Iris Ruth Pastor's Blog, page 8

Change: Illusive or Real?

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings, but
shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints; we spend more,
but have less; we buy more, but enjoy it less.

We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less
time; we have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less
judgment; more experts, but less solutions; more medicine, but less wellness.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too
much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life; we’ve added years to life, not life to years.

We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing
the street to meet the new neighbor. We’ve conquered outer space, but not
inner space; we’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul; we’ve split the
atom, but not our prejudice.

We have higher incomes, but lower morals; we’ve become long on quantity,
but short on quality.

These are the times of tall men and short character, steep profits and
shallow relationships. These are the times of world peace, but domestic
warfare; more leisure, but less fun; more kinds of food, but less nutrition.

These are days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but
broken homes. It is a time when there is much in the show window and
nothing in the stockroom –  a time when technology can bring this letter to you and a time when you can choose either to forward this message and make a
difference…or just hit delete. 

The above was written by Allan N. Levine on October 11, 2000 and sent out to various people via e mail. Someone forwarded it to me. I googled Mr. Levine (No relation to me even though my maiden name is Levine.)

All I could find was the following of Allan N. Levine’s life captured by the 1940 U.S. Census:
Allan N. Levine was born about 1932, the son of Sally and Joe. In 1940, he was 8 years old and lived in Portland, Maine, with his father, mother, brother, and 3 sisters. I’m not even sure if he is the same person who sent this e mail.

To put the above in further context here are some headlines from Wednesday, October 11, 2000:
Supreme Court: Justices to Hear Cases of Deportable Inmates With Nowhere To Be Deported To

In the Mideast: Time for a Recess; Palestinian Rights
Gay Marriage and the Campaign

US Warning China on Trade Pledges

Steroid Suspicions Abound in Major League Dugouts

Here are some events that actually occurred on October 11, 2000:

The 100th Space Shuttle mission is flownSouth African Cricket Board issues former captain a life ban as a result of match fixing allegationsThe #1 best-selling fiction book was The Bear and the Dragon by Tom Clancy. A president contends with sinister forces afoot in Russia and China And, four days later, on October 15, Larry David’s comedy show “Curb Your Enthusiasm” debuted on HBO

It leads me to believe more fully that the more things change, the more they also stay the same.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less
time; we have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less
judgment; more experts, but less solutions; more medicine, but less wellness.



We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too
much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life; we’ve added years to life, not life to years.

We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing
the street to meet the new neighbor. We’ve conquered outer space, but not
inner space; we’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul; we’ve split the
atom, but not our prejudice.

We have higher incomes, but lower morals; we’ve become long on quantity,
but short on quality.

These are the times of tall men and short character, steep profits and
shallow relationships. These are the times of world peace, but domestic
warfare; more leisure, but less fun; more kinds of food, but less nutrition.

These are days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but
broken homes. It is a time when there is much in the show window and
nothing in the stockroom –  a time when technology can bring this letter to you and a time when you can choose either to forward this message and make a
difference…or just hit delete. 



The above was written by Allan N. Levine on October 11, 2000 and sent out to various people via e mail. Someone forwarded it to me. I googled Mr. Levine (No relation to me even though my maiden name is Levine.)

All I could find was the following of Allan N. Levine’s life captured by the 1940 U.S. Census:
Allan N. Levine was born about 1932, the son of Sally and Joe. In 1940, he was 8 years old and lived in Portland, Maine, with his father, mother, brother, and 3 sisters. I’m not even sure if he is the same person who sent this e mail.

