Never Forget

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” – George Santayana, The Life of Reason, 1905

I have a theory. 

Vaccines are a contentious topic nowadays. There are many parents who are refusing to vaccinate their child based on . . . well, not much. One bogus study 20 years ago blew a hole in preventive immunity, and horrific diseases that were dying out are making a comeback. 

During covid, there was an article in The Wall Street Journal about an outbreak of virulent flu in 1957. A vaccine was developed in a couple of weeks, the military's resources was hauled in to New York City to disseminate it, and the virus was stopped in its tracks. The author was wondering what changed to today. 

My theory? The Spanish Flu killed millions. That had been only 40 years prior. The population remembered all too well the loved ones that had died, the suffering it caused. 

The same premise holds for the rise of antisemitism today. Some complain that it's synonymous with the antisemitism of 1930s Berlin, but Alan Dershowitz amends that to say it's like the antisemitism of 1930s America. I've read novels that take place in 1900s New York City, and just because someone was white didn't mean he wasn't discriminated against. All forms of racism was rampant, against Italians, the Irish, anyone of color, and yes, Jews. 

Yet what why did that antisemitism ease? The Holocaust. Many in the world were horrified by what the Nazis did, even if they were antisemitic. And we, by extension, became complacent. We forgot how it once was, how baked into the general psyche antisemitism can be. Then time passed. Survivors died out. People forgot. 

Han says the same thing regarding terror attacks. It breaks my brain a little to realize there are voting adults who were born after September 11. They didn't even exist at the time of that national trauma. They don't know what life was like before terror came to America. They just think the TSA is a pain in the ass.  

That's why it's important to remember the past. Yes, I happen to have a fascination with history, and it provides me with a framework to roll my eyes whenever I hear lines like "The world is burning." Babe, you've got air conditioning. Your great-great-grandma did not have a climate controlled living space or indoor plumbing or basic hygiene or a guarantee all her babies would, well, live. 

When we say, "Never again," we are also saying, "Never forget." Because history is important. All of it. 

No Reason

One day in the office, Han overheard a conversation, and intrigued, drifted over. 

A fellow had explained to a female co-worker that he had gone on a date, but decided not to continue for a number of problematic red flags. 

The woman was poo-pooing his choice, saying he was being too particular, questioning his judgement. 

Note that Han is the only observant Jew at work, but these two weren't even Jewish. As gentile as they come.  

There's this phenomenon I've noticed when people seem to think that their situation is unique, and ascribe it to certain circumstances. 

Like, "I'm single because my family is fruity." 

There are plenty of young marrieds with fruity families. 

Or, "I'm single because of my health condition" (meaning "no one wants to date me because of my health condition")

There are plenty of young marrieds with health conditions. 

Or, "I'm single because I'm frum." 

There are plenty of single gentiles and frei Jews out there. I didn't watch the entire Bridesmaids, but the opening scene hit so hard. Annie (Kristen Wiig) nervously enters her friend's engagement party, only to be bombarded on with snide comments about her lack of partner and fending off nebachs. 

Look, I get it. It's human nature to try to find the reason why our desires aren't fulfilled. We want to blame a specific circumstance for our singlehood, because enough people do blame singles for being single. But It's not my fault! I can't help this! 

Yet that path leads to anger and resentment. One starts railing at the constructed reason, rather than finding joy in other avenues available. 

There are plenty of people who are single and there is no reason. 

The fun part about being frum is that if you leave it to His timing, that does take the pressure off.   

Anti-Segulah

I've always had a problem with so-called "segulas," then Rabbi Natan Slifkin sucked whatever residue of mysticism out of me. So far in our marriage, Han's more mystical in outlook than I am, but now he's also reading Rabbi Slifkin's book and I (wiping away a tear) am giddy that he's come (somewhat) to the rationalist side with me. 

Han noted that one of the differences is that mysticism believes in the ability to manipulate spiritual forces to achieve their own ends—which sounds a lot like segulos. Segulos tend to be on the woo-woo side: visiting various dead sages, lifting havdalah candles to a specific height (never lifted mine, still got a tall guy), lighting various candles for unknown reasons, etc. etc. 

How come no one says, "I'm giving tzedakah as a segulah?" 

"I'm visiting a lonely elder as a segulah?" 

"I'm buying groceries for that struggling family as a segulah?" 

