’t painful. It isn’t invasive. But it deeply annoying, especially for me who as a routine matter has floaters and flashes of light. It isn’t easy to distinguish the little white dots from what I usually see and leaves me wondering whether to hit the button.

My vision, on an ordinary day, is like looking through a dirty windshield where there are certain spots that have schmutz (a technical term). Unlike a windshield, though, the spots move. This has been the case most of my adult life and I am used to it. I do worry that it will get worse. I am grateful that I can see, and I don’t take it for granted. Though I have had this issue, among other eye problems, for many years, I have not been diagnosed with anything that suggests that I have progressive eye disease. I do see two different opthamologists at least yearly to keep tabs on it.

I took one of those tests the other day and in the middle of it, everything went black. Fortunately it wasn’t my eyes. The power went out. Emergency lights came on briefly and then everything else buzzed back to life. A technician scurried into the room and told me I would have to start the visual field test again. Oh well. Not a big deal though I didn’t relish the idea of spending yet more time trying to figure out if what I was seeing was real or my usual visual stuff.

I finished and eventually was taken to the doctor’s office for the actual eye exam. But it turned out that their Wi-Fi was down as a result of that brief outage earlier. I was told I could wait and see if it came back up or I could reschedule my appointment. Apparently, the eye doctor didn’t feel he could see patients without access to the computer system. Really? He couldn’t look at my eyes and take notes? I can’t say I understood, but I didn’t argue. Our reliance on technology can be the topic of another essay.

I decided to reschedule. I was frustrated, but thought ‘how could I make the best of the situation?’

My eye doctor is located in Saratoga County, about a half hour drive from home. I knew the Saratoga Battlefield was nearby. I have lived in this area for over 35 years and never went. It was a crisp, late summer morning. I decided it was time to venture forth. I plugged Saratoga National Historical Park into my GPS and took a lovely 15 minute ride to the grounds. Entry is free!

It turned out to be an auspicious day to go. The first battle of Saratoga, also known as the Battle of Freeman’s Farm, was fought on September 19, 1777. I showed up on the anniversary of that fight – the 246^th anniversary to be exact. They were having an educational program to commemorate the date.

I learned a few things. I probably learned some of this before but had no memory of it. I didn’t recall that there were in fact two battles – the first the British won. The second battle was the decisive victory for the Americans that turned the tide of the war. That one occurred a couple of weeks later, October 7, 1777. Benedict Arnold was one of the heroes of the battle, before he switched sides. It is said that if he died there, and he was injured, he would be remembered as a hero of the Revolution.

There is something about battlefields, not that I have visited that many, that is eerie. I had a similar feeling at Gettysburg – of standing on hallowed ground. The sense that something of import had happened there. A stiff wind was blowing across the fields and there weren’t very many people around so there was a desolation to it. I can’t explain it, but I felt the weight of history, of the souls that fought there. Maybe it was just my imagination, but it moved me. I’m glad the site has been preserved.

I also learned that the British weren’t only at war with America. They were in conflict all over the globe – with France, Spain and the Netherlands, to name a few. I also learned that the Revolutionary War led to a split in the Iroquois Nation, with most of the tribes siding with the British. The Oneida fought on the side of the Americans. It was also interesting to note that the army of the colonies was integrated. Enslaved people (forced to fight instead of their ‘owners’), freemen (Black), Native Americans and colonists fought side by side. It was later in America’s development that the army became segregated.

Not all Americans supported the cause which led to conflict among the families that lived in the area. One farm couple, the Neilsons, left their home to get out of harm’s way and their farm was commandeered by Benedict Arnold. The main house has been restored and I walked in to take a look. The general had a canopy bed, but there were four other cots sharing the modest space. It was interesting to hear that the couple came back after hostilities ended and raised 8 children there. Here is a picture of the home.

Hard to imagine a family of ten living there! These days we Americans have very different expectations about space requirements.

The landscape is beautiful. The area is a great place to hike or bike. The Hudson River runs along the east edge of the park.

The British, who were advancing from Canada, were trying to get to Albany to get food and supplies. The battles in Saratoga were crucial in preventing them from regaining strength.

