I’d like to thank the Momocrats for creating a meme that didn’t involve random facts, that does involve giving bullies a smack down and affords me the perfect lead in to tell you about the story of my maiden name – which is, in fact, Rosenblum.
Look here is my dad, Carl:
Somehow he manages to look just like a New York Jew riding the subway even when surrounded by his grandchildren in my suburban living room. He’s really from Philly, though.
Until 1996, my last name was Rosenblum. I grew up on the upper west side of Manhattan with that name. The only thing remotely remarkable about that was that my dad was the minister of the mid-sized Presbyterian church on the corner. As far as I could tell this bothered neither the congregants, my schoolmates, nor the rabbi who lived in our apartment building. It did make for a rather long story. Most people didn’t ask and if they did, there was really no short version to tell, so they got the long version.
My father’s father was a Rosenblum, both of his parents were Jews. His name was Louis and he married a lapsed Irish Catholic, Mary. They had 5 children in a Philly suburb and my dad was the oldest. Somewhere along the line – funny that – a pastor in the neighborhood came to the house, because my father’s younger brother had showed up at Sunday school with a friend (probably for a prize, teachers are not above bribery). Anyway, a boy with the last name Rosenblum had showed up at Sunday, so the pastor went to the house – not sure why, to see what was up? to smooth any potentially ruffled fathers? In any case it must have been the very early 50s in suburban Philly, because my grandmother, apparently, had not the slightest idea that Jimmy had gone to church. I don’t suppose she would have cared much. As a family, they went neither to church nor synagogue. They weren’t practicing anything, so if Jimmy wanted a Sunday School prize, no harm no foul.
An aside here, I wish I could so blithely loose track of my children and assume if they showed up for supper, they were fine. This is perhaps the only thing in the whole world that makes me nostalgic. I am not nostalgic by nature, but this one thing gets me every time. Call me crazy, but I am a mother of three boys in the suburbs.
In any case, the Irish looking suburban mommy and the neighborhood pastor had a funny exchange that resulted in him leading an Old Testament bible study in their home. Old Testament, because Mary had said they were Jewish. So, some neighbors came, I think, and the upshot is that some people in that household became Christians. Mary was one of them. She was neither as non-practicing nor as Jewish as she claimed. Something or someone was compelling to her about the Christian faith and she raised her kids from that point on as Christians. With Louis’ ornery personality, it is possible any complaints he had about God, the pastor, the church and everything else just got jumbled into the mix about complaints about the government and the prices of groceries going up. My dad tells me Louis did get baptized at one point. Mary could be really quite persistent, or something.
Both shiksas in the family did a great job keeping our Jewish heritage as part of life. Louis’ sister got my mother Jewish cooking lessons as a gift. We always knew our story, we knew our holidays, our wonderful, wonderful Jewish foods. My mother had a gift for making it fun and our Rosenblum heritage was very real to us. We moved to New York when I was a young child and everything about this mixed up story just jumbled into the breathing, beating creation that is New York. It made sense there.
My oldest child’s first name is Isaac. He is not a Rosenblum – except for all the ways that he is a Rosenblum – brainy, wordy, funny, quirky and some crazy mix of introverted and extroverted. He does not look like a Jew the way my father does. The way I sometimes do. But Isaac is his name and it means “he laughs,” which he does. When he was four, we took his then very baby brother on a stroll in a neighboring town that we adore. It has a wonderful old time town center with sidewalks and shops. It was a 5 minute drive and a world away from life on a boarding school campus. This town has a greater percentage of Jews than some surrounding neighborhoods. It is perhaps one of the many things I like about it – one of the tiniest little ways this city girl gets her New York fix without the traffic.
Making our stroller encumbered way into the Starbucks I was stopped by quite an elderly woman who admired my kiddos and asked their names. I indicated Isaac and she pounced.
“Are you Jewish?”
I knew in an instant there was no good answer – that I had about a one in a million chance of getting out of this gracefully. Quickly I assessed my options. A “yes” would be a quick “lie” and hopefully get us out. On the other hand, it could precipiate questions of our faith, practice and synagogue -which we don’t have. A “no” could go just a badly and felt just as false. Isaac is a semitic name.
I went for the impossible. A quick version of something that can only be a long story. A story of a journey of faith and family, choices and connection, community and isolation. There is no short version, but I gave it a whirl:
“On my dad’s side, ” I smiled.
Whiplash is what came next. Standing there on a sunny day, stroller in hand, 4 year old tugging on my arm towards cookies, in a small town I love, amidst the outdoor tables of the starbucks, I got smacked.
“What, are you too ashamed to admit it, you Jewish bitch?”
Everyone looked up. My kids went silent. I swallowed hard and came out swinging.
“Pardon me, I am ashamed of nothing. I told you the truth. If you want to talk about shame, you should be ashamed for speaking to me that way in front of my children.”
Shaking, I made my way in to the Starbucks. The people at the cafe tables looked away. I rehearsed it in my mind. Could I have done something different to elicit a different response? Was she Jewish and took offense at my distancing myself? Was she a bigot and really thought that way about people? I mindlessly handed over the cookie to Isaac. He seemed relatively oblivious. I decided to not. go. there. if I could help it. But I hated knowing that ugliness had touched him – and the baby too, innocently sucking on his passy, begging for cookie crumbs. How sad, how tragically sad. Will they have to keep explaining as they grow old?
