Lifting the Fog

 

‘She was always just there - at piano recitals, every holiday, and every graduation ceremony. She was a pillar of my life, a constant I took for granted as young people tend to do. I didn’t start to fully understand or appreciate her until my youthful fog lifted’. 

words of tribute from JP, her youngest granddaughter, when the family gathered to be with one another and bid a last farewell. 

JP and her 'pillar'

‘…. until my youthful fog lifted …..’ 

Recently at her service, there was no shortage of heartfelt, heartwarming words offered. But JP’s words stuck, like the jingle in your head that won’t quit, akin to a meteorologic fog descending to blanket the earth and  refusing to dissipate. 

Lifting the fog to fully understand and appreciate what we have is such a good and valuable action. Unfortunately it is often not done or done too late. As 2025 begins, lifting the fog has an even greater imperative. More on this later … 

For now, who was the pillar?

She was born Rachel Faust in the Polish town Przeworsk in 1927 - don’t bother trying to pronounce the name, it takes years of dedicated, tongue-twisting practice. Born Rachel, she lived part of her life as Helena Krokos, the illegitimate daughter of a cousin’s Catholic housekeeper.  

Rachel owes her long life to Ms. Krokos whose birth certificate she was more than fortunate to obtain in 1943. The document allowed her to pose as a non-Jew and survive deportations and certain death in Nazi occupied Eastern Europe. Then for the next eighty years she was Helen Gruenfeld, wife to Martin, another Holocaust survivor with a fancy dance step complemented by an unquenchable spark for life. They fell in love at a post-war Displaced Persons camp in Austria.  

She was beautiful, elegant, strong, intelligent, brave, and loving. Always impeccably dressed, she worked and drove until her nineties, read voraciously and ... she was untouchable in head to head Scrabble matches. 

She was the matriarch, my aunt, and now the last of our family’s survivor generation. JP’s older sister expressed it best, ‘we are who we are because she was who she was’. May her life be as a blessing.

Now, back into the fog and lifting it for 2025 …..

 

Realizing I’m not speaking for everyone, I know I share the same whole body emotional deflation as a large cohort, those who worked tirelessly throughout the 2024 election season to achieve a forward vision for the country and the world different from that of the incoming administration. 

© Marek Bennett 2024

We were in shock as the votes were tallied. There were no exit ramps for a different outcome paved by either hanging chads or ‘found’ boxes of ballots. It was clear we lost. What previously had been unimaginable had just become reality for the next four years. A dense, seemingly impenetrable fog of dread enveloped us. We became immobilized. How could we move forward?

Then the fog lifted.

The way forward for now is embracing what JP realized about her grandma Helen when her youthful fog lifted. It may feel formulaic, but appreciate all that you have, and do it now. Start with the inner circle of family then gradually widen the circle. End in reengaging with the many struggles to repair our world. There'll be plenty for you to do later.

As Yogi said, “it ain’t over until it’s over”. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

all non vintage images © David Greenfield

Silos

 

Ever wondered how Vermont acquired its name? All you have to do is hop on Interstate 89 somewhere in New Hampshire and head north until you cross the Connecticut River. Once on the other side of this aquatic border, look left and right. You’ll think you’re surrounded by humongous green mountains of humongous heads of broccoli, or as the French would say, montagnes vertes, i.e., ver-mont. 

From July through October the US 89 corridor is the weekly route I enjoy to ferry a cornucopia of fresh vegetables donated by fellow community garden partners to the Vermont HQ of Willing Hands, an Upper Valley non-profit. 

Once there drivers promptly distribute the veggies  to over eighty area food shelves and social service organizations  serving the needs of those suffering food insecurity. 

    But there are more perks for the weekly ride than just performing this hunger mitigating mitzvah - it’s drinking in the stunning visuals along the journey.

Aside from mountains of a certain green vegetable, Vermont’s countryside is dotted by sprawling farms. The grain silo of each adds  just the right touch for a souvenir picture postcard. 

stock image

Silos are essential for farm storage. Mega fortified varieties are also essential. Those secure nuclear tipped ICBM missiles. But silos are the bane of journalists whose days are diligently spent working to develop an informed citizenry and leadership. Sadly, social media has become ‘the preferred way’ so many get their news, selecting only those infomercial silos which pipe in what folks want to hear, i.e., echo chambers … and nothing more for balance. No wonder we have major conceptual divisions in our republic.

A glimpse into this divide can easily be spotted on the street, at the gym, on public transportation, or even while driving (!) There are so many folks in the info receiving mode while multi-task using a variety of plugged-in earpiece accessories.  

It’s one thing to be into your own private world amidst our shared world, but to add insult, plugged-in minions are often oblivious to those around them. 

My first encounter with this phenomenon was on a Haifa to Tel Aviv southbound train. A portly plugged-in young man had just sort of waddled onboard accompanied by his backpack and arms laden with shopping bags.  

I watched him eye the crowded car until he spotted a mere sliver of daylight between a seated group of happily conversing older women. 

Continuing in his own piped in auditory realm and undeterred by their friendly engagement, without a word he wedged himself and his baggage between the women. All they could manage was taking a deep breath to slim themselves down a bit and countenance a WTF expression. 

This episode was a window into the current norm creating digitally assisted, customized personal space in the common era and common area. But beyond the impact of this practice, and the occasional collision of distracted walkers, what’s the impact of this intellectual curiosity black hole being embraced by our elected leaders and their handpicked advisors? 

If unsure, I will recommend a NYT Bestseller, Andy Borowitz’s Profiles in Ignorance: How America's Politicians Got Dumb and Dumber.  

