A Hut is Still a Home

When I hear “It takes a village to raise a child” I attach the saying as a criticism of modern life and the 21st century tendency to belong to nothing. I think of my own childhood, living on the same block as my aunt, uncle, cousins and grandparents. I think of the dozens of people from my hometown who I could call and would do anything for me in the blink of an eye.

My children are lacking a village, or so I thought. Indeed, after two weeks of social isolation I realized that their village may be more like a hut (Sukkah) than the stone dwelling of the synagogue where I grew up, but it is still a village.

Social isolation (one month, more?) has revealed how many people are involved in my children’s lives and how desolate their universe is without them. It has also made me painfully aware that I am simply not enough for them, and the longer this lasts, the more they will be lacking.

“You are enough,” I hear you replying. No, I’m not. And neither are you. We weren’t meant to raise our kids in isolation. Tonight, before bed, my daughter lamented how much she missed school. “I miss my teachers. I miss my friends. When will we see Saba and Savta again? Will we ever go back to America?” she tearfully asked. Earlier today she accused me of working too much. She’s not wrong. I want my students to learn whatever it is I’m teaching, and I don’t know how to pull back without feeling like I’m letting them down.

But why is it okay to let her down? It’s a question she can’t articulate, but one I know that she is asking

This once in a lifetime Coronavirus event will one day be a distant memory. But I do hope that it reminds me to practice some gratitude. Instead of comparing my childhood to my children’s and lamenting the temporary structure in which they reside, I must be thankful for all of the branches that cover them, and that they aren’t only held up by me.

*The photograph is of my son drawing on his sister’s dolls while I wasn’t paying attention. 

Holocaust 2020

My husbands grandmother, Eva Moises, passed away over a month ago. She was a Holocaust survivor.

The Holocaust, the Shoah evokes images of the unthinkable: concentration camps, death camps, and crematoriums.

It's true, the systematic execution of Jews during the Holocaust and the evil that it took to design the final solution is unimaginable. But truth be told, about half the Jews were killed by their neighbors, not by Aryan men with German accents, but by people whose accents were the same as their own.

This is what happened to my husband's great grandfather. He was killed by his own neighbors in the Iasi pogrom in Romania.

Why did the townspeople turn on the Jews of their town?

If you really want to understand the Holocaust, if you really want to understand why it's so dangerous for a person going to a Covid-19 anti-government protest in Columbus, Ohio with a sign featuring a rat saying it's the Jews causing this, if you really want to understand why everyone needs to be soldiers in the fight against extremism, then watch this.

https://www.facinghistory.org/resource-library/video/when-there-are-no-bystanders-long-version

Investments

                                     

June 2030

Nadia was tired of waiting to take control of her future, but had very little savings. But she wanted a baby so much that she felt it in her bones. What she wasn’t feeling was any meaningful connection with the guys she met on the five swipe-dating applications on her phone. She had read the statistics. Every year she waited, she risked infertility. Why should she wait for a man to have a baby?

On the other hand, Nadia still really wanted to find Mr. Right, even Mr. Right enough. She knew statistically her odds of finding love as a single mom would drop drastically. If she were divorced with kids, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. But for single moms finding a good, decent human being to love is just not easy.

In addition, she had her career to think about. Women can have it all? That’s been proven to be false. It would be very difficult for her to teach full time at the suburban school where she had recently been tenured with a child.

So she would go to Mexico. In Mexico, the fertility treatments were safe and literally 10 times cheaper. She applied for a Fertility Loan from the bank (since the clamp down on immigration and the decline of the American birth rate, the loans were interest free), and once she had her approval, she set up the meetings with her department chair and principal.

She requested a leave of absence to spend the school year in Mexico to improve her Spanish. Her administrators lauded her decision, as they had recently been fined by the Federal Government for not serving their Spanish speaking population.

“We can put Nadia’s efforts into the report, “ Dr. Martin said excitedly, speaking as if Nadia wasn’t there. He had his PhD or Ed.D, but no one knew exactly in what. They just knew they had to call him Dr.

“Thank you for the approval, Dr. Martin,” she said.

In June, after the last day of school, Nadia found someone to sublet her apartment. She moved in with her parents and after the first day of her menstrual cycle, she flew direct from Chicago to San Diego. She didn't tell her parents what she was doing. Only that the school had given her time to learn Spanish. She crossed the border over to Tijuana which would be her home away from home for the next few months. After checking in at the hotel, she spoke to the Director of International Admissions to confirm her arrival.The next day she would leave her hotel and check into the Tijuana International Fertility Clinic. It was the only clinic in Mexico where the entire fertility process was in-patient. She did not understand the rationale, however, she was happy to be in a secure place. She also didn’t relish taking all of the shots as her hands shook when she was nervous. The staff there would do it for her.

