So my grandfather died. Shit happens, huh? This isn’t such a big piece of news, actually, seeing as my mother told me several weeks ago that he had a kidney infection. And, well, kidneys are pretty crucial. In a way it’s weird to think of my grandpa dying like some old weak man because he was always physically very fit for his age. He would brag about being able to swim twenty laps or something two or three times a week. I guess that’s one of the reasons Mom and her brothers decided to end the treatment, because they realized he wouldn’t want to live in a physically weak, incapable body trapped in some godforsaken nursing home (I say this having worked in a nursing home before, and I agree with her). Or more to the point, because it’s better to go quickly. Things were so bad at that point, any recovery would really have not been much of a recovery at all—just not death. In the end, the treatment was all that was keeping him alive and he died four hours later.
And here I am stuck in Israel, and I don’t know what to feel.
It’s just those last months before I left, things were getting so bad. I’m sure I wrote about it, and if I didn’t, it was because I had bigger things on my mind. Everything was going through crisis so quickly. Grandpa was going crazier and crazier in the worst way possible. And the word crazy just didn’t seem sufficient to describe his sickness. It felt like all the words in the world wouldn’t be enough. Later on he was diagnosed with stage 5 or 6 Alzheimer’s; there are 7 stages altogether. And the hospitals were shit. Do not believe that nonsense that Johns Hopkins is a good hospital, because it’s not. It was shit. The doctors were just leading my mom around in circles, referring her from one guy to the next. Anything to pass the buck. Gimme my money and go home. And this is leaving out Grandma breaking her hip, me finishing school, etc, etc…Sometimes I got so angry at my uncles for not being there, for not supporting us. It felt like we were carrying the burden all by ourselves, that Mom was doing all the work. And it was killing her, and really hurting the family. Like having an unwanted, obnoxious guest in your house 24/7. We all felt like shit.
And here’s the thing—I made a conscious decision not to go see my grandpa during that time. I’m not sure why. Probably partly because I was afraid, partly because I was angry at him for making our lives so miserable. He’d call Mom up in the middle of the night to rant. And then there was the whole aspect with Grandma. Once we got her out of that house and got her into an assisted living home, she recovered a bit. Like she started talking in sentences again, she could sort of understand what you were saying some of the time. And she definitely brightened up, was much happier in that home. This might not seem like a lot, but she could not even form sentences during the last few months she was living with my grandpa. All this from the stimuli around her—the comfort of a friendly home where people were looking out for her. And I got so angry at Grandpa. All these years, we knew she was going down hill in part because she was isolated in that godforsaken apartment. But here was solid proof. If grandma had had all this comfort around her all this time, if she had been in such a friendly environment, how much better would she be today? Grandpa had been the major block to that. He didn’t take her out, would leave her in the house while he went out. And he wouldn’t let us move her to a home. Let’s be frank: my grandma would be much better today if it weren’t for my grandpa. But then, how can you get angry at a madman?
All this time, we were afraid to take that final step, to rip the family apart by using the law to take her away. What were we thinking??
And then there was my grandfather’s insanity itself, its sheer abrasiveness. It worsened all the most terrible parts of his personality. He was just this kind of boogeyman lurking over the phone. And you know, as time went by Mom started telling these stories. She started saying that he had always kind of been like this—not crazy, but antisocial. Mean. I had always known my grandpa was kind of hard to get along with, but never like this. I don’t know how much was true, how much was angry feelings brought out by this crisis. It was like having poison poured in my ear, and what’s more it worked. I believe my Mom, she’s generally a reliable person. The way she talked, the only phrase I can use to describe it is emotional abuse.
And that was a revelation. I mean, you’re a kid, you want to think well of your family, right? That’s why abused children are so fucked up, because they feel they should love the source of their abuse. It was just a mind-shattering idea: my mom had an emotionally abusive father as a child. Like that’s only stuff you read about in the papers or in books. It doesn’t happen to you. And what does this mean to me as the grandchild? This was completely changing the way I thought about my family, and in the worst way.
So in the last few weeks before I left, I started fantasizing about my grandfather dying, because it would have made everything so much easier. We’d just be able to deal with Grandma, whose problems were much more straightforward and easy to solve, and who (though also crazy) is pretty sweet and passive. And don’t forget the economic side, too. Let's be frank: doctors are expensive, and we don't have that much money.
