Carry that weight

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To Remember

I helped Agnes into my car.  She's petit, under 5 feet tall, and as usual when I drive her, I make sure she's buckled up like I would a child, though she's 84 years old.  After all she has been through, I feel like I am driving the most precious cargo when she's with me.

As we drive, we notice the beautiful buds and flowering trees everywhere we look.  It's a cool morning, so the windows stay closed, but it's a glorious-looking Spring day.  There's pink, yellow, soft green, and purple on the tree-lined streets of the towns we drive through.

"Early Spring holds so much promise," I say, "I just love it."
"Yes," agrees Agnes.  "Especially after the tough winter we just had."
"I guess yours was particularly tough," I add.

We are both quiet.  Agnes lost her beloved husband David just a month ago.

A few minutes later she says, "My mother always said, 'Wear clean underwear, because you never know what might happen.  You might get in an accident.'"
That seems a little out of the blue, and I wonder if she's commenting on my driving, or just thinking about her mother and the presentation she's about to give in about a half an hour.
"My mother always said that too!  I am just now thinking maybe it's a metaphor for always being ready, and not really about underwear?"
"You mean like keeping your paperwork in order and keeping a clean house?" says Agnes.
"Oh, gosh, I hope not!" I laugh, thinking about my office and my desk in particular.  "I was more thinking about making sure your relationships are resolved with people, you know, just in case.  I mean, I never thought about it until just this minute, but maybe clean underwear is a metaphor for a clean slate."
Agnes seems to like that, and we go back and forth a bit on this topic.

When we arrive at the school, she practically bounds out of my car, and grabs her bag from my backseat, and moves so quickly from the parking lot to the door that I have to run a little to catch up after collecting my laptop and bag so I can get the door for her.  We are at a Jewish high school program, so Agnes can tell her story to the students.  It is Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day.

For the past six weeks, I have been meeting with her, at her house, and looking at her photos, and working with her to encapsulate her story of survival into a half-hour speech accompanied by a power point presentation.

Agnes and I pose for a selfie.  Probably her first.

Good thing it was a small lectern!

At first, she rambles a little bit, telling the students about the rise of anti-Semitism, Hitler, Auschwitz and getting very far removed from her own personal story.  I quietly move to the front row and whisper that they are here to hear about her story, her personal story of survival.  She turns around to see the slide on the screen, and is transported back to her own childhood. It is a story so amazing and compelling, I am going to share it with you.

Agnes was born in 1930.  She led a very happy life, although she doesn't remember a time when the rules weren't at least little different for Jews than they were for Gentiles in Budapest, Hungary.  Both her parents worked, and they were very comfortable.

She attended at school for girls until the age of 14 (1944) when the Nazis came into Hungary. At that time, Jews were forced to move from their homes into the Budapest ghetto.  Agnes was an only child, and in an act of defiance, which she says was very unlike her, when her parents were getting ready to go to the ghetto, she refused to go with them.  Agnes hid in the basement of her house, behind a curtain next to the toilet, for hours, while the Nazis made a clean sweep of the house and the neighborhood.  What she remembers is that she knew it was wrong to place so many Jews in such a small, confined area.  She was right.  It turned out that there were mines under the ghetto that were never detonated.

After several hours, Agnes emerged.  It was dark. She removed the yellow star from her clothing, and made a decision to take shelter with her mother's good friend Elizabeth.  Elizabeth was a Jew, but married to a non-Jew.  She lived across the city, in the very elite part of town.  Agnes was sure that Elizabeth would hide her in her giant home and she would be safe and warm.  Unfortunately, that was not the case.  Elizabeth gave her 20 crowns, and said that the war would soon be over, and sent this poor, freezing, Jewish girl back out into the cold rainy night.

Agnes made her way back across the river toward the neighborhood she knew.  As she walked the dangerous streets, an air raid (were they Americans trying to bomb a German military stronghold?) made her find shelter wherever she could.  The rain had turned to snow.

Finally, Agnes found shelter at a little house with a garden, and an awning to protect her a bit from the elements.  She covered herself with a newspaper and used her schoolbooks as a pillow.  Completely exhausted, she fell asleep.

