Hi,
How are you? It has been a long time since I last wrote. Here in Manchester UK, things are still locked down at the moment but we have a timetable for normalcy to return. It has been so long coming, hasn't it? Up until the end of 2020 I was still been behind a desk in an office, just. In late November two days went down to just one day, the barest minimum essential. It seemed to echo the foggy, closed down zeitgeist of late Autumn and increasing Covid 19 mandated closures. Since January, all work has all been done at home. I work in finance, some things like cash payments can only be done from the office, it has been tough; tough for all of us.
Since I wrote last, I have taken on the challenge of a second coming out. I'm a Jew, I never told you did I? As anti-semitism began to ramp up here in the UK and the shootings of Pittsburgh and Poway hit the headlines, I began to fear. One friend I shared my anxieties with, gave a startling response. In the face of oppression, she suggested, do not hide, it only makes it worse. Live boldly, get out there, own who you are and be proud. Haven't I heard that one somewhere before?
Those of you who have read this blog from the beginning know I came out over 16 years ago. I learned to own my identity as a woman. Why couldn't I own my faith and heritage.
Looking back at childhood, I belatedly realise that I was raised as a girl anyway, fully destined to become the woman I am today. In retrospect, so much of what I needed to grow was there all around me and my mother provided it. Even so, I barely understood its significance. At home, I learned to bake challah; a plaited, ritual bread, light the Friday night candles, say Shabbat blessings, sing songs and a study a little Torah. Back in the 60's many of these were matriarchal elements in Jewish life. In many ways they still are. That I let myself forget them all amid teenage sex and gender worries seems a liitle sad, but forget them I did. Maybe it was the contrast between what I had prepared for and what hormones prepared me for that brought my world crashing down.
Last November coincided with the Hebrew months of Cheshvan and Kislev. Kislev has the minor holiday of Chanukkah, Cheshvan has no real holidays but it is a month for rememberances. I was born on Cheshvan 19. That it is a bitter month of memories, my mother was careful to remind me. The horrific events of Kristallnacht happened that month as well as the assasination of Prime Minister Rabin. It has once again thrown me back to being with my Mum and the many discussions (and arguments) we had back when I was a young. I have already mentioned in an earlier blogpost that my mother was a feminist. She was also a pacifist and a member of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. At times we attended a local Quaker meeting where some of her fellow campaigners worshipped. She had a great respect for a church that believed so strongly in Peace. I know that she also respected their role in helping Jewish refugees.
My mother's wartime experiences made her determined that we should never see another conflict on the scale of the Second World War. She also considered herself a Zionist. We often argued about the need for Israel to defend its borders because although my mother fervently believed in the idea of a Jewish homeland, she had trouble reconciling herself to the conflicts that ensued. When Rabin was murdered she was so sad. "When one Jew kills another, we all bleed", she remarked.
Being an impetuous teenager I felt like saying that a nation couldn't stand by peacefully if attacked, and I did. She replied that war was never justified, no matter how strongly we believe. She used Parshat Vayeira, and the story of the Akeidah to illustrate her point. Vayeirah is the Torah reading for the Sabbath preceding my birth. It describes Abraham's conviction that he must kill and sacrifice his son. God does not want anyone to sacrifice another for the sake of principles, my mother maintained, least of all our children and yet we perpetually send our young people to war.
How I miss those discussions and arguments. I missed out on attending Shul as we weren't members of any synagogue and I never learned much Hebrew; what little I have learned has been self taught. I am however grateful for the way in which she challenged me to think, to justify argument and to write. They are lessons you never forget!
My husband and I had planned to go to Amsterdam for a few days on our Wedding Anniversary (October 28th last year). We spent our honeymoon there. We like to visit the Plantage district and visit what is left of the Hollandsche Schouwburg to pay our respects to those that were transported to death camps from the theatre. My Grandmother's family name was Salz (later changed to Salt). I understand that some Aunts, Uncles and cousins may have made their final journeys from there. One day I must go back and search their archives to look for details. This year and last, COVID 19 curtailed travel and we stayed home. I missed going, we had travelled there every year since we were married.
Latterly I have begun to digitally scan my mother's typescripts for her unpublished novels. They were produced on her noisy Adler typewriter. I have fond memories of arriving home from school to find my mother still typing away alongside a wastepaper basket full of discarded drafts. She had trained as a shorthand typist in the final months of wartime and worked for a while in the offices of the Hunslet Engine Company. When I arrived home, she'd be horrified, saying: "Look at the time!" and jump up in haste, mid sentence, to put the dinner on. There are two novels; 'A Conscience Divided', set in Holland and 'The Faded Emblem' set in Germany. There were others which I know were later destroyed. Both are set in 1944 when my mother would have been 14. She wrote both novels in her mid twenties. They both tell of love under difficult circumstances, families divided by belief and outlook and clandestine relationships between serving German Army personnel and Jewish women.
So I find myself in a position to work alongside my impetuous and impassioned 20 year old mother as a mature 60 year old daughter. I am slowly editing her writing, adding where I think it is necessary and copying her style. I have no idea what I will do with this when I have finished. It has however been incredibly uplifting to work 'with' her even though she is not physically present. It has given me an insight into how she thought and what she believed. Being typescript, even very little things make me smile. I see the typescript getting fainter as the ribbon wears then suddenly becoming very black again. Changing the ribbon was always a very messy, inky fingered business and I can see my mother doing it now and exclaiming in exasperation. It makes me smile. I'll let you know how it goes.
Huggs,
Jane
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As a Christian I have been intrigued by the way attitudes towards me, and my religious participation, have changed following my transition. The difference is even larger for the other Abrahamic faiths, and must present it's own challenges.
ReplyDeleteI have a few friends who have written and published their own novels, I think the thing that unites all of them is the need of an editor. A commercially published book will go through several layers of editing and proof reading, cutting back on these certainly saves time and money but I have found that the errors and omissions distract from the narrative. This must be a fascinating endeavour, ad one that can only serve to bring you even closer to the memory of your Mother.