Holocaust remembrance day. My son, ten years old, in 5th grade, and his class, are responsible for the ceremony at school. We, the parents, were invited. When we get there, it’s clear the kids are highly excited, making sure their parents all came to see them. Standing there with the other parents, we all realized this was the first ceremony they were responsible for in school. Ever.
They were majestic, respectable, reading well, taking care of everything from the sound to all entrances, exits, acting, singing, and dancing. They’ve been rehearsing for a few weeks now. They did a great job. They can be proud of themselves as we are of them.
Think about it, though, the first ceremony you do in school is about the holocaust; they described the horrors of that time in the texts they read, in the scenes they acted, and in the movement of their dances. What a life!
Somewhere there, towards the end of the ceremony, the school principal spoke; she made a wish for us to be able to live in peace in our own country, never again be persecuted as a people. My mind went numb, thinking about the latest terror attacks against innocent civilians in the streets of Israel and their persecutors, themselves under an occupation that limits most of their human rights. What a life!
At the end of the ceremony, we sang the national hymn “Hatikva,” which speaks about this hope of being a free people in our country; then, tears came to my eyes.
A couple of days ago, I spoke about artistic integrity, but what about my integrity towards my kids as a mom? I gave birth to them, knowing what they were up against. They did not. We grew up as if there was nothing else. Kids grow up like that.
They are only starting to realize the reality into which they were born. Would they choose it themselves if they could? Now that I have them, what is my responsibility in creating a different reality for them and their kids to live in?
I felt guilty, as I usually do, for not doing enough to change the situation, then thinking about the limited mom time I have, the daily practice I took upon myself, the thought of what to prepare for lunch for them when they come back home after this sad, sad day in school, and as my father calls it – my other commitments to humanity…
So here I am again, 3 hours late this time, writing today’s post. Not much else to say right now.
This was my storytelling practice of the day.
P.S. I decided I wanted to collect creative working mom’s photos with their kids, if you have any that you’d like to share (knowing that I may publish them one day, so they need names and credits for Photographers, free of rights), I’ll be much much obliged.