95 Years Ago Today

95 years ago today, my father and his brother were born. Apparently my grandmother had no idea she was having twins, so after the first boy was born, she got out of bed for coffee and a cigarette. The midwife was almost out the door when Mutti called for her once more!

They lived good lives, and were greatly loved. They are missed by so many people. My only regret is that Lior & Albert never got to meet in person. But I know how happy he is that I got to meet her!

May their memories continue to be for a blessing.

Sadness and Good Memories

As I write, many of my classmates are at Temple Emanu-El in New York City, receiving their honorary doctorates for 25 years of service to the Jewish people. This is actually the 26th year since the above photo was taken. We had an online ceremony last year, but with the return to in-person gatherings, we were offered the opportunity to join this year's honourees.

I have written elsewhere about the celebrations. I would like to note that at our online Kaddish minyan this morning, whilst I was delighted to be congratulated by my minyan mates, I also had the honour of leading Kaddish for our service.

In the photograph, in the back row, with the white hair and beard, you see Rabbi Ariel Walsh. In the front row, second from the right, you see Rabbi Suri Friedman. The two of them were present last year at our Zoom ceremony, but they have both died since then. In the front row on the far right you also see Rabbi Joel Braude. He died in 2014.

As we celebrate our contributions, and hope that we have the chance to continue, we remember our classmates. And so we said Kaddish for them at the minyan today. May our memories of them continue to bless us.

So, Farewell Meatloaf

 

Most famous for his best-selling album "Bat Out of Hell", singer Meatloaf's death was announced today. His style of music was not one I thought I liked. But each time I hear his song "Paradise by the Dashboard Light", I am instantly transported back 40 years ago to a journey from Zichron Yaakov to Eilat for a long weekend, 5 of us squashed in a tiny car with no A/C, and only one tape to play. Young and stupid and broke, we slept on the beach (until the rats arrived c. 4 am, followed soon after by the police to move us on), and on someone's porch. We enjoyed the sun and the sea and the World Cup football on tv. The trip concluded in the lobby of a fancy hotel where, with our last shekels combined, we ordered one milkshake and 5 straws. Driving back, hungry and sunburnt and still squashed in the back seat, I can still hear so very clearly the words from the car stereo: "I'm praying for the end of time, so I can end my time with you." 

It took us a while to recover from that holiday! As I sit here now, listening to a Meatloaf mix on Spotify, this memory, filtered by time, comes back sweetly. I smile as I remember my friends and the fun we had together. And I notice that Meatloaf had a great voice. May he rest in peace.

How Can It Be Already a Year?

About 10:30 am last year on the second of October, I was in Bologna Airport, waiting for a flight to London. The doctor had told us the day before that our mother had only a few days left to live. My phone rang as I stood by the gate, and my sister told me that our mother had just died. 

It is now one year later, and we shall recite Kaddish for the first yahrzeit at Shabbat/Succot services this weekend. Apart from that, I have little to say. Lockdown made a mess of our experience of time this year, but even so that moment in the airport seems so recent.

Nu, I have chosen a picture to share that recalls a lovely moment we had together here. Mummy was visiting Modena, and we popped into the forno round the back of the Albinelli market for a bit of a snack, and found this brand of tomato sauce on the shelves. I often called her Mutti, even before we got our German passports, and managed to persuade her to pose for posterity.

Missing making new moments like these, but blessed with many memories. Mi manchi, Mutti.

Mother's Day USA 2020

She wore a hat so well!

It's Mother's Day tomorrow in the USA. When my mother was alive, we would celebrate together on Mothering Sunday, a UK holiday earlier in the year. Our thing was for her to let me take her out for Chinese food. We'd go to her favourite restaurant around the corner, run by the Dragon Lady. When it closed down, we'd go to the Red Sun in New Quebec Street.  We'd share some vegetarian spring rolls, and then she'd decide if she'd like some hot and sour soup, or some chicken and mixed vegetables, while I'd have sweet & sour tofu on egg-fried rice. In her final weeks, hot & sour soup was one of the few things that could tempt her to eat. Dear friends would bring some to the hospital, and it would bring her back towards us for just a while.

