It will be 4 years ago this July that I first became aware that my father was experiencing mental confusion. We talked on the phone at length because I was writing that night’s KTK, and I required his utmost attention and time. I know he enjoyed spending the afternoon on the phone with me, and then later reading what came out of our discussion.
As I had been asking him many questions about his childhood and the era of the Civil Rights Movement, he communicated his wanting to say specific things but being unable to do so, a pattern he had recently recognized. Not wanting to face that my father, then 77, might be experiencing cognitive decline associated with aging or some other horrible disease that could take him away from us, I reassured him that he seemed as coherent and sharp as always.
Over time, he continued to feel there is something wrong with his functioning, particularly wanting to say something but not having the ability to speak, or he would hear himself say something different than what he was thinking. On our first trip to UCSF, we learned he had Apraxia, the dead give away being the rhythm of his speech.
From the time of that phone call on July 3, 2014 to the time we had a diagnosis for his condition, it had been two years.
He is 82 years old now. I’ve just finished talking to a visiting nurse who is assessing him for in home health care. He needs an occupational therapist to help him learn to navigate movement without falling (even though his Ferrari is always at his service). A social worker will also help my parents organize their daily activities so they can maintain their quality of life.
It was this discussion that prompted the images and memories of Pittsburgh to surface in my mind, bringing with it a nervous sort of heart ache.
Thirty four years ago and six months after I graduated High School, my mother and I flew from Pittsburgh International Airport to California returning twice for brief family events.
Over the years I had speculated there not being a reason to visit again. Yet I have longed to retrace my grandparents steps up and down Murray Ave and visit the places that hold the memories of my beginning…
the formation of our family…
and the grave stones of our decedents.
What would it be like to talk with them now knowing all that I know about their life history and the political and religious world in which they survived and lived? A flurry of thoughts rush through my mind. Images of their faces and hands... loving kindness as only grandparents can give.
The pull to live life moving backward in time is strong. But I have grieved; and now their place is among the voices that tie me to a long history of survival despite the numerous attempts to wipe Jews off the face of the Earth. Like so many Jews, they came to America to escape the hatred and killing of Jews in Russia and Eastern Europe.
In Squirrel Hill they lived among one of the largest and most vibrant of Jewish communities in the United States. They died having given their daughter and later their granddaughters, the opportunity to live in a land of democracy that promises we will not die because of our religion.
But over time... wars over oil... and 911 — preventing Anti Semitism became less a priority, which provided critical time and organizing power to anti Semitic groups in America and all over the world — and that was before Trump and his white nationalist bigot friends took over the Executive branch of the government.
I’m going to plan a return trip to Pittsburgh for later this summer. My nephew lives in Pittsburgh so I’ve recruited him to drive me around. I’m planning on visiting the cemetery at Shaare Torah. Apparently, I can find out where family members are buried at findagrave.com. I’m secretly hoping to visit my child hood home.
As you’ve read until here, you’ve probably noticed the Community Quilt below. Sara R sent it to me last week. You might not be able to see the Star of David quilted in the center of the heart, but it is there. The title ‘Canopy’ came from the image of looking upward from the tree’s base to the leaves of the trees above. She quilted shapes of leaves based upon the logo at Tree of Life Synagogue. The leaves are somewhat tear shaped.
You’ve reached the closing of this diary. I have to end it here because to delve into why Sara sent the quilt to me is something I’m not ready to write about yet. But you already know. And I’ll keep you apprised of the events in Pittsburgh that I hope will include Daily Kos readers who live there.
May their memories
be for a blessing
Joyce Fienberg
Yiddis Bultcha bat Aba Menachem
Jerry Rabinowitz
Yehudah Ben Yechezkel
David Rosenthal
Dovid Ben Eliezer
Cecil Rosenthal
Chaim Ben Eliezer
Irving Younger
Yitzchok Chaim ben Menachem
Dan Stein
Daniel Avrom ben Baruch
Rose Mallinger
Raizel bas Avrohom
Richard Gottfried
Yosef Ben Hyman
Bernice Simon
Beila Rochel bas Moshe
Sylvan Simon
Zalman Shachna Ben Menachem Mendel
Mel Wax
Moshe Gadol Ben Yosef
If you or another Daily Kos reader will be in Pittsburgh this coming July, please send me a Kosmail.