The Big Chill - one that warms the heart

How can stepping into a room sized freezer chilled to arctic temperatures immediately infuse the body with a warm rush? It's not alternative science or fake science, it actually happened not long ago as Bernice stepped over the threshold of a new stainless ice box built in situ for Family Table - the food distribution arm of Jewish Family & Children's Service (JF&CS).

Bernice is Director of this Waltham based program. From its hub and two satellite outposts, Family Table's network covers over 100 Massachusetts towns providing food to more than 500 families of all denominations including 350 who lack transportation. And Family Table volunteer teams do it every week of every month. Distributions not only nourish bodies of clients, they nurture their souls by empowering them to choose from among the specific healthy food offerings which fit their needs. Knowing that can certainly warm your heart.

But it's not enough.

Cars lined up to receive clients' shopping bags of selected foods.
During the pandemic rather than having food choices
made in-person inside the Family Table Marketplace,
families pre-order.

Shopping bags are then custom packed and labeled... 

... and placed directly into clients' vehicles by volunteers.

Food insecurity was a big problem pre-pandemic; now it's much worse. Family Table needed to expand operations to meet the demand. Key to this enhanced capability was The Big Chill, a tripling of freezer and refrigeration space. The existing cold storage area was already stacked to the brim, its aisles full with barely any room to maneuver.

So, a master plan was drawn up and contractors hired. Carpenters, electricians, and other tradespeople then tooled away for five weeks to enlarge Family Table's footprint within JF&CS' HQ building.

Laying out the space for the new freezer

For refrigeration, a 'special ops' team, Royal Cooling Corp, dropped in and built a giant new freezer to accomplish The Big Chill.

This is Royal's story.

Daniel, head of the Royal team, studies installation schematics.

In an earlier life the Royal guys must have enjoyed and been good at painting-by-the-number kits and working with Lego blocks. Why? Because when stacks and stacks of freezer components were delivered, each of the larger than life sized panels had to first be meticulously numbered and labeled for proper orientation before initiating assembly. 

Then the work began.

 

Wheeling in the super-sized insulated freezer panels

Installation starts from the bottom, beginning with the floor sections 

Corner pieces are next

Walls slide in and are locked in place

The door is added

Floor sections are sealed

Daniel makes the electrical hookup and charges the unit

The Big Chill

Steve takes a final peek; the unit is ready to load

Royal's mission is accomplished - job well done

The expansion project affords Family Table the opportunity to increase its impact every month. Even with the enhanced space it can't finish the overarching mission of eliminating food insecurity, but the program did take a big step forward in the right direction. 

Now that's heartwarming. 

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images ©David Greenfield 2021

The full story of Family Table's Expansion can be seen here.

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The Orange One

"I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

That's not actor Peter Finch's oft quoted venting in the 1976 movie 'Network', it's my inflamed left hip taking a stand and saying it's done working the clutch. My wife and I just returned home from an outing to Rye Playland with our NYC grandkids. Forty percent of the driving time in my beloved 5-speed KIA Soul was spent mired in stall & crawl traffic. So, after scarfing down ibuprofen, I was ready to schedule a hip replacement for the aching joint. I was also primed to reluctantly trade the manual shifting KIA for a new automatic ride. Little did I suspect in that painful haze, that the prelude to the 1990s war brewing in Chechnya would influence my new car buying experience.

My eldest grandson loved the KIA.
It was almost perfect for his size.
Even for a city kid, he couldn't wait to drive.

It was a sobering moment as the reality of my decades of happily shifting gears would soon be over. Pausing for a moment, I reminisced about some favorite previous rides - the first, a solid as a tank '62 Volvo 122S, followed by a classic '68 Mustang, a sleek '71 P1800E, '77 Isuzu Trooper, and of course the KIA Soul. All were equipped with manual transmissions. I loved the sensation of throwing the floor stick forward into overdrive on highways and scenic byways, then pulling back to downshift on curves while blasting tapes (yes, tapes) of Fleetwood Mac. But anticipating future NYC marathon drives to see family, the choice now before me was between a titanium hip or an automatic transmission. It was a no-brainer, those exhilarating driving days were over.

