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https://chelseanow.com/2017/09/in-dads-journey-of-aging-we-both-found-community/

Rebecca Neuwirth and her father. Photo courtesy the Neuwirth family.

BY REBECCA NEUWIRTH | My father was a very proud man. But aging and arthritis, combined with the body’s payback for a half-century of leading a bachelor’s life — with all its Sardi’s cocktails and 3 p.m. breakfasts of olive and cheese — took its toll. When he reached 80, he was a frequent visitor at the doctor’s.

But though Dad often accepted help gracefully and increasingly sought it for the small things in life (shopping as the heavy bags became unwieldy, crossing the street as his stride slowed down considerably), he did everything on his own terms and fiercely defended his independence to decide.

Would there have come a time when I would have had to force more help on him?

I often wondered where the lines were. When should I insist on taking action, and when should I stand by and respectfully watch? There were a million small questions: Do I buy him a walker, even if he doesn’t want it? (I bought it and he used it, and it felt good to be of help.) Can I insist that Dad eat healthily, or even just regularly? (I could not, especially when his ideas of health included the firm belief, abetted by a slew of ridiculous health articles, that diet soda was better than fruit juice.) Can I help with finances when they are getting complex? (That was an absolute “No” and must have touched on some very strong emotions, as I could not even bring it up without strife.)

There were selfish considerations too: Would I have been able to manage more help, financially and physically? And philosophical ones: Would it have killed my father’s spirit to insist against his will?

A few days before he died, I urged my dad to move even closer to me so I could provide him with more care: warm meals, daily visits. “Maybe in a few years, we can think of that,” he told me, and not because he didn’t like those things. His death spared me the hard decisions.

My story is not unique — it has made me part of the vast club of people who have watched their parents age and for whom this is, suddenly, deeply personal. And it’s impacted the way the world looks: I saw a man the other day whose gait was so slow that he ended up in the middle of the street when the light changed, dangerously turning his small frame to the oncoming traffic. How we treat the elderly, and if we even notice them, seems like a good a test of character.

It turns out that with all the challenges, my dad was neither unique nor unwise in wanting to stay at home. Decades of research show that “aging in place” — which means getting the help that makes it possible to continue to live at home — has real advantages. Emotionally, it allows aging individuals to retain their sense of independence and dignity, which in turn keeps them healthier. And financially, it is almost always more affordable for the individual and the government by very real margins, even when taking into consideration significant home care.

Still, staying at home requires a level of ongoing engagement, and many, many decisions.

And that takes a village, to borrow the phrase, and three key conditions that I believe need to be in place.

First, my father was blessed to live in a community that understands what it means to be supportive of aging people and their families. Our local Senior Center plays an outsized role in that. Ours is run by JASA (Jewish Association Serving the Aging) under the auspices of Penn South Social Services, and was founded 30 years back by UJA-Federation of New York, that offered seniors help in the residential community in which they lived. Today, the Penn South buildings we live in have a plethora of programs, from yoga to movie night, and social workers to help with individual questions and cases.

We availed ourselves of these services in different ways. My dad suspected he was too young for the classes, but he enjoyed the ping pong table — and while he usually didn’t take the advice of the social workers, he liked telling them jokes and they joyfully responded with the laughs and human contact that meant so much to him. It was me who availed myself of the service, asking the social workers for their wisdom on what was “normal” or a source of concern, and getting information on available options.

Second, at least as important as the services was the sense of connectedness that my father felt in his older years. Working at the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, a Jewish relief group that cares for people from children in poverty to elderly Holocaust survivors, I’ve witnessed the overwhelming importance of human contact, spiritual connection, a sense of meaning — all of those play an outsized role not only in mental but also in physical well-being.

We are fortunate that across our local Penn South community, there is an awareness of the challenges of aging that manifests itself not only in physical amenities, but also in attitudes. People stopped to help my dad all the time, and to talk with him; and he had the time to listen too, which they valued.

Our local synagogue, Congregation Beit Simchat Torah, and my dad’s other synagogue from his Upper West Side days, Congregation Habonim, were exceptional as well in creating a warm community that welcomed my dad. I will never forget the Kol Nidre service I attended with my dad less than a year before he died. I insisted on bringing him in a wheelchair and a prime area had been reserved for us to sit — and so we sat together — just us without my kids — singing and praying in the tragic, hopeful way of that holiday, until late into the evening.

Those many small and positive interactions made his life not only possible, but also so much more pleasant. In retrospect, they also morphed the burden of his care into small blessings of connection and goodwill shared by many. Sometimes I would be angry at my father for asking assistance for many small daily tasks, but he insisted that most people were glad to offer aid, and I think he was right.

Finally, Dad’s most earnest desire was to be useful, and that made our last years together as a family fulfilling. Until the end, he babysat for my children, entertaining them with word games and stories for hours on end, even when he couldn’t easily walk or horse around.

Creating meaningful opportunities to contribute and real social connections was the key not only for my dad to remain vivid, but also for us too to profit from him and his many gifts and to form our own identities in the process.

What incredible talent we have in our communities — mentors and chess teachers and witnesses to history — and how we rob ourselves when we consign them to the past prematurely. We need to do more to harness intergenerational cooperation, not just as isolated “community service” opportunities, but as part of how we live and play.

Part of the challenge of our time is to create stronger communities across many lines, and to turn the issue of aging from a personal or family burden to a shared communal responsibility — and opportunity. We have a very real, a very personal interest in getting this right.

Rebecca Neuwirth, a seasoned nonprofit professional who is engaged in strategic philanthropy for the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, lives in Penn South with her family.

My Dad

RONALD NEUWIRTH – tribute, 6/30/2016

Dad intensely loved life. I’m certain that was the message he would have wanted us to take away today as we remember his life.

With his soft voice and gentle manner, Dad sought out strong, life-affirming moments.

Sometimes they were about nature. I don’t think many people knew this side of him, but every time we were in Long Island, Dad would insist on going to the ocean, even if only for a few minutes. I don’t think I understood at the time, but as I’ve remembered over the last days, I appreciate that Dad really sought out awe. He would walk along the sand, looking at the powerful Atlantic waves, the wilder, the better.

