The Day of Remembrance

Today is Yom Hashoah, the newest and probably most tragic of Jewish Holidays. It was created to remember and honor those who died in the Holocaust.

Several of my friends are in Poland, for the March of the Living, where they visit death camps, followed by a trip to Israel, to celebrate the creation of the Jewish State.  This year is Israel's 70th birthday, and record numbers are taking the trip.

I joked on my rabbi friend Yossi's FaceBook (tm) page that I needn't attend March of the Living, since Wifey is the only child of Survivors, and that means I have the Marriage of the Living. He thanked me for bringing a bit of levity to a somber part of his trip.

I make fun of my mother in law. Lots. She often exhibits behavior that's out of central casting for a manipulative, selfish Jewish mother in law.  Over the nearly 32 years of our marriage, though she has been an awesome grandmother, or Sabta to the Ds, she has caused us a good deal of pain with her difficult ways.

Still, I never forget the awful life she lived, suffering immeasurably. She adored her parents and siblings and lived through the deaths of parents, grandparents, and most of her siblings. Only one brother, Alter, and my mother in law survived. At a time in her life when it was just beginning, young teenage years, she became a slave laborer, suffering unspeakable physical and mental torture. Years ago, an ultra liberal friend went on and on on FB about how blacks can't be blamed for stuff, after "enduring slavery." When I dared remind him my in laws were slaves, he got all indignant -- somehow that was "different." No, it wasn't.

Israel always shows way cool video of the expressways shutting down, and people exiting their cars when the YH siren sounds. In the US, it's easier to blow past the day. When your country was built following this hugest human tragedy, it's in the forefront.

My father in law died a few years ago. He, too, was a Survivor, and damaged greatly by his youthful experiences. I never had a normal conversation with him -- he'd bark out words, and I'd roll my eyes, but always remain respectful of him and his past. He ADORED Wifey and the Ds -- would have died for them.

After he arrived in pre Israel following his time in Displaced Persons camps in Germany, the IDF recruiters asked him about his parents or children.  No, he said, he was single and orphaned. Great, they said, no one really cares if you die, so you're in Special Forces. He served, and always kept close to the vest his wartime activities.

I hope I told him enough how proud of him I was.  My parents were fiercely Zionist.  Mom always admired Richard -- Dad never got to meet him.

So today, no mother in law jokes. I'll reflect on my suegra, and what she endured. Whenever I complain about her, Dr. Barry always takes her side -- how CAN she act normally, he asks, given how damaged a person she is from the Holocaust.  He's right.

My family has had it good here in the USA. Last Saturday we all visited the Tenement Museum, in the neighborhood all 4 of my grandparents lived when they came to the US. Within a few years, they made enough to move on up -- to the relative affluence of The Bronx. Economic times were tough, but no one was putting relatives into gas chambers. My family was lucky.

Today, I pause to remember all those who weren't, especially my 93 year old mother in law.