So when my mom told me that Grandpa had a kidney infection, part of me felt guilty. Like God had answered my prayers in the worst way. Maybe this sounds ludicrous to you, but I feel that God has answered my prayers before, when a cousin was badly sick with cancer. He got four more years with his family, four relatively normal years to see his girls grow up, when he should have died much earlier. And all this time I was praying for his recovery--it felt like an answer. So I believe in miracles, small ones like these--like the rabbis say, it's not the event itself so much as the timing.
So hearing about this, it felt like God had heard me, even though I never prayed for Granpa to die--just fantasized about it. And part of me felt guilty. But another part went, "Yeesss."
And now that I got this phone call yesterday, I don't feel anything. I should feel guilty, or sad, or even happy--I should feel something, but I just feel empty. I feel like I should try to get closure, but how? I'm in fucking Israel!! While my family will be attending the funeral tomorrow, I'll probably be laughing with my friends and joking about hot army guys. I mean, what should I do? Say Kaddish? Wear black? Rip my clothes? I'M ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FUCKING ATLANTIC FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!
But also part of me is glad I don't have to go to the funeral, because I don't know what I'd say. And because I have a feeling I wouldn't cry. Or feel unhappy or anything. Just empty. I'd thought about the funeral before, and all I could think of was, "How unpleasant."
I wept at my other grandpa's funeral. And all these people came out to see him buried. And afterwards at the reception everyone told stories about his life, laughed at funny anecdotes. I just can't imagine that happening at this funeral.
But there probably was a whole side of my grandpa that I didn't hear about, and now I never will because I'm not going to be at that funeral. In the end, all I had were these pretty bitter thoughts about him, and I guess I expected my mom and her brothers to be the same, because the hell we've been through in the past few months.
And of course this happens over Pesach. I wanted to talk to my rabbi, but I couldn't, because chag lasts so long in the States (which is behind us by seven hours). And (being the rabbi) he's shomer, so he doesn't pick up the phone on holidays. I called him this morning, but it WAS 11:30 over there, so he couldn't talk long. Also he had to write the eulogy for my grandfather. So I felt slightly depressed when he politely told me he needed to go. I went to the bathroom, and for a moment I felt a lump in my throat. Like I was all alone, that no one understood me. No one over here, anyway. Like I couldn't express how I felt. So I got dressed and came down to the computer lab to write this emergency blog entry.
(As a side note, I slept really badly last night. Went to bed at 12, fell asleep around 1, woke up around 3 or 4 and didn't go back to sleep. Subconscious maybe?)
I dunno, I guess I feel kind of isolated now...maybe I'll try to talk to Peter later.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Going Away
I'm going away for the next five months, so I'm not going to be posting here very often. That's actually why I haven't been posting at all lately; I've been very busy getting ready for the trip. However, I will keep a travel blog while I'm gone, so go check it out if you want to know what I'm up to.
Onwards to Poland!
Onwards to Poland!
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Grandparents Redux
A lot of stuff has been happening over on my side, hence the reason I haven't dropped by very often recently. I'm leaving for Poland on Sunday, so most of my internet time is devoted to writing goodbye emails to my friends before I leave. Still, I wanted to give you an update on my grandparents, especially seeing as things have settled down slightly.
First: Grandma. We recieved a call from the home she was staying at, telling us she had fallen down. Of course they rushed her to the hospital, and we (Mom and I) met her there a day or so later. The doctors claimed that she was fine--only bruised on her hip. But when we took her back to the assisted living home, she was limping badly. It was clear she was still in pain. Leaving Grandma in her room, we dragged back to the hospital, where Dad picked me up (I was fading pretty badly at that point--it was maybe 8 at night, and I hadn't eaten) while Mom stayed to shout at the doctors.
Mom tells me she dragged through the hospital beaurocracy, demanding to see the x-rays of Grandma's hips, until finally she cornered a guy into admitting that there were no x-rays--at least, no x-rays of the hip she HADN'T fallen upon (this is important). I'm saying this calmly right now, but when Mom told us about it, believe me, she was furious. Can you believe they didn't do these x-rays?? I mean, come on, that's just routine when an old lady falls down!!