To wrap this up, we left the Starbucks 10 minutes later. I wanted to keep strolling. Isaac was happy to eat his cookie on the go. The woman was standing on the street. So old, a little stopped, shorter than my 5 feet, 3 inches. She looked ashamed.
“I am sorry, m’am. I am.”
I breathed deep and thought of the faiths I inherited, of the the forgiveness central to both. Some blood must be spilled for it to happen – a lamb’s or a Messiah’s – and on that day, to some extent she was offering hers. She had stood and waited at the outdoor cafe with people staring at her. Someone always pays with forgiveness. To forgive someone, I must pay too. She offered up her apology. In righteousness, I could have given further vent to my anger, demanded explanations, or more. It did hurt a bit to not pick that road on that day. It cost me a little something. I held tight to both faiths and offered what I could in the way of absolution.
“I appreciate your apology,” knowing the rest of forgiveness could come later, taking hold that of the fact that I had not caused this, but I could help heal it. In a world where no one has time to stop, the long story must get told, even if it is uncomfortable, politically incorrect and has no ending yet.
That story made my stomach hurt. I’m so sorry that happened..
That story made my stomach hurt. I’m so sorry that happened..
This is powerful writing, Karen.
This is powerful writing, Karen.
I’m a PK, too! :)And this story… the ending… is so, so beautifully put. forgiveness. beautiful.
I’m a PK, too! :)And this story… the ending… is so, so beautifully put. forgiveness. beautiful.
My mouth hung open when I read what the woman said to you. I’m still feeling a bit sick.It doesn’t make anything right, but it took a lot of courage for her to apologize. And also for you to respond with kindness.
My mouth hung open when I read what the woman said to you. I’m still feeling a bit sick.It doesn’t make anything right, but it took a lot of courage for her to apologize. And also for you to respond with kindness.
thank you for sharing your story. absolutely heartbreaking and beautiful.
thank you for sharing your story. absolutely heartbreaking and beautiful.
Wow. Just … gosh. I can’t help wonder what her story was.But I heard yours, and I am so impressed by your spirit, Jewish and Christian alike.
Wow. Just … gosh. I can’t help wonder what her story was.But I heard yours, and I am so impressed by your spirit, Jewish and Christian alike.
Wow, I’m stunned. My husband could have given the same answer as you and received the same treatment (his dad was Jewish, but not his mom), as could my daughters. To think people still behave in such a way today is sad. I’m glad she apologized, but I wonder what in the world was running through her head?
Wow, I’m stunned. My husband could have given the same answer as you and received the same treatment (his dad was Jewish, but not his mom), as could my daughters. To think people still behave in such a way today is sad. I’m glad she apologized, but I wonder what in the world was running through her head?
Very, very powerful. Sometimes it is hard to believe the stories we own. Our real life stories.You handled yourself beautifully. And I have no doubt, some sort of healing, or transformation, began that day.
Very, very powerful. Sometimes it is hard to believe the stories we own. Our real life stories.You handled yourself beautifully. And I have no doubt, some sort of healing, or transformation, began that day.
That was beautiful. The poignancy of the comments were fantastic and placed me right there next to you and the boys.First, touche for your initial response. I mean, I am still learning the finer points of defending my children and not allowing them to take beatings from this world. You were appropriate and began the process within that woman that lead to the guilt she needed to feel over what she said, and hopefully what was underneath her comment.Second, Thanks for giving me more perspective on H. This post really has filled in a lot about this aspect of your lives. I will be following up with more questions though.Finally, thanks for sharing this story. It is these interchanges that form us, that change us. When faced with raw hurt and pain, we decide what we will do with the fallout.I am proud to be your brother.
That was beautiful. The poignancy of the comments were fantastic and placed me right there next to you and the boys.First, touche for your initial response. I mean, I am still learning the finer points of defending my children and not allowing them to take beatings from this world. You were appropriate and began the process within that woman that lead to the guilt she needed to feel over what she said, and hopefully what was underneath her comment.Second, Thanks for giving me more perspective on H. This post really has filled in a lot about this aspect of your lives. I will be following up with more questions though.Finally, thanks for sharing this story. It is these interchanges that form us, that change us. When faced with raw hurt and pain, we decide what we will do with the fallout.I am proud to be your brother.
This was a great post, Karen. I am still stung by that woman’s words and I read this post over an hour ago.
This was a great post, Karen. I am still stung by that woman’s words and I read this post over an hour ago.
I agree – this is beautiful & powerful writing. But more to the point, your masterful and dignified response in protection of your children was both appropriate and full of intention. Your response to her apology was full of grace. I wish you and your family blessings.
I agree – this is beautiful & powerful writing. But more to the point, your masterful and dignified response in protection of your children was both appropriate and full of intention. Your response to her apology was full of grace. I wish you and your family blessings.
I’ve come back ten times this week (no exaggeration!) to read this, and I finally finished. Wow. Shocking…true…I’m impressed with how well and quickly you responded. When I teach my Diversity course, I’m always amazed at the things my students share that people have said or done to them…
I’ve come back ten times this week (no exaggeration!) to read this, and I finally finished. Wow. Shocking…true…I’m impressed with how well and quickly you responded. When I teach my Diversity course, I’m always amazed at the things my students share that people have said or done to them…
Wow. Just wow.You handled yourself with dignity and generosity of spirit. No surprise there.Wow.
Wow. Just wow.You handled yourself with dignity and generosity of spirit. No surprise there.Wow.