When Ignorance and Prejudice and Fear Walk Hand in Hand

Back in the 1990s, I was teaching a media analysis course at Emerson College, and one night, after class, a student from Saudi Arabia had a question he needed to ask me. He was a very good student, and I was expecting a question about one of the readings. But what he really wanted to know about was the secret. I wasn't sure what he was referring to, so I asked him to elaborate. "The secret," he said. "We all know that the Jews run the media. How do they do it? What is their secret?"

He was serious. He had been taught all his life that "the Jews" were a powerful, often-sinister force in the world. And he was told, "the Jews" exercised their influence in secret-- they controlled the banks, the world economy, and of course, the media. Since I was perhaps the first Jew he'd ever really met in person, I guess he thought I'd teach him the magic words or the mystical handshake or whatever it was that allowed us to be so diabolical yet so influential. 

But, alas, I wasn't able to be much help. Truth be told, the Jews really don't control the media. There may have been a time circa 1911 when there was only one movie studio and it was owned by Jews, but historically, media outlets were always owned by a wide variety of folks-- and in the US, the majority of those owners have tended to be White Anglo-Saxon Protestants. Were there some Jews who owned newspapers or magazines or radio stations? Yes, of course. Did some Jews own TV stations or movie studios? Absolutely. And were some Jews presidents of networks? Sure. But did Jews control entire industries? Nope, not true-- no matter what my student was told. 

But myths like that one refuse to die. As recently as last week, someone suggested to me that the US government feels obligated to support Israel because of "how powerful the Jews are in the world." (However you feel about Israel, somehow I don't think that's the reason.) And there are other enduring myths about "the Jews" (always "the Jews"-- as if we're a monolithic group that thinks alike, and acts alike). The whole time I was growing up, I heard lots of jokes about "cheap Jews." According to the popular culture, "the Jews" were greedy and their god was money. Examples were everywhere: Judas in the New Testament, the poetry of T.S. Eliot, the character of Shylock the Jew in The Merchant of Venice... (Interestingly, Shakespeare probably never met an actual Jew in his life-- they had all been forcibly expelled from England in 1290, after more than a century of brutal antisemitic persecution. But he certainly met the stereotype: he created Shylock, the moneylender, a man who loved money more than he loved his own daughter.)

It doesn't take much to reawaken some of the old stereotypes, and social media hasn't helped-- some platforms (thanks, Elon) have willingly embraced the haters, and allowed them to spread old hatreds to a new generation, sometimes with deadly consequences. And some extremist politicians (on both sides) have been happy to blame society's problems on "the Jews." Meanwhile, it doesn't take a war in the middle-east for some folks to lash out at "the Jews." In fact, it's a tactic used by autocratic leaders all over the world for centuries.   

During a recent Senate hearing on worldwide threats, FBI Director Chris Wray said that while Jewish Americans are about 2.4% of the American public, they account for something like 60% of all religious-based hate crimes. That's not a number that makes me feel very encouraged. I grew up at a time when antisemitism was on the wane, compared to how it was during the Nazi era; but it was still a part of the culture, and I worried that it might come back. Agreed, things are nowhere nearly as bad as they used to be. But it doesn't take much for bigotry to recur... if we allow it... and if we remain silent when, as the late Neil Peart put it, "ignorance and prejudice and fear walk hand in hand." 

That Day When I Lost My Job

I have to admit I'm someone who doesn't like surprises.  I'd much rather know what's going on, and I usually do. But last Wednesday blind-sided me. That was when I got the email that the provost wanted to see me for a quick Zoom meeting; it concerned my future at the university. About two dozen others of us got similar messages. It was not something I was expecting-- I mean, only a couple of weeks earlier, the university was celebrating those of us with work anniversaries: mine was 15 years. 

So, needless to say, I was not expecting to be told my services were no longer required. I sincerely thought I had done a good job: I taught some very well-received courses in media studies, ran the school newspaper, tutored, mentored, advised, belonged to various university committees, and I'd like to believe I made a positive impact, both on my students and on my colleagues. 

But maybe I didn't. Maybe what I have to offer wasn't what was needed or wanted. I would have thought that in the world today, a person who specializes in media analysis, someone who can teach a wide range of media-related courses (along with other courses too), would be useful. But evidently not.  

I still don't know how I feel about all of this. I'm getting a lot of emails from former (and current) students who think the university made the wrong decision. And I can't forget that there were 30 of us, all of whom were names in our fields in some way, all of whom worked hard for our students, all of whom went above and beyond... and yet, we're all gone. Just like that. Turn the page. 

