There is a Jewish holiday called Purim that was celebrated just last month. It’s the story of a Jewish Queen, Esther, who with the help of her beloved uncle Mordechai saved the Jews from being slaughtered at the hands of the evil Haman who had a position of power in the government of King Ahashverus, Esther’s new husband. Esther was ordered to marry him after his first wife Vashti refused to dance naked for his friends. Traditional interpretations say that he beheaded her, but the more modern story is that she left him to go to med school. The story ends by Esther throwing a party for her husband and after making sure he’s had a few drinks tells him of Haman’s awful plans. The King is quite smitten with his beautiful Jewish wife and the story ends well for the Jews. Haman is killed and Mordechai is given a role in the government! 

Anyone who is familiar with the plight of the Jews knows that this story is a fantasy. The end tells of the possibility of what could happen if things went well and good won out over evil. Recently something occurred in our own American government that gives hope that fantasy does sometimes become reality.

There was a Seder in the White House!  A Seder is the ritual meal that commemorates the Jewish festival of Passover; the retelling of the Jews’ exodus from Egypt and slavery. This was the first time that an American president and his family took part in a Jewish ceremony in the home of our leader. As the story appeared in the papers and various on line sites, rumors of a Jewish cousin appeared! Michelle Obama has a cousin who converted to Judaism and became a rabbi! This is so exciting that every sentence might have to end with an exclamation point!

It is not new to have Jews taking part in American government. The combination of having an African-American president and the observance of Judaism as part of that government that has been so closed to diversity and tolerance for the past eight years, leaves me feeling that we may actually have a visionary in power who may actually create a more loving and tolerant nation that reduces suffering and oppression for all of it’s citizens.

My fantasy is this: When my children have children and we are having our annual Seder, I will be able to include in the retelling of history, of a new president who came into office when the country was at its lowest point in decades. I will be able to explain to them that is was not always that the U.S. did not start wars without reason, and that it was not always that there was no hunger in our land, or that everyone had healthcare.  I look forward to telling my grandchildren that the blessed world they will live in was created by grassroots organizations and hard working people who believed that their fantasies could become reality.

AMEN!

Labels: Esther, Gloria Saltzman, Jews, Judaism, Matzoh, Michelle Obama, Oy Vey, Passover, Purim, Seder, White House

Stumble This Post

“We’re putting on a play and I’m a tree!”

My mother sounded like a child in her first school play. Her friends and family had been pushing her to go to the Thursday afternoon Yiddish theatre tryouts for a year. This week, she finally went and to her delight, she was given a part in the performance they were planning; a Yiddish translation of Goldilocks. My high school English teacher, who was once a basketball player, is donning a blonde wig and playing Goldie. Some of her friends are in the group and it was the sort of thing she liked to do. Mom is not a card player or a shopper, but more of a literary, lecture going, book-reading type.

My father died last year.


We had the unveiling a few weeks ago and I keep wondering if this is why my mother finally let herself go to the Yiddish club. The rules of mourning in Judaism have time restrictions for the survivors. One week of shiva, sitting at home, one month of limited social activity and one year before dating or starting anything new. It’s been a year and maybe that’s why she feels she can be part of this now.

Before kids (BK) I was an artist of sorts. Not the kind that makes a living from her art, but I was serious about engaging in creativity. It was a major part of how I identified myself and what sustained me in this crazy world.

I could not keep up my potting and writing while holding a job and raising kids. I had to make choices and prioritize. Now that the children are older and the focus of caring for my parents around my father’s illness is past, I have been able to come back to myself. The timing has been exactly right for this return to a part of me that was put aside so I could do things for others.

Now it is my turn.

It might be the same for my mother. Before she got married she was involved in a theatre group and wrote poetry. That was sixty years ago. Perhaps she, like me, is finally able to go back to a part of herself that she put aside so very long ago so that she could put others before her own needs.

Now it is her turn

By Gloria Saltzman

Labels: Gloria Saltzman

Stumble This Post

My husband and I are celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary today and I find it hard to believe. It has not been a walk in the park and it has also been worth trudging through many storms.

This month is also the anniversary of my father’s death. My parents had a sixty-year marriage that was based on an argumentative communication style. One year ago, my father died and my mother can’t get used to not having anyone to fight with.

Mom jokes that they had their first argument the day they met at a gathering of mutual friends. Wistfully she often murmurs that they never stopped fighting after that.

At the time, my father, who had been an army medic, had recently returned from combat, and my mother was a volunteer nurse. Dad believed that women who volunteered to help returning soldiers were not qualified to do a good enough job. My mother was infuriated, thinking this guy arrogant for not appreciating whatever help was offered.