He dreamed of going to the Hebrides, the lonely islands off of England. The closest we got was Nova Scotia, on a father-daughter trip for his 70^th birthday. He loved the bed and breakfasts, the quaint restaurants, the farmland, but what he was most excited about was the untamed landscapes and the whales.

He looked for excitement in New York too and he knew all the best places, from Sardi’s to the Algonquin to McSorley’s. He showed me a speakeasy once in the Village and for the life of me I can’t remember the name or the location anymore – he was certainly my ticket. 

Dad was a romantic, he was a poet. The editor of the Southampton Press was kind enough to put together some of the poetry he published in that paper for us, and my son will read one poem after this. His favorite story was J.D. Salinger’s – For Esme with Love and Squalor, about a little girl with grown up words and loving ways, who reminds me of our daughter.

He loved folk music – it hit all of his registers – words, melodies, social conscience. As a kid he used to take me to concerts all the time, and I remember finding them nice but vaguely embarrassing. When I got older, I realized of course that seeing Arlo Guthrie or Pete Seeger perform wasn’t that uncool at all.

Dad loved words – the way they were able to capture and hold still a moment, the way they sounded, their multiple meanings. By the way, that was the basis of all his jokes – the double meanings of words, and it’s not a skill he passed on to me. Last night, my son was telling joke after joke from one of my dad’s books and had to stop and explain each and every one to his mom. So maybe it has skipped a generation. Let’s hope so.

He had a lot of stories- this was one about words. When he was Business Editor at the NYU paper, he was in charge of selling advertising. In order to encourage people to look at the ads, he had a creative idea -- starting a misspelled word contest in the paper; if you found the word, you’d get a prize. Hundreds of people responded, so it was a great success, just one problem. There wasn’t just one misspelled word, there were a whole bunch of them, so it turned out not that economical - they had to give out a lot of prizes.

And of course, Dad loved what words – and stories, and games – do – which is to help us to find our way to other people. In this day of distractions, multitasking, omnipresent phones, Dad was like an antidote. He was all about making the most of those moments we have together.

It didn’t matter if Dad was with people of totally different ages, backgrounds, interests… he had an incredible ability to connect. I have spoken with many people who knew him in recent days, and I’ve been so moved to understand how much even peripheral relationships he had were meaningful and mattered. Even if he only had a few minutes with someone, those were really human moments and they helped make people’s days and also lit up his life.

Of course, I was so fortunate to have  – along with my children – his most intense love, his worry and care and dreams. One of the things I liked most was watching him watch my kids. He had that uncanny ability to just sit back and enjoy, appreciate, to feel with them, find them beautiful and funny and amazing.

I want to thank you all so much for being here. In Jewish tradition, Tikkun Olan is the gathering together of pieces of shattered holiness in an effort to repair the world. Over these last intense days, I feel like I have been so lucky to glimpse pieces of my father that reside in many of you, it has been a great comfort to collect them and to hope that they at the same time stay with you too, and in that way, though I miss him dearly, he is still here, connecting us.

Thank you – my colleagues and friends – so many people from JDC. It means so much that you are here and that I can share this with you. 

To my Dad’s friends at Habonim and CBST, to family friends, to his very dear friends and our family  – I am so grateful for your care for Dad, for the long talks, the beers, and the memories. To Rabbi Kleinbaum – Dad was so inspired by you and I am so thankful that you are with us through this time.

To Karsten, my mom, and my children – your love was sustaining for him and it is for me.

May his memory be a blessing. 

POEM
Joy Personified
No recession could erode the strong silken ocean waves,
Lovely, shining, dancing powers that be.
As we skipped securely along a still vibrant universe's edge.
My 4-year-old grandson; joy personified- (& me) along the sea.
- Ron Neuwirth, September 3, 2009, in The Southampton Press

Pet-sharing

I want to take a departure from some serious topics to extol the virtues of pet-sharing.

Now I know apartment sharing (Airbnb) and car sharing (VIA, Lift) are having a moment in the sun. And of course there is no greater cheerleader for bike sharing (the fabulous Citibikes that have added immense amounts of joy to my regular commute for nearly three years now) than I am, and for community/ie shared local dinners. And I hope and trust these wonderful reinventions are here to stay.

But no one has mentioned Pet-sharing and I would like to propose it now.

Spiced up a bit, this might be the foundational story of a major new trend:

I joined the Board of Penn South Social Services about half a year ago because I wanted to get more involved in my local community and come up with better ways for different generations and individuals to work together.

My fellow new Board member and upstairs neighbor started a FB page for the organization. Since we are among the youngest and most familiar with social media, we talked about what we might use it for.

And I had this idea: my family would love to have a pet, but our schedules are too crazy and we are away too often for that to be a wise choice. 

Aren't there people who have pets and don't want to pay outrageous sums to have them looked after? 

We would be willing- no thrilled - to pet-sit for a period. That would give us a chance to have an animal in our lives in a meaningful and manageable way. And we would offer genuine rather than paid care.

Forget FB, a conversation was enough. My fellow Board member was heading to Italy for 10 days and asked me then and there if we might take care of her cat. Best of all, "Kimmy" would come to us, she suggested, so she would not be alone for so long.

We are on day 9. What a wonderful time! Kimmy did take a while to get used to us. At the beginning, she hid so thoroughly that I wondered if she might have dis-apparated Harry Potter style and I imagined with horror having to tell my neighbor, just landing in Tuscany, what had happened. And on the first day, Kimmy's lack of appetite was cause for concern. 

But she is prowling around now, sleeping at the foot of my bed and choosing the rooms we are in rather than those we are not. My son is feeding her regularly, in fact, we need to make sure not to both feed her unwittingly as her appetite is immense, as if to make up for lost time. 

It's been good to see the kids accepting responsibility to care for Kimmy and learning to appreciate the sensibilities of a cat, who cannot be forced into friendship. We have even experienced a certain self-imposed mellowing as our loud noises and occasional craziness scare the cat and we are often thinking about her.  And last, but not least, we've had some warm pet snuggles and marveled at what a beautiful, nimble and communicative creature she is.

So- pet sitting. A serious responsibility but I'm a huge fan.

And ready to do it again. Anyone?

Passover this year- ecstatic liberation and revisited imagination

Several years ago, the meaning of Passover crystallized for me on the idea of gratitude.

