Pathway to Citizenship

 

America was always viewed as the ‘City on the Hill’, a beacon of freedom and democracy. People from around the world looked to it and aspired one day to call it their home, become a citizen, and raise their families there. 

Pathway to citizenship is termed ‘naturalization’, a process that is ……… natural. It was the pathway my parents and I  once traveled on.

Rachela, David, and Josef

But the day I officially became a citizen, not only as the minor child of naturalized  parents, was anything but a natural day. 

How come? Here’s the story of events leading up to that day. 

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Rachela Bunis along with an older sister, and Josef Grünfeld along with a younger brother were the only survivors of the Holocaust/Shoah from their families. Before the war, they lived in different parts of Poland, but afterward, as with other Jewish survivors whose families and homes were decimated, they were gathered by the Bricha* from all over Europe and resettled in various Displaced Persons (DP) camps. Once relocated, the survivors’ goal was to move on and find new homes in Palestine or other parts of the world ready, for the most part, to accept Jewish refugees. 

Rachela and Josef met in one of those DP camps in Austria. They fell in love, married and gave birth to me. From Day One in camp they also turned their energies into finding a new home. Initially their sights were on Palestine to be part of the movement to re-establish a Jewish homeland after 2,000 years of dispersion. The British, who held the mandate for Palestine had other ideas. The Brits didn’t want more Jews to emigrate there and create turmoil for them with the local Arab population. Despite several attempts, the Bricha was unsuccessful in its underground smuggling operations to get us into Palestine. But all the while my father was writing to relatives who had previously settled in the US. Could they help bring us to the States? 

Josef at the typewriter, younger brother Mendus in the back

His aunt Tova, who came to America as a young woman, was now married and established in the Midwood section of Brooklyn. 

 

Tova and Israel

She and her husband Israel eventually provided the necessary sponsorship for our family. So, after four years living in the DP camp, and with all necessary prerequisites in place, we left Austria in February, 1949 for the voyage to New York City.  

Now the mission was to become US citizens. Back then the process was relatively straightforward - after a period of five years, pass a citizenship exam and demonstrate the ability to support yourself. Both parents, now with Americanized names, Rachele and Joseph (Joe) Greenfield, went to night school to learn their new language and my dad secured a stable job as a pattern man* at the Werman & Sons Brooklyn shoe factory. When they earned their citizenship, as their minor child I automatically became a citizen. For me it was easy and ….. natural. 

Now let’s fast forward to the 1960’s.

Soon I would be leaving home for college. My folks felt I should have my own set of citizenship papers. In order to do so, very early one designated morning I had to appear before a magistrate in a courtroom at the Town of Hempstead’s municipal building. Upon taking an oath of allegiance to the US, and answering a few questions, my own papers would be issued. 

 

On the designated day in court I got up really early, much earlier than I usually did on school days, and went to Hempstead. I don’t remember much about the proceeding but I can remember it wasn’t as challenging as getting up so early! You know how teenagers like to sleep in. When I got home I headed straight to bed for a much needed nap. 

The date was November 22, 1963. 

Suddenly, nap time was over. My mother was in my room shaking me awake. 

What’s going on? 

There was breaking news I had to hear - President John F. Kennedy, JFK, the  youngest man ever to become a US president, with a beautiful wife and young children, Caroline and John, Jr., had just been shot while motorcading in Dallas, Texas! By 1:00 PM, he was declared dead - gone. The entire nation, and the world, was in shock. Sadly, that brutal act turned out to be just an opening salvo of the 1960s turbulent decade.  

November 22, 1963 - I may not remember much about my early morning steps along the pathway to citizenship at the municipal building, but I will never forget what happened in Dallas on that day. 

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Bricha - Postwar, clandestine movement that helped Jews emigrate from eastern Europe to Palestine.

Pattern Man - Translates a fashion idea into a practical, beautiful, well fitting shoe. He is at once an artist, a fashion expert, an engineer, and a production man. The pattern man develops the patterns for all sizes and widths. Those patterns are then used to create dies to cut the leather pieces to manufacture the shoe. The pattern man is the ultimate Shoe Man.

Screens

 

The Big Apple is home to countless subterranean Metro stations. Descend the stairs to any and you’ll behold another Wonder of the World - one node of a ‘mycelia mesh’ of iron rails which for a couple of bucks are capable of transporting subway cars to all points in this mega-city. Aside from being awestruck by the sheer complexity of this 24/7/365 functioning network, down there you never know what or who you’ll encounter. 

Perhaps it’ll be an uber-talented busker who with a lucky break could easily be above ground entertaining on Broadway or in Carnegie Hall. If it’s not a performer you’re marveling at, there’s always the default of laying back to savor some prime people watching as hordes of all stripes disgorge from and then cram into the arriving cars.  

But one thing you’ll rarely encounter is a rider with eyes not laser locked  on a screen.

That’s why, while recently waiting for the 181st Street downtown A-train, I was captivated by a nattily dressed gent, who may not even own a phone, smart or otherwise, deeply engaged with his newspaper - yes, a news-PAPER!  

OK you say, reading in subways is not deemed atypical for folks of a certain age, but how about the outlier sight of a commuting GenZer with one hand strap-hanging while reading a book in her other hand, and turning pages ! That’s precious.

Next time you make use of public transportation, glance at fellow travelers. It’s a safe bet almost all will be immersed in their screens. The phenomenon is universal, and not confined to NYC. 

