Orlando

Thinking Outside My Box

I turned 61 years old 2 days after the tragedy at the Pulse Club in Orlando. In just the first thirteen years of my life, 3 of this nation’s beloved leaders were assassinated.

In my twenties, Rabin, Sadat & John Lennon were murdered.

These last twenty years have brought a slew of killings.

For me, this hit very hard for several reasons.

First of all, gây clubs are places where people feel accepted, not judged. Just like I feel in my synagogue.

Second, there are a number of people who are very important parts of my life, my support system, who are gay.

I just do not understand why people can hate so blindly, so over-encompassongly to want to destroy as many innocent lives as possible.

I refuse to stand by anymore. No, I haven’t been silent, but I want to give a purpose to these feelings.

I want to…

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Dr. Martin Luther King Changed My Worldview

I was a child born with a mild case of cerebral palsy in the mid 1950’s.

Still I walked on my toes, with dangled limp hands, and visibly crossed eye for the better part of my youth.

Some of the other children made fun of me and called me names — “Crossed-eyes” and “Tippy toes” were two of the most popular ones.

When I was in third grade, I remember listening to Dr. Martin Luther King’s “I have a Dream” on television. (Transcript of Dr. Martin Luther King’s I Have A Dream Speech)

I remember when Dr. King proclaimed “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character”, I thought he was not only speaking to children of color but to me who was judged and labeled by my physical challenges.

I also remember the imagery of black and whites, Jews and Gentiles joining hands and thinking “Yes, he is talking about me too!”

In those moments I was a very happy eight year old, wrapped in the protective cocoon of his powerful message.

I heard Dr. King deliver numerous speeches over the next five years.

I went through more challenging times, but as long as I kept his words inside of my heart and soul, I was safe from bullying missives.

Seventh grade came and with the onset of my teen years came an even heightened sensitivity and self-consciousness.

I was shattered, as were so many others, when Dr. King was assassinated in 1968.

Two months later, still recuperating from that trauma, my family moved to a town in New Jersey where I not only faced bullying because of my physical challenges but also because of my religious beliefs.

My protective cocoon had vanished immediately after Dr. King’s death.

The taunting of my new classmates stung me even more sharply.

I ran away from home in eight grade, unable to remember Dr. King’s comforting words.

It took a few years to gain my inner strength and sense of self. It was a challenging journey.

In retrospect, however, it will never take away the powerful feeling that eight year old girl had, while sitting entranced by the television comforted by Dr. King’s magnificent speech.

 

 

 

 

The Oscar Nominations 2016 — Hollywood Still Doesn’t Get It

My colleagues and friends and family know that I have been very involved in diversity issues and mentoring in my profession for many years.

They and my social media contacts also know that I have been very outspoken about injustice and inequality and social justice as I have so often posted and tweeted.

This morning as I started reading down the list of this year’s Oscar nominees and saw very few instances of the diversity that Hollywood is purported to be striving towards, I felt disbelief–then disappointment–then total dismay–and anger.

What gives?

Here’s a good article from the Washington Post “#OscarsSoWhite, but here are 8 great 2015 performances by black actors“.

Here’s another good article, from the Hollywood Reporter, “Oscar Nominees Include Zero Nonwhite Actors“.

From this article:

“It almost seems like a sequel to last year,” commented Gil Robertson, president of the African American Film Critics Association. “Certainly, the people who were nominated gave performances that were deserving of noms. But one would have hoped that given the nominations a film like Straight Outta Compton has received from other guilds, it would have received a best picture nomination. That just leaves you scratching your head, because there is overlap between the Academy and the other groups. So where does the disconnect take place?…..”The Academy really must redouble its efforts to be more diverse in terms of its membership,” Robertson said, “because its members are seeing things through a totally different lens that every other group around town.”

I agree with this article’s author, Gregg Kilday, that “this year, only a handful of awards-caliber films focused on black stories, like Compton or the Africa-set Beasts of No Nation, or featured black actors in prominent roles like Will Smith inConcussion, Michael B. Jordan in Creed, Idris Elba in Beasts and Samuel L. Jackson in The Hateful Eight.”

So how can this change? How can we, the viewing public, who supports the motion picture industry through buying movie tickets, or DVD’s or blu-rays, or watching movies-on-demand help have a stronger voice in getting more “award-caliber films” focusing on black stories or “featuring black actors” made?

Unfortunately, the same problem exists in children’s and young adults literature,

Two New York Times articles eloquently and strongly addressed this latter situation last year:

Where Are the People of Color in Children’s Books? written by Walter Dean Myers and The Apartheid of Children’s Literature by Christopher Myers.

I wish I had the answer for both more diversity in movies (and of course more recognition of movie’s diverse actors, directors, screenwriters, and other movie creative personnel) and in children’s/YA literature.

I don’t unfortunately.