Agnes awoke to a stranger staring at her.  He was an older fellow, and she somehow knew it would be okay to tell him the truth.   She told him her parents were taken to the ghetto.  He asked if she was a Jew, and made her prove it by reciting the Shema. (This is the prayer every Jewish child learns first, and states that God is one.)  Although Agnes' family had never been religious, she did get Jewish studies once a week at her school, and she knew the Shema by heart.  The man was a Jewish pharmacist, whose business was forced closed.  He gave Agnes some bread, and then asked her to do something for him.  He drew a map of where his pharmacy was located, and gave her the key to the door.  He gave her money for the trolley, and told her he needed her to bring back nitroglycerin pills for his heart.  Not thinking of the dangers of such a trip, Agnes went to the pharmacy and found the medicine.  It was on the trolley back that she met the one person who is most likely responsible for saving her life.

Agnes sat next to a man who was reading a theatrical publication.  She says that from this, she intuitively knew he must not be a Nazi.  She noticed he had a tiny flag of Sweden on his lapel.  In German, she introduced herself, and he said his name was Raoul.  She asked if he was from Sweden, and he confirmed he was, and she somehow knew he was safe, and she spoke quickly, quietly and freely to him.  She explained that her parents were taken to the ghetto, and that she was alone and had nowhere to go.  He asked her age.
"14 years old," she told him. He wrote an address on a piece of paper, and handed it to her.  

Raoul Wallenberg, famous for saving thousands of Jews, from his passport photo.

"Go to this address, tell them you are an experienced baby nurse and you are 16."
Raoul Wallenberg got off the Trolley at the next exit, but in those 15 minutes, Agnes' fate was changed.  

Agnes brought the pharmacist his nitroglycerin, and he rewarded her with 10 more Hungarian crowns.  She took the money to a shop and brought a small amount of food.  As a young child, not knowing what to do to prepare for what may be ahead, she bought a 5 gallon jar of apricot preserves as well, and the shopkeeper gave her a shopping basket on wheels to drag it through the streets.

Agnes found the address given to her by the stranger on the trolley.  It was a former gymnasium, now transformed into a shelter for children orphaned by the war.  Agnes did as she was told by Raoul, and told the director that she was an experienced baby nurse.  And it turned out she was a natural with the children and worked hard tending to them until the Russian occupation of Hungary in January of 1945.  She says that the apricot jam worked wonders with the children, as it was the only sweet thing they had, and it helped quiet down the little ones as well. 

Agnes' parents did survive the ghetto, but when she found them after the ghetto was liquidated, she barely recognized them.  They tried to move back to their home, but it had been taken over by fascists who refused to leave.  The family was allowed to live in the basement of their own house.  At this time, Agnes, now 15 felt that she was a parent to her parents.  She joined a Zionist organization, and made plans to emigrate to Israel.

Agnes' story of survival continues, as she managed to get to France with the other Zionist teens, again leaving her parents behind, and boarding the Zionist ship Latrun.  With the Haifa coast IN VIEW... it was bombed by British forces and everyone on board was forced to board another ship and sent back to DP camps in Cyprus for a year. 

Fishing Boat Latrun, as it was sinking, due to grenades in the hull.

But Agnes did make it to Israel where she lived for many years, both on Kibbutz Matzubah (coincidentally where my husband volunteered many years later), and in Tel Aviv.  Her parents joined her in Israel, and later, when she got married, she and her husband David moved to the United States.

Agnes is much more than a Holocaust survivor.  She is an artist, a botanist, herbalist and a naturalist.  Just yesterday, she gave me a homemade cream for my eyes, which were looking a little puffy, in her opinion.  She concocts elixirs from natural ingredients that cure all sorts of aches and pains.  Agnes is an expert gardener and horticulturist.  And although English is not her native language, she's an excellent writer as well.  

Agnes' Hebrew name is Bracha, which means blessing, and that is what she is.
I'm proud to call her my friend.  
And I'm proud to help keep her story alive.

"I wanted the students to know that you shouldn't follow the crowd, especially if you know it's wrong.  I hope they heard that message."

Agnes, with one of her scultures, at an exhibition of her work.

April 27, 2014

Post Script... while I was finishing up this piece, Agnes called me. She wanted to know if I was caught up on my sleep, and we rehashed how well things went yesterday.  How surprised she will be when she finds out I ordered a bright blue hydrangea to be delivered tomorrow as a thank you.  She asked if she was interrupting my work, and I told her honestly I was writing about her.  She laughed and said that was good, now we can remember.