To put the above in further context here are some headlines from Wednesday, October 11, 2000:
Supreme Court: Justices to Hear Cases of Deportable Inmates With Nowhere To Be Deported To

In the Mideast: Time for a Recess; Palestinian Rights
Gay Marriage and the Campaign

US Warning China on Trade Pledges

Steroid Suspicions Abound in Major League Dugouts

Here are some events that actually occurred on October 11, 2000:

The 100th Space Shuttle mission is flownSouth African Cricket Board issues former captain a life ban as a result of match fixing allegationsThe #1 best-selling fiction book was The Bear and the Dragon by Tom Clancy. A president contends with sinister forces afoot in Russia and China And, four days later, on October 15, Larry David’s comedy show “Curb Your Enthusiasm” debuted on HBO

It leads me to believe more fully that the more things change, the more they also stay the same.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Acts of Charity Add Sparkle to the World

Her name is Nicole, she is 40 years-old and I met her at a Dress for Success luncheon where my son Sam was getting an award. In between food courses and short speeches, we chatted.  

Nicole was an “army brat” whose father was in the military. The family moved constantly until Nicole was a sophomore in high school. Total moves: 17 times.

“It was not conducive to making or keeping friends,” Nicole laments. 

After a stint in college, Nicole married and gave birth to two sons, who are now 13 and 7. She also has a son who is 18 years old in college in Tallahassee. In their 12thyear of matrimony, two pivotal events occurred: 
            Nicole’s husband had an affair
            Nicole started drinking

Lucky for her, she was able to obtain help from River Oaks Treatment Center.

“It changed my life,” Nicole notes. “I got an amazing therapist that did EMDR therapy to effectively help me with my childhood and adult trauma. And I still work with the same therapist.” 

She and her husband split up, agreeing to joint custody of their sons. Nicole then worked two jobs, went back to school and learned to live on her own. Shortly thereafter, she met up with an old boyfriend and they moved in together. Financially, it was a sound choice. Practically, it was not. Her old boyfriend started drinking and the domestic situation turned volatile. Nicole left quickly, only taking what she could pack in her car.

I asked about family. No local ties. Her dad has passed away and her mother takes care of her own mother. Two brothers reside in Tennessee along with the other family members, but her shared custody arrangement mandates she stay in Hillsborough County while her children are in school. 

While staying with a series of friends, she fervently searched for affordable housing for herself and her two sons. She fell between the cracks. Her income as an office manager for a medical office that deals with addiction and mental health issues is too much for subsidized housing but too little for her to comfortably afford the high Tampa Bay rents.

Finally a friend came to her aid, offering her a three bedroom, two bath house at a discounted price. 

She is moving in August 1.

However, at this point, she has very few possessions. No beds. No table and chairs. No couch. No bedding. No pots and pans.

Nicole does have a place to store things until she moves. And, FYI, she loves a neutral color palate: blue, purple, gray – which she refers to as “calming colors.”

So here is my ask: if you have any miscellaneous household items cluttering up your home or going unused, please consider donating them to Nicole. Please call me at 813-501-7538 or e mail me at preservingyourbloom47@gmail.com and we will arrange for pick-up.

“Many things can be a waste of your effort, but a helping hand is not.”Unknown

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Joy in the Morning

It was the first thing I saw when I walked into my kitchen early that morning. 

Alone on the kitchen counter, a notebook-sized piece of paper caught my eye. It was an informal, hastily drawn chart I had made for myself the evening before so I could remember to take my newly prescribed meds for a killer sinus infection I was experiencing.

And strangely enough, the sight of it provoked unbridled joy.

“Why?” I wondered. “Makes no sense.”

And then I remembered fully and clearly: whenever I got sick, my mother would whip out a Bic ball point pen and a scribble pad and make a list of the meds our pediatrician had prescribed and what time I needed to take them. Her handwriting was beautiful, adorned with exquisite flourishes. 

I got histoplasmosis when I was seven years of age. Most people have no idea what that disease is, but if you live in the Ohio River Valley, you are probably familiar with it. Quite simply, it’s a fungal infection that can invade the lungs and cause long term weakened immune systems. If left untreated, it can be fatal. 

I’m sure my parents were totally freaked at my diagnosis. 

I don’t remember much about it except that my chest hurt a lot from my incessant coughing, my throat was excruciatingly sore and a hospital truck came three times weekly to deliver a variety of meds and treatments – including detailed directives for administration.