The 1971 fuel injected Volvo P1800E.
It had some restorative body work done to repair effects of NE winters;
I did not

Now fast forward to a Subaru showroom after my car trading/buying negotiations were completed. Those also necessitated ibuprofen but I was on the verge of selecting from one of two shiny new Crosstrek model options available in the dealer's current inventory. The choice boiled down to color - one was silver, the other a bright 'you can't miss it' citrusy color.

In my mind it was obvious; I'll go with silver. My most recent cars were silver, as was my hair, so I was accustomed to that ubiquitous shade. But my wife Carol pushed me the other way, "Go for the orange one". "But I'm locked in a silver/grey mode!" I countered. That said, I know she's reliably right about pending decisions. Yet, I equivocated. 

Meanwhile the salesman was tapping his toes, his patience was wearing thin - which of the two sets of keys should he hand over before icing the deal? Then I happened to turn the page of the Crosstrek sales brochure to the official color chart. Suddenly I had an epiphany, decision made! "I'll go with the orange one". But why would a fruit suddenly change the course of years of my car buying decisions? Here's the side story which bolstered my acquiescence.

Carol and the new Crosstrek
The beachball was not part of Subaru's accessory package

On the recommendation of dear friends, the prior evening we viewed a subtitled film set inAbkhazia, a Russian-backed separatist region in the breakaway republic of Georgia.

Abkhazia is in the northwest sector abutting the Russian border

Ivo, an Estonian man has decided to stay behind in his ethnically Estonian enclave and harvest his crop of tangerines. In the bloody conflict between Abkhazian troops battling Chechnyan mercenaries, a wounded man is left behind. Ivo takes him in. The film plot line unfolds as a morality tale addressing issues of conflict, reconciliation, and pacifism. It was a captivating movie, not surprisingly nominated for Best Foreign Language film at the Academy Awards and Golden Globes. By the way, the film was titled Tangerines.

Turns out Subaru's designated color name for 'the orange one' was tangerine. It was a sign I couldn't ignore. And so ended the days of silver cars, my Crosstrek is 'orange'. 

photos © David Greenfield

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The man who was always a boy

 

Walter in uniform
photo courtesy of his daughter Eva 

It was always special sitting lakeside shooting the breeze with Walter each summer when he and his wife came to visit. Our conversations had an atypical resonance, very different from those I might have with anyone else. He had a way of boring into the marrow space of your thoughts, and you didn't realize it was happening until later. How was he able to do that?

Several years ago while watching a Boston Film Festival documentary, I thought for sure I figured it out. The film recounted the exploits of an elite US Army unit known as the Ritchie Boys, young GIs of German ancestry trained in reconnaissance at Camp Ritchie in Maryland. Multilingual and with high IQs, the Boys' primary charge was providing intelligence and conducting battlefield interrogations in the European theater. Having escaped to the US from Germany prior to the blitzkrieg, and then promptly drafted into the US Army, Walter appeared to fit the profile - he had to be a Ritchie Boy. I found out indeed he was. In a way, our lakeside chats were actually interrogations, albeit forgiving ones. But they were just one chapter in Walter's story. The saga of his life spanned a journey as expansive as the ocean he crossed and as courageous as his parachute drops into battle zones. 

Normandy - June 2001
© David Greenfield 

The men in Walter's early life were WWI veterans and German-Jewish patriots. All believed Germany was the greatest country despite its broken status after wartime defeat and subsequent humbling treatment at Versailles. In the antebellum years when the National Socialist Party replaced the governing Weimar Republic with its own platform squarely laying blame for the country's misfortunes on the Jews, life gradually deteriorated for Walter's family. Neighbors who initially ignored the Nazi's ranting soon believed Jews were responsible for   their woes. The continuous stream of vitriol struck a chord with Walter's classmates as well. Although an admired star athlete, Walter's daily trek to school soon became marred by abuse and beatings. When it became clear the situation would not end well, the family felt compelled to leave their home. They managed to get passage aboard a ship headed for the United States in the shrinking time window before the exit gates slammed shut.

As a naturalized US citizen and member of the armed services, in short order Walter staged a return to the Europe he left behind - that time via parachute as chief interrogator attached to the 82nd Airborne. He landed in Normandy on D-Day+7. During ensuing missions, his prowess in combat, interrogation skills, command of language, and familiarity with the terrain all proved invaluable.