I know it's not personal (at least, I hope it's not). Business decision. I ran a business and at times, I had to let people go too. But to be honest, I never thought I'd be the one to lose my job. I sincerely believed I was making a difference. And now, I don't know what the next thing is. I'm 76. Still young and cute, widely quoted and published, but 76. Will anyone want to hire me? Only time will tell.

It's times like this when I'm glad I have a blog, because there's something cathartic in writing this. As I said, I don't like surprises, and this was certainly not what I expected to be blogging about. Sometimes, life is fair (and predictable) and sometimes it isn't. As a cancer survivor, I'm still grateful to be alive. But I do hope there's still someplace where I can contribute. And not knowing what the next thing is, and not knowing what I can do about any of it... that too is not what I expected...

Do We Still Need Dress Codes?

When I was growing up in the 1950s and early 60s, dress codes were a part of everyone's life. It was a much more formal culture: even in public school, boys were expected to wear jackets and ties, and girls were expected to wear skirts and blouses. That applied to teachers too. In the office, there was no such thing as "business casual," and as for "casual Fridays," those were unheard of. Businessmen wore suits and their secretaries wore dresses. (Pantsuits for businesswomen were also a no-no.) If you went to religious services, you dressed up. If you went to a dance, you dressed up. If you went out to a restaurant... well, you get the idea. In fact, there were so many rules about what you were supposed to wear and when, and you deviated from them at your peril.

But over the past few decades, we've become a much less formal culture. Gradually, dress codes began to be relaxed-- even in the office. Agreed, most executives still tend to dress in a "professional" manner, but these days, more colors are permitted for men, pantsuits are okay for women, and just about every business has at least one "casual" day. And while most schools still expect a certain standard for the students, by the time kids are in college, they are wearing all sorts of different styles, and very few involve suits or dresses.   

I was talking to my students several weeks ago about whether dress codes are necessary in our far more casual culture. Of course, there are still times when it's best to utilize traditional styles: for example, I would never go to a job interview wearing jeans. Nor would I go to synagogue looking like I had just come from taking a walk on the beach. In fact, I was always taught that maintaining a professional image is important; it's part of being taken seriously.

But I found myself feeling ambivalent when congress (temporarily) relaxed its dress code a couple of weeks ago. It all started when Pennsylvania senator John Fetterman, who is recovering from a stroke and from depression, asked for permission to wear his customary shorts and a hoodie to work. A part of me wanted to accommodate him-- he has been through a lot, he's making an inspiring recovery, and if that's what will help him to feel better, who am I to say no?  But when he got the okay to dress casually on the floor of the senate, quite a few members of congress were uncomfortable, and they said so.

Okay fine, some of it was political posturing-- a few of his political opponents expressed a little bit too much outrage, given that some of them are not exactly examples of dressing for success: I've seen poorly-fitted jackets (or no jacket at all), shirts that didn't quite button, colors that didn't match-- if I were the fashion police, I could flag lots of folks for violations. Further, some of the folks demanding professionalism in congress were some of the biggest offenders when it comes to using bad language or being rude. In other words, wearing nice clothes doesn't make you a nice person.

But in the end, tradition ruled, and the dress code was reinstated. Still, I found the debate puzzling, because many folks seemed to equate clothing with behavior. I can name numerous members of congress who don't act in a professional manner-- yet they insist a dress code is needed to assure that there's decorum. And that's what I was discussing with my students: In some circumstances, I can see the benefit of looking professional and dressing in a way that's respectful. But I'm not convinced that going back to 1950s rules will produce more courteous behavior. So, perhaps you can contribute to the discussion: should businesses (including congress) tell their employees how to dress, and if so, what rules still make sense in 2023? I'm not in favor of shorts and a hoodie in the office, but I'm also not a fan of everyone having to dress up every day. So, where should we go from here? I'd welcome your opinions.

My New Year's Wish and An Apology

I don't usually blog about religion, but this seems like an appropriate time: as I write this, Jews all over the world are about to celebrate the Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashanah), which is also the beginning of the Ten Days of Repentance. As many of you know, New Year for us is not about partying (although there is a festive meal). It's about gratitude--it's a gift to be alive to greet another year. And it's also about reevaluation--looking back on what we did (or didn't do) in the past year and thinking seriously about what we need to do to improve ourselves. 

During the Ten Days of Repentance, it's about humility--humbling yourself and apologizing to those you may have wronged, as well as apologizing to God. The ten days culminate in Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, perhaps the most serious day in Judaism, a day of fasting and prayer. Some of us not only fast from food--we fast from social media, TV, radio, anything that's a potential distraction from sincerely contemplating our spirituality and humbly asking God to forgive the mistakes we've made.

Agreed, not everyone is religious, and not everyone fasts or prays or even believes in a deity. But I look at this period of time as an opportunity to learn, to grow, to work on becoming a better person. And that's something anyone can do, no matter how much or how little they align with a religion.

