Thursday, December 29, 2016

"Life is a Series of Hellos and Goodbyes": Some Thoughts at the End of 2016

A note to those who have kindly read my blog this year:  if you were expecting some political commentary, I'm saving that for the new year.  Today, my thoughts are with those we lost in 2016, some far too young, some unexpectedly, some after a long and successful life. I am told that while this year's number of celebrity deaths seems unusually large, it's really not, and other years have had more.  But it feels like almost every day, someone famous or beloved left us.  As a former disc jockey, I was especially sorry that we lost David Bowie, Glenn Frey, Prince, Paul Kantner, Keith Emerson, Greg Lake, Maurice White, Merle Haggard, Leonard Cohen, Leon Russell, and George Michael.  As a former journalist, I will miss Morley Safer, John McLaughlin, and Gwen Ifill. This was also the year we lost Gene Wilder, Fyvush Finkel, Carrie Fisher, Debbie Reynolds, Muhammad Ali, Gordie Howe, Shimon Peres, and Elie Wisel. There were so many others... political figures, celebrities, authors, movie and TV directors ... I could fill a page with all of the names.  My point is that there are no guarantees in life, and you never know how long you have before your number gets called.       

Maybe that's why I've been thinking about my maternal grandmother the past few days.  She certainly wasn't famous, but she was definitely beloved.  Her name was Dora, and I never met her-- she died many years before I was born, as did my paternal grandmother.  But according to family lore, Grandma Dora was a truly saintly human being, compassionate and patient even in the face of major problems-- it's no exaggeration that she dealt with some difficult times, including living through the Great Depression and enduring ongoing and severe illnesses.  I am told she handled even the most challenging situations with dignity and grace.  I wish I had met her; and every year, just before Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year), I visit her grave and pay my respects.  I often wonder how different my life might have been if my grandmothers were a part of it:  I hear so many stories about grandmothers as nurturing and supportive figures in their grandchildren's lives, but I have no experience of that, so I can't say if it's true or not.  Anyway, when I recently had my two-year anniversary check up (I had surgery for uterine cancer in mid-December 2014) and I got the good news that there has been no recurrence, I thought of my Grandma Dora, who died too young of the very same cancer that I had-- in my case, I was treated successfully for it, while in her case, no successful treatments had been developed yet.

I wonder what my grandmother would think about the world we live in today.  Hers was a simpler  time (no internet, no social media, not even television), a time when authority was respected and good manners were considered essential.  People joined volunteer organizations, kids played outside, and most people knew their neighbors.  Of course, it was not an idyllic era-- America was still segregated, anti-Jewish and anti-black sentiments were publicly expressed, and millions were struggling through the Depression years and then getting ready to go off to war.  But compared to our often-chaotic, contentious, intense, and rude culture, I somehow think my grandmother would prefer her own, even with its problems.  Of course, none of us have a time machine and we can't go back to some idealized era.  And if we did go back, we might be disappointed, since our memory years later may not be an accurate reflection of how things were when we lived them.  Still, if I could bring back something from the past, it might be courtesy or politeness.

But that said, 2016 was a strange year, and for many of us, a sad one.  Some of us lost colleagues or friends or relatives.  And if I may make one political comment, a lot of us are feeling a deep sense of sadness about the recent election.  My right-wing friends may be rejoicing, but not everyone shares their view.  Conservatives were outraged when Michelle Obama, during an interview with Oprah Winfrey, said she understood what it felt like to have no hope, but I totally understood what she meant.  For her, and for me, and for many of my friends from the progressive side, seeing Hillary lose the election was bitterly disappointing, and it filled us with a sense of not just hopelessness, but also fear over what this new president might to do erase the gains women and minorities had made during this past eight years.  Having lived to see a black president, many of us were eager to have a woman president; and now, that dream is once again on hold for who knows how long.  So yes, for many of us, 2016 was a sad year.  But more thoughts about politics will surely follow in 2017.

For now, whether it was a happy year for you, or a sad one, or a little of both, 2016 is about to come to a close.  In February, I will be 70-- which is amazing to think about, given that my grandmother died at age 44.  And if I have any advice, it would be to live each day with a sense of purpose; even if you temporarily feel hopeless or discouraged, those feelings don't have to last.  So, do a mitzvah (a good deed, a positive action) whenever you can; and don't waste the opportunities you have been given.  After all, there's no guarantee of tomorrow.  But we can still make a difference, even in some small way, with the time we have today.  Happy 2017: may the new year bring you many reasons to be grateful, and many occasions to celebrate.