My mom, to ease her own anxiety and to be sure I received maximum good care, listened intently to the instructions. She then did what she always did when my brother and I were sick: she put together an organized chart detailing which meds should be taken when. And posted it on the refrigerator. She was very predictable when it came to eliminating her children’s nasty ailments.

And I knew then, that in spite of my feeling miserable, my mom would take care of me. My mom would make it all go away so I could attend my Brownie troop’s cook-out and a play date with my friend Faye.

Did I I attend the cook-out and gorge on s’mores? Did I keep my play date with Faye? I don’t remember. But I do remember vividly the diligence my mother displayed when following my charted med routine.

I’m soon turning seventy-seven and my mom has been gone many years. But in that quiet early morning moment, just a few days ago, when I gazed intently at my medicine chart, I felt her still hovering close by and taking care of me.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Please Weigh In Because I know This Has Happened To You…

If you’re like every other female past the age of four on this planet, you’ve run into a friendship dilemma or two in your life. It happens to all of us because female friendship can be fraught with twists and turns that can be very tricky to navigate!

Although we’ve all had to face friendship dilemmas, we don’t always know how to deal with them. And while I could share a few of my own personal gal pal predicaments, there’s nothing more powerful than being able to tap into the collective wisdom and experience of lots of women to help each other be the best versions of ourselves! That’s why I’m asking you, my readers, to weigh in with a story or anecdote about one of your biggest friendship challenges, and how it got, or perhaps didn’t get, resolved.

I want to hit the bull’s eye on this one. 

We have all grappled with what the definition of true friendship is. 

Is it about being perfectly aligned? Is it about always being available at a moment’s notice? Texting or calling back ASAP? Giving without any thought of receiving? Embracing the mindset that “real” friends don’t keep track, don’t stand on ceremony and always have your back? 

I’m not so sure.

Here’s what I think: 

True friendship is about being honest, loyal, trustworthy and dependable. It’s about showing up for one another, having a safe space where difficult conversations can take place. . . where you can ask for help, even if you don’t end up taking the offered advice. It’s about knowing that your friend is there when bad things happen, just as much as she’s there when good things happen – even if it means she has to watch you get what she has always wanted for herself. 

I know that true friends can lose touch, grow in different directions, have opposing world views and get frustrated with one another once in a while. But what happens when “once in a while” turns into way too many times to ignore any longer? How do you right your “friend” ship when it starts to sail off course?” Do you abandon ship altogether? 

I’ll compile your submissions into one of my future columns so we can all take a deep sigh, share a laugh, shed a tear and, hopefully, learn a little something that can help us do a better job of dealing with our own friendship issues in the future. 

What do YOU think?

Either reply to this email or click here to submit your story. Feel free to remain anonymous  and/or  change the names  of those involved.

And if you live close to the Tampa Bay area, join us:

Wed., August 28 | 5:30 – 7:30 PM

$36 – Enjoy heavy hors d’oeuvres, a decadent dessert bar, 
wine and other beverages.
At the Shanna & Bryan Glazer JCC
Tampa, FloridaWe will be navigating the complexities and chaos of female friendship:

How to fix friendships going off courseWhen to stick it outWhen, why and how to let go

REGISTER HERE

Please register early. Space is limited for this exclusive event.

https://www.Jewishtampa.com/Bloom
It’s all about Preserving Our Blooms,

My Husband’s Short-Lived Baseball Career

I know there are certain things I’m not rational about and one of them is my husband playing baseball.

It all started when we were dating. He was playing baseball after work. I was spending quality time with my two young sons after work.  I never got to see him play baseball. 

After we got married, summers were filled with three more babies and a time-consuming and demanding job for Steven. I had to content myself with being regaled with Steven’s baseball stories from high school and college, watching him wistfully oil his mitt, and nostalgically show me pictures of a very macho and focused young man involved in the great American pastime of baseball. 

Two months before our 45th birthdays, 17 years after we met, my husband bounced into the kitchen one day and proudly announced he was going back to baseball. He had joined an “Over Age 30 League” and his first practice was in two days. I don’t know who was more excited – he or I.