The Fertility Clinic looked more like a spa than a clinic. She imagined this must be similar to the drug rehab facility her college roommate frequented. There were drink stands with herbal teas, water with cucumber, and fruit drinks. After filling her water bottle, she headed to the lab to have her blood drawn and vaginal ultrasound taken. While she waited for the results, she unpacked in her room. It was the size of an efficiency apartment, but that’s all she really needed. Besides, this was temporary. The wifi connection was strong. What else did she really need?

The nurse phoned to say her test results looked good and that she should return to the lab for her first set of shots to stimulate ovulation. Nadia ovulated regularly, but she knew that they wanted to harvest as many eggs as possible to ensure success. For 12 days a month, for three months, Nadia awoke, took a blood test, received a vaginal ultrasound, waited for the phone call from the nurse, went back to the lab and received shots. In the time between, she read, watched Netflix, and selected a sperm donor. Twenty five percent of her eggs she would inseminate and fifty percent she would leave in case she did actually meet Mr. Right. The other 25 percent would probably not be high enough quality.  After each harvest, Nadia felt bloated, but was in good spirits. During her first harvest, the doctor said that he saw at least 10 eggs on the ultrasound. When the anesthesiologist asked her to count down from 10 as he inserted the IV into her arm, she made one last joke: 10 eggs, 9 eggs, 8 eggs, but by 8 she was out.

Nadia finished the process with 60 eggs. It was almost certain that she would become a mother one day. During her last round of IVF, she picked a sperm donor for some of the eggs. In the end, after looking at the quality of the eggs, they would turn five of the eggs into embryos and freeze them, in case she never met someone with whom to share her life.

Nadia left the clinic with 57 frozen eggs and 3 level one frozen embryos - two didn't fertilize for whatever reason. Nadia was thrilled. She signed the paperwork, hugged her favorite phlebotomist Maria goodbye, and headed to the airport for an intensive Spanish seminar in Mexico City.


June, 2045

Nadia met her husband of two months Christopher at a wine bar in Lincoln Park.

“Damnit, I can’t believe this place isn’t handicapped accessible,” Nadia said to Christopher, lamenting her bad choice.

Christopher was in a wheelchair. He had been paralyzed after being hit by an IED during his tour of duty in Iran. On their third date, Christopher told Nadia that he couldn’t have children. On the fifth date, Nadia told Christopher about the clinic in Tijuana. She had spent the last decade or so liberated by the fact that she could have children on her time table, not on anyone else’s. She didn’t treat each date as a man whom she could possibly marry. She could be relaxed and just enjoy her life.

They left the wine bar and headed over to the Mexican restaurant with burritos and frozen margaritas as big as your head.

“It’s a bit dumb to be eating Mexican food the day before we go to Tijuana,” Christopher said.

“The food there isn’t like this. This is American-Mexican food,” Nadia said.

Christopher nodded and sipped his drink. The tequila was making him sleepy.

The next day Christopher and Nadia boarded the plane. They each had two suitcases. Each one cost $100 to bring on the plane, but they would need everything that they packed.

After tipping the Uber driver generously, he helped them to unload their luggage at the Airbnb. On their way to the Fertility Clinic, they held hands, unable to contain their excitement. They had made this appointment ten months ago, the day after their engagement, and couldn’t wait to get started. Then they headed to the fertility clinic. Maria was there to welcome her. She had been promoted to Director of the International Department, and they hugged like long lost friends.

“You must be Christopher,” Maria said.

“The one and only,” Christopher smiled.

“Both of you can put on your hospital gowns and then come with me,” Maria said.

“Why do I have to wear a hospital gown?” Christopher asked, looking uncomfortable.

“We must maintain a sterile environment, Mr. Christopher,” she said.

A tech disinfected Christopher’s wheelchair, and they suited up and went through three steel doors that required fingerprints, retina scans, even a DNA sample. Finally, it was time.

The dark room mimicked the sounds of a womb. It was loud but calming. Maria walked them over to the sealed tank filled with thick fluid.

“Meet Baby Xlh9z56 and Baby Ynotg7h44,” Maria said with a tear in her eye. She had done this many times, but she had always felt a special connection with Nadia.

“Would you like to do the honors, Dad?” asked Maria. “The password is today’s date. Don’t forget the 20 for the year.”

“Ha! That’s the passcode for our Airbnb,” laughed Christopher.

They all chuckled. Then Christopher pressed the code for the first tank and then the second. Within five seconds, the fluids from both tanks came gushing out into the drainage system. Two nurses were ready with towels and scales. They were perfect. She weighed 6 pounds, four ounces; he weighed 7 pounds, two ounces. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful screams. They whisked the babies to the postnatal rooms. Both Nadia and Christopher took off their shirts to hold the babies skin to skin.

“They’re perfect,” Nadia cried as she gave her baby girl her first bottle.

