Don't Gel Too Soon

You're Doing What? Trains, Planes and Automobiles (and Us)

It's pouring in Chicago.  We arrived early this morning at the end of Phase One of our Great Adventure.  So you don't feel uninformed, here's the story:

1. Our son is getting married next Sunday in San Francisco.
2. My husband has a (we hope recently repaired) detached retina and can't fly until we know the repair worked.
3. If we had waited until we were sure the surgery was successful, it would have been too late to drive if we had had to. 
4. We are already fairly broke from tuition and the slow economy so why not spend even more money and take the train? 
5. (really 4b) it turns out that the train is very expensive. 
6. We don't have a choice so why fret about 4a? 
7. There were no seats on the train until Chicago. 
8. I drove 700 miles yesterday to get us from DC to Chicago to get on the train (retina detachment makes it hard to split the driving.)
9. Our family doesn't know we took the train because the groom was worried about his dad's eye so our early arrival will be stealthy. (don''t tell)
10. At least all this is distracting me from the sentimental squishiness that keeps sneaking up on me. 
11.   You are now ready to return to the present where 

Rick and I are in the Metropolitan Lounge at Union Station in Chicago waiting for the Southwest Chief.  You can see the route above.  Actually I'm more excited than annoyed - it is something we would have never done if we didn't need to.  I can't picture the accommodations - I'm betting on a cross between all those black and white thrillers where people were always chasing each other up and down the aisles and flirting in the bed-sitting rooms and who knows what.  We'll see.  Meanwhile we're in the lounge with about a billion people on an "America by Train" group, with some smoker's coughs, name tags for all, and a pretty friendly environment.  I'm too tired to be friendly though.  Unusual for me.

I will try to post this afternoon but they don't have wireless on the train (WHAAAAT????) and I'm having trouble pairing my blackberry so it's a bit sketchy.  If I can't post I'll keep a diary and post it when I can.   Wish us luck.

The End of the Berlin Wall: Twenty Years Ago

This is the Brandenburg Gate in the center of Berlin. The first time I saw it, in 1974, there was a wall built right through it. 

Here's a photo of it then, from the Hotel Adlon website.  The hotel stood, from 1907 to 1945, when it was decimated by a fire, just to the left of the Gate.  It was the stopping place for world leaders and socialites and was rebuilt shortly after the Wall fell. 

Because Berlin has such a dramatic history, it was always exciting to be there -- maybe more so while the wall remained.

 I remember especially coming through Checkpoint Charlie (that's it on the left) on a dark fall day (Americans were allowed to visit for the day after going through this scary border station and having cars and packages searched) and, as we approached the Gate, seeing an old man standing, looking over into the West.  In his hands, clasped behind his back, was a rosary.  Not so popular in communist East Berlin.  I recall thinking immediately "Oh.  His daughter is getting married in the West today and he can't go, and he's standing there, thinking about her, praying for her."  Berlin in those times lent itself to imagining such things.  The drama was palpable.

The first time we went to Berlin after the wall fell, I remember, it was pouring.   Oblivious to the weather, we walked back and forth beneath the lovely arches in the now-open gate, kind of giddy at what it meant to the people of Berlin and all those who care about freedom and, I guess, redemption.  For despite what happened in Berlin during the war (and we've studied it extensively and spoken both with survivors and those involved in the rebuilding of the Jewish community) the Wall caused immeasurable suffering and was a diabolical slash through the heart of the city and every one of its people.

I've written about Berlin before: from its playgrounds to its grim Communist years.  We go there often.  It seems to pull us back, its intellectual energy and re-emerging Jewish community irresistible. Once, when we'd taken our kids there while the Wall remained, one son, around 5, bought a stuffed wool pig and told everyone he "got it out of jail."    

Here's one last photo - of two buildings: one redone and the other still old and rickety, in the very cool neighborhood of Prenzlauer Berg, which is in the old "East Berlin" and now, last I heard, had the highest childbirth rate in Germany and was home to artists, writers, musicians and fashionably cool people who don't have to work.  What you see stands for it all:  the struggle to renew, still only partly complete.