Once In A While You Get Shown the Light

August 6, 2013

I'm in the midst of composing two other posts... but this just happened and for all of you teachers, educators, and counselors out there who wonder why we keep fighting the good fight... this will remind you, and make you feel like truth, justice and the American way is on your side.  Or at least you'll feel all warm and fuzzy for a few minutes.

I got a call from my son yesterday.  He works at the URJ Eisner Camp, so a call is rare.  He was on his way back from a doctor's appointment so he had time to chat.  (Let's not think about the fact he was using his phone while driving, okay?)

First things first.  How'd the appointment go? This is not germaine to the blog, but as a Jewish mother, I wouldn't want you to think that we didn't discuss my son's health.  He and I then checked in on the rest of the family, and I told him about some adventures I had. 

Then this.

Mom, do you remember a kid named Alex P. back from when you were the principal at Temple B'nai Emunat Yisrael? 

YES!  Of COURSE I do!  I LOVED Alex!  

Well, he is in my friend Steve's bunk, so I don't know him that well. Apparently he had a pretty good first half, but then all his friends left, and he's struggling during the second half of camp.  When he comes to adventure he seems like a good kid but Steve said he's starting to act-out in the bunk.  Then when they were at Limmud (the educational period of camp) he was asked who his role model was. He said, "Juliet Barr."  I wasn't there, but Steve figured out that it was you, Mom.  So I reached out to him, and told him who I was, so he would know he had a connection and a friend.

I was temporarily speechless.

Then I went on to tell my son about my special connection with Alex, and what I thought might work... he was really great with younger kids and took on responsibility very well.  I felt like reaching out to Alex's mom, but I might just hold on to this moment.

I am his role model.  Why?  Because I saw past his behavior and into his heart?  Because instead of punishing his "attitude" I saw something beyond it, found a way to turn it around and allowed the synagogue to become a safe place.  I'm sorry the rest of his teachers and counselors still aren't seeing this too.  

And how wonderful that I found out.  That somewhere at Eisner Camp, a counselor put two and two together, with this exotic last name of BARR and mentioned it to my son, who actually remembered to tell me.  So I can know that that meeting when I stood up for this child and explained that punishment and make-up assignments would do absolutely NOTHING to help him, but having him help in the first grade class would, actually did.

May all of you teachers have a moment when you hear that you are a student's role model, hero, or favorite teacher.  I feel like SuperWoman today.  Where's my cape?


Of course the name of the student and the synagogue have been changed.  The name of the camp really is Eisner Camp and magic happens there.  And my name is actually Juliet Barr.

I'm Dreaming of a Green Hanukkah

This is my article from the Rockland Jewish Federation Reporter December Issue.  Thought it would make a good blog posting as well.  Enjoy.

I’m “rededicating” myself to Hanukkah.

Get it?

As far as Jewish holidays go, Hanukkah is aminor one.  It pales in comparison toRosh HaShannah and Yom Kippur, Sukkot and Simchat Torah.  But still, it’s here in December when thedays are short and cold.  It celebratesmiracles and light.  There are gifts andgelt.  And latkes.  Not a bad list for a minor holiday! 

The days of being volunteered by my kids tobe the class “latke mom” are behind me. I am no longer in a position to buy 300 bags of nut-free gelt to feed anentire Hebrew school.  By the time theholiday arrives, chances are I won’t have told the story or recited theblessings over a dozen times. 

Hanukkah, which means “dedication”remembers the rededication of the Holy Temple by the Maccabees .  So, I am rededicating myself to Hanukkah thisyear.  I am looking for ways to find newmeaning in the holiday, while not losing the aspects I love about it.  By a small coincidence, I’ve come up witheight.

1.      Fair Trade Gelt:   The truth is, I don’t even likechocolate.  But my family does.  So this year, I am getting guilt-freegelt.  After just a little bit ofresearch, I found two great options, and there are probably more.  Equal Exchange (www.equalexchange.coop) sells what they call “non traditionalHanukkah pieces.”  A bag of little darkchocolate pieces, saving the hassle of the gold foil wrappers from getting allover the place.  And they donate $.15from each sale to the American Jewish World Service (www.AJWS.com). If you feel like you are not ready togive up the good old gelt shape just yet, there’s Divine Chocolate (www.divinechocolateusa.com). They have a bag of gold coins that you can feel good about giving.  Both products have Kosher certifications.