It turned out that Grandma had a fractured hip--on the other side. Essentially, she stood up, something snapped, and THEN she fell. The fracture was the cause, not the effect. The hip she fell on was just bruised; the other one was fractured. The description of the fracture is kinda tricky and I'm in a rush, so I'll skip that for now.
Anyways, Grandma went through surgery for her hip last week, and she came out of the hospital on Saturday. Now she's in rehab for her hip. I hope she's doing fine, but I haven't seen her since Friday.
Grandpa, meanwhile, has finally been diagnosed with middle-to-severe Alzheimer's. Stage 5-6. There are 7 stages in all. You're going to look at me crazy, but it's kind of a relief. You do not how much Mom struggled just to get him diagnosed. She was literally going around and around in circles as doctor after doctor referred her to someone else at Johns Hopkins.
Here is a true story about her dealings at Johns Hopkins: The other day she had to rush Grandpa over to the hospital, right? But there were no beds in the psychiatric ward at Johns Hopkins. She asked around the emergency room and EVERYONE there, doctors and nurses, told her that they could transfer him to another hospital where there were open beds. They said there was an ambulance waiting and everything. It was very late at night, so she went home. The next day she calls up the other hospital (Shepard something, I forget the name) and there was no record of his arrival. Instead, Grandpa had been registered in the MEDICAL ward at Johns Hopkins, even though he only needed psychiatric treatment. It turns out that he had to be registered first at the medical ward in Johns Hopkins before being transferred. No one--NO ONE--in the whole emergency room said anything of the sort to Mom. Either they didn't know about that rule, or they were lying to her. Tell me, which is scarier?
So as I said, it's actually good news that Grandpa has finally been diagnosed. He's now in a place called Levensdale, a research center for Alzheimer's. Only, the other day a nurse phoned my uncle Steve saying that Grandpa was lucid and wanted to go home. Then Uncle Steve got another call, this time from Grandpa himself, badgering him to take him home. What the hell?! How did this get through??
First: Grandma. We recieved a call from the home she was staying at, telling us she had fallen down. Of course they rushed her to the hospital, and we (Mom and I) met her there a day or so later. The doctors claimed that she was fine--only bruised on her hip. But when we took her back to the assisted living home, she was limping badly. It was clear she was still in pain. Leaving Grandma in her room, we dragged back to the hospital, where Dad picked me up (I was fading pretty badly at that point--it was maybe 8 at night, and I hadn't eaten) while Mom stayed to shout at the doctors.
Mom tells me she dragged through the hospital beaurocracy, demanding to see the x-rays of Grandma's hips, until finally she cornered a guy into admitting that there were no x-rays--at least, no x-rays of the hip she HADN'T fallen upon (this is important). I'm saying this calmly right now, but when Mom told us about it, believe me, she was furious. Can you believe they didn't do these x-rays?? I mean, come on, that's just routine when an old lady falls down!!
It turned out that Grandma had a fractured hip--on the other side. Essentially, she stood up, something snapped, and THEN she fell. The fracture was the cause, not the effect. The hip she fell on was just bruised; the other one was fractured. The description of the fracture is kinda tricky and I'm in a rush, so I'll skip that for now.
Anyways, Grandma went through surgery for her hip last week, and she came out of the hospital on Saturday. Now she's in rehab for her hip. I hope she's doing fine, but I haven't seen her since Friday.
Grandpa, meanwhile, has finally been diagnosed with middle-to-severe Alzheimer's. Stage 5-6. There are 7 stages in all. You're going to look at me crazy, but it's kind of a relief. You do not how much Mom struggled just to get him diagnosed. She was literally going around and around in circles as doctor after doctor referred her to someone else at Johns Hopkins.
Here is a true story about her dealings at Johns Hopkins: The other day she had to rush Grandpa over to the hospital, right? But there were no beds in the psychiatric ward at Johns Hopkins. She asked around the emergency room and EVERYONE there, doctors and nurses, told her that they could transfer him to another hospital where there were open beds. They said there was an ambulance waiting and everything. It was very late at night, so she went home. The next day she calls up the other hospital (Shepard something, I forget the name) and there was no record of his arrival. Instead, Grandpa had been registered in the MEDICAL ward at Johns Hopkins, even though he only needed psychiatric treatment. It turns out that he had to be registered first at the medical ward in Johns Hopkins before being transferred. No one--NO ONE--in the whole emergency room said anything of the sort to Mom. Either they didn't know about that rule, or they were lying to her. Tell me, which is scarier?