Why should we revisit a story of enslavement, why should we not only tell it, but actually eat it and act it out?

I've come to think that there is no other way to truly appreciate the state of freedom in which we live now. 

For years, I obsessed about this question: how can I appreciate or even truly comprehend the plentiful food and safety that I have, my rights as a woman, the rule of law under which I live, even the caring of those near me, if that is all I have ever known? Of course in some dry theory I may understand that these circumstances are privileged. But how can I genuinely enjoy them, how can I know what is worth prizing and defending, if I don't know anything else? 

The Passover Seder addresses the issue head on with the most convincing solution I've seen yet. To enjoy our freedom, we need to empathize with the plight of those who lived before us (the sweat, the bitterness, the horror), and then we need to physically make ourselves enjoy (the four cups of wine, question #4 about reclining, the entire long ritual family meal). 

There are three new elements for me to contemplate this year:

1. The importance of the threshold between slavery and freedom, the liberation moment. In a lesson with Rabbi Michael Paley today, he discussed the Passover aim of achieving an elevated, almost ecstatic, state at the Seder, which gives visceral meaning to the idea of liberation. This adds the passion to "gratitude." 

To feel true, meaningful, alive gratitude, and not the dry sanctimonious sort, that moment of liberation needs to be experienced, even if it must be play acted or story-told, and experienced again and again lest it fade.

2. The notion that gratitude gives us the power we need to not just sit on our laurels and float, but to do something with what we have. Our security, health, well-being, love are all gifts that supply us with strength for something - something bigger than passive entertainment, even bigger than understanding and happiness- fine though they are. An active gratitude should drive us to passion, and passion should drive us to ... What exactly? The method would be acting to our fullest on the strengths we have. But the goal? That's #3.

3. I've focused on the need to see the contours of history to appreciate the comfort of what we have now, and how this gives us passion to act. To where does this passion drive?

Just as the comparison between the past and present gives more weight to both- so too we need to compare a future worth aspiring toward with the present we have. And if we can do this- we will have our direction. 

To do it, we need a prodigious and expansive imagination.

I'd like to dedicate the next part of this blog to that-- to dreaming about what I and we might have that is better than what we do now, that is not entitled and disconnected from the past, but builds upon it.

I'd like to exercise the imagination side of my brain, revisit some naive hopes, check in on quelled idealism. 

That's a Passover message this year....

Diversity

A friend of mine cited a study (I never verified, but it makes a good point and I sure hope it's true) in Sweden in which children in classrooms that integrated a number of disabled peers performed better than children in non-integrated, fully non-disabled, "normal" classes.

Why? Because as the kids in the integrated classroom interacted and helped their disabled classmates, they processed the materials they were learning in a different way (something like teaching vs more passive absorbing). It's good to be exposed and challenged with different ways of thinking, and to have to explain yourself differently too; really a key component to understanding who you are and that you can choose to change.

Integration is different from diversity of course. With integration, there is a clear majority perspective that is normative and  the minority tries to fit in. An embrace of diversity implies that there may be no generally accepted norms at all, a less comfortable proposition for everyone, a sort of anarchy of values. It's worth spending some time on that distinction- I think it puts into question traditional liberal values and explains a lot today-  from fights on campus to issues with immigration in Europe. For another blog though....

In any case, the opposite of both concepts is when everyone is largely of the same background, a monolithic culture. And that's often a disaster, even when it is done out of charitable intent or, the opposite, selfish or self-protective. Here are three examples:

Housing that separates low income people and pushes them together has been largely discredited in favor of integrated strategies that put low or middle income housing together with more high end housing. One of my favorite stories is from high end housing in Florida- so called gated communities, created in large part to maintain exclusivity and keep crime out... Until it became clear that the children and grandchildren of original owners, within the gates, were stealing and turning to criminal activities. There may be a lot of points here, but the key one is that also upper income housing doesn't seem to "work."

Public schools that have poor populations have clearly not done well. Interestingly, wealthy private schools, while academically performing, have been criticized for social environments that are unrealistic and unhealthy-- not only entitlement, but also loaded stress and mental health issues abound. Unfortunately, in spite of all of this, NY has some of the most segregated schools, not only an embarrassment but a real loss for everyone. So many educational initiatives focus on how to improve poor schools, a laudable goal; but one wonders whether old fashioned integration isn't the most natural and best answer. 

And then I'm loving the studies of companies that show teams of leaders with more diversity create better, more successful companies. The reason- it boils down to assumptions being challenged. I've seen it framed both in terms of men-women and in terms of ethnic diversity.

Of course diversity is relative- and nothing is really ever truly monolithic. But increasing diversity generally increases quality. 

We are lucky to live in such a truly diverse city- only sorry we don't take more advantage of that.

Gratitude as apathy or activism?

A recent NYT article criticized the current focus on gratitude, taping into a concern I've had about this writing project.

Does the practice of gratitude redirect what might be productive outrage aimed at injustice in the world-- a potential positive catalyst for change -- into a self-satisfied posture aimed inward and a source of apathy?

I can see where it might. But there are a number of ways in which gratitude can be understood and play out....

I'm grateful to have enough to eat, I'm grateful to be safe, I'm grateful to enjoy good health... A grateful list like that sounds mildly distasteful, gloating, boasting even. (Can I add here - to have a beautiful new outfit, a great hairdo, trophy family....) I've really tried to avoid this posture. In fact, the blog has not documented much of my personal situation, though I am indeed grateful for it on my own personal count.

On deeper reflection, a similar grateful list might point to the delicacy of good fortune. And the recognition that it is fortune and not intention or hard work that leads in large part to the situation in which we find ourselves, can be a very philosophical moment, even a religious one. Fortune is fickle after all, and can easily change. To value what one has in the moment is to be cognizant that the winds of change may come very quickly, in fact, they most definitely will. Unlike gloating, this type of gratitude is the ultimate in humility, the recognition that we are small ourselves and our joy is fleeting. I could get very poetic on this front, but this attitude, which is deeply personal, has also not been my main intention with this Grateful blog, and it too results in a turn inward.

The gratitude that I have tried to encourage in this blog was inspired by an idea that is almost diametrically opposed.

