I had a lot of things I wanted to write about today…including the Thursday 13 that I was half way through when I got a phone call from England to say that my uncle had died.

Instead, I am leaving for England tomorrow, shocked and deeply saddened. My uncle was elderly but it was still very unexpected and no easier to take in. He was a wonderful old man; one from many worlds ago, as eccentric as can be but a gentle, kind-hearted, honourable man who would have given his right arm for us. He was a surrogate grandfather to my children, and they too will feel the gap he leaves. 

As his next of kin, many things await me that will need sorting out.  The Husband and I will be away for the next few days but I will post when I can. I’m sorry that I’m not getting to your sites to comment, but I will as soon as I can.

Wishing you well,
Bella

 

On Sunday evening we were amongst the 400 who attended a Holocaust remembrance ceremony, one of many observances held during the week. It was not only an opportunity to reflect back on and acknowledge the atrocities that had happened, it was also to remind us that it must never be allowed to happen again.

A U.S. Postal Service postmark was unveiled to honour the 100th birthday of Oskar Schindler

The guest speaker was Sarah S. Niemoeller von Sell, the widow of the German Lutheran Pastor, Martin Niemoeller. Pastor Niemoeller, initially supportive of the Nazi party before Hitler took power in 1933, was to become Adolf Hitler’s most famous prisoner. Having broken away by the end of 1937, Niemoeller set up the Pastors’ Emergency League to protect Lutheran clergymen from the Gestapo but was arrested later that year on the orders of Hitler and charged with treason. From that point until the end of the Second World War, he became Hitler’s only personal and private prisoner. Following one year in prison, he spent three years at Sachsenhausen and four years, in solitary confinement, at Dachau. When he emerged from the concentration camp in 1945, he was instrumental in drafting the Stuttgart Confession of Guilt, wherein Germany’s Protestant churches formally accepted guilt for their complicity in allowing the crimes of Hitler’s regime to occur. He was later named President of the World Council of Churches.

Pastor Martin Niemoeller is famous for the powerful quotation, seen below inscribed on a stone at the New England Holocaust Memorial.

 

Sarah S. Niemoeller von Sell was born in to an old and esteemed Prussian aristocratic family who were fiercely opposed to the National Socialist Party and its leader. When Martin Niemoeller became pastor in 1931 of St. Anne’s Church in Berlin-Dahlem, the Sell family were amongst his parishioners and there began a close friendship between the two families. When Sarah refused to the join the Hitler Youth, she was not permitted to complete high school and so trained as an actress. Her family, actively engaged in both hiding Jews and passing them on via Berlin’s “underground railroad,” were also involved in the unsuccessful July 1944 plot to assassinate Hitler. After the plot’s failure, Sarah and her father were arrested by the Gestapo;  her father was taken to the former Nazi concentration camp of Jamlitz and never heard from again, whilst Sarah herself experienced intense interrogation and physical abuse, before eventually being released.

Sarah worked after the Second World War as a radio announcer and journalist, before emigrating to the United States, where she worked in televison. Meeting Martin Niemoeller again, by chance, in New York in 1968, they later married and lived in Wiesbaden, Germany, where she worked for the American Red Cross.  After her husband’s death, Sarah converted to Judaism and under the guidance of her close friend and mentor, Elie Wiesel, she has become a noted Holocaust educator.  

 

Sarah S. Niemoeller von Sell spoke movingly of the “silent masses that were the greatest ally Adolf Hitler had ever seen…..” Undoubtedly the most moving and authoritative speaker I have ever heard, she reminded us that ” we must speak up when we see injustice and we must take responsibility for those around us..“ adding  that the Holocaust was not that long ago and that allowing it to be forgotten would be like letting the victims die a second time.

And whilst she spoke, six candles glowed nearby.

Six candles representing the six million Jews that had been killed,
six candles that moments before, had been lit by
a survivor
a liberator
a resistance fighter
a hidden child
a 2nd generation survivor
and a 3rd generation survivor

all with their own stories of survival and courage
that drew gasps of amazement from the audience and reduced many of us to tears.