Friday, December 16, 2016

The War on Hanukkah and the War on Respect

I wanted to say a few words about the War on Hanukkah, and yes that really is a thing.  Yesterday, I went to Dana-Farber, a Boston-area hospital with expertise in the treatment of cancer, for my bi-annual check-up (as many of you know, I had cancer surgery in mid-December 2014; and I am pleased and grateful that my doctor says there has been no recurrence).  It was there that I saw my first Hanukkah decorations of the season:  a beautiful silver menorah at the reception desk on the 10th floor.  And while I was gratified to see an acknowledgement that Hanukkah exists, I was also frustrated that I have seen NO Hanukkah decorations in any of the many department stores where I've shopped recently.  Nothing.  Lots of Christmas decorations, lots of Christmas music (which seems to start earlier and earlier each year), but no recognition that other people have holidays at this time of year too.

Believe me, I understand that Hanukkah didn't used to be such a big deal as it is now.  Historically, it hasn't been a major holiday for Jews the way Passover and Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year) are. In fact, Hanukkah isn't even mentioned in the Hebrew Bible.  But we do know it had become sufficiently popular that the Jews of Jesus' time, including him, observed it (the New Testament gospel of John mentions this).  And especially after the Holocaust, as Jews sought to reaffirm their identity in countries like the US that were overwhelmingly Christian, Hanukkah began to take on new significance.  Jewish parents, my own included, had long struggled with the popularity and prevalence of Christmas-- it seemed to be everywhere, and Jewish kids felt totally ignored.

Of course, we could join the majority and celebrate the Christian holiday, but many Jewish families saw that as both inappropriate and ironic-- after all, the Hanukkah story is about NOT imitating the majority. It's about the Maccabees, a courageous group of Jews living in ancient Greece (circa 167 BCE) who refused to assimilate, refused to worship the Greek gods, and refused to give up their beliefs even in the face of a majority who demanded that they do so.  And whether or not the story is historically accurate in every detail, its emphasis on Jewish pride, and on kindling the menorah to symbolically bring the light of hope and faith into a world of darkness and intolerance resonated then as it does even today.  Perhaps because it normally comes in December, and perhaps because it includes the custom of giving gifts to children (small gifts, for eight days), Hanukkah has acquired a reputation as the "Jewish Christmas," even though its theology is not in any way related to what Christians believe.  [For an excellent historical explanation of the rise in importance that Hanukkah plays in American society, this 2000 article from American Heritage magazine will fill you in:   
http://www.americanheritage.com/content/merry-chanukah?page=show]

But for reasons I've never understood, American businesses generally tend to ignore the existence of Hanukkah.  Perhaps it's because Hanukkah comes at a different time each year, and it's too difficult for merchants to keep track of it.  Or perhaps it's too much bother to get a menorah or find some Hanukkah decorations.  We all know that Christmas paraphernalia is easy to find and it's everywhere; Hanukkah stuff is evidently too difficult to locate, except in certain Jewish neighborhoods.  But that's not the issue.  For me, the issue is whether our culture respects all faiths, or whether those in the majority believe only theirs are worthy of display.  Frankly, I'd rather that merchants would take note of Passover, a much more central holiday in Jewish life, or make some time to note the Jewish New Year.  I also wish our culture acknowledged the major holidays of other minority faiths-- whether it's Buddha's Birthday or Ramadan or Diwali or others.  We all live here, and we should all be made to feel welcome.  Yes, I know that some of my conservative friends believe America is a "Christian nation" (it's not, and our Founding Fathers, all of whom were various kinds of Christians, never said it should be).  But the truth is we are a nation with freedom of worship, and a nation that should not impose just one tradition on everybody.   

And yet, we do.  When I ask about Hanukkah decorations in stores, the reaction tends to be anywhere from annoyance to indifference.  But I am not asking anyone to share my beliefs.  I am simply asking for an acknowledgement that I have holidays too.  I don't want to take away yours.  But I also don't want to see mine marginalized.  In the age of Donald Trump, marginalizing "the other" seems to be in season:  the president-elect has just announced his desire to appoint as Ambassador to Israel someone who is so ultra-conservative that he has accused liberal Jews (those of us who believe in a two-state solution and who support both the security of Israel and the human rights of the Palestinians) of being similar to Jews who collaborated with the Nazis.  And I also notice that these days, my annual request for a recognition of Hanukkah (and other Jewish holidays) is often met online with scorn, and even some Antisemitic comments.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that at this time of year, while we do agree that the Christmas trees and holiday lights are pretty, many of us also feel sorry for our Christian friends and neighbors-- your holiday has turned into a giant testimony to the power of consumerism, where Jesus is absent, and love is measured by how many dollars you spend.  My dearest friend for 40 years was a nun.  She said that as a Christian, the biggest gift of all should be the gift of salvation through Jesus.  Yet all she heard was people lamenting how much shopping they had to do.  Obviously, as  Jew, I did not share her theology; but I totally shared her dismay that Jesus had become an afterthought in a society where spending money and buying expensive presents was the dominant activity of the season.  And as for me, I will light my menorah and pray for a society where the light of love and tolerance conquers the darkness of anger and prejudice.  And whatever you celebrate, whether it's Christmas, Hanukkah or Festivus (let the airing of grievances begin!), I wish you health, happiness, and joy in this season of celebration.