This Is NOT (exactly) about Barack Obama - the Last Time for a While - It's About Slumdog Millionaire (Hint: Not the Greatest Movie Ever Made)

Fair warning.  I'm about to be contrarian, so if you're fond of Slumdog Millionaire, stop reading now.  I've just come from the theater, disappointed and even angry.  Granted, I don't read reviews before I see films; they give away so much that they spoil the impact of brilliant scenes and great dialogue.  So it's my own fault that I didn't know about the torture scene and the one where the kid is blinded when molten lead is poured into his eyes.  Just what you need in a fairy tale, right?  I was with someone I'd leaned on to come, someone who is squeamish and subject to nightmares, and there we were, experiencing vivid and disturbing imagery in considerable detail.

Beyond that, even though, as far as I can tell, there aren't many who agree with me, there's much that seriously detracts from the enjoyment of this film.  I'm going to risk my emotional and artistic credibility and describe some of it.

First, it's highly derivative, a mix of The Usual Suspects police station flashbacks and Oliver Twist. Especially Oliver Twist, complete with Fagin, street urchins in great numbers, mischief and loss.  Beyond that, much of its emotional power leaches from political correctness.  We always root for the underdog; that's fair, and anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm a sucker for a fairy tale.  But there was something manipulative about this story: an unimaginably poor, dark-skinned street urchin in one of the roughest cities in India, facing down the establishment.

Despite the rhapsodic descriptions of handheld camera work that brought the slums of Mumbai live into the theater, they did not feel real.  I know much of the film was shot in the city, and some of the scenes were OK.  But I've been in neighborhoods like these in other countries and no matter how colorful and alive, they are sadder and more dangerous than these.  Oh, and everyone had very good teeth.  Not possible.

So why, on the eve of the most momentous Inauguration in the history of this country, am I complaining about a movie a couple of months old that will probably win many awards?  I'm not sure.  Like everyone else, I'm full of wonder at what is coming on Tuesday.  It will dominate this space for some time.  Today though, as we await the climax of this real story of triumph and ideals, the not-so-credible tale that is this film was a poor substitute.

Report from London: Barack Obama, Man of the Year and Best-Sellwe

First-ever Times of London Man of the Year.  This is pretty amazing if you’ve followed the disdain with which the U.S., and particularly George Bush, have been viewed here in Europe. The UK may in many ways be more angry than most, because they were sucked into the Iraq war too. 

But my son, the one who works in London and has been going back and forth for five years or more,reported that the day after the election it felt better to be American in Europe than it had in a long time.  Add that to what happened  when Obama went to Berlin: the amazing reception arising, I believe, because he stands for the America that the rest of the world wants to know.  The America of promise and compassion and justice and hope.

Now the Times of London, one of the great London newspapers, has, in its first Timers Person of the Year – worldwide – chosen President-Elect Barack Obama. In their editorial, they say:

What, then, made Barack Obama’s rise to the presidency so remarkable, such a landmark event, is not the fact of his improbability or of his extraordinary background. What made it landmark is the nature of those things. For unlike his predecessors, Mr Obama’s improbability, Mr Obama's extraordinary background, is not just important to him and to the story of his personal triumph. It caps a period of incredible change in America and makes possible incredible change in the world. And it is this – and the way he won the presidency – that made him the obvious choice as The Times Person of 2008.

Of course the next four years are pretty scary, and it's probably impossible for him to live up to all we hope for him, but at least, for now, we are once again members in good, or at least better, standing, in the world community. 

There's more evidence. These are the best-sellers in Waterston's bookstore in Chiswick. Number one and number four.  This will be a president the world wants to know.  So while it's scary, it's also exciting: to have selected a leader who makes us proud, through a process that made us proud, to have elected an African American president for our country, which, with all its troubles, once again makes us proud too.  The Bush years broke more hearts than our own, and the world reaction to Obama, from the Berlin speech to the London Times to front pages and African murals and Sunday commentary from one end of the world to the other proves it.

