Whew, what a fabulous Thanksgiving ( and every day) set of stories! I was on edge as I was reading them , wanting to know every morsel.
My immigrant Ukrainian ancesters on both sides have heartbreaking stories being literally thrown out of their homes (with loss of all belongings) coupled with fear of death, army conscription or essentially work concentration camps in Siberia. The 1880's. Known as a Russian pogrom.
They never ever said one word, these my grandparents, to any of us grandchildren, about their history horrors.
And most of my grandparents didn't ever talk to their own children.
My mother heard from some other family members, enough to recount visions of middle of the night raids on homes, being woken by severe banging on front door , sometimes with a male gun waving soldier, astride a horse, forcing themselves thru a doorway, into their dwelling.
" Get out get out right now! ".
Some family members escaped before the forced exits, or capture could happen, creeping at night, on foot, with wine fed babes in arms, older children walking, some valuables sewn into coat linings.
Making their way to closest border or a waterway. Paying some, bribing some, whatever necessary to get to a ship or train or wagon to eventually leave Eastern Europe.
To yet another ship, across the vast Atlantic ocean, to Ellis Island. Not a word of English amongst them.
Or a married young couple or single young adult male leaving home all on their own, the very same trip.
Eventually getting work in America, putting away every dime possible to sending to family, to bring yet another person over the forever ocean, one after the other.
Many parents never made it out, stayed behind to whatever fate, but their older children got out. Some history completely was lost of whatever happened to those parents.
I think of these things and the lack of anything close to such a massive life survival struggle here for myself , my age group and my children, my grandchildren and great-grandchildren today.
These stories need to be told and retold, forever . Mankind must have the tools to remember. Forged in stone as it were, repeated as a reminder.
Not to ever forget how fortunate some of us are in the present.
Eli Weisel Nobel Prize winner, Holocaust Survivor and writer:
..let us remember those who suffered and perished then, those who fell with weapons in their hands and those who died with prayers on their lips, all those who have no tombs: our heart remains their cemetery.
What was and remains clear to some of us, here and elsewhere, is the knowledge that if we forget them, we too shall be forgotten.
AND A FOREVER WISDOM:
Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. – George Santayana, The Life of Reason, 1905.
IN SUPPORT OF HOPE:
To remember means to lend an ethical dimension to all endeavors and aspirations. Elie Weisel
Six Holocaust survivors, in various subjects, have won a Nobel Prize.
Thanksgiving to me means supporting the sharing of vital true stories for the betterment of mankind, for posterity.
Thank you for this -- what an incredible brew of memory, inherited story, detective work, and philosophy. And this: "Thanksgiving to me means supporting the sharing of vital true stories for the betterment of mankind, for posterity." Yes.
The quest to find our roots in order to keep the thread between generations intact is strong in humans. We, a nation of immigrants, came here because we couldn’t stay where our roots were. We came because life there became unbearable. Leaving breaks threads of continuity for geographic and emotional reasons.
But the heart warming feeling of finding bits of your family's thread are the proof that the connection matters. To get a name, sometimes a photo, gives us a terrific surge of all the positive brain chemicals—it rewards you. Family and continuity are worth some superficial friction. Politics will never care about you or miss you. You are not an island.
Thomas Flanagan's historical novel The Year of the French is exceptional. The title refers to the year 1798, when the French revolutionary government landed 1000 troops in County Mayo to support indigenous Irish rebels, with the objective of overthrowing British rule in Ireland. I reviewed the book here:
I absolutely love Thomas Flanagan! I think my favorite is Tenants of Time. I read that and Year of the French on two different summers in Ireland, during which I spent a great deal of time walking around remote forgotten lanes in Donegal that haven't changed in forever. It was like being in the landscape of the novels. Incredibly rich. Looking forward to checking out your review and listening to the song. Thank you!
I agree with Richard Rohr that we are "ritually starved." And I think I know why.
As I see it, we've entered a period in which the old common American values have been challenged, denounced and denigrated.
We, as a nation, are divided by 2 sets of mutually exclusive values: traditional values versus values that are categorically opposed to traditional values.
This is the horror of the dichotomy: there is no in-between, no possibility for negotiation.
It's difficult to come to the table and talk amicably with people who start from a different premise of what "good" and "evil" are and and what "right" and "wrong" are.
When you understand that your "good and right" is their evil, and their "good and right" is your evil, it's difficult to have anything other than what I call a "wooden conversation" — one where (at best) both sides are walking on egg shells to avoid offense and thereby create a heated, very contentious debate.
Given where we are as a nation, it's exceptionally hard for both sides to sit down at a table, gaze at a face across from them and know that that person holds your beliefs in contempt, without you yourself being resentful.
If I'm right that both sides feel as I've described, it is little wonder that wel have little enthusiasm for celebrating a common ritual.
How can we not be "ritually starved," if our rituals celebrate opposite, mutually exclusive, value systems?
"The horror of the dichotomy": that's it. When we get trapped in it, everything ends – relationships, communities, the health of societies. Thank you for this.
An album you might like: Tom Russell's 'The Man From God Knows Where,' which is based on the histories of his own Irish and Norwegian ancestors. One of the songs, 'Mary Clare Malloy', tells of a 'picture bride' and her arrival at Ellis Island:
Whew, what a fabulous Thanksgiving ( and every day) set of stories! I was on edge as I was reading them , wanting to know every morsel.