Paraphrasing Amazon's review, " .... the book aims to make us both laugh and cry: laugh at the idiotic antics of several public figures, and cry at the cataclysms these icons of ignorance have caused.

But most importantly, the book delivers a call to action and a cause for optimism: History doesn't move in a straight line, and we can change the course if we act now,"

That's the good news for all regardless of how you get it.

images © David Greenfield

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Visit my web site anytime to view other blog-posts, Galleries of photos, and Photo-essays, then kindly share on social media. Also, if you think your friends and family might appreciate my posts, tell them to contact me and I'll add them to my list of followers. Thank you.

Word Soup

What shall it be this morning - avocado toast with havarti, Chobani with fruit & nuts, or leftovers? Yes, leftovers! After deliberation the next step becomes pro-forma, i.e., open Wordle on the iPhone to give my brain, not just the alimentary canal, a mild work out as I try to guess Wordle of the Day. This NY Times game is the perfect pairing for whichever breakfast decision was handed down.  

Wordle is mega popular. You probably know the routine, take a stab at some letters before going into unscramble mode to solve the day’s mystery word puzzle. Then tackle more brain exercisers from other offerings, like Spelling Bee, The Mini, or Connections. 

With Wordle still on your mind, consider these letter offerings, UNRRA and UNWRA. Don’t bother unscrambling, this homonymific  duo (both pronounced ‘un-ra’) consists of acronyms for two United Nations agencies. Although sounding the same and charged with similar missions, their accomplishments are worlds apart. 

UNRRA (United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Agency) became part of the United Nations in 1945 and played a major role in relief and resettlement of hundreds of thousands of Displaced Persons (DPs), mainly Holocaust survivors, in the  aftermath of WWII. 

my parents Rachela and Yosef
with UNRRA Team 340
Lager 609
Braunau, Austria © 1946

Within six years all of the Jewish DPs were ushered onto paths for lives to be reborn as they repatriated, primarily in North and South America, and the fledgling new state of Israel.

 

USHMM commemorative calendar
celebrating its Special Exhibit
Life Reborn

UNWRA (United Nations Works and Relief Agency for Palestinian Refugees), was established in 1949 to provide relief for refugees of the 1948 Palestinian/Israeli conflict, primarily the ~700,000 Palestinians who fled or were expelled from their homes when surrounding Arab armies invaded the newborn Jewish State. 

 

UNWRA’s mandate was subject to review every three years. That mandate has renewed regularly since, essentially institutionalizing the agency. It currently employs 30,000 workers. Nota bene, an equal number of Jews (700,000) were forced from their generational homes in surrounding Arab lands at the onset of hostilities. All those refugees were repatriated, primarily into Israel. 

Following the horrific October 7th 2023 Hamas pogrom several nations withdrew their UN support for UNWRA having learned a number of its employees participated in the brutal attack.  

Supporters also objected to how UNWRA had become institutionalized. By continuing to support Palestinians in refugee camps for decades, the agency provides opponents of peace with a festering irritant which maintains the conflict at a simmering level subject to periodic boil-overs.

Circling back to the big picture …. with repatriation of all its charges within six years, UNRRA’s mission (United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Agency) in post WWII Europe was truly a ‘mission accomplished’. 

It’s long past time to demand similar results from UNWRA (United Nations Works and Relief Agency for Palestinian Refugees) by facilitating resettlement of generations of Palestinian Arabs still lingering in UN camps.  

Then after seventy-five years UNWRA could pronounce its ‘mission accomplished’ and then finally be shuttered.

other than captioned images, all others are stock 

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Visit my web site anytime to view other blog-posts, Galleries of photos, and Photo-essays, then kindly share on social media. Also, if you think your friends and family might appreciate my posts, tell them to contact me and I'll add them to my list of followers. Thank you.

No Words

 

 “No words”. 

That was the most common reaction as broadcasts flooded airways with reports about the orgiastic pogrom unfolding in southern Israel on October 7th, 2023. It was the deadliest day in Jewish history since the Shoah - the Holocaust. When the full impact of that 20th century crime, the greatest in human history, was just beginning to be felt, there were also ‘no words’ for it. In an address to his nation, then Prime Minister Winston Churchill told British listeners "We are in the presence of a crime without a name."

My parents were survivors of that ‘crime without a name’ and suffered  terribly. 

Jerusalem 1981
© David Greenfield

My father had endured five years in forced labor in various Nazi work and concentration camps, Auschwitz among them. He was liberated just days  before the war ended. 

My mother spent over two years hiding without a roof over her head in the forests of eastern Poland, now Ukraine, which surrounded her home. She was always in fear of being discovered and unsure where food for the next meal would be found.  

© David Greenfield

They bore lifelong scars, most not evident at first glance, but possessed by demons deep within their psyches.  

© David Greenfield

When Allied armies finally vanquished the Nazis in the spring of 1945, ending their quest to systematically exterminate the world’s Jews, each parent was able to step out of Europe’s ashes into the sunshine, a chilling one. They soon realized they were mere remnants of their respective large extended families.  

My father and mother were my heroes, I loved them dearly. There isn’t a day that goes by in which I don’t think about and miss them. But as much as part of my heart will always ache for them, after witnessing the savagery of October 7th and ensuing antisemitic vitriol unleashed afterward, I am happy they are not alive today. They were spared the renewed nightmares they would surely experience.  

DP Camp
Austria 1949

My own fear was I would not have been able to allay their anxieties to comfort them. 

I would have ‘no words’. 

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Visit my web site anytime to view other blog-posts, Galleries of photos, and Photo-essays, then kindly share on social media. Also, if you think your friends and family might appreciate my posts, tell them to contact me and I'll add them to my list of followers. Thank you.