2.    Home-made candles: I can’t remember thelast time I took the time to make beeswax candles with my kids.  This is a fun and easy project that makes thefestival of lights more meaningful. Buying the beeswax and rolling your own candles is a nice way to connectto the holiday, and even little hands can do it.  Homemade candles also make a nice gift if youare invited to share a night of Hanukkah with friends or family.  You can buy a kit that will make enoughcandles to last all eight nights from Kosher Krafts (1-800-9KRAFTS or www.kosherkrafts.com) or other craft supply stores. 

3.    Use less wrapping paper:  I won’t pretend that I don’t appreciate anicely wrapped gift, but let’s face it… gift wrap is a waste of paper.  If you are not ready to eschew the use ofgift wrap altogether, why not pick one night where you don’t wrap thegifts?  Or use the Sunday comics to wrapyour gifts?  At the very least, recyclegift wrap and reuse!  Your family won’tmind.   This year I am going to trywrapping gifts in scraps of cloth and use ribbons to close them.  I’ll let you know how that goes.

4.    Donate a gift:  Pick one night and have that be a night thatyour family shops to donate a gift to a toy drive.  Teach your children valuable lessons aboutG’milut Hasadim (Acts of Loving Kindness) by doing them!

5.    Teach: I mentioned earlier that this year, I may not have taught the story ofHanukkah dozens of times by the time the holiday arrives.  But that doesn’t mean I should not teach itat all.  As a parent, don’t leave all theJewish education up to the synagogue! Teach your children and learn with them. Tell them about the Maccabees, read a good book to them or tell how youcelebrated when you were their age.  Orfind a new way to explore the holiday!

6.    Tzedakah night:  On one of the nights of Hanukkah, when youare lucky enough to have your whole family together, I might suggest Friday, have an agenda.  Set a tzedakah box in the middle of the table.  and introduce a family tzedakah project forthe year.  Take suggestions.  What is meaningful to all of you?  Did you know that Heifer International(www.heifer.org) works to end hunger and poverty on family at a time?  Or that the Jewish National Fund (www.JNF.org) not only plants trees in Israel, butprovides clean drinking water for Israelis, not to mention the safe playgroundin S’derot.  And, I can’t help butmention our own Federation right here in Rockland County (www.jewishrockland.org) where your dollars go to educational, social,and supportive programs here and in Israel. Once your family decides on a cause, every Friday each person can put adonation into the tzedakah box before Shabbat. See how  much you can accumulatebefore next Hannukah and make a nice donation from your family at that time.

7.    Share: I think about sharing Hanukkah in two distinct ways.  Share the holiday with friends, both Jewishand non-Jewish.  Try someone else’s latkes,even though you know yours are better.   Invitea family with young children if your own are long grown and moved out… or adopta grandparent if you are missing yours. Most synagogues are great resources for helping make theseconnections. 

8.    And Share again: The other way to sharethis holiday is to share what you have with others in a more anonymousway.  Donate your coats and warm clothingto those who need them.  Tell yourchildren to find 5 books or toys to bring to the shelter.  Help the food pantries keep their shelvesstocked.  Other faiths are celebrating aholiday that is, in fact, a very big deal, and people of all faiths are stillfeeling the burden brought on by our recent financial recession.  If you are in a position to help others,there are countless ways to do so.

So, there you have it, my eight ways torededicate for each of the eight nights of Hanukkah this year.  No matter what you celebrate, it's time to thing about celebrating more consciously and with a conscience.    If you have any more ideas, I’d love to hear from you.

Highs and Lows

I made the team!
I got grounded.
I got my permit!
Our soccer team finally lost.


In most of the classes I teach, I start with a check-in with my students. I call it Highs and Lows.


"What was your high point and low point  since I saw you last class?"


Seems simple right?


It's easy and it's profound.  When I explain it other educators, they either find someone else in the room to talk to, or they have an "ah hah" moment.


Highs and Lows.  We go around the room, and each of us shares our high and low point of the week.  That's it.


But first we have to learn how to speak to one another.  Class one:  Shmirat HaLashon...Quite literally: Guarding your Tongue.  No gossip, no mentioning of anyone's names, no bad language.  
And we have to learn how to listen to one another.  No judgement.  No rolling of the eyes.  No exaggerated sighing.  This is quite a challenge for the middle school and high school students I teach.  Not always a piece of kugel for the adults I work with either!


The first few weeks we share very easy, close to the surface highs and lows.  


I got an A on at test!
Our trip to Philly was cancelled.
I got a new phone.
My sister borrowed my new shoes and ruined them.
My socks don't match.
My crush finally said hi to me!