 I was struck by how few people there were in the audience of our age, and even less of our son’s age (14) who had come with us. We live in a largely Jewish area, one where there are more than a few Holocaust survivors and their descendants. The faces we saw there were almost all in their 80’s and 90’s, many of whom will not be here for next year’s commemorative service.  I had thought that there would be many of my generation, and some of my children’s generation; 
united in a determination to not allow the Holocaust to be forgotten.   

As I left the commemorative service, Sarah S. Niemoeller von Sell’s last words echoed in my ears. 

“…..let there be a burning flame in your heart….”

 

I know that Fire.

That Fire that moves us to Speak Out against Evil, Hatred, Intolerance and Injustice.

That Fire that stops us from looking the other way.

That Fire that drives our compassion, our soul. 

 That Fire that moves us to make a difference.

 

I know  that Fire.

 

Silent footsteps never seen

Theresienstadt Concentration Camp 
March 2005

The brave people they had been

The quiet air so serene

 

Walk to death the march of men

And one, a child, only ten

Never to be seen again

 

And so, for the millions killed

An empty void never filled

Once again the room is stilled

 

Death will be their only saviour

Heart and soul do die together
In our memories forever

written by my son, aged 14;
reflecting on his visit to Theresienstadt Concentration Camp 

Yom Hashoah

 

This candle burns to remember 
those that suffered at the hands of the Nazis. 
Six million Jews were murdered,
with many families completely decimated.  

This candle burns to honour the courageous people
who carried out extraordinary acts of bravery
to help those who were persecuted.

Anna and Jaruslav Chlup took Herman Feder in to their house, a Jewish man who escaped from a transport in Czechoslovakia as he was being taken to a death camp.

Gitta Bauer sheltered a half-Jewish woman friend in her house for nine months in Germany.

Chiune Sugihara was a Japanese diplomat who, along with his wife, but against the will of the Japanese government; issued thousands of visas to Japanese visas to thousands of Polish Jews in Kovno, Lithuania.

Alex and Mela Roslan were a Polish Catholic couple who took in three young Jewish brothers from the Gutgelt family, shortly before the Warsaw ghetto revolt in 1943, and raised them as their own.

Ona Simaite , a Lithuanian librarian at Vilna University, smuggled food and other provisions including literary and historical documents on an almost daily basis to the Jews in the Vilna ghetto. In 1944, she was arrested by the Nazis, tortured and sent to Dachau.

These rescuers believed that what just one person did could make a difference. 
Thousands survived the Holocaust because of the courage of these people.

“To save one life is
as if you have saved the world”
The Talmud

Let Us Never Forget.

Holocaust Remembrance Day 2008

I had to drop off a note the other day for the mother of one of The Daughter’s new friends. Leaving The Family waiting in the car, I walked up the path to their front door, and looked for the letterbox in the door to put the note through.

You can imagine my irrititation when I hear “Mum! Mum” and the horn starts beeping. You’d think they could be a little patient, right? The voices get louder and louder but I ignore them as I’m still looking all over for the damn letterbox.

I start thinking that maybe the post man leaves their letters on the doormat for them, but as there’s nothing there now, I’m really not sure about it. I decide to leave my note by the front door anyway. It’s only when I turn around, I see The Family Waving Wildly at the end of the driveway and pointing furiously at this:

I have a lot to learn.

Since then I’ve had this fascination for mailboxes and am always yelling ‘Stop the Car’ so that I can get a picture of one; so here are 13 more from New York for my T13 this week..

 

 

                                                                        

 

                     

 

                   

 

Now I’m off to visit some of yours.

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We woke up this morning to dark skies and the stream of cool rain- there is definitely a wintry feel in the air again. I should have listened to The MinL who said ‘Don’t Start Putting Your Winter Woollens Away’, but listening has never been one of my strong points. The heating is kept so high in the house though, it’s like travelling to another country when I step outside the door; it’s been common for me to go through three of four changes of clothing in the first hour of getting up as my body tries to decide how warm it really is. 