They immediately started dating.

My husband and I have worked hard to make our marriage less argumentative. He believes that I must be used to fighting because of my parents’ model. I recently had proof to challenge him about his theory when after we attended a controversial lecture on humanity and evil, he seemed really anxious once the speaker ended his presentation.

“What’s wrong? “I asked.

“I need someone to argue with,” he replied as he scoured the audience for a worthy opponent.

The truth of his answer is humorous and it makes me thoughtful about the value of argument. Instead of eliminating what we experience as uncomfortable fighting, if we consciously create different categories for not agreeing, it could make these moments when we find ourselves on different sides of the fence less contentious.

There is a tradition of debate and difference of opinion as healthy and engaging. Why else would we televise the current presidential debates, join high school debating teams, or read pro and con stances on the voting instruction pamphlets?

We need to have differences of opinion to figure things out. The work in a marriage is to have these differences in the midst of a relationship that has the added seasoning of emotion and vulnerability, plus, of course, the unconscious expectation of reworking all of our early relationships that have so completely damaged us!

After twenty years of being married to a loyal and loving man, I know that love can sometimes look like an argument. Although in the heat of the moment I often forget, what I know is most important, is to look at the bigger picture. Spouses are not running for public office and the grand prize at the end of a healthy fight is connection. Being right does not lead anywhere in my opinion.

I wish that my parents had been able to make the transition from arguing to intimacy more often. My husband and I both have strong personalities and opinions. While we have many shared values, we also have differences.

In the next twenty years, I hope our arguments become more thoughtful and conscious. If arguing without intention kept my parents together for sixty years, I think we have a fighting chance to look forward to more connection in the midst of being true to ourselves. Remember, when there is heat there is fire! Here’s to the next twenty!

Happy Anniversary, Hubby!

By Gloria Saltzman

Labels: Gloria Saltzman

Stumble This Post

HELLO!

That’s what’s on the front of the tattered box of greeting cards I found in the attic when my husband and I finally decided to make a dent in emptying out some of the cardboard boxes we had stored the last time we moved four years ago.

The greeting cards were made by my then twenty-six year old boyfriend, which is pertinent since I was sixteen at the time. We worked together in a summer camp in Starlight, Pennsylvania. He was a janitor and I was a waitress. I served and cleaned up after a table of ten- year old boys and their sarcastic jock of a counselor, who was very handsome, but not my type.

Nick drove upstate with his friend, Joe, to visit Joe’s girlfriend, Marci, who was the camp lifeguard. Two long-haired hippies arriving at a camp filled with spoiled rich kids made my life much better. It was a very beautiful place and they liked it so much there, they applied for jobs and stayed the summer.

I can’t even remember how it happened, but we quickly became a couple. We went on lots of afternoon hikes and made night time campfires day after day. We drove a fast three hundred miles to New York City on our night off, and explored his favorite spots in Manhattan. We ate at his beloved Italian restaurant. It was the first time I’d eaten eggplant parmesan or cannolis.

Nick was an artist who made his living making greeting cards. He was also a poet and wrote beautiful poetry to me all summer long. It was wild and fun and he was a loving and respectful guy full of life and wonder.

The summer ended, I finished high school and went to college. We visited a couple of times. One day he wrote me that he was marrying his best friend, someone he’d met in an art class. It was OK with me. While I really liked being with him, I didn’t know about love and had my whole life in front of me.

Marriage was not in my plans.

The years passed and eventually I did marry and have my own family and a messy attic. Fast forward. I took that box of cards and Googled him. I saw that his wife wrote a cooking column and that they had written a recipe book together. He seemed happy.

After thirty five years I decided to take chance. One ringy dingy, two ringy dingy.

“Hi, is Nick there?” I ask in my friendliest voice.

“Yeah, he is, who’s calling?” the woman on the other end said.

“Oh, my name is Gloria. I’m an old friend of his.”

“NIIIIIIIIIIIIICK, it’s your old girlfriend!” she yelled out.

I guess she’d heard of me before.

He was totally blown away when he came to the phone. I hadn’t expected to talk to him because it was a business line. It turned out to be the same number as their home phone. We couldn’t talk long, but even in the shortish conversation we had, it was clear that he was the same, sweet guy I’d known so long ago.

Our life is made up of experiences we have and people we meet along the way. It was affirming to reconnect with another person who knew me in another time that seems like another dimension from so far away.

By Gloria Saltzman

Labels: Gloria Saltzman

Stumble This Post