Where is this trend inexorably going, and what are the implications? I was shocked to get a glimpse of what that future might be. I first sensed it last fall grabbing some ‘chill time’ hiking around Walden Pond, a serene oasis in nearby Concord MA. 

The Pond is where transcendentalist writer/philosopher Henry David Thoreau spent two years living a spartan life communing 

with nature. That’s why my communing experience was shattered upon seeing the prominent sculpture of the poet ‘enhanced’ with a prop casting him in a ‘comment about our world’ pose. 

Is Thoreau demonstrating who we’re becoming? Is it also conceivable that if he were here now he too would have sipped the Kool-aid and succumbed to the addition of the screen? 

Another visionary, sculptor Federico Clapis, offered his answer. To get it I first had to travel part way around the world to the MoCo Museum in Amsterdam. 

Federico’s answer is an ominous, ‘Yes’.

Mr. Clapis envisions a frightening endpoint of the constant attachment to our phone screens. He sees it resulting in our digital personae, not our human relationships and interpersonal skills, defining us and becoming dominant in the genes of our species.

He fears we will lose that which makes us warm-blooded, empathetic human beings. He fears we will become our screens. Federico may be on to something.

Perhaps he remembered an episode from his early Bible classes. It’s the story of Lot’s wife, who despite admonition looks the wrong way as she flees the destruction of Sodom & Gomorrah and is immediately turned into a pillar of salt, effectively stone.

If we continue on the current path of ‘looking the wrong way’, i.e., overdosing on screens, will we too turn into stone. 

Will you?

images © David Greenfield

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The Organ Recital

Preamble:

When the idea for this blog first popped into my head, I was feeling fine. No cold, flu, Covid, not even a sniffle. My daily focus was on all the Eveready Bunny energized stuff I could do each day. Then, dreaded symptoms of a ‘cold’ unceremoniously descended, blossomed, and lasted far too long. The theme no longer seemed right. It only applies to those not dealing with matters of health. If you don’t have your health, you don't have anything. Regaining it becomes Job #1, the work is 24/7, and all consuming. That said, feel free to read on.

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Shoulders, knees, hips, and

shoulders knees, hips.

Now move deeper. 

Visualize your heart as it beats, 

slide down to the kidneys, 

cruise through your colon, 

then roll down each vertebra of your spine.

Contrary to what you may be thinking, this is not an anatomy lesson, nor set of yoga routines for a full body holistic workout. Yoga produces a feeling of invigoration. What I outlined does not. They’re actually bullet points of body part afflictions serving as conversation starters for too many folks in my age demographic. Many comically call this ‘The Organ Recital’. The performance however is not to be confused with uplifting symphony hall-type musical entertainment. 

During these ‘Organ Recitals’ every conversant typically has a story to contribute, and some levity does usually infuse the discourse. But at its core the conversation is a downer. 

It doesn’t have to be this way. 

Why?

The answer my friend is not blowing in the wind. I found it searching for something which I now can’t remember. What I did discover was a well-worn dusty file box tucked away in the corner of a seldomly used bookcase. Eureka! Within were dozens of letters, postcards, even telegrams from times long ago and places far away, a virtual treasure trove of memorabilia. 

Postmarks were from a time when members of today’s ‘recital demographic’ were fresh faced young adults exploring the world and staking out next steps in life. Unlike Pandora’s Box of mythology, opening this box did not unleash curses, but rather a cure - a motivational GPS for today. 

Consider …..

Recently hobnobbing at an exhibit reception, my wife and I overheard a guest mentioning she found her 70s to be the most exciting time of her life. 

 

What, no ‘recital’, just excitement? 

We had to break into the conversation and discover her secret sauce. Unfortunately the opportunity slipped away before closing time. The gallery owner, an accomplished professional photographer who knew the woman well and had the key, proceeded to unlock the secret to her excitement. 

Like his ‘excited with 70s guest’, he too was of the same demographic and was finding fresh ways to remain engaged and energized. He recounted how back in the day he was regularly in the air crisscrossing the globe on assignment. When that no longer was his cup of tea, he set up a stylish Cambridge photography gallery, continuing to keep his finger on the pulse of the profession.

Aha! We discovered the sauce recipe - no exotic ingredients, no magic potions. Everyone can make some and no two sauces will be the same.  

stock photo

The Recipe:

Look past the ‘organ recital’ half-empty water glass to refocus on all the new possibilities in the half-full part, then dive in. Maybe your cup of tea is travel, or learning, or volunteering to repair the world, or whatever. In fact, maybe it’s actually something you’re already doing in your Chapter II Life. Just do it with a different mindset, and don’t leave it on the dark side of the road where the recital is playing. 

Which leads me to this concluding story ….

Pickleball is my court game now. It used to be tennis. Back then, I was in an active mens doubles group. One guy, Charlie, had to drop out at a summer’s start due to an eye injury. When he surprisingly reappeared toward season’s end, fellow players wanted to hear his story. Charlie, kind of a free spirit always quick with a touch of wit, recounted the following: “50 may be the new 30, and 60 may be the new 40,  but 70 is definitely  the new 90!” 

Charlie’s stand up monologue was chuckle-worthy at the time, but going forward it won’t be my mantra. To make the 70s the most exciting of times, I’m sticking with a Shakespearean view, ’the world is my oyster’. There are pearls out there. You too can join the hunt.

photos © David Greenfield

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