Linda, Thank you for sharing those painful memories, but also the story of your grandfather's letters. After watching the video of George Floyd's death, like you, "...I don’t know what to do with that." And this isn't the first video we have seen of a senseless murder. If only, if only we could just be kind.
Thanks, Kathryn. The Dalai Lama once said our job is to help others and if we can't do that, at least don't harm them. It doesn't seem so hard, you know? The old letters and photos were amazing to find -- my brother has them and made copies for me. Thanks for reading and stopping to leave a comment. That means a lot to me. :)
"We’re all going to die. I think one of the worst ways must be at the hands of another human being. I wonder if we’ll ever figure that out in a way that matters."
Strongest words I've read all day. Coincidentally, I watched a PBS documentary about 300 Jewish children who managed to get out of German concentration camps and went on to live a better life in Britain. But the permanent damage was already done. It tore my heart out to watch old men now in their 80's and 90's cry their hearts out over memories of receiving a bed and sheets and food after what they'd been through as children.
Humans can be wicked indeed and I'm with you....will we ever figure things out in a way that matters? As a global community?
Thank you Kristi. Coming from you, that's a powerful compliment. Some of the kids sent away were welcomed into homes, while others were treated as free help and slept in barns and hovels. Such a heartbreaking stain on humanity and I don't know why we have not learned more from it. Thanks for reading, and have a great weekend. :)
Linda, I read this three nights ago and kept the tab open until I could come up with a response that, at least partially, conveys my feelings.
I ache for the little girl who suffered alone. I wish I could hug you hard enough to dissolve the pain in the younger you, but I fear I’d have to hug so hard your ribs would bruise– and even then it wouldn’t erase the scars.
Children are so vulnerable, so fragile, hurt so deeply. I’m sorry for how you suffered.
I grew up under the opposite circumstance, in a Jewish neighborhood, attended a predominantly Jewish school, with only two black children in each class. They were treated as outsiders, never invited to our homes, never invited to play with us. They were pretty much ignored.
The ostracism was considered normal. It would never occur to me that there might be pain, or loneliness behind their eyes. It wasn’t until graduation day from High School, when a popular black girl hugged me, looked deeply into my eyes and told me she’d miss me, that I realized it was I who had missed.
The irony of the quiet racism was that the neighborhood was comprised of Jewish immigrants who had escaped Hitler.
My dad escaped Germany at thirteen, three years after Hell engulfed his town. I knew it had been terrible, but we never talked about his childhood - with the exception of that time he told me the old blanket I cut to make a poncho was the one he used to rescue his cat when the Nazis burned down his house.
I never asked the details.
It wasn’t until last year when I read Out of Broken Glass, where the author, Sel Hubert, the other Jewish boy in that town, describes the day the gentile boys they’d grown up with, lead by their Nazi teacher, beat him and his friend, my ten-year-old father.
Reading a quote from the little boy who would grow up to be my Dad, made me wish he were still alive so I could tell him I understand – and hug him till his ribs bruised.
Thanks, Jeff. It astounds me, sometimes, the things people hate each other for. Not for being cruel, or greedy -- which would be at least understandable. But it's like Woelf said in the comment below, we hate people for reasons that aren't grounded in anything rational, and it's sad.
How very amazing that you read a book that let you understand your Dad's experience. That made me smile. It's kind of how I felt when we found all those old letters my grandfather had written. Thinking of him mailing all those letters, so many years ago, I wished I could hug him again.
Thank you for your kind words. People like you are why I keep writing. :)
I have a complicated past where I both saw hate and experienced hate. As I grew older I discovered that we have a great capacity for hate and that this hate is not grounded in anything rational or logical. This is the saddest part.
I am so sorry you experienced hate as a child and I am sorry the world is the way it is. As humans, we have hope, and though we may have a great capacity for hate I have found we also have a great capacity for love. It is this eternal struggle between the light and the darkness that we see daily. And it is posts like yours that add another flame to the light to make it shine ever brighter. Thank you.
And thank you, too. When we encourage each other to spread something positive, we are more likely to do so, I think. If I wrote this and got no feedback or nothing but lash back, I might think twice the next time, you know? We are all just so tenderly human.
Thank you Tom. I love seeing your name because I always know you arrive with kind words. Funny how a kind word makes the world a little brighter, you know? :)
Thank you for sharing Linda, I'm sorry you had to experience that kind of hate.
I wish I could say things have gotten better.
It's soul destroying to see so many people in pain at the hands of police brutality, systemic racism, and blatant acts intended to cause more pain.
Black people in this country have to worry about whether their children, spouses or loved ones will make it back home safely. This worry then topped by a pandemic. It's a lot.
I appreciate every morsel of kindness because it gives me hope that we can help rebuild and replace our broken systems.
In the mean time, I will listen to my heart and logic to do what I can. Knowing that I may not always get it right, but I have to keep doing. Thank you for being kind to one another.
Thank you for the beautiful post. I was in tears.
Thank you, Carol. Nice to see you again and hope you're well. :)
Linda, Thank you for sharing those painful memories, but also the story of your grandfather's letters. After watching the video of George Floyd's death, like you, "...I don’t know what to do with that." And this isn't the first video we have seen of a senseless murder. If only, if only we could just be kind.