We don't know what will come next; we don't know how we will respond to that which is asked of us - and much will be.  But we do know, I think, that we have chosen, as our leader, someone whose place in the world enhances that of our country, and of us, and begins to build the faith, and determination, that will take us where we need to go.

BARACK OBAMA, BERLIN, AND WHAT WE SHOULD AND CAN BE

First I got this email from a young friend:  "LOVED IT - Just brilliant and I am happy to vote again."  Then I watched The Speech again early this morning on C-SPAN and marveled at the reaction of 200,000 Berliners in a city that has been, in recent years, a tough room for American leaders.  We've spent a lot of time in Berlin, so I know the city; in my parents' lifetime it was the capital of the most racist country in the world but now it's urbane, cerebral and pretty sophisticated, with a stunning history and a development we've watched throughout the last ten years that is unparalleled.  War(and communist)-ruined buildings and just plain ugly ones have finally been replaced by gleaming new market and skyscraper squares, there's fabulous mass transit as well as renewed activity in its two opera houses and many theaters and ballet companies.  OH and enough museums to keep you busy for months.  Just the kind of place to be particularly hostile to a president like George Bush.

So what did Senator Obama bring that made the difference?  David Brooks was pretty harsh in the NYTimes:  " Obama has benefited from a week of good images. But substantively, optimism without reality isn’t eloquence. It’s just Disney."  To be fair, I guess it can sound that way.  The reality, to me though, is that after eight years of a president of whom we could not be proud and whose policies, war, rhetoric and attitude shoved our allies far from our side, a bit of warmth and solidarity is a legitimate introduction.  Beyond that, the most profound thing about the speech, in my view, wasn't Obama but the response to him.  Sure, Europe is liberal and politically correct (except, often, about their own immigrants, unfortunately) and a black candidate (even half) for president in the US is attractive, but it's more than that.  It looked, at least to me, like Europeans have been longing for a United States they can believe in again; that perhaps part of the reason Europeans have been so angry at us is that beneath the rubble of the Bush years, we still represent a promise and ideal that Europe has been furious that we've abandoned. 

Of course, I could be projecting my own heartbreak over Abu Ghraib and the Patriot Act and all the other profanities done in our name; at the horrific lack of inspired leadership both at home and abroad just after 9/11, at the war (How could it happen again - after Vietnam; the same lessons never learned, the same hubris?), at the craven attitude toward energy and life at the bottom end of our economic ladder - at all of it.  But I don't think so.  Rather, it seems that under all the anger Europeans have manifested toward the United States, they, like us, want an American leader they can believe in.  An America they can believe in.  And Barack Obama is about as close to that is you can get without moving to another dimension.

The foundation laid by that inspiration will get us, and our old friends newly re-engaged, through the terrible, tough days ahead.  Without a leadership of hope and belief, natural allies outside our borders will be lost to us, as they so sadly have been these past years.  And as Senator Obama reminded us, we can't afford that.  Not now.

IN MY MIND I'M GOIN' TO CAROLINA - KITTY HAWK, ACTUALLY

We bought the kite for the four-year-old in this picture, in his father's arms*   We're right outside Kitty Hawk and all of us are climbing the dune to watch the ("Oh my, it looks just like the very first airplane!") kite take to the air in the same sorts of breezes that aided the real plane 105 years ago in a spot near here.  We've been here on the Outer Banks of North Carolina for 4 days and have established a lazy rhythm, somewhat altered by Wednesday's wanderings not only to a "kids day" at a local kite store but also to the very scene of the Wright Brothers' flight.

Our young friend has been beyond excited.  The kite store was festooned with models suspended above our heads.  The first airplane!  A biplane!  Jets and propellers and passenger planes and military planes and photos and puzzle boxes with still more.  Small children, particularly, it seems, small boys, love airplanes (and dinosaurs) and our young companion is no exception.  It's wonderful to to watch him explode with joy at the small pleasure of a store display.  And then to cross the highway to the dunes and see his own new possession take to the air.  Oh - and to reassure him that the aspiring hang-gliding students one dune beyond will not fly over and tangle themselves in our kite strings.