Omaha Beach, Normandy - June 2001
© David Greenfield

After V-E Day in 1945 Walter returned to civilian life having attained the rank of Master Sergeant. His legacy is one of distinguished Ritchie Boy and decorated paratrooper. Although often the subject of Walter's interrogations, I will always be proud to have had Walter as my friend and remember him fondly on this Veterans Day.

 At Walter's grandson's wedding - 2007
photo courtesy Walter's daughter Eva

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You lookin' at me?

 

Mailboxes of Route 10

With one sleep encrusted eye pried open while still under toasty bedcovers, I spotted it in the predawn light. Fog was rolling in, and a dreamy veil of mist was being cast over the dew drenched New Hampshire landscape. This was the morning I eagerly anticipated for so long.

But despite my glee previsualizing a cornucopia of photographic possibilities awaiting out in the fog, I opted to close that crusty eyelid, roll over, and reconnect with the warmth of the sheets and comforter. 

No way!, that pesky gremlin perched on my shoulder shouted silently into my ear! The little twerp wouldn't stand for such sloth. "Get up and get out there, this chance doesn't happen every day".

So, albeit somnolently reluctant, I did. Here's how I was rewarded.

Heading down NH Route 10 south, there's an old New England red barn statuesquely set back from the road. Whether riding past by bike or car, it's a head-turner any time of day. Now out of the sack, clothed to counter the chill and soggy ground, and with camera in hand, I headed out imagining all the standout images I hoped to capture. Sure enough, the fog/barn combo offered a magical vista, but to my surprise it would not be the main attraction.

One photographic rule-of-thumb in striving to create the extraordinary from the ordinary, is to always check behind you. Sometimes the most striking images can be found there, even better than what might lie in front. With that in mind, I followed the 'road less traveled', taking a narrow bypass, and approached the barn from a rear vantage point. Not only did it offer a more up-close and personal position, but the farmer's sheep happened to be out for an early breakfast and spotted me as I approached - an unexpected bonus.

At first, only a sole muncher in the flock was sufficiently curious to pause his/her high fiber repast to stare me down.

Baa

But as I surreptitiously moved closer, a few more wooly heads turned my way. 

Having completely forgotten the earlier reticence at vacating my comfortable slumber cocoon, I sensed the sheep studded landscape before me was rife with stunning image-making opportunities. They were just a soft shutter-click away, but first I needed some uniform front facing Rodney Dangerfield respect from these guys.

Moon-shine

To capture a prized image, all the guys and gals had to turn my way, not just those who already chomped their fill. I was so close, but no cigar ... as yet. There remained one indifferent holdout looking the other way and flashing me the moon.

Besides waiting ... and waiting ... and waiting for the stubborn one, I pondered what I could do to capture the image I envisioned. I could wait, but I know one who waits for perfection waits an eternity. That was not an option. Then a lightbulb lit up in my head.

"What wolf, where?" I shouted (at least I imagined shouting that alert). Whatever, instantly I had unanimous attention. It was the sought after 'decisive moment' and I clicked. The rest is history.

You lookin' at me?

PS: This past summer, the chair of the NH Photo Group I belong to, tipped off members about a contest sponsored by the Howe Library in Vermont. Generally I shun entering contests but I did so with the sheep image for the Nature/Animal category. It won the blue ribbon. It won overall Best in Show as well. That award was accompanied by a monetary prize. 

Crime doesn't pay, but it did pay to get out of bed that foggy morning.

images © David Greenfield

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The Towers - then and now

 

It had to be from a helicopter, how else could that shot be made?               