Though I did not get to fulfill the purpose of my appointment in Saratoga, my time was well spent. I look forward to visiting again.
Walking or Hiking?

September 4, 2023
I don’t consider myself a hiker – more of a ‘walker-in-the-woods.’ I frequently take walks on trails in my area (the Capital Region of New York State). Those trails can involve some ups and downs, but not climbing. Because I am always looking for new places to walk, I follow a group on Facebook ‘Hiking the Hudson Valley.’ Folks frequently post about Minnewaska State Park which is not exactly in the Capital Region, it is in the Catskills, but looked beautiful and is less than a 90 minute drive. It was on my list of places to check out. This holiday weekend provided the perfect opportunity. My main conclusion: my unwillingness to call myself a hiker is well founded.

That isn’t entirely fair. Gary and I did hike, and I did complete the loop, but it was a close call. Here are my lessons learned:
1. Hydrate even before starting out. I only had coffee and it was a hot day.
2. Bring more water. I had four 8 ounce bottles of water – in other words 32 ounces for the two of us. Gary was my hero, knowing I was having difficulty he let me drink about 30 of those ounces! I don’t know how he was able to manage given the heat, but fortunately his body functions very differently from mine and he is far more fit. I sweat beyond all reason under most circumstances, never mind when it is hot and we are exercising. My shirt was so wet before we even began our ascent that it looked like I had jumped into Lake Minnewaska. I wish I had. Which brings me to number 3…
3. Bring a change of shirts – maybe that only applies to a Brody, which I am by birth. We sweat copiously. Dad always brought a fresh shirt when he played tennis. It wasn’t that comfortable driving back home in a still soaking wet shirt.
4. Research the trail so you understand what you are getting into. We read the description on the sign, but it didn’t ‘grade’ it as easy, moderate or difficult. Of course those ratings, even when I have read them beforehand, don’t necessarily correspond to your personal experience. I have found some trails easier than the rating or far more challenging.
5. If you are prone to allergies, take your medication before you hike! Fluid was pouring from every orifice (not that one, I am happy to say). My nose was running like a faucet. My eyes were tearing – between sunscreen and sweat I could barely keep my eyes open. Halfway through the hike I realized I had tissues, nasal spray and Claritin in my knapsack! Don’t know why I forgot about that, but at least I found it. The second half of the hike improved, but I had already used my shirt multiple times – yuck. I saved Gary’s dry shirt for wiping my eyes – once again he was my hero!
6. If in doubt, bring your hiking sticks. This I got right. I would have been in trouble on the trail without them.
7. Get in better condition! I am quite capable of walking long distances on gentle or flat terrain – when walking in New York City doing five miles is not that challenging. Hiking, even a modest mountain, is another thing all together. It tests balance and leg strength in ways that strolling along a path in Central Park simply doesn’t.
Sounds like we had a great time, doesn’t it? Actually, we did. Despite the pain, it was beautiful. The scenery was gorgeous.

Once we reached the top of Millbrook Mountain, I was able to recover. The way Minnewaska’s trails are organized there are sometimes multiple routes to the same place – a footpath and a carriage road. The carriage road is a gravel, wide trail that doesn’t involve climbing (it isn’t flat, but you aren’t negotiating rocks to go up). In this case the footpath was about half the distance (the sign said 1.2 miles, it felt like 10!) and was the route we took up and involved a good deal of climbing (not scrambling, but lots of leg work) and crossing a stream. We took the carriage road back. It was 2.5 miles and much easier. We covered the 2.5 miles much more quickly – less time than it took us to go the 1.2. At times we felt like we were going uphill both ways, but the carriage path was very manageable. We only stopped once for a break.

All in all, we walked about 5.5 miles. I am proud of myself for completing it. I am also grateful to Gary for being such an encouraging and supportive partner. He also led the way on the footpath so I didn’t have to concern myself with finding the trail markers. I think he was worried about me for a bit there and I felt bad about that, but I rallied. I will be better prepared next time. I do think there will be a next time.
Lions, Tigers and…Octopi?

