almost every time she visits
it's after labor day and she's wearing white. she has no idea that there are rules.
on a grey tuesday, we go to the museum of tolerance
this was her only real goal for her visit- the only place she knew she wanted to go
fifteen minutes into the tour, she leans over to me
"what does antisemitism mean?" she asks
the part of me that, three years ago, would have judged her so harshly for being so out of touch with the world- for her inexperience- would have been so embarrassed about her ignorance-
now burst at the seams with a sort of compassion
that is new
Her voice was so curious. So genuine in her desire to understand. So innocent.
She's aging. We both know. She says. I watch.
She is slower to react. Slower to acclimate to her surroundings. Slower to recover from a coughing fit.
And also
Slower to judge. Slower to snap.
We are resting this week. Together. Resting our eyes like seniors in a home. Resting our minds from the racing outside. Resting our hearts from having to say anything too deep or too serious. We are just being together in a way that feels more together than it's been in many years.
"what do you want to eat tonight?" she asks
"i don't know, something light."
"ok, let's get chinese food."
and she believes, truly, that chinese is a light dinner option.
"because it goes right through you," she says. and i just laugh and laugh and love her despite and love her because.
We see the world in two different directions. I can laugh now.
we are listening to a holocaust survivor (her reason)
and she is nodding off in the seat beside me. fighting it, but still
and he is happy as a lark- wearing orange argyle socks and a page-boy cap-
talking about seeing babies thrown up in the air and shot- being found out because a woman
he was hiding with had a big butt that wouldn't fit through a wall- cracking jokes that no one but me would chuckle out loud at- everyone so somber- he had survived and he could laugh-
how he'd gone from hiding to working the German Underground- layers of identity- nearly killed four times
stranger than fiction, this life
moved to America and offered his hand in marriage to a woman
if her father would give him a free pastrami sandwich
and she sat behind me, helping him finish his sentences
repeating questions when his hearing failed
his story so carefully preserved along side hers
in pictures
and memory
and the telling
and retelling
one survivor's lot in life
so many lives
so much death and
so much living
my mom comes out from showering now
"did you understand everything we heard today?"
...
"why did they hate the Jews so much?"
she's still thinking about it. she's still trying to make sense of it.
and i am too- and i am humbled-
i am a daughter turned mother- student turned teacher
with so much to learn
about love and compassion
and living
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174555
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