Turns out, it was.

~~~~~~~~

One cold November day years earlier I met my sister at the World Trade Center (WTC) to take in the view from atop its towers. Although the complex of seven buildings comprising the Center was constructed in the 70s, neither of us had at that point visited the iconic landmark. The site included WTC 1 and WTC 2, Twin Tower skyscrapers which were the tallest buildings in the US. In the shadow of the these giant edifices, the Financial Center buildings below appeared particularly regal that gray day dressed with a pre-winter dusting of freshly fallen powdery snow. The enhanced contrast of the scene appealed to my eye. So from a North Tower (WTC 1) viewing perch, I composed this photograph.

Financial Center Buildings from the North Tower

Little did I suspect that to capture a similar image at a later 'pre-drone' time, a photographer would need to be in a helicopter. And that's just what happened on a sparkling September morning in the new century after terrorists hijacked a commercial jet and crashed it into the North Tower. There was a fireball .... then the tower came down. It was unimaginable; it was surreal.

Five days after the US suffered this second 'day that will live in infamy' a new version of my WTC composition ran above the fold on the front page of the Sunday New York Times. The North Tower had been transformed into a smoldering pile of rubble and mass grave. It took me but a moment to realize that what appeared like my pre-9/11 North Tower image was now a helicopter-enabled one. The previous photographic vantage point was lost forever.

But our collective true loss was yet to be felt. In the ensuing decades, we witnessed a brief episode of pan-American solidarity in the immediate 9/11 aftermath only to see it gradually collapse. Today's smoldering piles - political, racial, and economic - continue to attack and divide us, and add to our country's loss.

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Lower Manhattan from the Brooklyn Promenade - circa 1970s
The Twin Towers appear ghost-like in the distance
© David Greenfield

For more of my images and text about the World Trade Center complex today, continue reading and viewing here: 9/11 Memorial

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A Beacon of Hope and Memory

 

towering column of the New England Holocaust Memorial

                                                     

What is the role of memorials?

     How should they be constructed? 

     Where should they be situated? 

All memorials are not created equal. Some are extremely graphic, others are abstract and cerebral evoking contemplation. Some are prominent in the landscape/cityscape, others may blend into their settings too often passed unnoticed and not respected for what they represent. Despite diversity in design and placement, all memorials should be on the same page - helping us remember and understand the past. But without accompanying background material, either text, audio, video, or that provided by a docent, the experience of engaging a memorial may be devoid of context and unfortunately somewhat sterile.

*****

The New England Holocaust Memorial (NEHM), rising up from a section of Boston's historic Freedom Trail is a stunning construct: six glass towers, each representing one million Jews murdered during the Holocaust years and each named at the base for a death camp. It was a time of complete breakdown in democratic and moral society.

Jews were systematically deprived of their rights and ultimately their humanity. In effect they were reduced to a sequence of digits - numbers that are now etched into the glass panels of the towers.

The numbers serve as silent witnesses while vapors of steam, recalling victims' last breaths and crematoria smoke of their incinerated bodies, continuously float upward from the cauldrons at the base of each tower. Those darkest of times leave an indelible stain on the twentieth century.

But passersby often walk through the memorial seeing it as a pathway to and from a nearby T-station and not as sacred space for reflection, remembrance, grieving, or call for pro-action. In this way the memorial's message is frequently missed.

This cannot stand. This should not stand. And now twenty-five years after the memorial was dedicated, it will not. In a twist of logic, a swastika spray painted on a public space became the engine of change.

*****

The incident shocked a local community - illicit hate graffiti had defaced a high school wall. A young man, let's call him John, who painted the swastika was apprehended. The crime warranted prosecution in court, but if so, its record would have shadowed John for the rest of his life. Town officials chose a different path, one of restorative justice. It was comprised of community service, letters of apology, counseling, and other means for John to fully understand the hurt he inflicted. He would also experience a visit to the New England Holocaust Memorial guided by a member of the town's Human Rights Commission, someone whose family was decimated by the Holocaust. Restorative justice is a process to create light out of darkness, helping an individual become a better person, one who would make better decisions and stand up to hate. It foregoes a prosecutorial path and criminal record.

Months later when the program came to a close, John was a changed man. At the outset he was a reckless, frightened boy. He emerged an educated, responsible man empowered to confront and oppose hate. John's guided engagement with the Memorial played an outsized role in his transformation. Wouldn't it be a major accomplishment if all visitors could experience the full impact of the message the Memorial is designed to convey? Now with backing from Facing History and Ourselves, Boston's Combined Jewish Philanthropies and Jewish Community Relations Council, twenty-five years after the Memorial's dedication it can.