So as I said, it's actually good news that Grandpa has finally been diagnosed. He's now in a place called Levensdale, a research center for Alzheimer's. Only, the other day a nurse phoned my uncle Steve saying that Grandpa was lucid and wanted to go home. Then Uncle Steve got another call, this time from Grandpa himself, badgering him to take him home. What the hell?! How did this get through??
Friday, February 9, 2007
Grandparents Update
I guess you've been wondering what's the deal with my grandparents after that last post I've left. A lot of shit happened--it's pretty much driving my mom crazy.
So yeah--my grandfather has suddenly gone crazy. More exactly, he's just snapped, serious dementia all of a sudden. I mean, physically he's fine. Mentally, he's straight out delusional. Mom's having a lot of problems getting the right treatment. We keep telling her to move him out of the Baltimore system (which sucks!), but she says that she'll have to start the process all over again if she does, because of release laws. "So get the release forms together." But really, that's just another burden, something else to stagger through...I guess it's understandable if she can't get it together. Frankly speaking, this stuff is driving her insane. The phone is always ringing, it's getting really obnoxious. We're in the car, I'm reading to her: phone rings, it's the doctor. We're trying to get out the door to go somewhere--phone rings, it's another doctor. I'm sitting at home by myself, doing my work, phone rings--it's not the doctor, it's the other writers at the nuclear fuel subscription magazine thingie she works on, asking gently Where Are The Articles, Please? Because this thing with Grandpa is consuming her life. Oh yes, and sometimes Grandpa calls up himself, generally very agitated and, well, delusional.
Frankly speaking, I'm pissed at her brothers. I mean, we've never been very close to her side of the family, but this is ridiculous. I don't care if they don't feel much affection for Grandpa. I'm upset about what this is doing to my mom. This thing is TAKING OVER HER LIFE--and our lives, by extension--and WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?? Well, Uncle Leonard lives in Houston, so that kinda explains why he isn't so involved. But Uncle Steve lives in the area. And he's always off somewhere for work. Okay, I understand that he's got work, but you know what? So does Mom. She works really hard, and she still finds time to take care of Grandma and Grandpa. Actually, she's giving TOO MUCH of her time to the grandparents. And maybe Uncle Steve isn't a go-getter person, but again, so what? He doesn't have to take charge of everything, either. All I'm asking is that for once, can't HE go up to take Grandma/Grandpa to the doctors? Why is it that Mom is the one always getting the phone calls, anyway? If Grandpa is upset, can't he call Uncle Leonard for once?
I realize I'm whining, but that IS what a blog is for. And I can't tell you how much I can't stand this intrusion into my life, into my mom's life, it's driving the whole family crazy. It's like having an unwanted guest set up shop in your house, permanently. An emotionally abusive guest. It's exhausting physically and mentally.
This isn't even bringing Grandma into the equation. When Grandpa went crazy, Mom took her out of the apartment to put her in this assisted living home, on respite care. Here's the thing--she suddenly got better. The last time I saw her, she could barely talk, could barely move, couldn't even follow a conversation. But now she's suddenly talking, she's paying attention. She's still got major memory loss and, well, is still pretty senile, but after all these years of watching her go downhill, the recovery is amazing. And depressing. Going to a place like this home has been wonderful for her. You can't help but wonder--why didn't we do this years ago? And the answer is, "Because Grandpa wouldn't let us put her in a home." He insisted she stay in the apartment with him and never really took her out. So she was completely isolated, didn't really see much activity. And so her brain went down hill because there was no stimuli to keep it working. Mom said she got really angry at Grandpa (in her head) thinking about this, but it's not like she can shout at him about it anymore. How can you get angry at this crazy old man? I don't think Grandpa even knew what he was doing to Grandma when he insisted that she stay in the apartment. I just think that it was very important to him that they stay together--even now, he still gets upset to be separated, he's always calling Mom asking about Grandma--and he wanted to stay out of an assisted-living home. And yes, he wanted control over Grandma.
