Mining Nuggets

Celebration

   

Chag Urim Sameach

Odds and ends

Quote of the day:

Maybe the purpose of being here, wherever we are, is to increase the durability and the occasions of love among and between peoples. June Jordan

I guess there are always different ways of experiencing things. Lately I noticed two very different ways of experiencing spam:

• Ronni Bennett describes the frustration and rage many feel about it.
• Neil Kramer, on the other hand ... well, I am still laughing out loud!

Yesterday, driving back to campus after a party with a few colleagues one of them asked me, "So, Tamar, are you really an atheist?" "Yes," I replied. "No, but I mean, really?" She asked again. "Yes, really," I reiterated.

I thought I would dedicate last year's Tamarika post: May I Borrow a Culture to my colleague. Plus it comes so close to Hanukkah eve.

Cousins (update)

  The door opened even before my hand could reach up to press the bell. "Now, don't start crying," Lily said as she embraced me. Tears were already starting to blur my vision. "I've seen the pictures of you pointing at everything and crying." She was referring to the photographs on my blog from my trip to Rhodes Island in May. Lily and Ike already knew all about me from reading my blog. As I walked into their warm and inviting home last night to meet them for the first time, I felt at home immediately. Family. Cousins.

We sat in the living room to start the "get to know you" talk. This lasted only a few seconds because Lily wanted me to see the Israel Family Tree she had so diligently created over the years. With the Tree I could find out exactly how Ike is, in fact, my cousin. We walked into the dining room and there, framed on the wall, was a large genealogy tree.

The names were inscribed with beautiful and professional calligraphy that Lily had studied specifically for that purpose. My eyes skimmed over all the names and fell, immediately, on my father, Yeheskiel. I heard Lily behind me again, "Now don't start crying ..." and sure enough tears were welling up as I traced with my finger all the connections that bound me and Ike, my new found cousin, to the first Israel Rabbi in Rhodes in 1715.

While Lily prepared coffee and baklava, fruits and cheese, talking back and forth with Ike, I heard Ladino and was transported back in time to my father's home when I was a child. Ike smiled at me, "Ladino," he said. Tears were choking my throat as I yearned for my father and yet felt him oh, so close by at the same time. "Yes," I said softly, nodding my head, "I know."

It is truly difficult to describe all the emotions as I sat chatting with this warm and welcoming couple. So many of Ike's mannerisms and actions reminded me of my father and his brothers: gentle, humorous, large, warm smile, cosmopolitan. I had to keep reminding myself that I was not ten years old but 57, and my father was dead now more than 25 years ago.

When it came time to leave Lily presented me with my own copy of the family tree and, yes, warned me again that I was about to cry! We embraced, long lost cousins, them from Rhodes and Turkey and me from Rhodesia and Israel, all of us all the way to Philadelphia. On the way home I longed to tell my father every detail. He would have loved to hear about our meeting and adored seeing the beautifully crafted family tree. I walked straight into my home and called Shimon. He immediately answered, "Yes? Well?" He had been thinking of me all evening.

This morning, when I awoke I found an e-mail in my mailbox expressing exactly what I was feeling:

We were so happy to meet you both.

Hope to see you again, soon. Lily and Ike

Update: More photos just in:

 

Thank you, Ike and Lily!

A year ago at Tamarika: Weird

Festival of Light

Early this morning I dreamed that some kind of power surged through my chest and two large, orange snakes sprang out to attack people who I felt were not friendly towards me. I tried gathering them in my arms and pushing them back into my chest, but they were flailing about wanting to be free. Afterward, I lay awake for a long while thinking about the color, texture, the very nature of those snakes; the concept of power springing out of my chest like that. If only I was an artist I would paint them, so vivid were they, alive in my brain.

This weekend, discovering relatives and a family tree that extends back to 1610, I felt excruciating pain and anger. In fact, at one point, while I was watering my plants, I became doubled over and just stood there for a long while, sobbing. Was it vindication I was feeling? In my mind I pictured little Tamarika years and years ago searching to belong, guilty for being a prodigy of my father for the pain it constantly seemed to cause my mother. Her disdain for his people, accusations that all my Tamarika-ness came from "them." All that heritage tarnished and hidden away in shame. As I started to feel vindicated and proud to be my father's daughter, I wondered why he had kept his story such a secret from me. I found myself raging at what I had missed and why he had not protected me from mother's wrath and name-calling. Why had Dad been, in fact, so unavailable to me emotionally? So withheld. I had spent the rest of my life looking for men who would be withholding and unavailable emotionally. My sobbing became deeper, unbearable, and I had to sit down. They took from me my birth right. More than anything I raged about how my power, that is, being myself, had been perceived as trouble, a danger, harmful to everyone around me.