My New Year's wish for you is that you are able to live in good health-- as a cancer survivor, I know for a fact that if you don't have your health, you don't have anything. So, to me, health comes first. I also wish you a year of kindness--may you be kind to others, and may others be kind to you. A lack of kindness can corrode a person's spirit-- we all need the ability to be compassionate, and we're a lot better off when we act with compassion, rather than with pettiness or vindictiveness. And finally, my New Year's wish for you is a year of peace-- of course, there will be arguments, of course there will be disagreements, because we're human. But we don't have to create a world where that's ALL there is. In other words, we can create a world where when we disagree, it doesn't turn into endless rage or fury. We can create a world where we can agree to disagree and still be friends. I'd much rather live in that kind of world, wouldn't you?

And that gets me to my apology: I am by nature an impatient person, and if in the past year I was rude or discourteous with any of you, I hope you will forgive me. There are many things I wish I hadn't said, and while I cannot un-say them, I can promise to be more mindful and try my best to be more understanding. I don't always live up to the ideals and the goals I've set for myself, but I promise to keep trying, now and in the year ahead. 

To all who celebrate, I wish you a happy and health and peaceful New Year, and no matter what our beliefs or traditions (or our politics), may this be a good year for us, and for the world; and may we all be inscribed in the Book of Life.      

A Birthday and Two Anniversaries

This past week has been more eventful than usual: for one thing, it was Rush guitarist Alex Lifeson's 70th birthday. For another, it was the 39th anniversary of when I met Jeff, the adult with autism for whom I've served as an advocate and a mentor since we met in 1984. And it was also the 15th anniversary of my being hired as a professor at Lesley University in Cambridge MA.

Each event was special in its own way-- both Alex and I marveled at the fact that we've remained in touch for nearly 50 years. Jeff, who doesn't always understand abstract concepts like the passage of time, absolutely understands that I've been there for him for quite a long while; and when I told him it was our 39th anniversary, he seemed pleased (and he wanted to know if we'd go out for an anniversary lunch, or perhaps cake and ice cream... or both). And as for being at Lesley for 15 years, that's kind of amazing too. 

As many of you know, I'm a working class kid, and I grew up in an era when nobody expected girls to accomplish much beyond finding a husband. (Don't get me wrong-- there is nothing wrong with finding a husband if that's your main goal. I'm glad I eventually married, but I also wanted a career, and back then, girls were told we couldn't have both. How times have changed...) So, I followed my dream, even when folks said I was wasting my time, and I ended up having a long career in broadcasting. I met some famous people, I helped some underappreciated people become better known, and I tried to be entertaining on the radio.

And when the industry changed and a lot of us were downsized, I reinvented myself, as many of you know. I went back to school at age 55, got my PhD at age 64, and became a full-time professor of media studies. Not bad for someone who was told she'd never succeed. I'm the first woman in my family to get a Masters degree, and the first to get a PhD, in fact.  Lesley hired me in 2008-- I had been working part-time at Emerson College in Boston, but they never offered me a full-time gig, and when Lesley did, I took it. And now, I've been there 15 years, and I'm getting ready for the Fall semester.

I feel very fortunate, especially since in December, I'll (hopefully) celebrate another anniversary-- I'll be nine years cancer free. Meanwhile, I'm grateful that Alex and I are still in communication, grateful that Jeff continues to do well, and grateful that at 76, I'm still able to bring home a paycheck. And in a world that can sometimes be chaotic, it's nice to know that some things haven't changed: there are still milestones to achieve, and opportunities to make a difference, and anniversaries to celebrate with people I love. 

       

When We Shout at the "Teacher of the Year"

Wherever you are on the political spectrum, I hope you share my view that just because you disagree with someone, that doesn't give you the right to scream at them or make threats. And yet, a lot of folks seem to believe it's okay to shout first and think about it later. I'm reading far too many articles about angry parents disrupting school board meeting by shouting and cursing at board members; or protesters demanding that librarians remove certain books immediately, and getting furious when their demands aren't met (or aren't met quickly enough). And don't even get me started on our politics, where you can find far too many angry people, stirred up by partisan talk show hosts, convinced that folks on the other side are the spawn of Satan. 

But I never thought I'd be reading about folks attacking the Teacher of the Year. The "Teacher of the Year" award was created back in the 1950s, during the presidency of Dwight D. Eisenhower. It was intended to honor the teaching profession and highlight some great teachers. Every state in the United States has given this award, and until fairly recently, it was quite non-controversial.