Perhaps, if I and all the many others who feel the same as I do, continue to voice our opinion, that #BlackCreativityMatters and #BlbackLivesMatter that these situations will change for the better, hopefully within the next few years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Langston, Martin, & Me — Why #BlackLivesMatters So Much to Me

It started with Mrs. Steinglass, my 6th grade social studies teacher at Holmes School in Mount Vernon, New York.

She was an ardent supporter of civil rights, teaching us about Dr. King. Mrs. Steinglassalso read to us poems from Langston Hughes, one of her favorite poets. After she shared “Mother to Son” with us, that poem became ingrained in my memory and my soul.

I could feel empathy for that mother talking to her son, and even at my young age. I could visualize her struggles, her gentle but strong admonition to her son not to give up and remarkably her determination to keep “on climbin”.

Langston Hughes became one of my favorite poets–he still is.

Mrs. Steinglass spoke frequently about civil rights, an extremely important topic in 1966-1967, when I was in her class.

I greatly admired Dr. King for his courage and conviction. His words were so powerful, even for this Jewish Caucasian preteen.

I had been the recipient of countless remarks targeting my “walking on my tippy toes” and “crossed eyes” since even before I entered Kindergarten. Those words stung me. Why were other children judging me by my appearance and not looking inside at my soul, my personality?

Both Langston Hughes & Dr. King’s words comforted me.

I also, thanks to Mrs. Steinglass, became horrifyingly aware of all the physical, mental, and emotional cruelty and abuse that African Americans were going through daily and had been going through for centuries.

I had empathy for my African American friends and all African Americans.

It was at 11 years old, that I realized that #BlackLivesMatter.

 

Girls/Young Women Who are Denied an Education — On the Other Side of the Coin, Their U.S. Counterparts

UNESCO Report Fact Sheet
October 2013
Girls’ education – the facts

Millions of girls around the world are still being denied an education, as this report from UNESCO states in bold letters.

By now we are very aware of Malala Yousafzai, who several days ago was selected co-recipient of the 2014 Nobel Peace Prize.

At the young age of 11, when the Taliban forced all schools for girls to close, Malala has been a very vocal advocate for the right of girls and young women to be allowed to receive an education.

It’s not just the female students who are being threatened, according to a report by NBC News, from May 8, 2014, female teachers are being threatened as well.

Syria, Mali, Afghanistan, and Somalia are other countries, highlighted in addition to Pakistan.

There are great organizations and individuals who are trying to bring about change in these countries and others, against tremendous odds.

Meanwhile here in the United States, we still have teenage women dropouts, even as young as middle school.

Those millions of girls living in countries where their right to education is being denied, would give their eyeteeth and both right arms to get the same education as their female counterparts in the United States.

 

A No Win Situation

Many years ago, a favorite relative of mine was threatened by a former client who was unhappy and wanted revenge against my relative and members of that family. This relative had a reputation for being a cool, calm, rational individual. My relative decided to learn how to shoot a gun — just for self-protection & protection of other family members–since the threats were ongoing. A gun was purchased and kept in a safe place. Those were definitely very scary, anxiety-ridden times. I saw no reason that my relative should be denied to own a gun because lives were at stake. I still feel the same way.

However, as of the last few years, guns are getting into the wrong hands and killing too many innocent people.

I can not condone this.

What then is the answer?

1) The NRA needs to acknowledge that not all people who use guns are emotionally stable.

2) Gun owners need to be more vigilant about letting their weapons be so accessible to family members & friends.

3) They need to teach their children that owning a gun and using it is a serious responsibility, and not to be used for vengeance.

4) Illegal sales of firearms has to stop.

These are just a few suggestions.

Other suggestions are welcome.

 

On Trains

This past Thursday we traveled up to Massachusetts by car to celebrate Thanksgiving & Hanukkah with our family. Occasionally on the way up, and more often on the slow ride home, I wished I was on the train.

Yes, trains have delays, but most often they have bathrooms and more room than in our compact auto.

When I was commuting from Monmouth County to NYC and different parts of NJ over the past 35 years for work and school, I may have complained frequently about delays and poor customer service. Still the train has been my transportation vehicle of choice for shorter trips.

That is why I, like so many other people, felt horrified at the news of the Metro North train derailment early this morning.

Riding the Amtrak Northeast Corridor train to Providence, RI this past October and the North Jersey Coast train to Monmouth County very recently, I felt very comfortable — and safe. I did not think at all about the train engineers and their capability to deliver me to my destination nor the train equipment malfunctioning.

I sat back, enjoyed the scenery, read, and/or chatted with other passengers.

Yes, other train derailments have occurred in the last few years, tragically costing lives, but they did not affect me like the news of this horrific accident did.

Yes, I will continue to take trains, but I will no longer feel secure and invulnerable. Instead, subconsciously, I probably will feel as safe as I do in our car, and that’s a shame.