It was a political idea - a very outward rather than a personal set of reflections: the idea that I needed to appreciate the rights and social norms that I have in order to not take them for granted, and be willing to fight for them if they are drilled back or not applied equally for all, as I see happening today.

The idea is to understand that I have cause to be grateful because of certain political realities that I need to safeguard or fight for: I have enough to eat because I was born in a country that has peace and plenty -- unlike so many; I'm grateful to be safe because we have rule of law and also because I am the child of many privileges that are not doled out equally; I'm grateful to enjoy good health and I  appreciate the fact that my employer supplements a fine health insurance plan.

And of course I had the idea that this was not just applicable to me, but much more broadly - that's why I wanted this to be a public reflection.

Finally, although this was political in nature, I didn't want it to be theoretical. I am interested in connecting emotion to activism in a thoughtful way.

My favorite holiday is the one where we remember the story of the biblical escape from Egypt - from slavery into freedom - and my favorite ritual is the Seder, when we try to re-enact that story in order to simulate the experience of attaining freedom. That's an effort, as I see it, to drill the lessons of one era into the very different realities of another, since all of us have been born into a life of freedom. The point? To create not just a theoretical but actually a visceral dislike of the application of power over others. 

I wanted to try to re-insert this visceral sense into our political discussion. I'm grateful that my income is sufficient-- how unfair to be born by no fault of one's own in a place where hunger is the norm. I'm grateful to be assumed innocent in almost all situations-- how horrendous to be subject to constant suspicion. And I'm grateful to have healthcare and the right to choice- how is it possible that this shouldn't be afforded to all when we have the means available?

We've seen a lot of outrage in politics, but it has not been tempered by a recognition of our own good fortune and personal humility and gratitude. Instead, it's a race to claim victimhood... which brings out fear and the worst in us. The idea of my gratitude blog was to inspire activism from a place of strength and appreciation.

Does that type of gratitude resonate? If you've gotten to this point, please leave a comment and let me know!

And with this in mind, I'll try to write some upcoming posts about specific issues at hand.

A human instinct for joy?

I just finished a wonderful book- Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann. In a postscript he writes about "the human instinct for recovery and joy."

It reminded me of something I've thought often about kids.... That they are fun-makers, literally looking to turn everything into fun, as if their natural state is laughter or at least smiles, which is something that must be shared. 

And if you don't laugh along, if you start getting all serious and needing earnestly to get things done-- that's when they'll butt up against you and be stubborn and whiny and difficult. 

If you can make things fun, you can also get things done. 

Sometimes I think that's the "purpose" of children in the world, to remind us to lighten up and connect with each other and get some perspective. I suppose that's why older people, at least the nice ones, like kids so much too-- they appreciate the incredible tight-packed essence of life and energy in their little frames, and they see how that drains with age, without us even realizing it....

So if there is a human instinct for recovery and joy, it is a primal one from earliest childhood. It's the child in us, ironically, that can keep going, that can take loss and disappointment in stride.

I think there are a few other forces at work in all of us too. Of course the force of fear-- which is the opposing force of fun in every way. If fun gets us to try new things, to be curious and connecting, fear causes us to draw back, to doubt ourselves, to turn inward.

Perhaps deriving from this basic dichotomy, there comes from that feeling of fun a drive to create and be productive, to work (if the work is right, "unalienated" I suppose). And from fear, there comes a drive to destroy. 

Where does boredom come in, I wonder, another truly elemental state. I suppose it can lead either way-- thrill seeking can be destructive or generative.

I'm grateful for the book for making me feel so much while staying so safe -- without real danger or heartache. It was such a poignant reminder to appreciate.

Germany

Over the past month, I've been amazed to see Germany accept tens of thousands of refugees and to hear Chancellor Merkel promise that the country will take up to 1,000,000 within the year. It's truly mind boggling that families fleeing across the world consider Germany the destination of choice.

Even those voices that criticize Germany's generous policy as indirectly encouraging more people to flee and raising their hopes about entry to Europe, and who forecast bad things ahead for Germany and other European countries that accept refugees on the assumption that they will surely fail to integrate them-- should admit that the resolution to open the country's doors to people in dire need is laudatory.

Germany, the country that started two world wars? The country that invented industrialized mass murder and committed the worst crimes of humanity during the Holocaust? The country that until recently seemed to have utterly failed to attract the high skilled engineers and technicians from abroad that it had sought to bolster its workforce because it was not seen as hospitable?

It’s a surprise to me to witness this new Germany, but not a shock. There has been a gradual but very real shift in Germany's identity over the last generations and even during the last decade. 

How did this happen?

It is the direct result of a long and slow process of self-examination following World War II – the Nazi era and all its crimes. A second generation of Germans famously asked their parents and grandparents what they had done during the war and tried to hold Germany accountable for its sins. Universities took up the calls, so did political parties, the media – books and movies, and a special relationship developed between Germany and Israel.

The lessons of the past – to shun anti-Semitism and all forms of xenophobia and nationalism, to question political violence  – were taught to apply very directly to the present. A slate of monuments, large and small, in central symbolic places and in small alleys in front of people’s home, were built not only to make the point that Germany should never forget its role as perpetrators, but also that it needed to live with that past and translate its lessons in very real ways today. 

And the message was taken up by real people. Groups like Action Reconciliation Service for Peace has sent thousands of post- high school volunteers over decades to work with Jewish organizations, Holocaust survivors and others who suffered under Naziism in Germany, the United States, Israel, Poland and beyond. Many Germans I met during my studies in Berlin and those who visited AJC seeking a more formal dialogue when I worked there, talked very seriously about moral issues and responsibilities. Finally, Germany's leadership tried to set the tone at the top. 

Germany is a far cry from a tolerant ideal. Discrimination still exists and sometimes rears its very ugly head, as in the racist-led populist marches being held in Dresden. But the debate is lively: even in Dresden, the counter marchers turn out in impressive force. Regular debates about school integration, circumcision and multiculturalism come up with strong voices all around, but Germany has not enacted laws against mosque height, as Switzerland has, or the wearing of head scarves. The outcomes of these discussions may be unresolved; they generally do not end with further polarizing decisions. Perhaps one can even argue that it's good to keep some of the tensions above surface and to engage in regular national arguments.