I hovered nervously at the door as he drove off to his first practice with the team. I paced the floors until I heard his car pulling back into the garage two hours later.

He said that practice was great – the guys friendly – the atmosphere loose – but my husband’s knee was acting up and he reluctantly (and maturely) decided to sit out the first game. My frustration was building. I felt like I’d never get to see him play baseball.

The knee slowly mended. The second game was upon us. 

I rushed down to the field. I got there just as he was getting ready to bat. He swung anxiously at the first pitch, popped it in the direction of 3rd base. His knee partially buckled and he practically fell flat on his face.  So much for my macho man!

His fielding at second base got off to a much smoother start.  He caught a hard hit fly and threw a runner out at first. He also made a well-executed play at 2nd to end the inning.

I relecutantly left the game to pick up one of my sons from his baseball practice. I had finally seen my husband play a little baseball and the season was just beginning. I was euphoric.

My euphoria didn’t last long.  When I got home, I found a blood soaked tissue on the kitchen counter. I quickly followed the trail of blood to the half bath, where I saw a pale, middle-aged man holding a bloody finger under the water faucet.

“What happened?” I asked dully. Visions of dusty batting mounds, cold cokes while sitting on hot bleachers, madly cheering a handsome hunk in a royal blue baseball cap flashed through my mind. Once again, I knew I‘d never get to see him play baseball. I flung my purse across the room in utter frustration and ran upstairs.

“I cut my damn finger while I was slicing a bagel,” he hollered after me. “I’m going to the hospital for stitches.”

“And,” he continued, now worked up to a frenzy, “I’ll be okay next Monday night even if I break my leg and have to drag it after me as I run to 1st base!”

I smiled.

My husband:
My rookie of the year.
My most valuable player.
My 22 year-old 45 year-old.

It’s now many years later. And I don’t even recall if he actually did play in the next game. Or even in the one after that.

Soon, my husband and I will both turn 77. 
His baseball playing days are long over.
It’s now our grandchildren who bat and get on base, with both of us in the stands.

But our love for the game of baseball continues, as does the love for our hometown team, the Cincinnati Reds.

Some things never change.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Are You A Risk Taker?

Are you a risk taker?
 
A risk taker is defined as someone who is bold, decisive, confident, courageous, creative, innovative and comfortable with uncertainty.
 
I don’t know if I am a risk taker. I think I am more likely to be defined as someone who doesn’t think things through thoroughly, leaps before she ponders and does what she wants in the present without contemplating the outcome.
 
What would that be called? Stupid perhaps? Foolish? Illogical?
 
Perhaps all three.
 
Anyway, it’s all a moot point. I decided when my husband and I were going to be visiting our hometown for over two weeks that we would change-up our routine and stay in a rental. So I started to look on Vrbo and Airbnb. 
 
Cincinnati, Ohio – a city which I love dearly – is our hometown. But let’s face it: it is NOT a big tourist attraction – therefore there are not a lot of short term rentals around in the parts of the city we wanted to stay in.
 
One, however, caught my eye. I am always a sucker for old houses built around the early part of the 20th Century. And this one looked perfect, billed as “historic charm meets city living in this adorable cottage”.
 

 
I was immediately captivated by the old fashioned front porch with two rocking chairs – adjacent to the huge shade tree.
I already was picturing myself sipping my morning coffee in such a tranquil setting as this:



Three bedrooms, two bathrooms and an updated kitchen sealed the deal and I submitted my credit card immediately. 
 
When I showed my husband the pictures of the interior and exterior front of the house, he too was quite impressed with my find. He did happen to point out that there appeared to be this big gray wall right outside one of the downstairs windows, but I paid little attention to his offhand remark.
 
A few days before occupancy, we were given the actual address and immediatley I zoomed in on the house and neighborhood. I was in for a surprise.
 
Sure the shade tree was there.
Sure the front porch with the rockers were there.
 
BUT, to the immediate left of the house beyond the gray wall was a small strip center and to the right, directly outside the kitchen window, was an auto parts store. And beyond the shade tree, directly across the street were not one, but two, auto dealerships. 