Class starts on time. Once you've been in the class for a while, you want to get there on time because you don't want to miss Highs and Lows.  You don't want to miss your turn, and you don't want to miss hearing everyone else's H&L's.  There's a sense of belonging and being part of something special that is initiated with the Highs and Lows.  When I feel that my lesson for the week is too full, and I occasionally try to do without our weekly check-in, the kids call me out on that.  They've been thinking about their Low since the car accident, or their High since the College acceptance letter arrived the day after our last class met!


This works nicely at meetings too.  I usually set the tone by modelling for the group.  Will I share something deep, or keep it light?  Will I open with a nifty piece of text from this week's parsha, or show off yet another picture of my kids?


It's November now, and we are becoming a community.  Our class is our safe place.  I can now use the Highs and Lows to take the pulse of the class, it's an instant barometer.


My dog died.  I know it's not like a person or anything, but I can't stop crying.
I got the lead in a play. I can't really brag at school because my best friend didn't even make the chorus, but I can tell you guys.  I'M SO PSYCHED!
My grandma has Alzheimers.  I'm scared to go visit her because I keep thinking each time I go is the time she'll forget my name.
My parents said I could get a smart phone if I keep my grades up one more marking period!  I thought that bribing for grades was considered bad parenting, but I'm not going to tell them!


This week I actually set aside my lesson plan and spent the class discussing Bikur Holim, the mitzvah of visiting the sick, when three of the students shared that their "Lows" were that people close to them were ill or had recent surgery.  (I also ask their permission to take information that I learn from H & L's to the Rabbi, Cantor, or Educator if that is appropriate, and invite them to share newsworthy items in the Temple bulletin as well.)


So, I'll leave you with this...my favorite High and Low of the week... maybe the year.  From an eighth grader in New Rochelle, NY.


Okay, so, my low... well, I got a C on a math test that I thought I'd do really well on.  
Class responds appropriately.
But my High... he pauses for dramatic effect, and reaches into his backpack...is that I got this LASER POINTER!  Look at this!  He shines a beam of green light around the classroom to oohs and ahs...Oh, wait a sec, no, my high is that it was my Bar Mitzvah on Saturday and my second high is that I got this laser pointer.  


What was your high and low of the week?

All We Are Saying...

Today is September 12, 2011.


Yesterday the world stopped to remember a day that we still cannot get our brains around.  


The very anticipation of the Tenth Anniversary of September 11 felt like a slow drumbeat to me. 


It began in July, when I visited the site which is no longer called Ground Zero.  I was invited in to hear strangers' stories, thanks to a program hosted by Facing History and Ourselves and the World Trade Center Tribute Center.  When I arrived at the World Trade Center area I was struck by the intensity of thousands of people, moving in all different directions. People in business suits, and in shorts. Techies, tourists, teachers, analysts, lawyers, financial people, construction workers, security people, and lots of police trying to move human beings and traffic.  It was a Tuesday.  A beautiful Tuesday... just like... don't think like that.... I looked up.  A new skyscraper was being built.  I had no idea.

On that day in July I learned the power of the personal narrative.  I shared mine, and got tears in my eyes as I heard others tell theirs.  


Yesterday, when I watched the survivors' families reading the names of those lost I could not stop thinking that every one of the nearly three thousand lost souls has a story.  Some of the readers shared tiny windows to  their stories with the world yesterday.  A little boy, nearly ten, had never met his father, and thanked him for loving him.  A woman was still in so much pain she could barely pronounce her husband's name.  A father lost his son and daughter-in-law... a whole generation gone. 

Click here to see photos of the Memorial


People my age do not remember Pearl Harbor, and we are a little too young to have been felt the full impact of the weight of the assassinations of John F. Kennedy or Martin Luther King.  But we are the generation that will forever share this.  I know that everyone goes through terrible life-changing crises ... a near death experience, an illness that leaves them changed or scarred, the loss of someone dear to them... but a catastrophe shared by so many on a such a deep level leaves a profound mark on a generation.  


There is a movement to make September 11 a day of service.  A mitzvah day.  Will that keep the haters from hating? Of course not.  Will that bring back the deceased?  Nothing will, but I guess it will honor their memory a lot more than turning to hate.  Every generation must become more loving, more compassionate, more tolerant than the one before it.  That is the only path to peace.  I know that not everyone feels that way.  But it's the only way.


Give peace a chance.