It would of course be naive to think that Germany’s new found hospitality is an ethical issue alone. As Brecht famously wrote in The Three Penny Opera: “first food, then morality.” Germany has a strong economy, an anomaly in a struggling Europe. A generous refugee policy is enabled by the country’s economic position, which allows it to even consider the high cost of absorbing refugees.

There is also the demographic issue that has haunted Germany for over a decade – too few young people, too many pensioners on the horizon. New immigrants, many young, offer an answer for an aging population. And the people fleeing Syria are often well educated. So there is self-interest involved as well.

Finally, while the country’s leadership is in favor, and the hospitality of many citizens is undeniable, there remain right wing elements, some of them extreme. It's scary to see those skinheads and their supporters, whose more civilized clothes hide even more pernicious threats, and who have before and may again strike out violently against refugees. They are relatively few, but they can do substantial damage. 

Even short of violence, there is no chance that a mass immigration of this nature will move forward without problems. After the initial euphoria, we can expect real concerns about the pressure this will put on housing, the economy, schools. There will certainly be some radicals among the refugees themselves. The decision to accept people is a far cry from being able to successfully integrate them. The United States may have some lessons to offer here, though our own present backlash is not encouraging. 

And with all this, the Germany that is accepting refugees, no – welcoming them in the full knowledge that it will have to deal with problems and that this immigration will change the face of the country– is a Germany that is worth noticing and for which I am quite grateful.

And there is one other thing to mention here. I believe that the outcome of this decision is not set and sealed. Will integration be possible or will it fail miserably? Yes, there are historical precedents, but they are not determinants. Decisions that are made now, in small, people-to-people ways and in large, political ones -- will influence the result. So I'd rather cheer than sit on the sidelines and predict the worst. I'd like to think that we can encourage the amazing Germans, young and older, who want to do the right things and that their engagement in this process will bode well for a positive resolution of this courageous action. 

Moving

We are in the moving end game right now. The apartment we are leaving is a mess and I hope I'll be able to locate my winter shoes again in a few months when they are needed (or even a second pair of shoes in the next two weeks would be nice, not to mention other, more necessary articles of clothing!).

But with a few days still left, I've tried to take some parts slowly. And that's been quite wonderful, not only for the aspirational better-organization, or even the benefits of what I call "shopping at home," but also for what I am looking at and remembering.

I have looked through the cards I received when we were married and on every major family occasion. So many thoughtful wishes, so much time invested in preparing, writing and sending. I know back then I was grateful too, but I wonder whether I had the time and peace of mind to realize just how lovely those greetings were. Some were from colleagues with whom I had no contact outside work: how extraordinarily kind of them to reach out across that boundary and share personal good wishes. With most I haven't kept up contact, and that doesn't seem surprising, but how much I'd like to reach out just one more time to say 'thank you' for their intention and their action-- and to tell them that it meant something then and it does now again.  

Some letters came from people - often from work as well - whom I knew much better but with whom I am no longer in regular touch. Some of them live in other countries, spread across the world. A few of them may even read this blog, which was what motivated me to stop the packing and write again after a bit of a hiatus (how nice to find a way to procrastinate that gets me to stop procrastinating something else!).  Some of those notes were so deeply touching. I had often forgotten the strength of our experiences together. And how movingly these friends articulate what it has meant to work and learn together. It's revelatory for me to realize that while the work we did together is long gone, those human connections were the lasting elements all along. If you are reading this- I hope you know who you are and how much our connection still means to me today.

There are notes from my superiors. I had forgotten how much encouragement I've had over the years. How lucky I am, how motivating those letters are to read even now. As a boss, I need to internalize that lesson. How meaningful it is to feel thanks, and how deeply that can inspire. 

There are a few notes from older friends, parents of my friends, friends of my parents.... How kind that you thought of me and us, how much I appreciate now what it meant to choose to be part of my life as I grew older and changed, and when there were no outside expectations to do so at all. As a kid, I certainly took this for granted, as an adult- I'm afraid I did sometimes too- caught up in my own life as I have been. I hope as an older adult I'll can tap into some of that same ability to care that you have shown.

Some of the notes are from family and dear friends. We've largely stopped writing letters now and I'm sorry about it. There is a permanence, a thoughtfulness, even a literary, storytelling quality that cannot be recovered in other forms. For a few years now I've also begun to appreciate what old friendships and relationships really mean, and why they are so categorically different than new connections, even when they too can be strong in the moment.

Some of the letter writers have passed away. Just a few - but I cannot bear to throw those notes away. Death is such an absolute barrier that it almost seems a miracle to have slipped out those pieces of paper from under its nose. Different from pictures or memories in my own mind, these speak quite literally to me in the voice of the person. I can't even read most of them now, but I'm glad to keep them for later.

I keep my father's notes. He often expresses himself in poems and small rhymes and they are beautiful.

Finally, my dear mother always wishes to be mentioned here, though I don't as a rule write about family, even if my gratitude belongs to them before any others. Here, though, I can say that I have more letters from her than from any other person in the world and that surely means something! My mother's letters document the major and minor hurdles of my life - the births and the birthdays, the successes and the disappointments, and also the small disagreements and the nice afternoons. 

In the end - my pile of letters is smaller but my head more full. And above all, The emotion I experience through this really strong experience of going through letters is that I am so very grateful.

And now... Back to packing!

Graduations

GI had a visit last night from a former Danish scholar of Thanks To Scandinavia, the organization I had the privilege of running some years ago, who was in New York on vacation with her boyfriend.

They had been to Washington Square Park earlier in the day and remarked on the hordes of students in purple cap and gown and their cheering, picture taking families. 

In Denmark, after you hand in your thesis, you get a preliminary certificate of completion (predicated on the assumption that your paper won't be failing-grade) and one piece of candy. The paper entitles you to government aid as a non-student (as opposed to the aid you get when you are a student) and the candy, well, I guess that's what's left of any symbolic ritual to mark the end of one's days as a student. A sweet, but oh so short moment in time.

There is something very traditional about graduations, complete with those silly hats. But I could tell the Danes liked the idea and if they were laughing- it was like a kid's laughter, just covering their jealousy.