August 28, 2023

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
Fruit of the Vine

August 2, 2023

Alcohol was not part of my consciousness for most of my growing up years. My Dad did not crack open a beer when he watched the Giants play football on Sunday afternoon. Wine was not part of dinner, unless it was a very unusual occasion, like the Passover Seder. I don’t recall a time when either of my parents said, in the midst of a stressful time, “I need a drink!” I didn’t see alcohol in either of my grandparents’ homes. If I did, it was a dusty bottle in a cabinet. It had almost no role in our culture. Our celebrations involved food – that was the reward, that was the comfort. Ice cream or cookies were much more of a celebratory thing than making a toast – even for the adults.

It changed after Mom and Dad took a trip to California with their friends to celebrate their 20^th wedding anniversary. When they came back, I distinctly recall that wine or a cocktail might be enjoyed as part of a meal, or as part of socializing with friends. That trip was in the summer of 1974, and I was almost 15. The combination of the influence of their friends, who knew a bit more about wine and liquor, being on vacation and not having their children around, made them open to enjoying the fruits of the vine.

Given how things had been, I noticed this change. In fact, by the time I went to college, two years later, I was a bit concerned that my mother was enjoying wine a little too much. I saw that she had taken to having a glass of wine more regularly – not even on a special occasion, it could just be an ordinary dinner! Or as part of a late afternoon snack with cheese and crackers! I was still not ‘of age’ so I had not partaken, and I wasn’t particularly interested in this new ritual. I wondered whether Mom was headed for trouble.

Then I went to college. My attitude changed somewhat. I appreciated the fact that alcohol could be a good social lubricant, though in my experience, the more I drank the more withdrawn I became. Getting buzzed was good, going further than that didn’t make me feel better and could get me sick. I seemed to have a natural defense to over doing it. I also never developed a taste for beer, which was the cheapest option and the beverage most often offered at college parties. I could enjoy wines, particularly Liebfraumilch (a semi-sweet white wine – Zellerschwarzkatz was especially popular in my day) or sangria; or a cocktail (I loved white Russians – still do). Fortunately for me, though, I did not have that predisposition that some are cursed with to not be able to stop drinking once they start. A couple of glasses and I was done.

When I returned home, I wavered in my judgment of my mother. It made me a little uncomfortable that she seemed to enjoy a glass of red wine so much, or a scotch on the rocks. But, in retrospect, it was also clear that she was capable of limiting her intake on each occasion – I can’t say I ever saw her drunk. My Dad would frequently have something along with her, but he never seemed to be as taken with it. And, I never saw him drunk, or even tipsy, either.

While I was growing up, I thought this attitude toward alcohol was the norm. I had an inkling, through my friendship with Susan, that some families were more liberal in their usage. Her dad offered her a sip of his beer when I was visiting (we were probably ten years old at the time). They had wine with dinner on the weekend. They were Italian. I thought that explained it. Maybe it did, but as I have gotten older, and as my family has evolved, I realize that my experience is not the norm. I think for American Jews of a certain age (I am 63), alcohol was not routinely consumed in their childhood home (perhaps it was part of ritual or part of Shabbat dinner, but not much beyond that). As with anything, I am sure there are exceptions. But, I do believe the incidence of alcoholism was lower among American Jews. I’m not sure that is still the case.

I have had occasion to think about this any number of times over the years. I just finished reading Matthew Perry’s memoir, Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing, which details his harrowing struggle with alcoholism and drug addiction. I feel quite fortunate to not be afflicted with the disease. I struggle with my relationship with food, but I still wouldn’t characterize it as an addiction for me.

The question, though, that I still ponder is: what is a healthy approach to alcohol, and since marijuana is now legal, weed? There is a gray area, no? There is recreational use, plain and simple; using it occasionally or even regularly but not where it interferes with anything. Then, there might be a place where one uses too much, but it still isn’t abuse. Or, by definition, is over-use abuse? I imagine there is space between drinking too much and being an alcoholic. Is it a question of reliance, or craving? Is it a matter of how much it changes your behavior? I know people who become belligerent; I also know people who love everyone once they have had more than a few. What does ‘healthy’ use look like? According to dietary guidelines put out by the U.S. government: “adults of legal drinking age can choose not to drink or to drink in moderation by limiting intake to 2 drinks or less in a day for men and 1 drink or less in a day for women, when alcohol is consumed. Drinking less is better for health than drinking more.” One drink is defined by the Mayo Clinic as 12 ounces of beer or five ounces of wine. I’m not sure what that means if you don’t drink daily. Can you drink a week’s worth on a Saturday night?