But here's the bad news: Only a few days ago, Grandma fell down. The side she fell down on actually is okay, aside from bad bruising. But it turns out the reason why she fell is because of a fractured hip. So she's in the hospital now. There was this whole surgery on her on Wednesday night. Today I'll be helping Mom move her home.
Technically speaking, I should have gotten up early this morning for this stupid Siyyum prayer breakfast thing--it's this thing they make us graduates go through at school--but frankly speaking, I have higher priorities in life.
So yeah--my grandfather has suddenly gone crazy. More exactly, he's just snapped, serious dementia all of a sudden. I mean, physically he's fine. Mentally, he's straight out delusional. Mom's having a lot of problems getting the right treatment. We keep telling her to move him out of the Baltimore system (which sucks!), but she says that she'll have to start the process all over again if she does, because of release laws. "So get the release forms together." But really, that's just another burden, something else to stagger through...I guess it's understandable if she can't get it together. Frankly speaking, this stuff is driving her insane. The phone is always ringing, it's getting really obnoxious. We're in the car, I'm reading to her: phone rings, it's the doctor. We're trying to get out the door to go somewhere--phone rings, it's another doctor. I'm sitting at home by myself, doing my work, phone rings--it's not the doctor, it's the other writers at the nuclear fuel subscription magazine thingie she works on, asking gently Where Are The Articles, Please? Because this thing with Grandpa is consuming her life. Oh yes, and sometimes Grandpa calls up himself, generally very agitated and, well, delusional.
Frankly speaking, I'm pissed at her brothers. I mean, we've never been very close to her side of the family, but this is ridiculous. I don't care if they don't feel much affection for Grandpa. I'm upset about what this is doing to my mom. This thing is TAKING OVER HER LIFE--and our lives, by extension--and WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?? Well, Uncle Leonard lives in Houston, so that kinda explains why he isn't so involved. But Uncle Steve lives in the area. And he's always off somewhere for work. Okay, I understand that he's got work, but you know what? So does Mom. She works really hard, and she still finds time to take care of Grandma and Grandpa. Actually, she's giving TOO MUCH of her time to the grandparents. And maybe Uncle Steve isn't a go-getter person, but again, so what? He doesn't have to take charge of everything, either. All I'm asking is that for once, can't HE go up to take Grandma/Grandpa to the doctors? Why is it that Mom is the one always getting the phone calls, anyway? If Grandpa is upset, can't he call Uncle Leonard for once?
I realize I'm whining, but that IS what a blog is for. And I can't tell you how much I can't stand this intrusion into my life, into my mom's life, it's driving the whole family crazy. It's like having an unwanted guest set up shop in your house, permanently. An emotionally abusive guest. It's exhausting physically and mentally.
This isn't even bringing Grandma into the equation. When Grandpa went crazy, Mom took her out of the apartment to put her in this assisted living home, on respite care. Here's the thing--she suddenly got better. The last time I saw her, she could barely talk, could barely move, couldn't even follow a conversation. But now she's suddenly talking, she's paying attention. She's still got major memory loss and, well, is still pretty senile, but after all these years of watching her go downhill, the recovery is amazing. And depressing. Going to a place like this home has been wonderful for her. You can't help but wonder--why didn't we do this years ago? And the answer is, "Because Grandpa wouldn't let us put her in a home." He insisted she stay in the apartment with him and never really took her out. So she was completely isolated, didn't really see much activity. And so her brain went down hill because there was no stimuli to keep it working. Mom said she got really angry at Grandpa (in her head) thinking about this, but it's not like she can shout at him about it anymore. How can you get angry at this crazy old man? I don't think Grandpa even knew what he was doing to Grandma when he insisted that she stay in the apartment. I just think that it was very important to him that they stay together--even now, he still gets upset to be separated, he's always calling Mom asking about Grandma--and he wanted to stay out of an assisted-living home. And yes, he wanted control over Grandma.
But here's the bad news: Only a few days ago, Grandma fell down. The side she fell down on actually is okay, aside from bad bruising. But it turns out the reason why she fell is because of a fractured hip. So she's in the hospital now. There was this whole surgery on her on Wednesday night. Today I'll be helping Mom move her home.
