joodse naoorlogse generatie
Someone asked me if I knew any Second Generation Holocaust Survivors in the Netherlands. My jaw dropped. We all were. Every single one of the Post-WWII generation was a child of a survivor. Our parents were all survivors, only they were called victims in Dutch. Even the word “overlevende” doesn’t sound as powerful as “survivor”.
Was it the summer of 1966 or 1967 that I spent a fortnight in Amsterdam, at the home of Rabbi Soetendorp? What I do know for sure was that the new LJG synagogue had just opened, and that it was the first time in my life that I was away from my parents. I called the rabbi oom Jaap and his wife tante Mirjam. On a Saturday, after sjoel the chazzan Harrie Ereira and his wife, who told me to call her tante Bertje took me home with them for lunch, and to spend the night. Their children were all grown up and they enjoyed having a child around they said. I was surprised they let me choose a book from their children’s library, wouldn’t they be upset when they’d find out? No, they wouldn’t they said. Still, I was reluctant to take my pick, so tante Bertje chose for me. I went home with Chaweriem, Anne Frank’s diary and a book about a boy and a dog, or rather a dog and a boy, for the story was told from the dog’s point of view.
Years later, when I started working for Taller Amsterdam, I met and went on tour with Tirtsa the Vries, the girl mentioned by her father Leonard together with her sister Mirja, two of us, the children who had to make up for all the losses during WWII.
From long credits to bullet time, here are a few techniques and film conventions we don’t see in the movies these days…
See what you can do with this information, retro could work some way or an other.
Many photographers have taken it upon themselves to document stillborn and terminal babies’ precious moments after birth.
Photographer Todd Hochberg and I presented back to back at an ADEC (Association of Death Education and Counseling) Conference in 2000. We entered the field of death and dying each for different reasons, but both with the same objective, to offer solace and help people remember short lives that makes such great impressions. Kudos to Todd for continuing to bare witness and create a tangible memory, an image to behold and stroke. For that’s what we do.
If you don’t read Dutch, you’ll need a translator for this post titled ‘Moeder’ or Mother in the original publication. It’s about my mom wearing my dad’s clothes after his death, and how helpful it would be if we still wore mourning clothes so people around us could tell we were grieving the death of a loved one.
Reason for posting this today is a review in The New York Times of a show at the Metropolitan Museum “Death Becomes Her” or the fashion in mourning clothes (and grief expressions) throughout the centuries.
Bereavement plays a part in several current museum exhibitions, on television shows and in films.
In 2002 I wrote a piece for Ouders Online, a Dutch parental magazine about mourning clothes, and how helpful it is when the world around the mourner knows s/he grieves the loss of a loved one.
The New York Times article shows several illustrations; the covered mirror —a bit to fashionable in my mind, you can still see your reflection albeit veiled in black— the medallion with the portrait of an infant are both esthetically pleasing, fashionable if you like, and each reminds me of a personal loss.
The nurse who overheard my requesting a friend to bring my black wool dress to the hospital after the birth and death of our baby daughter, butted in and asked if I didn’t have something less morose, something in white perhaps.
"I like to wear black," I snapped at her. "And don’t you tell me what to wear to our baby’s funeral."
The Literary United States: A Map of the Best Book for Every State: Texas
Shortly after I entered the U.S. at Houston as a reluctant immigrant (couldn’t enter on business/tourist visa any longer, since I had married an American) I attended a conference organized by the Writer’s League of Texas (then called Austin’s Writers League). Upon hearing how new I was to the Lone Star State one of the participants of a poetry workshop suggested I’d read Lonesome Dove. I did, but not until we re-located to Seattle.
Not long after, I started watching the 1989 TV mini-series with Robert Duvall as Gus McCrae, Tommy Lee Jones as Woodrow F. Call, Robert Urich as Jake Spoon, and Danny Clover as Joshua Deets. All actors suited their roles except for Diane Lane as Lorena Wood, for some reason I had another image of the character on my mind or in mind.
Check out the formatting, and all that screenwriter’s jazz.
Today I had a meeting at the Audubon Center in Seward Park, Seattle. While waiting I looked around in the center’s store and gallery and was taken by Heidi Randall’s bird collages. IN particular two birds chatting with one another (I imagine) dressed in plaids and tweeds made me smile. See if you can spot them.
Four ways to push an idea through resistance.
Does your book introduce an innovative way of approaching problems (there are no problems only solutions) or IS your book an innovative product? How do you open the eyes of influential folk, movers and shakers who can help you share your product?