On Saturday at breakfast with friends we had all been sharing early childhood stories. I described mine in a nutshell: "I was born between two families and could never find my place. De facto, I was left out of everything, wills, history, people coming to my graduations, financial help during hard times. Mostly I felt like an ugly duckling whose egg had landed in the nest by some terrible accident." My friends nodded understanding as one of them had just told a similar story. I continued, "But the worst thing is when I explain these facts, I am told that I have no right to feel these things. Not only are these facts untrue, according to the family, but I have no right to feel them. It goes something like: here, we take from you what is rightfully yours (love, acceptance, inclusion, inheritance) but you are not allowed to feel bad about it. The bind is complete."

I wandered into the living room in the dark and plugged in the lights of the Christmas tree. As the room became bathed in the soft, gentle twinkly light, I realized that those snakes represented my own power within. I thought about the dream, replacing the word and images of snakes with power. It sounded like this: "I tried gathering my power in my arms and pushing it back into my chest ... "

Summing up my story clearly for my friends felt good. Sobbing with rage early Sunday morning had been cathartic indeed. All day yesterday I felt empowered and free. So much of what Bob the therapist had been telling me all these years was right there in front of me, as clear as could be. I got it! Freedom and empowerment. A Festival of Light. Out of the darkness of ancient pain and rage, I become bathed in light. It is never too late to feel that Tamarika, now grown, is also a Child of God, Tony Trischka.

A year ago at Tamarika: Somewhere out there ...

That time of year

Molly, you are not forgotten. See, here you are nestling in our tree.

Ada, is here too. I know, I know, dressed up like an angel. How tacky is that! Am still looking for something classy for you, Ada.

Angel in the dark. Hm ...

During the trimming, we made broiled salmon with tomatoes and scallions on the side.

It is going to be a busy couple of weeks.

Happy Holiday Season everyone.

A year ago at Tamarika: The tree is home

Hearing my call (Update)

I think I have found my Great Grand Mother, Behora. [Update: In fact, this was a mistake. I was hoping she was because she had the same name ... Since I wrote this post I learned that the woman in this photograph could not have been my Great Grand Mother ... ]

Some of you might remember that in May this year I traveled to Rodos to connect with parts of my father's past. It was, in fact, an eye opening trip for me down the cobbled streets of discovering my ancient heritage. While it was mind and heart blasting, at the same time I still was not sure how or if I was connected to any of the photographs, or names on grave stones.

Yesterday, I was contacted by a relative who is researching the families of Rhodes. Out of the blue, seven months after my trip, this e-mail reached me:

Thank you for posting your June 10, 2006 "letter to my Israel family" http://tamarika.typepad.com/mined_nuggets/2006/06/a_letter_to_my_.html I was pleased to reach your touching account, and also to see all the wonderful Rhodeslis photos on your blog.

In your letter you write of the Israel rabbinical dynasty of Rhodes, dating back to 1715.  As you probably know, the first member of the Israel family to preside as Chief Rabbi on Rhodes was Moshe Israel (1670-1740), who held the position from about 1713-14 to 1727-28. I am, like you, also descended from Rabbi Moshe Israel, though from a different branch of our family. Rabbi Moshe Israel and his wife Hannah Habib (Ben-Habib) had a daughter who wed Rabbi Mordehai Crespin. I am descended from the Crespin branch of our Israel family, while you are descended from Moshe Israel's son Eliyahu Israel (1710-1784), who was, as you probably know, Chief Rabbi of Alexandria.  His son Moshe Israel (1747-1781) was the next Israel family member to become Chief Rabbi of Rhodes. 

I have worked with Israel cousins (many more closely related to me though other Rhodeslis families, e.g., Alhadeff, Taranto, Capouya) and others to develop an extensive tree for our Israel family, including over 1500 people and stretching back to the mid-1500's.  About 2 years ago, I published an article on our Israel family in La Lettre Sepharade.  It included a tree showing many of the rabbis of our family and the positions they held.  If you would like, I would be pleased to provide a copy to you.

