June 28, 2018--KinderTransport

How fitting it is that on what would have been my mother's 110th birthday I would be writing about children being sent to safe havens by parents who know it is unlikely they will ever again see them. The ultimate act of sacrificial parental love. My mother's and many mothers' specialty! 

I am thinking about young children being sent north to safety in the United States from Central American where their lives are in peril. Fleeing gang-infested Honduras, El Salvador, and Guatemala.

And I am also thinking about other children sent to refuge by their parents. Those from Germany and other Eastern European countries overrun by the Nazis where just being Jewish put their lives at risk.

In regard to the latter, I am thinking about my ex-wife Lisa's aunt Mimi Schleissner, who was born in 1927 in Sudetenland, and who, in 1939, at age12 was sent from Czechoslovakia to sanctuary in England via the KinderTranport ("Children's Transport"), an organization that came into being soon after Kristallnacht, to rescue children. In less than a year, 10,000 had been saved by the English who served as foster families.

The KinderTransport

After the Nazis occupied her town, Mimi and her family fled to the country and then on to Kolin where she was hidden by a Christian family and then subsequently transferred to safety in England, through the KinderTransport, to live initially with an uncle in London and then, during the Blitz, to Cheltenham in the Midlands, on the edge of the Cotswolds. 

And how, when there, she met and fell in love with a Newark-born American GI, Eddie Ormond, who played the violin in an army musical group. He was 24, she 17. Her parents didn't approve but still they married, came to America, had three girls, and settled in Cleveland where he was a member of the Cleveland Orchestra.

On the Left--Eddie Ormond

Unlike so many, most of Mimi's immediate family survived, having escaped to Palestine through Italy.

We are seeing a version of the same thing right now, today, along our border with Mexico where there has been and is a steam of unaccompanied young people, some just 10 and 11, sent north by their parents, on their own, to live, if they are fortunate, in the shadows, without the support of organized groups such as the KinderTransport's sponsor, the Jewish Agency. 

They are not murderers and rapists. And their's are not heartless parents. Heartlessness resides elsewhere.

Mimi Schleissner On the Right

June 11, 2018--Ladies of Forest Trace: President Grump

The phone rang as we were in the midst of preparing dinner. 

"Who would call us at this time?" I asked. "Anyone who knows us knows we have dinner about this time."

"Maybe it's a robocall," Rona said. "Check the caller ID."

I did and said, "It's from an unfamiliar area code--123."

"Pick it up. Maybe an actual person is placing the call. Not a computer. We've had an increase in the number we've been receiving. Maybe you can get them to take us off their caller list."

"Forget that," I mumbled. I was just about ready to add the spice mix to the vegetarian chili that was simmering on the stove. 

Rona said, "I thought no area codes are allowed to start with a 1."

"With telemarketing and hacking," I said, "I assume anything goes. So maybe I shouldn't answer it. We don't want to get drawn into anything that will take over our computer or phone."

"Now you have me curious," Rona said, "I wouldn't worry too much about that. I'll add the spices. You answer the phone. Let's see what this is."

"You would think I have all day." On the phone it was a woman's voice that sounded vaguely familiar."

"Who is this?" I asked tentatively.

"Have I changed that much in three years?"

"Who is it?" Rona mouthed.

Shrugging, I shook my head.

"Well, in fact I do have all day," the caller chuckled.

"Tell me what this is about. We're in the middle of preparing dinner. Chili." I was poised to hit the phone's Off button.

"How can I be at rest while that Grump is making himself a king?"

"Is this . . . ?" I began to tremble.

"Who else calls you when you're hiding in Maine?"

"We're not hiding . . . " I couldn't catch my breath but finally said, "Mom?"

"This is not the time to be hiding away. It wasn't easy, but if I could get permission to call you between now and November the least you can do is put down your potholder."

"Is it really . . .?"

"The girls and the people who run this place are very concerned with what is happening."

"In Maine?" I didn't know what to say. My heart was thumping and I thought I was about to pass out or have a stroke. 

I collapsed in a chair and Rona rushed over to see if I needed help. I signaled that I was OK. Just overwhelmed with emotion.

I mouthed, "I think it's my mother."

"How can that be?" Rona said so loud that my mother or whoever was on the phone could hear her.

"Tell my darling I love her and not to worry about me. They take very good care of us here. Even better than Forest Trace. Especially the food. Last night we had flanken with horseradish. It was delicious, I could chew it, and best of all it didn't give me gas."

Rona reached for the phone but I pulled it away. So she ran into the living room and snatched the other one from its cradle.

"Mom?"

"It's so good to hear your voice. I miss you every day."

"I think about you all the time. What an inspiration you have been and continue to be. So now you're here to . . . ?"

