Buon Compleanno Mamma!

Today Evelyn would have celebrated her 83rd birthday. It's hard to believe that it's already almost 4 years since she left us. I took this photo on her 70th birthday, when we went to a spa in North Wales for a few days. It reminds me that whilst the difficulties of our relationship remain in the past and fade, the work we did together to move forward remains foremost in my memory. I look at this image & feel blessed for what we were able to develop. Buon compleanno Mamma!

 

Summer Joy

Just found this happy happy photo taken on holiday in Cornwall with friends a few years ago and wanted to share the joy. Hoping you may find something to smile about today!

The Summer of '61

From May to the beginning of July there are quite a few anniversaries in my family. Here is the last before the summer break - 61 years ago this couple posed on Upper Berkeley Street after their chuppah at West London Synagogue. They look a bit tentative here, but I can promise that they will have over 40 years together to figure things out. Remembering with love the wedding anniversary of Evelyn & Albert.

A Second Yahrzeit for Evelyn

Tomorrow marks the secular anniversary of my mother's death. The pandemic has really twisted my sense of time - 2 years ago seems so far away and yet so recent. Many who know me will remember the difficult relationship the two of us had had. I am, however, blessed that in the last 10 years of her life we faced that past together, and began to build something better. We each said what we needed to say, and worked things through. It wasn't easy, but we did begin a process of healing, and I will be glad about that for the rest of my life.

Thus today I can say that I am sad, especially that we haven't been able to share the quotidian events of our lives; small things such as who she'd seen recently, my adventures in jam-making, the latest Strictly news. I wonder what she would have said when I baked a cake for the very first time! She would have enjoyed the rise of Emma Raducanu, another season of the Proms, a trip to the Artemisia Gentileschi exhibit. But I am also grateful that she doesn't have to suffer any more, from the pain of her illness, the threat of Covid-19, and the mess in which her beloved homeland appears to be.

Nu, her memory should be for a blessing. So please do something enjoyable in her name! Eat Chinese food and/or some Cadbury's chocolate (a Caramel for example). Listen to your favourite music (she rather liked this). Watch a favourite movie (Preston Sturges was a screenwriter and director she loved). Let us make the most of what we have!

Sixty Years Ago Today

Lots of days of remembering in the last few weeks. The final one for this section of the year is today, which marks 60 years exactly since the chuppah of Evelyn Philipp & Albert H Friedlander at the West London Synagogue. Obviously I do not remember that day, but I do remember my mother telling me that there were dozens of rabbis present as it took place during the 12th conference of the  World Union for Progressive Judaism.

The last major wedding anniversary that we celebrated together was their 40th, when they were both teaching courses in Berlin for a semester. That was a lovely party, with family & friends. I remember sitting with everyone at a cafe on the Ku'damm and my sister pointing out that, despite all the terrible experiences that our parents' generation had suffered, the bad guys were gone, and here our family was, gathered in Berlin for a celebration.

With thanks to WUPJ, at whose Youth conference my parents first met, I sit in Modena and raise a glass of fine Lambrusco to toast my parents on this anniversary of their marriage.

Born 81 Years Ago Today

She was never one for parties, but always up for doing something celebratory, I wonder what we might have done today if my mother were still alive. Always a cake (I do wonder if this year I would have dared to try and stretch my newly-developed baking skills and made one?!). In recent years we'd gone to the theatre, had tea at the Wolseley, a visit to Portmerion, a weekend at a charming inn in the Yorkshire Dales, lunch at the Ivy, lots of Chinese food. Whatever she would've been up for I'm sure it would have been elegant and tasty and celebratory. 

In honour of her 81st birthday, here is a contact sheet which was probably in preparation for PR for one of her concerts. Teenage Evelyn, full of energy and passion. May her memory be for a blessing!

 

Yom HaBlintz!

It's Pancake Day today! In the Xian religion it is known as Shrove Tuesday, and here in Italy it is Fat Tuesday (or Carnevale). Shrove Tuesday is the last day before Lent begins, a period of self-examination for the purpose of spiritual growth that leads up to Easter. This period is often marked by fasting, and "Fat Tuesday" is thus the last day of eating rich food. 

Clearly I am not following a religious tradition (although any chance to become more self-aware and make teshuvah for my mistakes is always welcome), but I am following a cultural tradition and a family one too.