Technically speaking, I should have gotten up early this morning for this stupid Siyyum prayer breakfast thing--it's this thing they make us graduates go through at school--but frankly speaking, I have higher priorities in life.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
I'm Outta There!
You know, I was going to give this whole long post about how I got out of school last week and all the things I did and how I completely WHUPPED everyone in history in the Imperial Age simulation game, even though I only got a measly 10 points to spend per turn. But you know, I really don't feel in the mood any longer.
What's important is this: I'm out. In a few weeks I leave the country, not for the original three months but FIVE WHOLE MONTHS--I'll be spending an additional two in Israel after the school program ends. Right now, I'm hoping to get a volunteer job with Magen David Adom (the Israeli Red Cross). They train you in emergency response and everything. You're part of this ambulance "on call" team. I'm a little scared by the thought of that responsibility, but these are really skills you can use in life. Besides, I'm thinking of going into ROTC when I go to college, and a little First Aid knowledge probably wouldn't hurt in the army.
("ROTC you say?" I'll explain another time...this thing is important enough to me that I want my thoughts to be coherent when I get it down on paper.)
Tomorrow is prom. I'm going as a bellydancer. Here, I'll make a confession: I love the spotlight. I'm always trying to get people to pay attention--well, not all the time, sometimes I can be pretty shy, but you get the idea. And I want to stand out, hence the bellydance outfit.
My friend Peter is coming down as my date, even though he has school. Peter is a real sweet guy. He made me this duct tape shirt, it was really something...sometime I'll post a picture. But it was this amazing thing, you'd never believe it was decorated with duct tape. But more than that, he's easy to talk to, and not just on a small range of things. A lot of times, I find myself able to talk to people on a small range of things, but not with Peter. I really like him.
There's also this stupid Poland orientation thing they're making us attend at school. Now: you're about to go overseas, you're going to an orientation, what do you expect to hear? Discussions about what to pack, what to expect from the locals, how to behave in the culture. For example, my friend Michael was telling us the other day about the instructions he and the rest of his group recieved when they went to work in this Arab Israeli village--stay covered, greet everyone (EVERYONE!!) on the street, and reject invitations inside unless the person repeatedly invites you. So going to an orientation, you'd expect something like that, right?
Wrong. Instead we get a lecture about the Holocaust.
Now, this wouldn't be so bad. I've sat through a LOT of lectures on the Holocaust, it's been a part of my life since I was very little. I don't mean to creep out you non-Jews out there, but this is a fact: the Holocaust is a part of your life if you grow up with any strong connection to Jewish culture. Not that anyone sits you down or anything, you just can't ignore it.
But the woman in question just really put my back against the wall. I don't know why, but from the start of her speech, I just tensed up and got real grumpy. And then when I started to respond, I was always responding very rudely. She even pointed it out, and I apologized, saying I'd been very sick lately. I couldn't just say something like, "You make me very tense and unhappy from the way you talk." But we kept banging our heads against each other, especially as she began making statements that I took issue with. For example, when she said that Jewish Emancipation began in th 1700s. NO! NO NO NO! I couldn't take it anymore and burst out, "That's wrong. Emancipation began in the 1800s." She gave me this Look and started to explain, as if to a toddler, how it began in 1750. I shot back, "No, the ENLIGHTENMENT began in the 1700s. Only at the very end of the century in 1791 did you even begin to see the beginning of emancipation." And so on and so forth. That really set the tone. I was getting more and more upset, but that ingrained respect you give to teachers (hey! don't snicker!) just kept choking me up. You learn from a very young age, "Don't go against the teacher in class, don't interrupt her, etc." And I just wasn't thinking very straight. I was being very rude to her, undeservedly so, and I should apologize. But how? I just can't stand the woman, I don't know why. Just going to talk to her again would get me all tense again.
Also, that statement she made about the Roma during the Holocaust, that they were just a roadbump in Hitler's Grand Extermination Plan--that is extraordinarily offensive. Look. I don't know if the Nazis put as much effort into hunting down Gypsies as they did for the Jews. I do know that the Jews were number one on their hitlist. But saying something like that I just find abhorrent. How dare you downplay someone else's suffering like that, especially when it's the sort that came from the Holocaust?! Go tell that to a Roma survivor, why don't you?!