"Help with the election. We don't have newspapers or cable so I can't listen to Wolf or read Maureen Shroud. It's been difficult to keep up with the news. But we do know who was elected and can't believe what his people are doing to our  country. The same country that rescued so many of my family who fled the pogroms before the Nazis took over. Today, Grump would want to arrest us and send us back to Auschwitz."

"It isn't that bad," I said, and then after a pause added, "Yet."

"That's what they said in Germany. Things are bad but we will be safe. All we have to do is not make trouble. We're Germans, yes Jews, but we have always lived side-by-side with gentiles and they won't allow the worst to happen." She took a deep breath and said, "And then the worst happened. More than the worst."

"And so?"

"So, we have to make trouble. That's why I got permission to call. To make sure you and your friends--not just your Jewish friends--make trouble."

"Which means?"

"Working every day to make sure good people get elected. If he wins in November I fear for the future. It will say the American people agree with what he has been doing. What a message that will be to the world. And how it would encourage him to continue doing all the things he is doing. What will this mean to young people? I was a teacher and a mother all my life. My heart breaks when I think about what the future will be like for young people. They will lose hope. For the young, that would be the worst thing. Not to look forward to the future."

"That would be a tragedy," I agreed, "But young people are activated and it seems are eager to vote in November."

"They didn't vote two years ago. Not enough of them. They wanted Burning Sanders and when they couldn't have him they didn't vote. And what about women? I remember when we couldn't vote. I was 12 years old when they passed the Amendment. My sisters were suffragettes. They marched and marched and marched. In the heat and the rain and the snow. But now too many women didn't vote for the first woman running for president. Hillary. Not my favorite but better than him, no?"

"Much better," Rona said, "Especially as we see what he is doing. At least with her things wouldn't be this bad. But more than 50 percent of white women voted for Trump. So it was white women and young people more than anyone else who helped elect him. But we are organizing and demonstrating. Just last week we did well in primary voting in California."

"I hadn't heard about that," my mother said, "That is good news but unless Democrats won by big numbers it may not be good enough. And when I think about the demonstrations I am not impressed. How long has he been in office?"

"About a year and a half."

"And what did you have? Two marches? One right after he was sworn in, the Pussy Cat march (I'm old fashioned and hated the name), but it still was good and then there was the one organized by the Florida children after 17 of their friends were killed. Also very good. But I didn't make all this effort to be able to talk with you to pretend to feel good about two marches."

"What would have made you feel good?" I asked.

"A march every week or at least every month. That would be at least 18 marches already. I know the news people would stop talking about it but if it went on and on they would have to pay attention and it could make a difference. It would keep the drum drumming  It would also show that people, including young people, care about the future of America and the world. Their country, their world. Not mine and too soon not yours.

"What do you mean 'too soon'"? I asked, fearing she knew something I didn't.

"Time. Time is marching even if Americans aren't. Time doesn't need to do much or really anything to keep moving along. Time and tide. Look out your window up there and pay attention to the tide."

I glanced at Johns Bay and was about to ask about the tide since it ebbs and flows, first north and then it swings around to the south. I wasn't sure why this was significant to her. But before I could enquire, she told us she needed to pass the phone to one of the Forest Trace ladies who was waiting in line. She promised, until November, to try to call every few weeks. Maybe, she said, on her birthday, June 28th, when if she were still here she would be 110. Not, she said, that they make a big fuss there about birthdays. Or that 110, considering where she is now, is a big deal.

But before yielding the phone, she asked "Doesn't chili give you gas?"

The Ladies of Forest Trace (Mom Standing)

May 18, 2016--Zwerling's Law

Back on March 1st I posted a piece about Godwin's Law. Actually about Godwin's Rule of Nazi Analogies.

It stated that "as a discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazi analogies approaches."

This intrigued me because I was finding that this was what was happening to me with growing frequency whenever I wanted to have a conversation about Donald Trump's political success (no matter what one thought about it or him). Before very long Nazi or Fascist analogies would manifest  themselves. Generally he would not only be labeled a demagogue (perhaps fair) but would also most frequently be compared to Benito Mussolini (in my view, over heated).

I was reminded of this yesterday when reading Charles Blow's op ed column in the New York Times, "Trump's Asymmetric Warfare."

It's actually a pretty good piece that begins with a reference to MSNBC's Chris Matthew's perception that Trump is difficult to attack because "conventional forms of political fighting won't work on this man."

Blow asks, "How do you embarrass an embarrassment."

Well and good, but Trump so clearly makes Blow crazy that he also said, "There is no way to sully a pig or mock a clown."

I'm OK with the clown reference because Trump is a very entertaining entertainer, but "sully a pig?" This goes for meaningful discourse in the paper of record?

Further, there is the whiff of Godwin's Law when Blow writes, "This had made him nearly impervious to even the cleverest takedowns, and trust me, many have tried [think poor Elizabeth Warren who tired and is now referred to by Trump, devastatingly, as Pocahontas], comparing him to everyone from P.T. Barnum to Hitler."