Rituals to mark moments, to create memories, to build narratives.... They have their charm. Celebrations of personal achievement are definitely more suited to a culture that prizes individual experience over one that encourages the individual to take a step aside for the larger group or society and not show off or stand out. Though I remember being slightly embarrassed by all the fuss - many years ago -- I like seeing it too on hear beautiful late spring days and I like the seasonal ruminations on graduation speeches and life advice as well.

I think we have a lot to learn from Scandinavia, but here's a nice little ritual they might learn from us.

New beginnings- virtue or betrayal?

In the next generation, traditions and knowledge are lost and connections to the past are severed. 

Is it bad? Is it the shedding of family bonds, of rituals that have been built over centuries and with purpose, of secrets, of connectiveness and ultimately the chance of inner harmony? Is it possible to lose age-old wisdom within one generation? Is it arrogant, disrespectful, and ultimately self-destructive? 

Is it good? Does it allow a shedding of prejudice and a realization of a more conscuous enlightened society? Are new connections of circumstance possible across historic bounds, including ethnicity and religion? Can these be deep and meaningful, even as they are created within months and years and not through family upbringing and ethnic identity? Can new community be created or is the rejection of old a recipe for atomization and individualization?

The act of new beginnings is a revolutionary one. Is it a good revolution or a bad one?

 

It's fascinating to see where people come out on this, and deeply predictive of political leanings and civic involvement and more- of interpretations of history and ideology and right and wrong.

It's also interesting to check in and see- at least for me- that both of these narratives resonate to some degree, and sometimes the tendencies need to check each other (a community cafeteria for example to forge new bonds in an accidental community). And I'd add- there is nothing inevitable- a revolution can start good and turn bad or vice versa. 

Reactive forces against modernization are constantly emerging, but it's not always clear why. It's helpful to be able to take the balcony from time to time on these questions - and it explains a lot. 

And it's good to realize that our actions are also affecting that big picture. Are there ways we might moderate what we are doing or saying based on outcomes we'd like to see?

I like jury duty

I've been spending the last couple of days on Federal jury duty -- or sitting in a waiting room seeing whether I'll serve or not. 

Outside, I've had some discussions about the wisdom of the system. Should justice really be served by "the people" or aren't professionals better suited to deciding on questions of innocence and guilt? 

Without weighing in on that exact question - jury duty did impress me for two functions it serves.

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Jury duty was taken seriously. It is clearly a place where law and process are deeply respected. After postponing several times, I really had to show up-- and so did many others. And each person was accounted for, papers filled out, procedures explained. For lunch we were dismissed, when we returned they checked us in, and before we were dismissed in the evening again. A film was shown to us about the procedure featuring Chief Justice Robertson, Sandra Day O'Conner and others.

Since my recent trip to Haiti, a functioning system of rule of law and the general perception that - as a rule - justice will be served, feels more important than ever. Without that most fundamental trust in government- how can anything else be built? Police, army, taxes, traffic.... 

In Haiti, we were told that the only experience many people have of their government is getting in random trouble with the law. And there is no sense of justice there- it is rather haphazard. 

Without that basic fundament, trust does not exist with government and the people are left to their own devices, whether to get an education or drive in traffic without lights or deal with crime.

Clearly, with the recent failures to prosecute major crimes here in our country and the suspicion of prejudice at play-- it is clear again to all that our system of justice can be unfair too. That's a perception that wide swaths of our population have felt keenly for a very long time.

(Re)gaining that trust is paramount. 

And so it was at least nice for me to see how seriously the jury process is taken. I especially appreciated the lovely demeanor of the people with whom I interacted. So different from the sometimes almost abusive demeanor I've experienced at other government agencies with people who hold power over me. At jury duty, there is a kind, humorous, but also sincere face of the government and law.

---

What I think is really missing in our society are places where diverse people sit together and engage in conversations that are important because they have real consequences.

The opportunity of getting a jury together to do just this -- and to insist on unanimity -- hit me again as extraordinary. 

And why shouldn't such a group rise to the challenge of meting out justice? 

The experience reminded me of a book I finished recently extolling the virtues of "slow democracy"-- in essence, just this: the ability of a community to come together in deliberation and reflection and decision making. The book lamented how America's great virtue of grassroots democratic activism has been subverted by "experts" and professionals at every turn, disenfranchising the people not only from decisions made that affect them, but also from a key reason to be with and understand each other.

I buy the argument and from that perspective, embraced jury duty as a chance to engage in real, meaningful democratic practice. 

---

And to top it off, cell phones were prohibited in the waiting room. Unexpectedly, the days have taken on an almost meditative quality, without the hectic frantic pace of constant exchange. And with the addition of books and a bit of time to reflect. And so I like jury duty for that reason too.

... Did I mention it's right near Chinatown?

Modern vs old and the redeeming nature of beauty

I've been writing some pieces on the JDC field blog. Here's one on Georgia - http://www.jdc.org/jdc-field-blog/2015/hope-amid-struggle-in-georgia.html

For me, this was really seeing the role of beauty and art in the most difficult circumstances- and how grateful I was to encounter that.

And another on Cuba (yes, a lot of travel), which is really about how hard it is to understand what you are seeing if you don't know what came before-- so important if you want to understand dynamics at work in a place. http://www.jdc.org/jdc-field-blog/2015/silence-speaks-loudly-in-cuba.html?s=g_npr_in

For what do we stand?

If ever there was a time to articulate what we stand for in the most positive and passionate terms - that time is now.

With the terrible attacks in Paris and fear escalating in Europe, a vast number of people have stood up to say what they stand against. The war on terrorism that was first declared on September 21, 2001, has been renewed and rededicated, this time explicitly against Islamic fundamentalism. There are discussions about the need for surveillance; global covert data sharing; and vigilance in schools, prisons and on the internet. The show of unity has been dramatic.

But of course in the end, this is a war of hearts and minds, an ideological battle-- not just a security threat. The ideology that offers the most genuine passion, the most authentic appeal - is the one that wins for an untold number of youth and their enablers. 

The stakes are very high. If we don't win, there is no policing that can contain the threat that may emerge, no defense robust enough to find and quell each pocket of hate without trampling democracy in the process. 

And if we win, there is so very much to gain- not just against the would-be terrorists and the active purveyors of hate, but for ourselves. 

And yet, too few people are engaging on this front. It is easier to be united by a common enemy than to find our unity in a common vision. To do so sounds naive, simplistic, foolish. 