 
Okay, so it wasn’t perfect.
 
Did I mention that the two bathrooms were really 1.5 bathrooms and there was no vent in the master bedroom so we turned the air conditioning downstairs to 64 degrees in order to cool off the upstairs? And we kept the ceiling fan in our bedroom running non-stop.
 
Did it matter? Not really. I still loved sitting out on the front porch each morning sipping a cup of freshly brewed coffee, reading a really terrific book (The Goddess of Warsaw) and waving to the continual stream of pedestrians walking on the sidewalk in front of my rental, headed to the gourmet coffee shop just a block away.
 
So the closets didn’t have lights.
And the other bedrooms had no dressers.
And the kitchen lacked measuring cups and spoons for my made-from-scratch smoothies.
And I couldn’t watch the 77th Tony Awards last Sunday night because I couldn’t find the directions to the cable TV.
And there was no toaster oven.
 
Most importantly, though, my husband and I tried something new. We got out of our comfort zone and took a risk.
 
Let me know what kind of a risk you have taken lately and how it turned out. 
And if you haven’t taken one lately, maybe it’s time to expand your little corner of the world and do so.
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

What’s Wrong with this Picture?

Like most of my friends and family members, I do a lot less shopping in person and a lot more ordering stuff online these days.

Amazon is my go-to. I simply ADORE the “free shipping.”

Of course, dabbling on and off in handcrafted items myself, I am also a big fan of ETSY. There “free shipping” is hit or miss.

Last night I searched for “kids picture frames” on Etsy. I found two very similar items – one had free shipping and the other one did not. You guessed it: the seller who offered the free shipping had just added the cost to her selling price – so it was a toss-up on which to purchase.

Usually when I order something, I have a mental image of the packaging. Sometimes I’m annoyed when I order a book and the box is comfortably larger than the book’s dimensions. Sometimes, I get mad at myself for ordering two items hours apart only to realize what a waste I have incurred when they arrive in two separate deliveries. 

Nothing, however, rivaled what was delivered to me this morning.

Last summer, I had ordered some ridiculously expensive under eye cream, whose manufacturer was “a pioneer in anti-aging cellular therapy” and whose origins can be traced back to the famous La Prairie Clinic in Switzerland. Not surprisingly, it was touted to do the following:
Lift
Nourish
Firm
Hydrate
Reduce under eye bags and
Restore firmness

Who could resist????
 And to be honest, the stuff worked – gradually – but it worked. So I ordered it again!

Below is a photo of the packaging for a jar that weighs .68 ounces and measures about 1.5 inches in diameter.

I’m speechless.

So I start to do a little research.

Shopping online creates five times more emissions from packaging for online orders than from emissions of things bought in a store and put in plastic or paper bags (or the consumer’s own carriers), so says Anna Baluch is an article entitled “Is online shopping more sustainable?”

On the other hand, online shopping eliminates car trips and their emissions. Retail space then can be re-configured to carry less inventory and utilize less energy and less heating and cooling. 

On the other hand, online shopping leads to five times more returned products, increasing the environmental footprint. One online study showed that approximately 40% of online purchases are returned, as opposed to 7% return in the case of brick-and-mortar purchases.

 And when shoppers go to the mall? They usually make a greater number of purchases as compared to their forays into online shopping. In addition, mall visits are often tied to other activities as part of their trip.

It’s confusing but one thing stands out:  
Consumers seek Price, Speed and Convenience when buying online, according to earth.org.

In the case of my eye cream, the price was about the same online and in person. 
The online delivery time took quite a bit longer, but was more convenient.

However, Neiman Marcus, a store I rarely shop at – sells the eye cream. It is located 6.3 miles from my house. Google maps gauges my drive time to be 17 minutes.

After what I witnessed as the absolute worse excess of shipping materials, guess where I’ll be buying my next jar of under eye cream?

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Cries Before Annihilation

I never cried the entire time I was in Poland.
I expected to, but I didn’t.  

My tears didn’t start until we landed back in the States – after checking into a sterile Marriott Hotel room sandwiched between other non-descript hotels and the JFK airport. 