My thoughts and prayers go out to all of the passengers on the Metro North train and their families. For those who died, it is a tragedy. For those who were injured, the recuperation will most likely be emotional as well as physical. For those who were able to walk away unhurt, there most likely be emotional challenges as well.

 

Yom Hashoah 2009/Holocaust Remembrance Day

I am very raarely up this early. Today, I felt extra strength and endurance and a bit of tenacity. We arrived at our synagogue before 6:30 this morning. My Yiddish teacher sat in the pews waiting for his turn. His family had been able to flee from Poland before Hitler invaded it.
I was escorted to a chair by a colleague of mine from Hadassah and she pointed to a sheaf of papers. These were the names of some of those who had lost their lives in the Holocaust. Some were as young as 1 years old. Many of the names were children–3, 5 8, 11 13, 17 years old. These numbers stand out in my memory. I recognized the city name “Chernowitz”–my Dad’s father came from there. Warsaw, Lvov,, Minsk, Paris–some cities names were very hard to pronounce,as were some of the first names and surnames. Yet they were familiar to me– so I continued to read their names undaunted.
Suddenly, I felt a tremendous wave of sorrow come over me. My friend from Hadassah was very concerned and caring. I could stop if it was too hard for me. I took a deep breath–“No, I said. I was alright. Suddenly as I read each name I could feel each child and grownups’s presence urging me on, encouraging me, thanking me –for giving life to his or her name again. Each of these individuals had a life before they were imprisoned and exterminated–no matter how short some of their existences were. They had laughed and cried. Some were old enough to perhaps have fallen in love like I had. Some were young enough to hopefully have been held and cuddled and loved by their parents and zaydehs and bubbehs. 30 minutes went by so quickly, page after page completed, names pronounced for not only the 4 or 5 of us in the sanctuary, but for all those eternal spirits who listened in as we read.
This is not the ending. I want to find out more about some of the names I read.

 

Missing Those Who Have Gone

I realize that the title of this post may sound ambiguous. I guess I am one of those who does not like to use the word die–instead I say “passed away.”

In the first 2 and 1/2 months of this year, I have lost 3 very important people in my life, my Uncle Bernie, and my good friends Etta and “Nanni Molly.”

They were not young in chrono-logical age, but Molly at 99 and Etta at 83 were discussing current events and sharing stories up until not too long before their deaths.

My Uncle Bernie became unable to share his witticisms and stories several years ago due to his illness.
I never realized how important the words: “thank you” and “me too” (the latter in response to my saying “I love you”) were.

Then there were my brother-in-law, Jon, and my friends Mae Frances, Vivian, and Al. They were much younger. than the others. Jon, had become a big brother to me. Mae Frances and Vivian were big sisters and inspirations. Al’s death was very sudden.

May 2005 was a very hard moth for me. My father who had been ailing, died unexpectedly. A week later, my friend Thelma who had been sick for six months passed away. That really threw me a curveball even though each of them thanked me for caring in our last conversations.

My Uncle Marty also died unexpect- edly in 2007. I am glad Mom, Maury and I went to visit him not too long before he got sick for the last time.

I have come to realize that there is no easy way to say goodbye to those who I love. I guess that the best farewell present that I can give each of these wonderful people that I have mentioned and the many others in my life who have passed away is to live my life with integrity, just as they did in theirs.

 

My Train Buddies

I have been commuting solely by train for almost 20 years. During this time I have met some really phenomenal people.

Some have retired. Some have passed away, sadly much too early. Some have switched jobs and no longer take the train. Others just switched to the bus because it was more convenient for them. Some were at the World Trade Center on 9/11.

Over the years my commuting time has varied from as early as the 6:55 a.m. (train) to as late as the 10:30 a.m. Evenings have ranged anywhere from the 4:55 to the 6:55 p.m.

About a month ago, when I finally returned to riding the train, after a 2 month absence, I was repeatedly greeted with warmth and concern. It’s a great feeling.

Over the years I have sat with cross-stitchers, card players, and people of every walk of life imaginable. Some I might not see for a year or more–but when I do see them, we pick up where we left off –“So, how’s your Jazz book” is one favorite question.

Then there are the conductors. Some have become personal favorites of mine. They are also “train buddies” although on a more formal level.

I have been thinking about writing about my “train buddies” for a while.  Then, Friday evening, after I had finished my weekly commute, the news started coming in about the horrific train crash in the Los Angeles area.  What a tragedy for all those involved. What a loss for their train buddies.

We who take the train do it for a number of reasons, one of which is the safety of the train commute as compared to car travel.

I want to end this post by saying “Thanks” to all of my train buddies over the years. Whether you realize it or not, your support, gentle kibbutzing, enthusiam, praise and encouragement has meant a lot to me.