Nearby is the official Wright Brothers National Memorial; we went there, too.  It's remarkable to see, this plain, very effective museum, marking with simple stones the small distances that set off the revolution that enabled us to move from a flight of 120 feet to the landing of a man on the moon in just 66 years.  Remarkable too to go with this wonderful, ecstatic 4-year-old and his family and wonder, 66 years from now, what their world will be.  How much farther will we have flown and whose ingenuity and inspired curiosity will have taken us there?  Perhaps our young friend will lead his own airborne, or space-borne, leap forward.  One of the great gifts of sharing days like this with little kids is the reminder of all the possibilities to come, no matter how tough or grim the future may appear.  Another, of course, is that it's just plain wonderful to spend time with gifted parents and their spectacular, curious, eager and lively kids.

Tonight we pack up the food and the clothes and the toys and prepare to drive back to Washington in time for a dinner honoring, among others, my husband and me.  Both of the wonderful kite-flying families who joined us here are returning early, surrendering part of their precious beach time, in order to be there with us for the event.  And our kids are coming - the biggest treat possible.  So right now, at 4:30 on a Thursday morning, I'm just sitting in a deserted living room in a North Carolina beach house, counting the blessings of family and friends and every happy memory past, current or still to come -- and wishing, for those children of ours, and our dear friends here, the same pile of wonderful moments we've known and hope to know.  Good morning to you, too. 

*As always, I won't share his name or anyone's identifiable photo to respect their privacy.

ONE IN A MILLION - EVEN IN THIS GREAT NEW GENERATION: JEN LEMEN GOES TO RWANDA

Stick with me on this -- there's a something of an introduction required.

I've met many remarkable women in my life.  Many.  I participated in and then covered the Women's Movement of the 70's and 80's, known at least a little bit  Betty Friedan, Gloria Steinem,  members of the Our Bodies, Ourselves co-op, women in the House and Senate and Civil Rights Movement and peace movement and McCarthy campaign. Early pioneers in broadcast journalism, the women who sued the New York Times for equal pay and work, the women who led Choice activities for decades, presidents of NOW and NARAL; heroines of Ms Magazine and the Women's Media Center -- and once, Patti Smith.  You get the idea.  Somehow, for many my age, those are THE leaders of women's empowerment.  That's all she wrote. 

Nope.

There's an entire new tribe now, and they are remarkable.  Of course, the women of BlogHer lead the pack - their (our?) mutual respect, gifted voices and astonishing growth are a very exciting part of the 21st Century -- and one member of this tribe is about to embark on a remarkable journey. 

Her name is Jen Lemen.  She's going to Rwanda.  I can't begin to describe the project; read it here.  But since I'm going to ask you to take part, you should know about Jen.  If I can figure out how to tell you.  The first time I heard her name, at last year's BlogHer, it was being evoked from the stage by one of the founders of BlogHers Act, Cooper Munroe, in a closing discussion of the new effort to support women's health.  Jen had, in thanks and encouragement for Cooper's (and her partner Emily's) vision, presented her with a bracelet that said "Isn't it amazing what one woman and her friends can do..."  It's so typical of Jen that she would find the one gift to move this human dynamo so deeply.  And now, the words on that bracelet are true of Jen herself.

An artist, a doula, a poet and a gifted parent and friend, she helps people.  For her it's like breathing.  And that's why she's going to Rwanda. One of her friends, who lived through more than any of us will even think about much less experience, comes from Rwanda.  She kept telling Jen she  wished she could see it.  But it's expensive to do that.  Then, suddenly, from another friend, an invitation fell almost literally out of the sky.  Jen and her family decided she had to accept.  Since we're talking about Jen Lemen and her equally determined friend Odette, the trip included a mission beyond tolerating an endless flight across most of the planet.  And what a mission it is!  A wonderful book, written by Odette and illustrated by Jen -- a graphic way to help girls learn to read and believe in what we know they can do.  She's also working with HopeRevo to deliver messages of hope along with the books.