I realized I was over tired. 
I realized I was sick with a sinus infection. 
But I also realized that my tears would continue for a very long time. 
And they have. 

Poland to me is like an empty nest household – the remnants of those that were born there and formed there are still visible and palpable, but the people themselves are long gone.

And the messages – ah, the messages – that the persecuted left behind are far more powerful than those doomed victims could have ever imagined. And that’s what started my flood of tears.

Here’s a smattering: 

Jurek, aged 16, Auntie Pola, aged 42, and Uncle Azek, aged 50, all died within half a year. When Jurek died, we were in utter despair. When Auntie Pola died, we despaired a bit less, and when Uncle died it just didn’t move us all that much. Quite simply, we grew used to…death.
July 6, 1941 – Renia Knoll

One is left with the tragic dilemma: are we to dole out spoonfuls to everyone, the result being that no one will survive? Or are we to give full measure to a few – with only a handful having enough to survive?
May, 1942 – Emanuel Ringelblum

We are imprisoned within double walls: a wall of brick for our bodies, and a wall of silence for our spirits.
June 25, 1942 – Chaim A. Kaplan

It was agreed that all Jews should be gathered into one place and burnt to death…all were ordered to sing and were chased into the barn. Hooligans beat them up bestially on the way…they were pushed into the barn. Then the barn was doused with kerosene and lit. 
Samul Wassersztejn

I remember scrawled on the walls: Away with the Jews, but the Jewish girls stay with us.
Ita Kupfermann

They grabbed Jews by the beards and tore the beards from their skin. 
Maria Gehl

One of the nearby streets has already been blocked. The mood is terrible. We’re expecting the worst. We’re in a hurry…Goodbye…what we’ve been unable to shout out to the world, we’ve buried in the ground.
August 3, 4pm – Dawid Graber’s last will

The comments of the survivors of those fragmented families years later still echo the angst. Here is one:

Before my father passed away, he would lead our family’s Passover Seder. There was a part in the Haggadah (the text recited at the Seder) where he was supposed to recline a bit. Every time he got to that part, he would cry. He was thinking of his father leading the Seders in Osiek, Poland when my father was growing up. In 1939, the day before the Seder, my father got information to be in Warsaw the next day to leave for the United States on the ship The Battery. It was the last boat out of Poland. He was not able to say goodbye to any of his family. And by the time The Battery arrived at Ellis Island, the town of Osiek was gone…We never knew anybody on my father’s side of the family…His parents, his sister and brother-in-law, a 2 year-old little niece and a 4 year-old nephew all perished at the hands of the Nazis. 
May 31, 2024 – Peggy (Rich) Friedman

Those of us fortunate enough not to have lost relatives in the Holocaust are forcibly impacted by its lingering effects nonetheless:

Many years ago, I took a trip to the Florida Holocaust Museum in St Petersburg, FL. I had seen much in my life related to the Holocaust, so I didn’t expect to shed more than a tear or two. I toured the museum for a while and came across a cattle car that was used to transport Jews to the concentration camps. While I don’t think it’s permitted now, I did reach out to touch it. When I did, it triggered unexpected, uncontrollable crying that seemed to last forever.
May 31, 2024 – Jack Valerio

It should be noted that Yad Vashem in Jerusalem officially acknowledged the 6500 Poles who risked their lives to save their fellow Jews and that it is estimated that the Nazis killed at least 1.9 million non-Jewish Polish citizens and POWs during World War Two. Unfortunately, I could find no quotes representing their experiences. 

In spite of it all, today, Jewish life – though drastically reduced – goes on in Poland. This picture is of a recent  Shabbat dinner at the Jewish Community Center in Warsaw.

And, in spite of it all, so does the secular life in Poland too.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

I Never Cried

My brother-in-law worked for Smithfield Foods and spent his entire career while there traveling back and forth to Poland – working with the livestock farmers to increase production of pigs.