My immigrant Ukrainian ancesters on both sides have heartbreaking stories being literally thrown out of their homes (with loss of all belongings) coupled with fear of death, army conscription or essentially work concentration camps in Siberia. The 1880's. Known as a Russian pogrom.
They never ever said one word, these my grandparents, to any of us grandchildren, about their history horrors.
And most of my grandparents didn't ever talk to their own children.
My mother heard from some other family members, enough to recount visions of middle of the night raids on homes, being woken by severe banging on front door , sometimes with a male gun waving soldier, astride a horse, forcing themselves thru a doorway, into their dwelling.
" Get out get out right now! ".
Some family members escaped before the forced exits, or capture could happen, creeping at night, on foot, with wine fed babes in arms, older children walking, some valuables sewn into coat linings.
Making their way to closest border or a waterway. Paying some, bribing some, whatever necessary to get to a ship or train or wagon to eventually leave Eastern Europe.
To yet another ship, across the vast Atlantic ocean, to Ellis Island. Not a word of English amongst them.
Or a married young couple or single young adult male leaving home all on their own, the very same trip.
Eventually getting work in America, putting away every dime possible to sending to family, to bring yet another person over the forever ocean, one after the other.
Many parents never made it out, stayed behind to whatever fate, but their older children got out. Some history completely was lost of whatever happened to those parents.
I think of these things and the lack of anything close to such a massive life survival struggle here for myself , my age group and my children, my grandchildren and great-grandchildren today.
These stories need to be told and retold, forever . Mankind must have the tools to remember. Forged in stone as it were, repeated as a reminder.
Not to ever forget how fortunate some of us are in the present.
Eli Weisel Nobel Prize winner, Holocaust Survivor and writer:
..let us remember those who suffered and perished then, those who fell with weapons in their hands and those who died with prayers on their lips, all those who have no tombs: our heart remains their cemetery.
What was and remains clear to some of us, here and elsewhere, is the knowledge that if we forget them, we too shall be forgotten.
AND A FOREVER WISDOM:
Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. – George Santayana, The Life of Reason, 1905.
IN SUPPORT OF HOPE:
To remember means to lend an ethical dimension to all endeavors and aspirations. Elie Weisel
Six Holocaust survivors, in various subjects, have won a Nobel Prize.
Thanksgiving to me means supporting the sharing of vital true stories for the betterment of mankind, for posterity.
Thank you for this -- what an incredible brew of memory, inherited story, detective work, and philosophy. And this: "Thanksgiving to me means supporting the sharing of vital true stories for the betterment of mankind, for posterity." Yes.
The quest to find our roots in order to keep the thread between generations intact is strong in humans. We, a nation of immigrants, came here because we couldn’t stay where our roots were. We came because life there became unbearable. Leaving breaks threads of continuity for geographic and emotional reasons.
But the heart warming feeling of finding bits of your family's thread are the proof that the connection matters. To get a name, sometimes a photo, gives us a terrific surge of all the positive brain chemicals—it rewards you. Family and continuity are worth some superficial friction. Politics will never care about you or miss you. You are not an island.
Fabulous post!
Two more recommendations:
Thomas Flanagan's historical novel The Year of the French is exceptional. The title refers to the year 1798, when the French revolutionary government landed 1000 troops in County Mayo to support indigenous Irish rebels, with the objective of overthrowing British rule in Ireland. I reviewed the book here:
https://chicagoboyz.net/archives/70790.html
and a song about two brothers who immigrate from Ireland to America during the famine.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N2sgzWPpemA
I absolutely love Thomas Flanagan! I think my favorite is Tenants of Time. I read that and Year of the French on two different summers in Ireland, during which I spent a great deal of time walking around remote forgotten lanes in Donegal that haven't changed in forever. It was like being in the landscape of the novels. Incredibly rich. Looking forward to checking out your review and listening to the song. Thank you!
I love this post.
I agree with Richard Rohr that we are "ritually starved." And I think I know why.
As I see it, we've entered a period in which the old common American values have been challenged, denounced and denigrated.
We, as a nation, are divided by 2 sets of mutually exclusive values: traditional values versus values that are categorically opposed to traditional values.
This is the horror of the dichotomy: there is no in-between, no possibility for negotiation.
It's difficult to come to the table and talk amicably with people who start from a different premise of what "good" and "evil" are and and what "right" and "wrong" are.
When you understand that your "good and right" is their evil, and their "good and right" is your evil, it's difficult to have anything other than what I call a "wooden conversation" — one where (at best) both sides are walking on egg shells to avoid offense and thereby create a heated, very contentious debate.
Given where we are as a nation, it's exceptionally hard for both sides to sit down at a table, gaze at a face across from them and know that that person holds your beliefs in contempt, without you yourself being resentful.
If I'm right that both sides feel as I've described, it is little wonder that wel have little enthusiasm for celebrating a common ritual.
How can we not be "ritually starved," if our rituals celebrate opposite, mutually exclusive, value systems?
"The horror of the dichotomy": that's it. When we get trapped in it, everything ends – relationships, communities, the health of societies. Thank you for this.
An album you might like: Tom Russell's 'The Man From God Knows Where,' which is based on the histories of his own Irish and Norwegian ancestors. One of the songs, 'Mary Clare Malloy', tells of a 'picture bride' and her arrival at Ellis Island:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6N-NGz7AyU0
Awesome! Thank you for sharing that – can’t wait to check it out. Happy Thanksgiving!
Beautifully written, Erin. Happy Thanksgiving!
Thank you, Mukul! Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!