This is the first year without her on such days, and so I am thinking of her this weekend, as the internet floods my pages with special offers for the celebration of female parents. My feelings at the moment are best expressed in the eulogy I gave at her funeral last October:

Evelyn Friedlander

It’s a bit of a struggle to speak to you this afternoon. There’s rabbi Ariel, who knows how to give an eloquent hesped/eulogy. There’s the spirit of Albert, and the temptation to try and channel a bit of that for everyone here who knew him. But we are here for Evelyn. And the person who needs to speak to you is her daughter, Ariel.

I can’t find the words to describe the first chapter of our relationship. From the moment I understood the word ‘no’, we battled each other. Actually, I don’t need to tell you about it. Over the last 10 years, after my return to London, Mummy and I spoke with each other about everything that happened. I can say today that we did the best that we could. The past cannot be undone, but we spoke our truths face-to-face. Even if some things would not change, the act of naming them helped me to start letting go of what was. And, although it was hard for her, Mummy looked within herself, and responded with candour and honesty. I think we did all that was possible. 

When I kissed her goodbye in the hospital, she looked peaceful. The anger was gone.  I know that, although she was mad that I left her alone when I moved to Italy, she was also glad to see me finding my beloved Lior, building a home together, and moving forward. I feel blessed.

They say that a heart is not judged by how much you love, but how much you are loved by others (Mummy hated musicals!). I’m proud to say that my mother was dearly loved by so many friends, both old and new, both old and young. She valued her old friends, their shared experience, and that they were direct and honest with her.

Perhaps her English emotional culture, and position as the rabbi’s wife, might have created boundaries that meant not everyone would see her in depth. Younger friends, however, had no such barriers. She loved the light and energy they brought into her life, and shared herself with them in a way that perhaps was not possible in earlier years.

Her last advice to me, well, if she were here now she would probably say you are saying um too much. But just a few days ago she said, DON’T TAKE ANY SSSTUFF FROM ANYONE. BE TRUE TO YOURSELF. Ok, she didn’t say ssstuff. I think it sums up perfectly what she learned in her lifetime. Mummy was angry and beautiful, charming and insecure, intelligent and stubborn. She was interested in learning about the world around her, and enjoyed being the centre of attention. She had talent and skill, but it took her many years to find the field in which she could be Evelyn, rather than prodigy or parent or partner. She dealt, as we all do, with disappointments and failures. Nevertheless, she persisted. “What choice do I have?” she would say.

Now she is dead, and of all the stories I could share right now, I don’t know why, but the one that comes to mind is this:  c. 1966, the rabbi came home from a council meeting at the synagogue with a message for his wife. Albert told her that he had been asked to let her know that her skirts were too short, and she needed to do something about it. She smiled. “Of course, darling.” Evelyn went to her sewing-machine, and took another inch off every dress she had.  I hope that feistiness is in my DNA. May she rest in peace.

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To all who celebrate Mother's Day, I hope it is joyous. To those whose mothers are no longer with them, I wish happy memories. To all who have or had troubled relationships with their mothers, I wish strength and healing.

There's a hole in my sock

Memories. They keep coming back to you like ... memories. (For those of you who may remember her, thanks to the Chicken Lady from the Kids in the Hall for that quote)

This morning I put my heel through a sock while dressing. It's a simple sock - a white ankle sock with a small navy Nike flash around the top. I should just bin it. The problem is, this pair of socks is the only tangible souvenir I have of a brief encounter when I turned forty and went mad for a few months.

After 5 years as a rabbi in the Shenandoah Valley I was lonely. I'd been offered a new contract, but turned it down. Put my stuff in storage, and got a mobile phone. With no plans in mind, I accepted a High Holyday gig in Seattle, and decided to drive there from Virginia. I earned $1800, and kept on driving until it ran out.

It was in San Jose that I met her. Mutual friends invited us out to dinner. She was a cantor, and we bonded through the music of Kurt Weill. We went home together, and I didn't leave the flat for 3 days. Then it was time to go, and I got back in my car and headed East.

That's what I remember. Except for the bits I couldn't possibly write down. The memory may be inaccurate, fraying at the edges during the past nine years; tidied up a bit for brevity or clarity. All that is certain is that she gave me this pair of socks. They were still in a plastic wrapper, and she did not want them washed and returned. I don't remember why I needed them. I just know that each time I put them on I think of her for a moment, and smile.

There's a hole in the heel of one of my socks. I don't want to throw it away although I should. I'm wearing it right now, and I'm smiling.