Telling it like it is
On Sunday, I found myself tidying my kitchen like it was the most important thing in the world. I had just listened to another round of the horribles coming out of Washington, and I needed to assert control over one tiny piece of the universe, to make something pretty amidst this ugliness and chaos. What do you do when your nation is crumbling before your eyes? What do you do when you are willing to DO something – anything! – but those actions elude you? I live in Oregon where my US Senators, Wyden and Merkley, reflect my values and concerns. Putting a sign in my yard will only get nods from neighbors who already agree. And, frankly, I hate participating on FB given Meta’s stomach-churning subservience to Trump. I feel powerless, and I’m guessing I am not alone. I am not entirely without hope but I’d be lying if I didn’t confess that I am scared – which is exactly what Trump wants.
The fear is ironic in that this month also marks one year since my book, In the Wake of Madness: My Family’s Escape from the Nazis, was published. The year has been deeply gratifying as I have met so many readers who deeply appreciate the parallels between the 1930s and the time in which we find ourselves immersed. Like my parents’ generation, I just did not expect the “immersion” to be so swift. Clearly, this is not the time to put one’s head in the sand, however tempting it might be. It will take effort to stay informed because Trump is good at this one thing – throwing so much at us that we don’t know which ball to catch.
Multiplying the irony is that I am finalizing plans to visit Germany, the birthplace of my parents and grandparents. It is my first trip there after years of swearing I would never set foot on such unholy ground. But my eyes were opened to the malleability of nations, and, sadly, I am seeing how quickly destruction is wrought hour by hour. In Germany, too, the far-right party, Alternative für Deutschland, is gaining momentum. The man in Frankfurt who helped me translate letters from my grandparents and his daughter in Berlin have delivered sobering advice about remaining inconspicuous. No Jewish star will hang around this neck. And any discussion of my book will only take place quietly within the walls of Jewish Museums. I don’t dare delay the trip another year. I am not getting younger, as my mother would say, and I fear that things may get worse before they get better. It was heartening to see 160,000 anti-AfD protesters take to the streets of Berlin, and I hope to be similarly encouraged by protests planned in the US on February 5. But is it enough? How do we stop this madness? I wish I had answers. Please forgive my ramblings. I welcome your ideas.