Growing up in the UK, Pancake Day was such a part of the general culture that they made TV commercials about it (the traditional flavouring was lemon juice, so the JIF lemon juice company had a slogan - don't forget the pancakes on JIF Lemon Day!). And it was a tradition that my late mother loved to follow. She made the lightest crepes, and for the last decade of her life the two of us always celebrated together. Last year was the first Pancake Day without her, and so I learned to make them myself. One year later, I think I will have another go, and remember the sweetness of her pancakes, and of our times together at the kitchen table.

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.

Someone Was In This Place and I, I Did Not Know

Photo credit: Chad Grey Jet Pazaol

During a Zoom Shiva minyan today, we were asked if we had anything to share before saying Kaddish - a reading, a poem, something. We heard two wonderful poems, and then I decided to stick my oar in. 

I don't have anything so beautifully crafted to offer, I said, I just wanted to tell you something that happened this afternoon when we went to do a big shop at the supermarket. The way the car licence plates are in this city, each one begins with 2 letters. As we were driving around, we kept seeing plates that began with the beginning of my mother's name, Evelyn. (in fact, I did say to L that if anyone had ever tried to address my mother as "Ev", they would have been fixed with a steely glare. Nevertheless it was clear to me that all the EV's we were seeing were referring to her)

We were on a mission to find the ingredients and baking tools to make our first ever cheesecake, in honour of the festival of Shavuot this week. My mother's cranberry cheesecake (a recipe from the New York Times in the early 1960's) is legendary. We decided that these signs were friendly messages of encouragement from her for our cheesecake ambitions.

I didn't want to sound flaky in front of my colleagues, but since my parents have died, I have seen their initials on car licence plates as them waving hello to me. I never noticed these letter combinations when they were still living, but now they jump out at me all over the place. I find it quite comforting to receive these greetings.

That's what I told the minyan. And then, one of our colleagues noted that the messages have always been there, but it took the mourning for us to look at the world around us in a different way. She offered Biblical examples, such as Jacob's dream (Genesis 28:  10-16), to illustrate the idea that after an intense and life-changing experience we see the world in a different way. She said it with more elegance.

So maybe, for those of us mourning, it may be of comfort to consider that all the signs we see in the world around us that remind us of the pain of our loss in these early weeks and months may one day become the catalysts for happy memories.

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.

******************

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.

RIP Franco Zeffirelli (The Bar Mitzvah Story)

Listening to and reading the myriad obituaries here in Italy and around the world for the director Franco Zeffirelli, I'm glad to see that many of them refer to "Jesus of Nazareth" (1977) as one of his best works. This is because both my parents were part of that production. My mother, Evelyn, was part of the post-production voice talent. My father, Albert, was invited to the film set to train the young actor playing a teenage Jesus for a scene in which he would become Bar Mitzvah. This became one of our favourite stories to tell:

After first informing Signor Zeffirelli that the ceremony of becoming Bar Mitzvah only originated in the Middle Ages, and upon hearing that the scene would still be filmed, Albert set about his task, i.e., to teach a young Italian boy to say the blessings required for reading Torah. The moment came to shoot this particular scene, and Albert stood nearby as the student began his recitation of the ancient Hebrew words. The boy stumbled, and the director shouted, "CUT!" He turned furiously towards the rabbi. "But, Franco," Albert said, "every Jewish boy makes a mistake on the day of his Bar Mitzvah." "Not," replied Zeffirelli, "NOT when he is the son of God!"

Jesus of Nazareth (Wiki)
BBC online obit
Corriere della Sera obit
the Guardian obit
Independent obit
New York Times obit
La Repubblica obit
La Stampa obit
The Times obit
Washington Post obit

a plaque

my dear departed father now has a plaque on the door of the leo baeck college library at the sternberg centre in london. it was affixed earlier this week, and the mother of ravaj was there to observe the affixation. hurrah.

ps after consultation with the mother of, i have learned that the plaque is not on a door but rather the end of a stack of bookshelves within the library. it is a custom of the college so to do.

most happy picture

parents
noam has this photograph. i think i took it in the eighties, but i don't seem to have a copy. maybe noam took it. anyway, it is one of my favourite pictures of our parents. never fails to cheer me up. enjoy!