Thanks, Kathryn. The Dalai Lama once said our job is to help others and if we can't do that, at least don't harm them. It doesn't seem so hard, you know? The old letters and photos were amazing to find -- my brother has them and made copies for me. Thanks for reading and stopping to leave a comment. That means a lot to me. :)
"We’re all going to die. I think one of the worst ways must be at the hands of another human being. I wonder if we’ll ever figure that out in a way that matters."
Strongest words I've read all day. Coincidentally, I watched a PBS documentary about 300 Jewish children who managed to get out of German concentration camps and went on to live a better life in Britain. But the permanent damage was already done. It tore my heart out to watch old men now in their 80's and 90's cry their hearts out over memories of receiving a bed and sheets and food after what they'd been through as children.
Humans can be wicked indeed and I'm with you....will we ever figure things out in a way that matters? As a global community?
Thank you Kristi. Coming from you, that's a powerful compliment. Some of the kids sent away were welcomed into homes, while others were treated as free help and slept in barns and hovels. Such a heartbreaking stain on humanity and I don't know why we have not learned more from it. Thanks for reading, and have a great weekend. :)
Linda, I read this three nights ago and kept the tab open until I could come up with a response that, at least partially, conveys my feelings.
I ache for the little girl who suffered alone. I wish I could hug you hard enough to dissolve the pain in the younger you, but I fear I’d have to hug so hard your ribs would bruise– and even then it wouldn’t erase the scars.
Children are so vulnerable, so fragile, hurt so deeply. I’m sorry for how you suffered.
I grew up under the opposite circumstance, in a Jewish neighborhood, attended a predominantly Jewish school, with only two black children in each class. They were treated as outsiders, never invited to our homes, never invited to play with us. They were pretty much ignored.
The ostracism was considered normal. It would never occur to me that there might be pain, or loneliness behind their eyes. It wasn’t until graduation day from High School, when a popular black girl hugged me, looked deeply into my eyes and told me she’d miss me, that I realized it was I who had missed.
The irony of the quiet racism was that the neighborhood was comprised of Jewish immigrants who had escaped Hitler.
My dad escaped Germany at thirteen, three years after Hell engulfed his town. I knew it had been terrible, but we never talked about his childhood - with the exception of that time he told me the old blanket I cut to make a poncho was the one he used to rescue his cat when the Nazis burned down his house.
I never asked the details.
It wasn’t until last year when I read Out of Broken Glass, where the author, Sel Hubert, the other Jewish boy in that town, describes the day the gentile boys they’d grown up with, lead by their Nazi teacher, beat him and his friend, my ten-year-old father.
Reading a quote from the little boy who would grow up to be my Dad, made me wish he were still alive so I could tell him I understand – and hug him till his ribs bruised.
Thanks, Jeff. It astounds me, sometimes, the things people hate each other for. Not for being cruel, or greedy -- which would be at least understandable. But it's like Woelf said in the comment below, we hate people for reasons that aren't grounded in anything rational, and it's sad.
How very amazing that you read a book that let you understand your Dad's experience. That made me smile. It's kind of how I felt when we found all those old letters my grandfather had written. Thinking of him mailing all those letters, so many years ago, I wished I could hug him again.
Thank you for your kind words. People like you are why I keep writing. :)
I have a complicated past where I both saw hate and experienced hate. As I grew older I discovered that we have a great capacity for hate and that this hate is not grounded in anything rational or logical. This is the saddest part.
I am so sorry you experienced hate as a child and I am sorry the world is the way it is. As humans, we have hope, and though we may have a great capacity for hate I have found we also have a great capacity for love. It is this eternal struggle between the light and the darkness that we see daily. And it is posts like yours that add another flame to the light to make it shine ever brighter. Thank you.
And thank you, too. When we encourage each other to spread something positive, we are more likely to do so, I think. If I wrote this and got no feedback or nothing but lash back, I might think twice the next time, you know? We are all just so tenderly human.
I haven't got anything I can say after reading this. But thank you for writing it. Why can't we just be kind to each other?
I know, Julia, right? Thank you for reading. It means a lot to me.
Another great read. Sad, but somethings that needed saying. Thank you for your honesty.
Thank you Tom. I love seeing your name because I always know you arrive with kind words. Funny how a kind word makes the world a little brighter, you know? :)
Yep. And we need more kindness. Stay safe and healthy. We need you.
Thank you for sharing Linda, I'm sorry you had to experience that kind of hate.
I wish I could say things have gotten better.
It's soul destroying to see so many people in pain at the hands of police brutality, systemic racism, and blatant acts intended to cause more pain.
Black people in this country have to worry about whether their children, spouses or loved ones will make it back home safely. This worry then topped by a pandemic. It's a lot.
I appreciate every morsel of kindness because it gives me hope that we can help rebuild and replace our broken systems.
In the mean time, I will listen to my heart and logic to do what I can. Knowing that I may not always get it right, but I have to keep doing. Thank you for being kind to one another.