New digital technology enables anyone to learn from the Memorial without a personal docent. A tour is accessible either at the site via QR code and smartphone, or virtually anywhere in the world from the NEHM web site. Embedded in the tour is factual history, both narrated and textual, complemented by survivor stories & videos frozen in time so the accounts will never be lost.

The tour ends with a call to action for visitors to forcefully counter bigotry and hatred, and with an aspiration that all visitors, even those previously inclined to whiz by on their way to the T-station will now pause, stay longer, think deeply and carry those messages back to their own circles. If successful, our world will be a better place. 

*****

Addendum: If you take the tour, pause at Stop 5. An important piece of Holocaust history is revealed, one that is very personal to our family legacy. My photographs also appear throughout the tour and on the Memorial's new web site.  

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 blog images ©David Greenfield

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An Enduring Thunderbolt

Untitled, Ervin Abadi ©1945

from the collection - US Holocaust Memorial Museum

This post commemorates Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, which begins in the evening of April 7, 2021

The setting was Boston's Beth Israel Hospital. The time, spring 1975. That's when I sensed tremors of past thunder, thunder which originally struck decades earlier. 

I was closeted in a lobby phone booth frantically searching for coins to make an important call - can you even remember those pre-cellular days? My hands, usually surgeon steady, were jittery. The mounting tension could be measured by beads of perspiration populating my forehead. An event I can only describe as cosmic had occurred a few minutes before and I had to reach my parents with the news, the good news, the thunderous news.

A fortnight earlier, my wife Carol was thinking about soon starting her maternity leave roughly timed two weeks before her due date. We were expecting our firstborn and feeling confident all the pre-partum 'I's had been dotted and the 'T's crossed. Little did Carol know her colleagues back at the office were prepped to fete her that Monday morning with a maternity leave surprise party. They would have the party, but without her as our son Josh, healthy with ten fingers and ten toes, had just been born. When it became clear that morning the for-real contractions signaled this would be The Day, we mobilized to get to the hospital. Carol bemoaned missing a chance to neaten up her office before her leave, but I realized this day was destined to be even more special than I ever imagined. 

That's why now, with sounds of silence from the Holocaust's lost six million voices whispering in my ear, I was losing it in that phone booth.

Now back to the thunder .... 

The first clap struck on May 5th 1945 when the US 11th Armored Division, aka Thunderbolt, liberated the Mauthausen Concentration Camp in the waning days of World War II. 

After landing in Normandy during the winter of 1944, the division marched across Europe initially fighting in the Battle of the Bulge before advancing east to the German Rhineland. It reached Linz, Austria in May. On the 5th, the troops entered Mauthausen and liberated the camp. My dad was among the prisoners freed that day. From then on with a new lease on life and feeling reborn, he always considered May 5th another birthday.

Long after I left home and could not help celebrate the day in person, I never missed making a call to wish him well (see previous blog post, He's the Only Left to Call (http://davidsfotovisions.blogspot.com/2016/10/leo-remembers.html).

So, when contractions began in earnest on the morning of May 5th, 1975, I knew our family was about to receive not only the gift of new life but also a message about survival, generation to generation continuity, Jewish legacy, optimism, and hope. 

The thunderbolt that was Josh's birth, thirty years to the day of my dad's rebirth, continues to reverberate in my head and heart. Grandfather and grandson are linked together in a fashion few pairs can match. I believe I will always try to fully process those events. 

And the thunder rolls.

 

Grandpa Joe and Josh 

1976  and 1999

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Addenda: 1

    Although my dad lived to reach old age, his creativity, energy, and inquisitiveness kept him from ever becoming an old man. Eventually he did lose his short but turbulent battle with cancer. Afterward, my sister and I knew his memorial headstone somehow had to incorporate the events of the 5th of May. Now etched in granite, just above his patriarchal attributes and favorite rabbinical guiding expression, are dates he entered and left our physical world bookending the day of his liberation and rebirth.

Addenda: 2

   The Thunderbolt Division was recognized as a liberating unit by the US Army's Center of Military History and the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in 1985.

Addenda: 3

Ervin Abadi, a Budapest Jew, was a young aspiring artist when World War II began. In the 1940's he was drafted into the Hungarian labor service from which he managed to escape only to be recaptured and deported to the Bergen-Belsen concentration Camp. When the camp was liberated, he was hospitalized and during his convalescence created dozens of works of art illustrating what he had witnessed during the Holocaust. 

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