“Yes,” Maria said. “They all are.”

Scared to Die in the Wilderness

So last night in  my vanity, I decided to post on social media pictures of my family and Passover Seder table. Before doing so, I Googled the Exodus story, one I've read many times before, to find a quote to put on the social media post.

[If you're surprised that I'm talking about the Bible, skip to the bottom]

I should know this by now. Anytime I look in the Hebrew Bible, I'm struck at how messed up the story is and how mean God is. So I posted the pictures without a quote. But something from what I read yesterday really struck me and stayed with me this morning. 

Following the 10th plague, after the Israelites fled Pharaoh with his permission, he then changes his mind. 

And the Egyptians pursued after them, all the horses and chariots of Pharaoh, and his horsemen, and his army, and overtook them encamping by the sea. And when Pharaoh drew nigh, the children of Israel lifted up their eyes, and, behold, the Egyptians were marching after them; and they were very afraid; and the children of Israel cried unto the Lord. And they said unto Moses, Because there were no graves in Egypt, hast thou taken us away to die in the wilderness? wherefore didst thou deal thus with us, to bring us forth out of Egypt?  Is not this the word that we spoke unto thee in Egypt, saying, Let us alone, that we may serve the Egyptians? For it was better for us to serve the Egyptians, than that we should die in the wilderness. (Exodus 14.9-12)

These people were so scared. When I have studied this story in a religious setting, the focus had been on the lack of faith and gratitude that the Israelites had toward God and Moses. Their continued lack of faith and complaining causes God, as the sources say, to not let anyone from that generation in to Canaan. Instead they spend their lives wondering in the desert for 40 years. (No Wifi, but free food and tents.)

Reading it yesterday. though, for the first time I was attentive to their fear and anger. Sure God had spared them from the plagues, but why couldn't God have gotten them out of there without the plagues in the first place? It does seem like Moses has God's ear (or vice versa), but who was this guy? Put on a make-shift boat by his sister as a baby, raised by Pharaoh's daughter, then murders someone, runs away, becomes a sheep herder, talks to a burning bush, and then comes back to Egypt. No wonder they are looking back: "For it was better for us to serve the Egyptians, than that we should die in the wilderness." Those aren't the words of people without faith, those are the words of people who are mad and scared. 

We know how this story ends. God parts the Red Sea and they make it across, while the Egyptians are not so lucky. This is what we celebrate. Freedom. But this year I think it's also important to acknowledge their fear instead of looking at the Israelites in the next couple of books as whiny, indolent ingrates, I think we should acknowledge just how difficult it was for them during this time. How difficult it would be for any of us.  

We live in a time where the word "gratitude" is overused. Of course, I'm grateful for all of my blessings, and know things could be much worse. But please allow me my fear and my anger. I won't let it consume me, but both are deserved given our current circumstances. I will be joyful, but I will also promote my petition to Maximize the Defense Production Act to require production of PPEs & ventilators. 

Wishing everyone a happy holiday, whatever you are celebrating.

For people who are reading and are surprised I'm talking about the Bible, I have something to tell you. You need to teach your kids the stories of the Bible. Not because they are true, but because they are foundational for understanding literature and history. If you are of the belief that religion is crap, that's fine. But don't rob your kids of the foundations of society because of your hatred towards religion. You can also teach your kids Biblical criticism from an early age. My 7-year-old daughter has become interested in the story of Joseph. There's a Dreamworks movie, and we watched the Andrew Lloyd Weber production (some of it is cringy) because it was streaming free a few days ago. She asked if the story was true. I told her that we don't know because there's no evidence besides the story. She was cool with that. Then we talked about the themes of jealousy, being a braggart, what it means to be wrongfully accused, redemption and forgiveness. It's okay. The Bible won't poison their intellectual development. 

First Responders Need PPEs and We Need Our Government to Do Better

I've been trying to get a petition going to send to the President to Maximize the Defense Production Act to require production of PPEs & ventilators NOW. 356 people have signed, as of Tuesday morning, which is a good number, but not viral. I'm too small potatoes to go viral, but it frustrates me because I'm right, and it's something our country should be doing.

I get the big fear. I actually agree with the concept that less government is more. Often when the government is involved in anything, it ends up crappy. I totally get that. But the Defense Production Act doesn't actually have the government produce anything. It forces private companies to produce the goods and services that we need in war time. They get to make money, people get to work, and products are made that are vitally needed.

For the love of God, it's not a slippery slope to Communism or Fascism.

Here's why we need this petition to go viral: 

HHS Survey revealing lack of training, shortages even in CLEANING SUPPLIES

The video above is a nurse who worked infected and is certain other medical professionals are infected as well, as they rewear their masks and gowns.

A Doctor who is risking his life to intubate patients because he's 33 and single, but he has asthma.