The gardens look beautiful. And there are neighbours who have much more colour than we do; but still no flowers.

We live close by to a Reservoir, although I keep confusing everyone by calling it The Lake as that’s what it looks like to me. It’s a lovely place to walk along, very peaceful and totally unspoilt; no garbage tossed on the ground, no bored teenagers loitering, no broken fences or half-ruined huts to spoil the beauty. I feel very lucky having the water so close by, even if there are no waves.

 

 

I have decided to take up Power Walking, at least, my version of it; partly to get rid of my stiffness and tone up my muscles, but also to get myself out of the house each day.  It should help with any stressful or low moments, and whilst I’m housebound/ car-less/ house hunting, there’s quite a few of both. Besides, I’ll have to walk off all those Bagels I’ve developed a craving for since Passover.

Yesterday was my first day at Power Walking and I realised during it that I’ll have to do at least two a day, one with The Dog, who was so busy stopping at every tree, bush and blade of grass that he couldn’t keep up with me, and one without. As I need some motivation, I’ve signed up to do a Walking Marathon in Philadelphia in November; there’s a great website with lots of tips and advice, a training schedule and a forum where I can chat to other walkers. If I keep up the walking every day this week, I’m going to get myself some proper walking gear - trainers, tracksuit and an Ipod.

Macy’s is calling.   

 

As we can’t eat bread during Passover, and, for the UK contingent in the family,  Matzoh is fast losing it’s appeal; I Have Been Baking.

Now, for someone who Doesn’t Cook, this is quite a turn around for the books. It was the MiL’s suggestion, of course; and being the Good Non-Jewish DinL that I am, I obliged. Okay- the fact that I am housebound and Tearing My Hair out probably had something to do with my agreeing to do it.

This is a good time to remember what your Mother Always Told You: Don’t Judge A Bun By It’s Looks.

                                         

 

These are actually called Poptarts- not to be confused with the toastable pastry things covered in white icing that The Husband had a fondness for in England. No, these are what I would have known as a cross between a Scone and a Roll- but Poptarts they are. Kosher for Passover, they are made with Cake Meal (a substitute for flour), Matzo Meal (a substitute for Bread Crumbs), eggs, margarine, water, salt and sugar; and are quick and easy to make. They taste much better than they look and are eaten with margarine,  jam/ jelly, tunafi

And yes, good things can come out of A Moment of Desperation.

P.S.  Yes- the image was missing when i posted earlier! WordPress was having a tizzy and wouldn’t let me post it for some frustrating reason….it wouldn’t even let me add a line saying i couldn’t post the image! Grrrr.

 

So, I write this after experiencing my 1st Passover Seder, followed swiftly by another on the 2nd night. 

To be honest, we were shattered by the time we started it and tempers had begun to fray. After the intensity of the previous 4 days of cleaning the house, packing up the Chametz (non-Passover food) to put down in the basement, shopping for Kosher for Passover food , cleaning the silver, getting out and washing the best dishes and cutlery etc; along with the family tensions, it wasn’t surprising.   

I have slightly mixed feelings about this holiday. There was a bit of grumbling from The Husband who felt that we shouldn’t be going to such efforts when a simpler version would been just as good, and a bit of grumbling from the SinL who didn’t agree with some of the ways the Seder was being prepared. It seemed to me that the grumbling was a necessary part of the process- as much as they complained I don’t think they’d have agreed to do it any other way. I started out feeling that I should somehow be trying to alievate their ’suffering’ and looking for ways to make things easier for them, only to realise that it was pointless and that probably their ’suffering’ was as much a part of the symbolic meal as the food and the Seder actually was. 

So, having worked myself up to a sweat with the polishing, and a frenzy trying to keep a breast of everyone’s stress, I decided to leave them all to it, ignore everything going on around me and to just enjoy myself. No one noticed that I wasn’t helping, things carried on as before and my blood pressure fell by 200%.