Your grandfather Rabbi Heskiya Moshe David (Moise) Israel is mentioned in Avraham Galante's book on the Jews of Rhodes, in which Galante refers to him as the candidate who the Alhadeff family (probably my maternal great-grandmother's Alhadeff family) backed for Grand-Rabbi of Rhodes in 1902. If you would like, I can send you an excerpt of the passage from Galante's book.

Your grandfather was the son of Rabbi Raphael Yitzhak Israel (1811-1902/03), who was Chief Rabbi of Rhodes until emigrating to Jerusalem in 1882. Raphael was the son of David Israel, son of Moshe Israel (1747-1781).  Raphael's wife Behora was the daughter of Michael Yaacov Israel (1790-1856), another prominent Chief Rabbi of Rhodes, and his wife Sara Sol, whose family name is unknown to me. Michael Yaacov Israel is a grandson of Moshe Israel (1747-1781) ... I would appreciate any corrections or additions you might be willing to provide.  Also, please let me know if you would like me to prepare and send to you a tree for our entire Israel family, or for some branch or part of our family.

Needless to say it took me many times to decipher the e-mail for tears were blurring my vision. I scrambled through the photographs we had taken in that little museum room off to the side of the synagogue in the Old City of Rhodes Island. And then I realized that Behora in the photograph above is probably my Great Grandmother. I printed out the photograph immediately, and for the rest of the day found myself pouring over the picture searching out Behora's face as if somehow, suddenly, I would be able, finally, to see the deep and ancient roots of my entire Sephardi heritage.

Just as I was becoming accustomed to an overwhelming feeling of belonging, another e-mail popped up into my mailbox:

Dear Tamar,

We too read your posting "letter to my Israel family." Your account moved us to tears because we are related to you.

It is long and complicated to explain how but we live in the suburbs of Philadelphia and we can possibly meet. Our phone number is ... You can e-mail us if you wish. We would love to hear from you ...

I replied that I would be calling sometime on Sunday, to which my new relatives answered:

... Count on coming to our house where I can display the Israel Trees to make your family come alive ...

Relatives have heard my call! One from Washington DC and others from very close by where I live now.

My excitement is enormous. For some reason tears well up in my eyes from time to time. I have questions that might even receive answers! One thing is certain. I come from a rich heritage, a long line, the Israel, family, rabbinical dynasty of Rhodes.

Discovering Behora is like mining a nugget of pure spiritual gold. I want to wrap my arms around her and hold her to my breast, pour her into my Sephardi heart. My roots run deep into centuries of Spanish, Greek, Turkish, Italian history. Their juices are flowing, cascading in my veins, brain, genes and through my breath. [Update: talk about wishful thinking! See above! Still, it had literary and dramatic affect for awhile for me ... ]

Hold still, beating heart. There is more to come. The story unfolds ...

A year ago at Tamarika: Speak to the eagle; Random (Update)

Day of forgiveness

Quotes of the day:

• I don't believe in killing whatever the reason.
• If everyone demanded peace instead of another television set then there would be peace.
• God is a concept by which we measure our pain.
• You either get tired of fighting for peace, or you die.
• If someone thinks that love and peace is a cliche left behind in the sixties - that's his problem. Love and peace are eternal.
• Life is what happens when we are busy making other plans.

John Lennon

From New York Times, November 26, 2006

FORGIVE US

December 8^th is near again. Every year, on this day, I hear from many people from all over the world who remember my husband, John Lennon, and his message of peace. They write to tell me they are thinking of John on this day and how he was shot and killed at the prime of his life, at age 40, when he had so much life ahead of him.

Thank you for your undying love for John and also for your concern for me on this tragic anniversary. This year, though, on December 8^th, while we remember John, I would also like us to focus on sending the following messages to the millions of people suffering around the world:

To the people who have lost loved ones without cause: forgive us for having been unable to stop the tragedy. We pray for the wounds to heal.

To the soldiers of all countries and of all centuries, who were maimed for life, or who lost their lives: forgive us for our misjudgments and what happened as a result of them.

To the civilians who were maimed, or killed, or who lost their family members: forgive us for having been unable to prevent it.

To the people who have been abused and tortured: forgive us for having allowed it to happen.

Know that your loss is our loss.

Know that the physical and mental abuse you have endured will have a lingering effect on our society, and the world.

Know that the burden is ours.

Let’s heal the wounds together.

As the widow of one who was killed by an act of violence, I don’t know if I am ready yet to forgive the one who pulled the trigger. I am sure all victims of violent crimes feel as I do. But healing is what is urgently needed now in the world.