It was his dream to take my husband and I, his wife (my sister) and two close couple friends back to Poland after his retirement. His focus for our foray was less on art museums, shopping and exotic night life and more on the history of the Polish Jews prior to, during and after World War 2. 

His dream materialized just a few weeks ago when we all stepped into a LOT plane at Kennedy Airport bound for Warsaw. 

According to the book Polin 1000-Year History of Polish Jews:

During the pre-World War 2 years, Poland’s Jewish population hovered around 3.3 million. It was one of the most diverse and tolerant countries in early modern Europe. Approximately 90% of Poland’s Jews were murdered as a result of the Holocaust. Three hundred thousand survived 

Chief Rabbi of Poland, Michael Shudrich, says the latest census reflects there are about 20,000 Jews in Poland at present, but he believes the number is  2-3 times greater than what’s reported.

We saw so much.

We saw remnants of the Warsaw Ghetto’s brick walls set against a beautiful blue sky. 

We toured the Polin Museum, which stands on the site of the destroyed Warsaw ghetto – directly facing the Monument to the Ghetto Heroes – and documents the extensive thousand-year history of the Jews of Poland. Its interior and exterior architectural is both elegant and simple – a sight to behold indeed.  

We toured the site of Auschwitz – the deadliest concentration camp. We walked under the Auschwitz Gate – reading Arbeit macht frei (Work Sets You Free). It didn’t 

Approximately 1.1 million prisoners were murdered in the five years that the camp complex was operable. Not all were Jewish. Jehovah’s Witnesses, Gypsies, homosexuals and people who were disabled were also targeted. It’s not known how many children were killed there, but on a single day – October 10, 1944 – 800 children were gassed to death.

We attended a Sunday afternoon Chopin concert in the Royal Baths area in the Lazienka Park and marveled at the tranquility of the setting and the beauty of the music – in sharp  contrast to the horrors that ravaged Warsaw during World War 2.

On Shabbat, we prayed at the Nozyk Synagogue – the only Jewish house of worship in Warsaw that survived the Holocaust. Just two weeks before, on May 9, the synagogue was hit with three firebombs. No injuries. Slight damage. Chief Rabbi of Poland, Michael Shudrich, said to the Associated Press that the synagogue was spared “by tremendous luck or a miracle.”

We visited the excavation site of the basements of two buildings near Mila 18 in the Warsaw Ghetto where more than 5000 items related to the lives of the Jewish  residents were discovered – shoes, books, kitchen utensils, corroded tools – shedding dramatic light on the hundreds of thousands of Jews confined to an area of 1.3 square miles – with an average of 9.2 persons per room. 

Every night, I dug deeper into the book entitled The Girl In The Green Sweater. It’s a tale of an upper-class Jewish family miraculously surviving the Holocaust by hiding in the sewers below Warsaw for a year – among the stench, the swarming rats and the burrowing lice.

I drank it all in, but I never cried – until I did. And then I could hardly stop.

Next week I’ll tell you what happened to turn on the tears. 
My subject line yields a hint:
Cries Before Annihilation 

Processing Poland

My mind is still trying to process 
all that I have seen,
while my body’s fighting-off a killer sinus infection 
that is making me miserable and mean

As you read this, 
I am heading home from Poland 
to decompress, rest and renew 
and next week I’ll be writing about the experiences 
I’ve witnessed and been through 

Majestic churches and lushly green parks 
An afternoon Chopin concert 
and synagogue arks 

Pierogis, potato pancakes and apple pie 
contrasted with ghetto walls oh so high
Plus chilling pictures of innocent victims 
whose tragic ends don’t lie 

Warsaw is both wondrous and haunting 
Krakow bustling and quaint 
But underlying all of Poland 
is an unmistakable taint:
of ruined lives and smashed dreams 
of documented terror unleashed in endless streams  

But Poland is also a testament 
to humans’ vast ability 
to remember and repair 
wherever and whenever we can 
so that history doesn’t repeat itself –
once again turning man against man 

(The Jewish Community Day School in Warsaw)

Keep Preserving Your Bloom 
and I’ll be restoring mine, which right now looks like this….

A little wilted – hee hee!