Segulos tend not to help anyone. 

Hashem doesn't need your candle. The dead sage is not sitting around his grave waiting to take a sack of requests up to his Manager. The havdalah candle has no correlation to one's bashert. 

Instead of a segulah, help someone. Hashem likes it when we help others. It doesn't matter what your motivation is. Ma would say, "As long as the poor man gets to eat." We know motivation doesn't mean much in Judaism; action does. 

So instead of spending money in the name of "segulah," give that money to tzedakah instead. 

Rationalist out.  

Zipper-Mouth Emoji

I was in for a 45 minute drive, so I pulled up the YU Torah app and punched on a shiur at random. Surprise me. 

I had never listened to this rabbi before, and . . . well. 

He was discussing a writing of the Rambam, specifically his take on "Do not hate your fellow in your heart." 

The Rambam wrote there is a simple solution to this. So you don't hate your fellow in your heart, the remedy is to tell them in what manner they bug you, they'll correct it, and problem solved! 

I thought he was joking, but no. He repeated this "solution" numerous times, including a separate example of rebuking someone who is violating halacha. Apparently, that person will also be glad to be "rebuked," because obviously he knows it's for his own good! 

Um . . . 

Look, the Rambam is my man. Seriously, I refer to myself as a "Rambam Girl." But, sweetie, no. This isn't going to fly. 

There is a very good reason why most of us prefer to keep our mouths shut even if resentment is percolating away in our chests. Because if telling another that a behavior of theirs bothered us was simple and straightforward, we wouldn't be dealing with ulcers. 

I do believe that the biggest problem in relationships is usually communication. Yet there are many barriers to effective communication. One of which being that none of us like critique. Sometimes, honest feedback can destroy a relationship.  

I told over this shiur to two people, and they both found it unintentionally hilarious. 

I'm still Team Keep Shtum.  

No Regrets

 "Looking back," she asked, "did you make any decisions that you think now you would've done differently?" 

She means, of course, in terms of dating. 

I wasn't even insulted; I get versions of this question from time to time, specifically from people who married at the "appropriate" age (of 21 or so). There's still that undercurrent of: It was your fault, in some way. It just doesn't make sense otherwise. 

I recently listened to a Meaningful Minute: Stories of Hope with Jackie Glaser as the guest with her husband. Jackie has quite the tale; a baalas teshuva, she only started dating in her late 30s, married at 44, and had a baby at 50. She had some insights which I had also realized in my own experiences. 

One of which being: Han is my person. Even when I'm annoyed at him, he's my person. Even when we fight, he's my person. It never, ever crosses my mind that I made a mistake or married the wrong dude or think wistfully of some other guy I went out with once. He's my person.

The only reason I know this is because I dated all the other candidates for over ten years, and no one, no one was remotely him. 

Whereas, for those who married to the first or second or third chap that they went out with, when the bumps in the road come (and believe me, they'll come) they might wonder, in a moment of weakness . . . Did I choose right? 

It's human nature. I doubt I would be different. It's only because I took the long and winding road that I know. 

This is what I tell those who are freaking because their child (typically daughter) is still unmarried in their mid-20s (gasp!): There's pros too, not just cons.  

So, no: Looking back, I know 100% I had made the right decisions. It wasn't that I was a silly, flighty 21-year-old and I said no to someone who was probably my soul mate but I had been ridiculous about something minor. 

Another thing: Ma would say, "They find you, even if you're hiding under the bed." Meaning, just because someone once said no to their potential soulmate doesn't mean Hashem decrees, "No soup for you!" Tziporah Grodko discusses this: Is Hashem that cruel? One mistake on our part and we are denied fulfillment in marriage? Shidduchim have happened all the time despite rejections along the way (including my own). If it's meant to be, it'll be.  

God, Take the Wheel

We don't have control. 

This is a message that I thought I learned after dating forever and Ma dying. Yet this message didn't really kick in until I had offspring. 

An article popped up in my feed from The Atlantic by Jessica Slice, a disabled woman, titled "The Biggest Surprise About Parenting With a Disability." I'm not a paying subscriber, so the most I could gather was from the teaser: Slice thought parenting would be incredibly difficult, considering the modern narrative, plus she is disabled to boot. 