Blow cleverly doesn't say he agrees with this latter comparison. As a journalist, all he's disingenuously doing is reporting what others have said.

Oh really.

But Blow has more to say. Now about Trump's supporters. These, he claims, are people who "tire of higher-level cerebral function."

And concludes, "Trump's triumph as the presumptive Republican Party nominee is not necessarily a sign of his strategic genius [Blow also refers to him as a "simpleton"] as much as it's a sign of some people's mental, psychological and spiritual deficiencies."

Thus, Zwerling's Law--If Nazi analogies don't work, blame the victims.

In this case, the victims are those duped by Trump. To the likes of Charles Blow to support Trump by definition assumes one has been duped. There can be no other explanation. And so to be venerable to Trump's lies and manipulations, one has to be mentally deficient.

It is just this sort of arrogance too common among liberal elites that is ironically proving most helpful to Trump in his ascendancy. Perhaps all the way to the White House.

Charles Blow

August 25, 2015--Intimacy of Evil

In her remarkable book, Eichmann in Jerusalem, Hannah Arendt writes about the "banality of evil." How Adolf Eichmann, though he was responsible for the transport system that herded millions of Jews to concentration camps and their ultimate slaughter, was not in the ordinary sense actively and directly evil, but was a bureaucrat who, in a perverse sense, was carrying out orders as expeditiously and efficiently as possible.

For discussing Eichmann in this way--as a banal functionary and not a passionate anti-semite or a fanatical ideologue--Arendt was widely criticized as not holding him sufficiently responsible for his deeds--that he was, she was interpreted as saying, just doing his job. That his actions were "ordinary."

Quite the contrary--she saw his version of evil in a particularly horrific way--how it was manifested in a very average man which left the suggestion that there is a thin human line between "normality" and there ability to commit unspeakable evil. That someone so ordinary, so inconspicuous could participate so dispassionately in one of history's most heinous collective crimes.

I thought--how different is the evil being perpetrated today by ISIS.

We have been sad and outraged witnesses to their public beheadings and other barbaric crimes against innocent people in the lands they have overrun and subjugated to their merciless rule.

Just last week, in the ancient Syrian city of Palmyra, ISIS warriors slaughtered the keeper of its more-than-2000-year-old archeological treasures. Treasures considered so noteworthy and historically significant as to be listed a UNESCO World Heritage site.

To ISIS, since the temples and magnificent artifacts predate the advent of Islam, were built before the prophet Mohammed was born, they are the work of infidels and need to be brutally eliminated as do any people who do not embrace or follow ISIS's version of Islam.

Making an emphatic point of this, they hauled 83-year-old Khalid al-Asaad, the keeper of the antiquities for more than 50 years, into the town square and, after ordering all citizens to come forth as witnesses, according to the report in the New York Times, "cut off his head in front of the crowd" and then "his blood-soaked body was suspended with red twine by his wrists from a traffic light, his head resting on the ground between his feet, his glasses still on."

This is not the banality of evil.

This is not the impersonal imposition of slaughter.

This is not evil propagated from a bureaucrat's office or delivered from 30,000 feet.

This is not using current technology to force victims into "showers" and once there dispense with them by the administration of the latest in poison gases and then with bulldozers pushing the mounds of bodies into open trenches where the machines bury the dead and the evidence.

This is not evil where no one is touched. Where everything is by schedule and assisted by state-of-the-art technology.

ISIS's is the intimacy of evil. Not its banality.

These evil-doers hold victims in their arms. With their own hands they hold up victims' heads. And then, in that ugly embrace, cut off their heads. And then place them carefully on the ground, making sure eyeglasses are carefully arranged.

A friend here who is essentially a pacifist wants "to nuke" them. Minimally place enough American "boots on the ground"--even 200,000 if necessary--to kill them all. Kill them all.

I get it.

March 10, 2015--Lincoln Brigade

Last weekend reading about how Mohammed Emwazi ("Jihad John") was drawn to ISIS and became its most infamous executioner and how three young men from Brooklyn were apparently headed in the same direction, I was reminded of other examples of young men being drawn to ideological struggles, signing up for them because they believed in what they were seeking to accomplish, often by bloody means.

I want to be careful here. What ISIS is perpetrating is as evil as anything we have seen in a century. And so I do not want even to imply a false equivalency. But when we struggle to figure out what about ISIS is so compelling to these gullible and pathetic young people, we might want to take a close look at what drew other young men from around the world to take sides in the Spanish Civil War, especially Americans who made their way there as part of the Lincoln Brigade.

Though many of liberal persuasion today see what the Brigade stood for to be admirable--it was militantly anti-fascist and, in the case of many Brigade members, pro-Soviet, socialist, and communist--still, like ISIS, it was a magnet for thousands of alienated, revolutionary youth of its era and, as much as some supported its agenda, at least as many saw these foreign volunteers as outsider interlopers who had no business meddling in what initially a local struggle.