I know, I know.  Messages of hope?  Sounds too pre-modern for this post-post modern world.  But with Jen, you have to see it to believe it and once you do, you're hooked.  By the way, that's Odette with Jen's daughter Madeline giving us a Girl Power salute -- and if you look carefully in the background you will see the proud mommy and friend taking the photo.

If this sounds too corny for you - just take a deep breath and believe me.  Jen is going to see Odette's kids.  She is going to deliver these books to help young girls learn to read.  She is going to spread messages of hope.  She is also probably going to do so much more than that that it defies even speculation here. 

Now, since she's raised enough money and is definitely going, think of this:  with more money they can print more books.  It's a pretty painless way to help the young girls of Africa who are so often neglected.  OH and every year of education of a girl in Africa raises the family standard of living exponentially;  when we help Jen help the girls, we're also helping their families.  So -- become a publisher - help underwrite the book and the trip and all that Jen will bring on behalf of and in honor of her friend Odette and her daughters and the girls who surround them.  It will just take a second.   Start right here!

IN JERUSALEM: A CHILD AT THE WALL AND OTHERS IN SCHOOL

We leave Jerusalem for the airport in two hours and I don't even know if it's worth going to sleep.  It's almost midnight here and and cab is coming at 2 AM.  So much has happened that I've been too tired to write most of it down.  I guess I'd better chronicle it somehow though. 

This was one of my favorite moments of our trip.  It's almost dawn at the  Kotel (Western Wall of the old Temple) and a young boy and his father prepare for morning prayers.  This day is the first that he will "lay tefillin "-- wear the special prayer objects on his arm and forehead to follow the commandments by placing reminders on the arm and "between thine eyes" - on his forehead.  They've chosen to celebrate this very significant pre-Bar Mitzvah moment in the early morning - a sunrise service where the Amidah - a critical prayer - is recited just as the dawn arrives.  A loving and very impressive family of four girls, two boys and two remarkable parents, they all joined to offer moral support and presence to someone they love as he takes this first step to what I guess you'd call "religious adulthood." 

I know the photo is blurry but I don't like to show faces of other people's families -- they deserve their privacy.  I just want you to know how lovely it was.  An animated and intelligent young man, his father at his side - his sisters, mom, cousins, friend - and a couple of us -- watching him make his way.  I told his mom, whom I very much admire, that it was a privilege to be there.  Probably sounds like hogwash but it isn't - watching all this take place as the sun rose to illuminate us all was a true blessing. 

Of course we couldn't watch everything because much of the ceremony took place on the "men's side" of the mehitza (divider between men and women) where we weren't allowed to be.   We peeked through fence dividers though, so we did get to see a bit.  I've been living a fairly observant, Orthodox life for a couple of years now, moving forward month by month, holiday by holiday, and I continue to be amazed at the levels of intolerance I manifested before I learned about observant life from the inside.  Days like this one remind me of how much of the world we can't judge without living it - or at least being willing to come along as others do.  This day was a perfect example of that.   

That same day, a cousin of the family at the Kotel invited me to visit the school her kids attend - K-8 - near the town of Efrat, on the grounds of a kibbutz called Rosh Tzurim.   
Founded by an amazing woman named Noah Mandelbaum, it began as an effort to accommodate a single Downs child by mainstreaming him, along with a special teacher, in a "regular" classroom.  It was so successful that within months she had 4, then 6, then finally, so many  kids that she launched a school where such mainstreaming would be policy.  This photo shows the school in action.  There are many classrooms for Downs, autistic and other developmentally affected kids study alongside the rest of the class.  I didn't want to take photos there and distract them.  In this nursery class is another phase of the program.  The young woman whose back is to us is fairly seriously compromised but she is permanent staff in the classroom and is learning to be a preschool aide able to get a job and work outside the school.  That smiling girl in the blue sweater is today's "guest" - another child with serious developmental issues who will work in the classroom for the day.  The program helps these young people find a place of their own in the world - and teach all the kids at Reshit School the value of every human person.