Everyone from the field of business to personal therapy knows about the power that individuals and teams derive from a positive vision. It's the key to success on career and personal fronts. And yet, we are sorely missing that vision in our political scene today, and often in our personal lives. 

My blog has been about trying to re-articulate, at least for myself, what is to be prized about our society, what has been won, and, as part of this continuum, what must be maintained or improved upon:

1. A belief in pluralism - which is the notion that we can live together because we share certain fundamental human traits that connect us beyond the diverse cultural, religious, and political beliefs we harbor. If we give this up and choose tribalism, we are giving up the fundament of any modern, global democracy. Hand-in-hand with embracing this belief, is a commitment to striving for the ideal of equal opportunity; it means women's rights, civil rights, freedom of religion, gay rights and more - not because we are the same, but because we must be given an equally say so that we can continue to live together.

2. The importance of education- a trust that more knowledge leads to better ends. Of course this needs to be checked with humanity, honestly, and a strong valuation of integrity, but it remains nonetheless crucial. Knowledge is the opposite - not of humanity but of superstition and repression. This belief provides justification for a free press and an open political system, where hate speech is countered by better speech, not force.

3. The rule of law and a monopoly of force by government, which is entrusted with this power by its people. There may be other rules in personal conduct, and other forces within families and communities, but none has the power to decide when different sectors collide beside the State, and that authority and its exercise must be recognized by all.

4. A strong appreciation of the sanctity of the individual. This understanding  is tapered by an interest in the common good, but not superseded. It goes hand in hand with the belief in pluralism, and each value checks the other.

5. And while these are not in our founding dictums-- I'd like to add that today we have understood the importance of an appreciation for our environment, for something spiritual within us, and a sense of perspective and humor. Perhaps these derive from a mature understanding of our own mortality.

At a time of overwhelming political gridlock and frustration - and much worse - cynicism, including among our most highly educated and comfortable, who today is fighting for what is right in the idealistic and passionate terms of men like Martin Luther King Jr., whose life we remember this weekend? Surely he at his time had the right to be cynical, to turn away from lofty ideals in favor of a simpler goal of personal/family comfort. But he chose instead not only to fight against what was wrong, but to articulate in a clear and stirring manner a vision. It was that vision- more I believe than the specific laws and disgraces he was fighting against - that drove him in his day, and inspired so many then and since: a vision of what was right.

What type of the society do we feel is worth protecting, joining, even celebrating? 

We really, truly have to make that case-- and believe it and share it. Now.

Communication is ... All there is?!?

This blog takes on a certain timeliness for me... Can today's events in Staten Island be used to help launch a conversation on race and structual bias, and also opportunity, or will it be noted and then fade away? There is a chance to move a conversation forward- in a way I haven't seen for many years- about an issue based in reality that has been around for a long time. And the conversation itself can do great good...

...

It took a first experience in another state of consciousness for me to understand the late German sociologist Niklas Luhmann's phrase "connectivity."

It hasn't been nearly as fun though it has taken longer to finally get his seminal point that in our social world, everything is communication. Luhmann refused to investigate "real" actions or goings on; he said you could only really analyze what is being said.

As an MA student and passionate 20-something, that seemed an academic cop-out. How could one deny that things happened. There was love, war, learning.

But as an adult, I can now say that I totally get it. And it's both infuriating and morivating: it makes me want to act-- or rather speak.

As I look at the perception of conflicts over time, I'm totally struck by the power of the frame. Ukraine is in the news? Well then it is happening for the vast majority of people in our western world. Out of the conversation? Then the problem has actually disappeared. It may rear its head again, but for the moment, it is not there in our consciousness.

Communication shapes perception and perception creates reality. Really.

That's not academic at all. And it's not predestined either. Would it be possible to keep Ukraine in the news? Yes-- write a great piece about Putin's childhood fantasties of Russia's breadbasket region, highlight one young woman who captures the imagination, report on a new element on the scene... The key- have it picked up, repeated, debated, shared 1 million times and then reported on again.

But, you argue- if something really "big" happens, it will make the news and be in the public discourse- so events create communications create perceptions- it's the other way around. 

Someone decided what "big" was- and someone believed him. Isn't there a muppet movie song to that effect? Kermit explaining the "existence" of God?

Ask anyone on the "happening to" side of the news and they will inevitably disagree with what was covered and how. The reality of the protagonists is not by necessity the "reality" we get. In fact we can get a reality that is quite different from those on the ground.

Is there a relation? Usually there is. But what context to offer, what frame, makes all the difference in how we understand those links to a real concrete reality. Are they fascists or saviors, murderers or brave defenders? In each there is a grain of some more solid "reality" or truth, so it can seem to jive with experience, to explain reality, but the choice of How that reality is explained, how meaning is assigned, is very contingent on who is communicating and how well, hence what communications are catching on.

Ukraine is a searing example, as I believe  for the folks there, life remains very hard indeed, whether we watch from here or not.

Even more infuriating for me is the realities that we create with our political discourse here in this country and in the Middle East.

It is a vicious cycle of communications strengthening the worst possible narratives, having some impact conversely on the reality on the ground, that in turn strengthens those same negative communications. It's overwhelming, it can be very convincing, and of course it too is in part true, and becomes more and more so every day.

I'm grateful for being able to finally see this clearly. And very very frustrated by the general direction of these communications. And impressed with people who stand behind their alternative realities, and wishing they would fight more for their communications.

Looking on the bright side of staying young at heart

As I race - literally- across Manhattan's subways and streets to get to pick-up at the very last minute, my mind is clear and I can't help marveling.

Here I am, racing yet again. I am no longer a high school kid late to school, or a single in Berlin dashing into the cold to meet someone for beer. 

I am a well seasoned mom, with some grey hairs, a very established job. I'm someone who cleans dishes every night, looks at bathroom renovations with interest, can't fit into size 6 anything.

But I'm still running to get there. Sure, there is a new desire to stop every few blocks for breath that makes it physically clear to me that I'm also different than I once was, but - as I run through the premature darkness at 5:55 pm on a mild New York November evening- I feel like nothing has really actually honestly changed. 

And because I'm in a good mood today, I want to read that positively. I want to embrace the running-late soul that is deep inside of me and that makes the 41-year-old Rebecca so fundamentally like the 15-year-old one. 