The Seder itself was lovely. Ok, it started at 7pm and went on until midnight which is probably the longest time I’ve ever had to sit at a table- I guess that’s why no one would tell me how long it was going to be! During the meal, the Head of the family (a role The Husband shared with The FinL becasue of his illness) leads the Seder with everyone taking it in turns to tell the story of how the Jews were led out of Egypt and out of slavery by Moses. I had to read a few passages from the Haggadah but thankfully not the ones in Hebrew.

 

This is the Seder plate, with the Beitzah (the roasted egg- a symbol of mourning- that we ate with salt water), the Maror ( the bitter herbs which symbolize the bitterness and harshness of the slavery which the Jews endured in Egypt), the Z’roa or lamb shankbone (symbolizing the Pesach sacrifice- the lamb that was offered in the Temple in Jerusalem), the Karpas (the parsley dipped in salt water which represents tears) mirrors the pain felt by the Jewish slaves; and the Charoset ( which represents the mortar used by the Jewish slaves to build the storehouses of Egypt.

So, we dressed up, then agthered at the table to sit and re-tell the story. As we drank the Kosher wine on empty, rumbling stomachs (you don’t eat until about 2 hours into the Seder), there was a lot of loud voices, laughter, reminising and interrupting. It was the liveliest, most memorable meal I have ever taken part in.

We started a new tradition, which was that everyone would sign a white Pesach tablecloth with their name, date and what they were thankful for- similiar to Thanksgiving I know, but meaningful nonetheless. We did it so that in 20 years time, those who may no longer be with us will be remembered for the Pesach Seders they were there for.

And then we did it all again, exactly the same from start to finish,  with the next Seder on the 2nd night of Passover.  I have to admit that I was a  tiny bit relieved that there wasn’t a 3rd one.

There were things that I really loved about the Passover Seder. It is a very special story re-told in a meaningful and beautiful way; I was intrigued by the history of it and loved the symbolism of everything. I loved the way that friends and family come together for this and how everyone plays a part in the telling of the story.

It’s a great meal for children too. The MinL decided that I was going to go with her (yes, that’s about right) to the Sisterhood meeting at her Synagogue last week to take part in a class in ‘How To Make Your Seder Table Special’. Now, I don’t like having decisions made for me and I don’t like being ‘organised’ (make a noteof the forshadowing here) but I was genuinely interested in this class and so I went.  We made jumping green frogs (for one of the 10 plagues), made some cushions to recline against at our Seder table, got to sample about 10 different versions of Charoset,  and heard first hand how a Jewish Greek lady and a Jewish Israeli lady celebrate Passover in their homelands. We also saw how the 10 Plagues can be represented on the Seder table and decided to try that for ourselves- as you can see from the beetles and the frogs in the picture. The class was fun, but when I realised that I was the youngest there by about 30 years, I made a mental note to find my own class.

On the downside, I didn’t enjoy the stress that seems to go with all of this, although in fairness, I can’t blame that all on Passover- the family here are living in very stressful circumstances anyway.

And I don’t enjoy the food that we have to eat on Passover so much. All leavened foods — such as bread and cake — made from wheat, barley, rye, oats, or spelt are forbidden on Passover, so we are eating a lot of Matzah (the unleavened bread which is the ‘official’ food of Passover) and Matzah Brei - a dish made with matzah and eggs, which we eat sweet with sugar and jam. Our diet for these 8 days seems to consist entirely of fresh fruit and raw vegetables, fish, Matzah and Matzah Brei. Oh, and grape juice. Since I don’t eat a lot of Matzah, I’m hungry all the time.

I’m desperate for a triple layer, thick bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich followed by a dougnut and Mocha at Starbucks. I’m counting the hours.

One cheering thought though- next year Passover will be held in our house. I’m kidding myself that that will give us some control in what happens.

The weather is beautiful here. It fluctuates a little between the 50’s to the 70’s, but the sky is clear and the sun is shining, and the air feels clean. I keep going back to that- the ‘clean air’ here- I must have felt that where we had been living in the UK was slightly polluted in some way although I hadn’t been consciously aware of it.