The Spanish Civil War of 1936 to 1939 pitted Nationalist fascist forces under General Francisco Franco against the army of the duly elected socialist Republican or Loyalist government. The former were supported militarily by Nazi Germany, who field-tested modern forms of blitzkrieg and air warfare in Spain, including the indiscriminate bombing of civil populations, while the Republicans were directly aided by the Soviet Union. Thus, the war was seen to be a dress rehearsal for World War II.

The Nationalists won and Franco ruled Spain with an iron fist for 36 years.

It was in support of the Loyalists that the Lincoln Brigade was organized and attracted 2,800 fiercely committed Americans. 750 died in combat. At the time, those who left for Spain were roundly criticized as radicals who had no business fighting for a country other than the United States.

Attempts to understand the appeal of causes and movements of these kinds find that though ideologies may differ--even radically--there are psychological characteristics among recruits that are consistent across the spectrum. The best thinking suggests that groups that are most appealing offer disaffiliated recruits what they crave most--a sense of belonging and a place to act out their resentments.

This may sound like psychobabble, as is any attempt to summarize something as complex as the appeal of radical groups and cults, but to dismiss participation as a simple expression of evil is not helpful. Again, to join ISIS is far from the same as enlisting in the Lincoln Brigade, but there are useful lessons that might help offer alternative appeals to youth seeking affiliation and, failing that, suggest ways to fight the scourge that is the Islamic State.

July 11, 2014--Best of Behind: In the Sunlight of Horror

From September 21, 2007. Not your usual light-spirited Friday posting but . . .
Some years ago I was in Munich. Primarily to visit the museums, but also to take in whatever remained of the atmosphere out of which Hitler emerged. My idea of fun!

So I visited the beer hall, the Bürgerbräukeller, where in 1916 he made his famous speech and launched the putsch that brought him and the Nazi party to prominence. I must admit, though decades had passed since that infamous night, when up in the private room where the early Nazis gathered, to hear the same songs from his day filtering up from the huge hall below, it was not difficult to project myself back in time. In my mind’s eye I could see Hitler surrounded by Rudolph Hess, Alfred Rosenberg, and Herman Göering.

The following day, as a part of my Nazi tour, I wanted to visit the Dachau concentration camp since I understood it was nearby and because it was among the first of the camps. I didn’t have a car so I tried to find out if there was a way to get there by public transportation. It was not easy to find someone to direct me much less get anyone to look me in the eye so I knew it and concentration camps in general were still not discussable subjects in Bavaria. But I did manage to find my way to what was in effect a commuter train—Dachau, you see, is only 16 kilometers (10 miles) from downtown Munich.

Thus, in a mere 20 minutes, on a beautiful sunlit day, I arrived in the town of Dachau; and since I assumed I would need to take another train or taxi to wherever the camp was located—considering what had gone on there I assumed it would be at a considerable distance—I wandered around again seeking directions. I was not ignored because of my halting German, though it was pathetic. I suspected it was more because no one in Dachau wanted to even hear mention of the real Dachau—the camp.

I did, though, eventually find a taxi driver who agreed to take me to it. I got into his car and sat slumped in the back seat not wanting to draw too much attention to myself by looming as a presence in his rearview mirror—I was happy enough that I was able to find someone willing to drive me there and didn’t want to put any pressure on him to have to acknowledge me.

But without any provocation he asked, “Would you like me to take you to the camp by the road along the railroad tracks?”

I didn’t immediately understand the implication of this, thinking only that I did not have much cash and since getting to the camp would be a long and expensive ride I didn’t want him to take a route that would run up the meter. So I said, “Whatever you prefer is fine, as long as it’s the shortest one.”

He chuckled at that and said, “Along the tracks is the shortest.” And added, “You see, they located the camp as close to the tracks as possible. They prided themselves on being efficient.”

Along the tracks we drove, following them as they wound their way right through the center of this medieval town. “You see where we are,” he said, “Where everyone could see.”

Again not understanding, I asked, “See what?”

“What was going on,” he said.

Embarrassed that it had taken me so long to get what he was trying to tell me, I muttered, “Ach, I understand,” and pulled myself up in my seat so I could get a better view of things.

“The trains went right through the town. In the morning they were packed full of prisoners. In the afternoon they returned empty.” For the next few minutes we rode in silence. “And then at night, everyone could smell what was going on. You will see why because we are almost there. It is not far and the prevailing wind blew the smoke right over the city.”

We had been driving for no more than a total of ten minutes when he stopped at the entrance. “This is as far as I can go,” he said.

He refused to take any money from me and then looked back over his shoulder toward where we had been. The town of Dachau was clearly visible. 

He pointed. “Now you understand, yes?”

I did.