What's important is this: I'm out. In a few weeks I leave the country, not for the original three months but FIVE WHOLE MONTHS--I'll be spending an additional two in Israel after the school program ends. Right now, I'm hoping to get a volunteer job with Magen David Adom (the Israeli Red Cross). They train you in emergency response and everything. You're part of this ambulance "on call" team. I'm a little scared by the thought of that responsibility, but these are really skills you can use in life. Besides, I'm thinking of going into ROTC when I go to college, and a little First Aid knowledge probably wouldn't hurt in the army.
("ROTC you say?" I'll explain another time...this thing is important enough to me that I want my thoughts to be coherent when I get it down on paper.)
Tomorrow is prom. I'm going as a bellydancer. Here, I'll make a confession: I love the spotlight. I'm always trying to get people to pay attention--well, not all the time, sometimes I can be pretty shy, but you get the idea. And I want to stand out, hence the bellydance outfit.
My friend Peter is coming down as my date, even though he has school. Peter is a real sweet guy. He made me this duct tape shirt, it was really something...sometime I'll post a picture. But it was this amazing thing, you'd never believe it was decorated with duct tape. But more than that, he's easy to talk to, and not just on a small range of things. A lot of times, I find myself able to talk to people on a small range of things, but not with Peter. I really like him.
There's also this stupid Poland orientation thing they're making us attend at school. Now: you're about to go overseas, you're going to an orientation, what do you expect to hear? Discussions about what to pack, what to expect from the locals, how to behave in the culture. For example, my friend Michael was telling us the other day about the instructions he and the rest of his group recieved when they went to work in this Arab Israeli village--stay covered, greet everyone (EVERYONE!!) on the street, and reject invitations inside unless the person repeatedly invites you. So going to an orientation, you'd expect something like that, right?
Wrong. Instead we get a lecture about the Holocaust.
Now, this wouldn't be so bad. I've sat through a LOT of lectures on the Holocaust, it's been a part of my life since I was very little. I don't mean to creep out you non-Jews out there, but this is a fact: the Holocaust is a part of your life if you grow up with any strong connection to Jewish culture. Not that anyone sits you down or anything, you just can't ignore it.
But the woman in question just really put my back against the wall. I don't know why, but from the start of her speech, I just tensed up and got real grumpy. And then when I started to respond, I was always responding very rudely. She even pointed it out, and I apologized, saying I'd been very sick lately. I couldn't just say something like, "You make me very tense and unhappy from the way you talk." But we kept banging our heads against each other, especially as she began making statements that I took issue with. For example, when she said that Jewish Emancipation began in th 1700s. NO! NO NO NO! I couldn't take it anymore and burst out, "That's wrong. Emancipation began in the 1800s." She gave me this Look and started to explain, as if to a toddler, how it began in 1750. I shot back, "No, the ENLIGHTENMENT began in the 1700s. Only at the very end of the century in 1791 did you even begin to see the beginning of emancipation." And so on and so forth. That really set the tone. I was getting more and more upset, but that ingrained respect you give to teachers (hey! don't snicker!) just kept choking me up. You learn from a very young age, "Don't go against the teacher in class, don't interrupt her, etc." And I just wasn't thinking very straight. I was being very rude to her, undeservedly so, and I should apologize. But how? I just can't stand the woman, I don't know why. Just going to talk to her again would get me all tense again.
Also, that statement she made about the Roma during the Holocaust, that they were just a roadbump in Hitler's Grand Extermination Plan--that is extraordinarily offensive. Look. I don't know if the Nazis put as much effort into hunting down Gypsies as they did for the Jews. I do know that the Jews were number one on their hitlist. But saying something like that I just find abhorrent. How dare you downplay someone else's suffering like that, especially when it's the sort that came from the Holocaust?! Go tell that to a Roma survivor, why don't you?!
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Fuck
So, I got this message at the front to call my mom. Apparently my grandfather has just had a stroke.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
35 Years, an Old Dream
Even in this age of bitter cynicism and deception, some dreams still ring true.
http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm
http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm
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