Things are really coming into bloom quickly here. This is what we see everyday outside our window….

 

And this……I don’t know if you can see how pink that one is; the colour is more vivid in the picture below:

The Son went on his first school trip yesterday, to The Bodies exhibition at the South Street Seaport in New York City. His wonderful High School Counsellor made a place for him on the trip, which was very nice of her as the places were filled long before we arrived. It was a small group, just 41 of them, and he had a fantastic time. For someone who wants to study medicine, and loves the gory details; this was a great thing for him to see! It’s interesting how they mix the age groups here- I do like that; the trip was mostly 10th Graders but with some 9th Graders: like The Son and a few of his friends. 

So, a Successful Day.

Oh. It’s Thursday….but I may not get a Thursday 13 done today. We’re preparing for Passover, which begins on Saturday but the cooking and cleaning the silver began two days ago, and a ’spare ten minutes’ just doesn’t exist.

I have mixed feelings about it. This will be our first real family Passover; The (Jewish) Husband has always done things very low key, in fact there have been years that we didn’t observe Passover, but this will be the ‘going the whole hog’. The Seder will be lovely, I’m looking forward to that, and I’m fine with all the work that’s involved beforehand; I just don’t know how to deal with The MiL’s stress! 

Any tips from any Jewish bloggers out there?

For a Christian girl, it’s all a bit overwhelming. 

Our day begins early here, at 5.30am; and now that I’m getting used to it, I really like that.

It’s very intense, very hard work, living in this house with the family (in fairness, it’s hard for them too), and it’s almost impossible to grab a quiet moment or two by myself; so those early hours when no one else is up are becoming My Coping Mechanism.

The Son is now a Freshman in High School and starts school at 7.20 each morning. The first time I read that in the handbook I thought it must be a typing error. Once I’d got over the shock though, I began to warm to the idea.

I wake him at 5.30, and have half an hour to myself in the kitchen whilst he’s getting up. It’s still dark outside and when I open the door for the dog, the air is cool; but I can hear the birds singing and I stand at the sink and watch the sun coming up whilst I clean up our breakfast. It’s such a beautiful, peaceful, unspoilt time; far removed from the stress that unfolds as the family wake later. For someone who has never been a morning person, I’m surprised at how much I’m Loving these Early Hours.

I have a small breakfast with The Son before he leaves to get the school bus arrives at 6.45. School starts at 7.20 and ends at 2pm, which gives a whole new take on what he can do with his afternoon! He loves these new school hours, loves getting home with the afternoon stretching before him still. Lunch is early for him-at 11.00, but he has a second lunch as soon as he gets home again. Apparently, a lot of the kids give up their lunch hour to get another lesson in and he’s already thinking of doing that too.

I love having that time with him in the morning, when it’s just Him and Me.

Then begins the 2nd round of alarms going off and breakfasts. The Daughter is in Middle School, which starts at 8.50; so her bus doesn’t come until 8.35. I have a 2nd breakfast with her and by then everyone is up and the day is truly beginning. Of course, she gets home from school later, at 4pm; but I have a feeling that she wouldn’t like the early starts at the High School as much as her brother does right now.

For both children, the first couple of days at school were quite hard.  The schools are so different; so much bigger and so much more informal, for a start. They are also given a lot more independence at the schools, which I think is fine as they seem to be given the responsibilities that should go along with that.

Having started on a Thursday, they then had the weekend to recover, and their first full week went much better. They’re now finding their own way around and really making friends and beginning to get used to such a different way of schooling. The kids have been very welcoming and friendly, very interested in the fact that they are ‘The English Kids’ - and almost all of them appear to have an aunt or a cousin ’somewhere in England’ but most of them don’t remember where.

I have so many memories flooding back of how awful it was being the ‘new girl’- especially joining in the middle of a semester (term) and one when the school year is almost finished. I admire my children for the way they seem to be dealing with it, for the way that they have embraced such a big change with both an open mind and open arms; and for being able to admit that there are parts of this that aren’t easy. They’re doing great.