I don’t know what the answer is. I know for me, I don’t like the idea of ceding control of my behavior to any substance. I like being in command of my faculties – like I said before, a little tipsy, or buzzed is enjoyable – more than that is uncomfortable. I have come to peace with not being the life of the party (that is a joke: I have never been the life of the party, nor wanted to be), though sometimes I wonder if I am just no fun at all! On balance, I’ll take it – it is better this way.

With my one libation at a family celebration

that is way more beer than Gary usually consumes!
Reflections on Our 40th

July 24, 2023

Sunday, July 30^th, 2023 will mark Gary and my 40^th wedding anniversary. So many thoughts and emotions run through my mind. We have been together for more than four decades! Wow! I have written an open letter that I am sharing here. This letter is open in more than one sense: it is public for you to read (obviously), and it is honest.

Dearest Gary,

I am oh so grateful. I am grateful to have a partner in this difficult world. I never would have made it through the Reagan, Bush (Dub-ya) and Trump years without you! I know you are there for me, come what may. If I face a health or emotional challenge, I know I can count on you. You haven’t always been perfect, but who is? Sometimes you have surprised me by understanding me better than I understand myself.

I am proud of us. It hasn’t always been easy. The rough times were when we were each stretched to our limit – where there was little to no margin in time or energy and there was anger and/or resentment as a result. But, even when those times occurred, we stayed committed – to each other, to our family. The foundation of respect remained. Fortunately, more often when one of us was stressed to the max, the other had something left to give and gave. I don’t know if other couples give up too soon. The truth is we never really know what goes on behind closed doors, in the privacy of a home. I only know our life together. I think our effort has been well worth it. The good times have far outweighed the bad (and I can say that as someone who has a tendency, when things are bleak, to not see the light – luckily this is not a quality you share).

I have so many memories – we have shared so much. You know my oldest and newest friends– it is worth noting that even my newest friends have been around for decades. You know my family and I know yours, including those who have left this earth but remain in our hearts. There is so much we don’t have to explain to each other.

When we started this journey, I had no idea we would be so lucky. When I was a kid, I could not imagine having such a rich life. We have shared our children’s bat and bar mitzvahs, their weddings, the birth of grandchildren. We have traveled across this country and abroad (with more yet to come!). We have shared professional success. You have had an especially admirable career, making a difference in many lives. I take pride in your many accomplishments.

We’ve gone to concerts, movies, plays, ballets, museums, and all kinds of performances. We have had meaningful discussions about all of it. Once you retire, I look forward to adding books to our conversations (no pressure – well, maybe a little pressure)!

We’ve looked at magnificent scenery, searched for rainbows, laughed our asses off (just this morning I laughed till I cried at a parody you wrote of one of those drug commercials) and eaten more meals together than we can possibly count. (And, let’s not forget that I have cooked more meals for you than you can possibly count!)

We have also maintained our own interests and identities. We have given each other space for that, too.

It is amazing to me that our love has continued to evolve and ever deepen. In the beginning of a relationship, when you first fall in love, it is an intoxicating thing. I remember my friend in graduate school, after spending time with us, told me she wanted what we have – she said she wanted to have someone look at her the way we looked at each other. I think the romance is hard to sustain. As our lives have gone on, through the drudgery, the ups and downs, the losses, I don’t know if we have always looked at each other that way, but I know sometimes we still do. When those moments occur, they are even more precious, more meaningful since they have been hard-earned.

40 years feels like a milestone worth celebrating. I don’t know what the future will bring. I hope we will get to keep loving, talking, laughing, exploring, comforting and learning for as long as our health will allow. I am grateful, proud, and fortunate that we have come this far. Thank you for all you have given me.

Happy anniversary, my love.

Your Linny

college graduation

my master’s graduation

our wedding

June 2023 in Croatia

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