This is Noah, the school's founder.  Surrounding her is part of the farm where every child - "normal" and otherwise, works each day - together.  You can see the colors, the free-form murals - all the stuff that reminds me of schools we all dreamed of in the 60s.  In many ways the tone of this school is similar - but this is a real "put your money where your mouth is" environment.  Parents have to believe that the things their kids learn here are more important than super-competitive environments where the only standard is how far their children are from the next step on the ladder.  Learning to be moral, caring human beings is an actual mission here.

The kids are pretty free (it's kind of Summerhillish), across ability spectrum, and the curriculum is designed to allow each to learn in her own style at her own speed.  When I asked Noah about kids like mine, who had needed and appreciated structure, knowing what was going to come next, her reply was startling in its good sense.  Basically - and I'm paraphrasing here - the idea is that "for some kids, especially more intelligent ones, that may be true.  But for kids with less ability it is especially important that they learn to live without an institutional structure every minute because the world doesn't have that kind of structure - and the world is where they will have to live." By the way, after years of fighting with the educational establishment, Reshit has been designated a model and its efforts to mainstream all kinds of kids will be emulated in schools throughout the country.

I have more to write - about exploring ancient tunnels under old Jerusalem and more - but this is enough for now.  I'll try to have the rest in a day or two.

SHABBAT IN JERUSALEM - HATS - AND SHABBAT SHALOM

These two lovelies, Ruthie (R) and Naomi (L), run a wonderful hat shop on King George St. in Jerusalem (#14  if you want to stop by...)  I met them last year and loved both the hats (if you live an observant life you wear a hat to services and many women wear them all or almost all the time) and the two of them.  A women-owned, sister-run company, their shop is my favorite - partly because Ruthie works on the hats right there in front of us - but also because they are such a great story. 

What better day than Shabbat to think about two wonderful women making us happy to wear our hats to shul?  I took two friends with me when I went there this time and among us I think we bought five hats!  Here's mine:

A little stardust never hurt anyone, right?  I really love it and am now going to have to demonstrate enormous discipline by waiting until spring to wear it.  Let's hear it for the girls, right?  And Shabbat Shalom. 

NOTE: this post was created Thursday night and set to be posted on Saturday morning.  NO WORK on it was done on Shabbat.

AN ARTISTS' COLONY, THE ORIGINAL HOLOCAUST MEMORIAL, THE CRAZY JERUSALEM MARKET AND 7 MILES ON MY PEDOMETER

This was a remarkable day.  In the first place, according to my pedometer we've walked seven miles!  Even more importantly, of course, was where we walked.  Our first stop was an accident - wandering toward the Old City from our apartment we ended up in the lovely old neighborhood of Yemen Moshe.  Symbolized by the windmill at the top of the hill upon which this old neighborhood is built, it has long been highly desirable and glamorous place to live - full of artists and intellectuals.  Now there are also dozens of galleries and shops - but we just strolled around en route to the oldest parts of the city.
From there, we went into Old Jerusalem through the Zion Gate - a way we'd never been before, and explored the area around an old Armenian church, when suddenly we came upon this sign

At first we weren't even sure it was for real -- we'd certainly never heard of it and both of us are pretty well-schooled in Holocaust lore.  As we drew closer, we were shocked to find a small entrance to an equally small courtyard offering the gateway to "The Chamber of the Holocaust"  and this sign:

From there we moved into a small, cave-like room whose walls were covered with stone tablets, much like grave stones, dedicated to lost towns in the countries of the Shoah.  Three rooms and an outdoor courtyard were covered with the "headstones" and all the rest of the exhibits were, old, faded, primitive and clearly created with love, outrage and very little money.  Somehow, the very "scotch tape and cutouts" quality of the exhibits  magnified the grief and determination of those who had created them.  It was a remarkable moment in our day.  Here are a couple more photos:

The "cave" with the headstones to lost cities and towns.

One of several walls of photo- graphs of lost souls.  There are more, but this is enough.  Lots of other things happened today but this is where I want to leave things.  I'll try one more post before Shabbat but if I don't make it, I'll catch us up on Saturday night.
 
Here's just one preview though - of Jerusalem's favorite market - Machene Yehuda.  Good night for now.