Yet, to her surprise, she didn't find it as hard as she thought it would be. Her theory was that being disabled, she was already quite aware that she did not have control. Postpartum mothers can be suddenly dealing with an unaccommodating body, and most definitely an unaccommodating baby, and that new lack of control is terrifying. 

We hear about helicopter parents and snowplow parents and parents who sign up their fetuses for the high-tier advanced playgroup that is the first step for future success. Despite the fact that there is no proof that the high-tier advanced playgroup leads to a corner office—yet there certainly is enough data that resilience is a better predictor of accomplishment. 

The tighter our grip, the more slips away. It's not easy. We live in a culture where parents are blamed for everything, whether by society or by their own children, so it's not such a stretch that parents would think that they have to be perfectly on top of their game OR ELSE. 

I was the youngest. It was very apparent then that Ma felt little to no pressure at that point. She expected me to study and try; as long as I did that, it didn't matter if I got a bad grade. She didn't feel the need for extracurriculars, unless it was something I wanted to do. She knew what kids really want: cartoons to be watched in peace, toys, and cake. She didn't begrudge them. She was still terrifyingly European and expected good behavior and going to bed on time, but she didn't demand academic excellence. When I was in high school, I decided I wanted to do well and really applied myself.

So with my kids, I try to see them for who they are and what they need, as opposed to what I would want them to be. I try for them to feel accomplished for themselves, rather than my doing things for them. 

Will they be mad at me when they grow up? Probably. But they'll be mad at me no matter what I do, so I might as well take it easy on myself. 

We don't have control, whether we think we do or not. For many of us, our lives did not turn out remotely the way we expected. And that's ok! It's not an indicator of failure. It just means we aren't in control. 

"Tiny Beautiful Things"

After reading Lori Gottlieb's Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, I've been trying to find other books with the same therapy/self-awareness vibe. I don't remember which website I used to find Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed, but I do appreciate the recommendation. 

For a couple of years, Strayed was asked to take over a struggling online magazine's self-help column, called Dear Sugar. The book is a compilation of the questions and her responses. 

What makes her approach so unique is that instead of the typical Dear Abby model, where Abby is an invisible voice dispensing advice, Strayed begins each of her responses with a personal anecdote that seems to have nothing to do with the question. 

The anecdotes are vividly described, and most of them are quite miserable. Strayed grew up in a dysfunctional home, lost her beloved mother very young, and struggled through many years of poverty before becoming a best-selling writer. 

Somehow, magically, she manages to brilliantly tie the life lesson she learned from her own experience to the advice she dispenses to the questioner. 

As I get older, the more I see how we are all really more the same than different. We get disappointed. We figure out what we can and cannot control. We figure out our values and what's important to us. We grieve. We rejoice. 

So even though my experiences may not be exactly the same as someone else's, with 40 very close, I am still able to better see the commonality of the human condition. The empathy we should be giving one another, rather than the blame. 

It's not that Strayed's life made her perfect person to be a self-help columnist. She's not a therapist by training. But she possesses the self-awareness and self-confidence to look unflinchingly at even the most unpleasant moments of her life and turn it into a valuable lesson. 

One experience of hers that she mentions more than once was how her first marriage was to a good man, but a little voice inside kept telling her to leave. She's now been happily married to her current husband for 25+ years. Validation that is always nice to hear: Just because a person is nice doesn't mean they're for you. 

The book has some, um, UA moments, so it's not for those who are squeamish about cussing and other stuff. Yet I find it a valuable read.  

Kafoi Tov

I would love to catch up with you soon! her text said. 

I would love to also, I typed back, but the kids have the croup. 

Her response: Such tzaros by akaros! 

Huh? 

It took me a full day to decipher that phrase. Did she mean—

Oh no she didn't.

"I wasn't complaining!" I ranted to a laughing Han. "I was just making a statement! 'The kids are sick'! That's it! I wasn't saying 'Oh woe is me that I ever became a mother because I haven't slept in a week because a wheezing toddler was crying all night'!"

It became Han's catchphrase for a week, every time I made statement about the kids. "Such tzaros by akaros!" 

The annoying thing it is rhymingly catchy. 

Contemplating this phrase a bit more, I realized further my insult. 

When one marries at a, er, "elderly" age, there's this concept that one's marriage is quite simply, a miracle. A neis. Heck, your anniversary should be a codified holiday, up there with Chanukah and Purim. The impossible happened! The oil lasted for 8 days and that beyond hope spinster wed! 