Until it wasn't. The 2023 Idaho Teacher of the Year, Karen Lauritzen, was a veteran teacher who has taught in the Idaho schools for more than two decades and was widely respected. She was selected in a county that is overwhelmingly Republican, and where her teaching skills had never been questioned. She was delighted by the award, and eager to share the good news with her fourth graders. But what happened next was not so delightful. Seemingly out of nowhere, she found herself accused by conservative talk shows of being a "left-wing activist" who was "promoting transgenderism." She also received unexpected complaints from certain parents who claimed she was teaching sexual content to her students (she was not, and never had). And she was accused of teaching about inappropriate topics-- which ranged from teaching her students about customs from other cultures, to teaching them about the United Nations. 

The angry comments and complaints seem to have been based on someone finding a couple of posts she had made on her own social media account, in which she expressed support for diversity and inclusion. As someone who has also done this, I fail to see the problem. Teachers and professors are human beings, and they undoubtedly have opinions about current issues. As long as they don't impose those opinions on anyone, I don't see the harm. But in Idaho, some parents and talk show hosts decided Ms. Lauritzen was the enemy, and that is how they wanted her to be treated: in fact, they wanted her fired, no questions asked.

Sad to say, Ms. Lauritzen's experience was shared by Teacher of the Year winners in other states, including Nebraska, Kentucky, and Louisiana. Someone dug up a post that, on its face was not very controversial, but because it went against the beliefs of a certain segment of the population, or because someone disagreed with it, the teacher began getting angry emails, and the school board began getting demands that the teacher be removed. The so-called "Culture Wars" have been making it impossible for even the best teachers to do their jobs.

And in the end, many of these teachers are concluding that the distrust and the angry accusations (and often, the silence of the superintendent in their state) are not worth the aggravation. So, they are leaving. I'm not sure who benefits from that. I certainly know who loses-- the students. The Teacher of the Year is someone who demonstrates excellence at his or her job. So, why demonize and vilify them? Why shout at them? Why drive them from the profession? How did we get to a place where some folks think this is perfectly okay? 

I'll leave you with what Ms. Lauritzen told the Boston Globe several days ago. Explaining why teachers are leaving, she said it's because "they don’t feel valued... if you can’t pay them well, they at least need to feel that you value their judgment; they’re doing good things, and [they] have children’s best interest at heart. And when you take all that away — what’s left?”   

In Search of the Missing Photo

I never met my maternal grandmother, even though I am named after her; in the Jewish religion, it's a custom to name one's children after someone who has passed on, so that person's memory will live on in the world through the good deeds we do. So, while I'm Donna in English, I'm Devorah (Debra) in Hebrew-- which I believe was my Grandma Dora's Hebrew name.

My mother, of blessed memory, loved her dearly. Unfortunately, my grandmother endured many health problems, and she died young-- she was only 44, and from what was described to me, it certainly seemed like cancer. Today, the story might have a very different outcome, but in 1939, there were so few treatments available. My mother never fully recovered from watching what her mom went through. Even decades later, when telling me about the woman who was my grandmother, it would bring tears to my mother's eyes. 

I've heard so many stories of how compassionate and generous my Grandma Dora was. I always wished I could have met her.  Despite living through the Great Depression, and despite her poor health, I am told she was somehow optimistic; she was a very spiritual and caring person, and I know my mother always tried to emulate her. 

But while I have the stories my mother told me when I was growing up, I have no picture of my Grandma Dora. None. For whatever reason, no photographs from her life seem to have survived. I have found various documents online via Ancestry.com -- census records, streets she lived on, when and where she married my grandfather... but not one photo. 

I feel very fortunate that photographs of my mother, and my father, survived. I even have photos of a few of my relatives, and a couple of photos of my maternal grandfather. But the woman who was such a profound influence on my mother-- if anyone did take her picture, no-one has ever found it.

Every year, in September, just before the Jewish New Year, I visit the graves of my departed relatives, and I visit hers too. And when I stand before her gravestone, I imagine what she looked like, what she sounded like (my mother told me she would sing lullabies in Yiddish-- I wish I had heard those songs). I wonder if she would have liked me. When she was growing up, the roles of girls were so restricted, but by the time I was a teenager, so much had changed. Neither she nor my mother was encouraged to go to college, for example; but I was able to go, and I even graduated. I'd like to think she'd be pleased.

But above all, I wish I could tell her that while she died far too young, there have been so many advances in the treatment of cancer since then, and I am living proof-- as many of you know, I had cancer surgery in December 2014, and thanks to modern medicine (and by the grace of God), I am still here, at age 76. And for as long as I have on this earth, I will continue to do good deeds in her memory, in my mother's and my father's memory, and in the other relatives of mine who have passed. But there will always be a part of me that wishes I'd been able to meet my Grandma Dora. And I will continue to wish I had just one photo to remember her by.