Every year, let’s make December 8^th the day to ask forgiveness from those who suffered the insufferable.

Let’s wish strongly that one day we will be able to say that we healed ourselves, and by healing ourselves, we healed the world.

With deepest love,

Yoko Ono Lennon

New York City 2006

A year ago at Tamarika: Traveling Tam

It's a thin line ...

Quote of the day:

We all go around saying, “Oh, so-and-so is normal,” but I bet when you’re not looking, that person’s favorite thing to do is run around and bark like a dog. Everyone has some craziness. It may only be one atom, but it is there whether you accept it or not. We are what we are.
Devon Regina DeSalvo [from Danny Miller's blog]

It's a thin line that runs through my neck from my shoulder blade right up to my brain. I think it might be a nerve. It becomes tight, dangerously tight, pinching at my mind very early in the morning waking me from a fitful sleep and filling my head with thoughts. I think it is because I care about:

• how seriously students take the early childhood profession
• how seriously they take the quality of personal interactions with children
• the quality of my own work and life
• as a professor,
• a teacher,
• a counselor,
• an author,
• a colleague,
• a friend,
• a mother,
• a human being for God's sake!
• how I'm doing in general
• how much I miss my son since he became a man
• what I really should be doing (like writing my book instead of twittering my life away)
• just wanting to have fun

And so I awoke this morning with ideas about how I can do it better next semester and the one after that. I cannot wait to get there to try it out. I do not have the patience to finish off the stuff I did not so well this semester. Okay! I get it! I want to move on. Life is short for me now that I am on the other side of 50 almost at 60. I have no time to mess around with mistakes and how I could have done it better. I want to get cracking right now this very moment.

Oh, hell. Why am I not perfect already?

And so, I reach for my special Kris Kringle mug Janna once gave me because she cared that I would have my gift in time! And the thin line, the tight, tight nerve, the pinching and prodding just starts to melt away ...

A year ago at Tamarika: Being a fun gal (update)

Ah ... learning experience

Just had to share,

This:

From: Digital Common Sense. See, Danny, these are the kinds of things I can find from twittering.

A year ago at Tamarika: Invitation to a blogging

Being a morning person

Morning is the best time for me. My brain wakes up as active as can be, sifting through dreams, remembering memories, and sorting out the coming day. Some of my best ideas awaken with me early in the morning. It is the time I am able to read, write, organize lessons, and most importantly, think clearly. Sometimes I wake up quite sad, though. It is a sadness that wells from some place deep in my emotional memory. In fact I have had that early morning sadness from as far back as I can remember. Even as a child. Sometimes I almost believe that these feelings come from a former life ... not that I believe in such things. The sadness is painful but also peaceful. Tears come to my eyes from time to time but more than that, I become thoughtful, reflective and philosophical. The waking sorrow seems to inspire me and I need quiet time to communicate with that ancient, haunted nostalgia.

Some mornings I wake up amused and amusing. Full of joy, mischief and clowning around. On these occasions I am immediately as chatty as can be. There have only been one or two people in my life who could genuinely tolerate or even enjoy and participate in this type of mood I have early in the morning. Because, believe me, it can become quite noisy, fast!

Morning is a time of hope for me. Even after the most difficult night, for whatever reason emotional or physical, as the dawn creeps across the sky, I sense a new beginning. If faced with a challenging day I mostly feel I will be able to tackle it, in the morning. Later and especially during the night, fear has much more of a chance to take hold of my brain and heart. Sometimes at night I feel as hopeless and helpless as can be.

Back in 1987 I was thinking about leaving Israel to come to Buffalo for a college education. I was attending a woman's support group at the time. Rachel, the facilitator, gave us an exercise to draw whatever we liked. We could use rich oil pastel crayons. I drew a huge, colorful bird flying out of a cage, door wide open. We shared our drawings with one another and discussed what we might have been feeling. When it came time to share mine, Rachel and other group members literally gasped out loud to see my bird, so rich with color, flying high and free out of its opened, gold cage. Rachel said, "Ah, so, it looks like you are leaving - in fact, you might be already on your way."

Perhaps I was a bird in a former life. Nothing as dramatic as an eagle, hawk or owl. Probably some kind of song bird, for I love to sing and when I do I feel as if I soar.

An early morning song bird ... not that I believe in such things.

A year ago at Tamarika: In Memorium