If someone married at 20 and had five kids and she simply stated, "My kids are sick," no one would respond, "Such tzaros by akaros." Her marriage and children aren't miraculous. It was perfectly natural. So it's understandable if it feels like a bit much, after all. 

With the passage of time, I thought my . . . bitterness over my single experience had faded. I'm busy now with not sleeping due to a child's foot in my kidney and freaking out how to get him to eat more than Cheerios. 

Yet then a dodgeball gets hurled at my head and *ow* I'm back.   

My personal takeaway from my single decade plus was that all marriages are bashert; some are simply on a different timeline. Others don't see it that way. It's that if you're single by a certain age, chances for marrying at all plummets down to negative zero. 

Even now, married for nearly eight years, someone feels the need to remind me: you were such a helpless case that you should be on your knees every day thanking God that you're married and you have children. 

Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful. Of course I am! But I would like to be treated like anyone else who's married and has a family: that when you slept four hours—nonconsecutive—because the kids took turns waking up and wailing, that someone says, "Oy, that sounds rough!" instead of "Shut your mouth, you ingrate!"   

It Sucks Everywhere

A trailer popped up in my feed for the new film, Oh Hi, and against my better judgement, I let it play through. (It is very UA, so I do not recommend looking it up if you're squeamish.)

When Molly meets Isaac, everything seems to click into place. They are on the same page about so many things! The two have a whirlwind romance, and are off on a weekend getaway to a cabin. 

At some point, Molly sighs and gazing into Isaac's eyes, mentions something about them being a couple—to Isaac's surprise. 

Isaac quickly disabuses her of the notion. No, no, no, they're not a couple! Ha ha! No, they're just having fun! No strings fun! 

Molly then goes off the rails. She then proceeds to, in essence, kidnap Isaac in an attempt to convince him that he wants to be her boyfriend.  

OK, I have to admit that in the past, when a guy said "no," and I thought I liked him, I was sort of tempted to do the same.  

I have heard people complain, many times, that if they weren't frum they'd be married. I don't know what they are basing this on. If anyone reads anything about modern relationships, it's as much of a bleak hellscape as it is for single frummies. 

There is this phenomenon, for instance, of men as not being as "in" the relationship as his girlfriend is, but he doesn't want the drama of a breakup. So matters drift along, where she expects an imminent engagement and he's desperately hoping she'll leave him on her own volition. 

I know this isn't much comfort, but: it sucks everywhere. 

Frankly, I'm not sure if there ever was a golden age of relationships. None of us would be keen on the whole arranged marriage setup (I'm assuming). Chassidish b'shows are a rather acquired taste (cool for them, not for many). It's not like marriage guarantees a happy relationship. Because the stigma has been lessened, people actually feel free to divorce—which should be technically a good thing?—and now frum divorce is on the rise.  

There are all sorts of suggestions to completely overhaul "the system" in completely unenforceable ways. Yet the system isn't really a system, it's a vague set of guidelines that's barely being abided to. Even if the guidelines were being strictly followed, that wouldn't guarantee someone marriage, or a happy one at that. 

Yes, it seems to be grossly unfair how a 20-year-old pipsqueak trips into an engagement with seeming little effort. But as I get older, and presumably a wee bit wiser, I've learned that everyone struggles in some way at some point in their lives.  

In the end, none of us know what others are going through. It's often not public knowledge. So while it may seem as though those young chippies are skipping off into a blissful future, who knows what they have dealt with or will deal with in their lives? A wedding is a beginning, not an ending. Life can be one crazy ride.  

Back to the Past

Today's fashion trends has me laughing. 

You know how in Back to the Future, when Marty ends up 30 years in the past, in 1955, and everything is beyond recognition and comprehension? 

So if Marty took the Delorian back 30 years from 2025 to 1995 (God, I'm old) he would see that—

Not THAT much of a difference. 

OK, cell phones aren't around yet, and he would actually have to use a paper map, but the fashions are the same. 

And, well? '90s fashion kinda sucked. 

Floor length denim skirts? 

Platform shoes? 

The long, blocky blazer? 

They're baaaa-aaaaack. 

Skater jeans? Why? 

I can't find anything to wear. 

I'm going to have to wait this out for another few years. Now, the 2010s? THAT was fashion.