So much around me has changed- starting with the world (the Wall, the presidents, the technology), my context (the job, the family, to some degree my convictions), and my own physical self. 

But some things have not. Likely these include my ideas. But if who-I-am is measured by what-I-think-- it's simply harder to remember to what extent i have stayed constant or changed. Or have I only changed marginally as new experiences have layered one on the other? Is there something like an ethic or an impetus or a vision that stays the same? But if I want to learn, don't I want to change, and so not be like my younger self? The level of ideas and identity is deeply complex. There's nothing intuitive about it.

But some of these most basic feelings and even more, some of those scenes I've been privy to before- I recognize them. I know in my bones what it feels like to run- and to feel for a moment late, yes, but also free in some strange but real way. Free to pass everyone else, to be one with a beautiful night, to move my body as fast as I am able. 

I'd like to capture those moments that are quintessentially me. To read a book on and on and it feels like time is stopping - it will be irresponsible in the morning, but in the middle of the night it's just quiet and endless and all-absorbing. To ride a bike and feel my small revolutions set off larger gears and pull a huge wheel across the road at my bidding. To laugh hard. To run late.

Grateful for a certain type

There is a certain type of person that I'm really attracted to.

If it is a woman- she is nice looking, smart, has a generous smile, maybe glasses, maybe just pleasant eyes. She's natural and somewhat fit without being an all-out sports enthusiast. No serious make up, no serious clothes, but a lovely real look. If she has kids, she's relaxed with them, attentive, but not helicoptering. If she doesn't, she might be more of a flirt, more fun, but never lost in that persona of pleasing others. She has a good sense of humor- part real fun, small part irony. She's compassionate and grounded, a doer and a thinker. That's who I aspire to be too.

If it's a man, he's a little gruff, a little tough, he might have an accent- Eastern European, Latino, Israeli. He's handy - he can fix things, and he's strong. He laughs generously, and there's some fundamental wisdom there- seeing life just as it is, no illusions, but no taking it for granted either. If he's a Dad, he's a really good one. He can cook and take care of a house - though it's a competency and not a passion- and he has a sweet and gentle side with kids, whom he can juggle with humor and responsibility. He is pensive and directive in good measure, tolerant and slightly impatient too.

Man or woman, he is a thinking type, reflecting on lived experience and abstracting ideas that help to radar in on reality more clearly. She is moral- not in strictly religious terms or according to outside precepts, but in the sense of being true to oneself, and trusting that "oneself" is a decent being, a social animal that prospers when others do as well. Both types are accomplished- getting things done and caring about doing meaningful things.

I've met some wonderful people who have built out this type for me. Not a few of them are Israeli or Jews imported from elsewhere, and I don't doubt that this is a character derived from those seminal experiences from childhood and through my career in the Jewish world. But some are Palestinians, Germans, Argentines, Albanians, French, Nigerians... Even Americans! When I was young I noticed that a disproportionate percentage of my friends had parents from elsewhere...

What creates the type? Is it a combination of secure upbringing and inherited loss that grounds- that creates compassion and realism together? So different from the entitlement of perfect security, and equally far from the existential fear of those who have suffered tremendously themselves.

Grateful for adversity?

I remember the wise words of my Mom when I was a kid, desperately begging for a doll that had just come to market and that my neighbor received as it hit the shelves for Christmas. It was a bust - with hair that you could dye, curl and otherwise style, and make-up you could apply. If I still wanted it so desperately in three months' time, Mom told me, it would be mine.

Sure enough, I never got the doll. Well before deadline, my neighbor and I were on to something else.

Some fundamental human traits don't change with age.

Studies (and SO corroborated by lived experience) show that human beings are hardwired to enjoy new things for a short time and then quickly to return to a state of not caring. Sure- when we get a new toy (and this doesn't seem to change based on age, so fill in anything here- piece of clothing, art, food, gadget...), we are happy and excited for a while, grateful, but it's soon over and onto the next.

Since gratefulness is directly linked to happiness, that's hard stuff. It forebodes a world of spoiled jerks for those who have means, and misplaced help for those who do not - well-intentioned aid that may all too often be ephemeral in effect. Complacency, boredom... icky stuff. Not what we hoped from enlightened society. 

What can be done to alter that prognosis? 

- an intentional "slow" practice of gratitude. 

Gratitude is a good idea, but Blogger already assigned me "veryverygrateful" (the name of this blog) in my effort to practice gratitude because the less hyperbolic names were taken. People are joining gratitude challenges, marathons- the more, the better. There's something deeply suspect about these formulas. 

Perhaps it is possible to lock gratitude in time instead? To be grateful not in quantity -- a lot, often, veryvery -- but rather with greater quality, more heft. Can we revisit, often, a few special and defining moments -- when someone gave good advice, when an opportunity was offered and seized? Can we spend the time in the first place to identify these defining moments in our own life?

- an active pursuit of new experiences and not things. 

Can we cultivate an appreciation for a smile, a laugh, a chance to dance, even - crazy - to work together - over material things? Sometimes people describe these as relationships over material- but relationships are complex and can't be a source of uninterrupted gratitude any more than objects can be. Instead- let's focus on moments of relationships. 

As we think of how best to help others too, there should be a strong preference - at least when situations are not life threatening - for skills over objects, teaching over handouts.

- finally, a pursuit of challenge, of adversity. 

That may sound overboard- who would ever choose difficulty? But it seems so clear that when adversity strikes, it brings with it a chance for deeper feeling, for transcendence, and yes, for a new level of appreciation. 

It would be nice to say that we feel that way only if we ourselves are struck- but actually observing others in adverse situations is also powerful. The kindest interpretation of this is that we have an amazing power to put ourselves in the shoes of others and feel with them.

That's why the inclusion in religions of imagined/re-enacted suffering (slavery at Passover, communion's symbolism) is so fascinating. We don't actually experience the suffering, but we try to deeply empathize through what amounts to ritual and symbolic play-acting.

In a society in which we have so much- it is fascinating to think about how we can do anything but take it for granted. The answers above all amount to stepping out of the rhythms of our daily life. It seems necessary to do this in order to be able to look at that very life and see its distinct contours and to recognize them as good.