Dzień Dobry

I am convinced that there is never going be a day when I don't miss Poland. It's an infatuation, admiration, and passion that I feel for this country. To say it bluntly: I Love Poland.






Things I Love (and miss) About Poland:

* The History
* The Language
* The Currency (Zloty)--wayyyy more cool than the Dollar or Euro
* The overly nice Polish citizens who would try their best to understand my broken Polish or English. And I especially miss the kind souls who would throw in the towel and speak French.
* The Food
* Krakow, Lodz, Warsaw and Zakopane.

I miss the laugh or smirk that a person would develop on their face when I would say: "Dzień dobry" (good morning/ good afternoon), “Przepraszam”(Excuse me), or “Dziękuję” (Thank you). All words in Polish sound NOTHING like they're spelled, By. The. Way.

"Dzień dobry" = Jin Do-bray
"Prezepraszam" = Pres-hum
“Dziękuję” = Jing-qui-ya

Today I am missing something completely out of the ordinary- I am missing Drozdrowka Z Makiem.

"What's that you say?"

Here it is:

Mmmmmmmmmm.....

It's a deliciously good, hot and sticky, straight from the oven of heaven: Amazing Polish poppy-seed roll.

I Love Poland.

God Bless 'Em.

....and their Żywiec Beer...

Life Exists After College?! Get Outta Town!!

I know, I know. It's been waaaaay too long since my last post, I apologize. However, after 5 years I finally graduated with my undergrad.

GRADUATED. COLLEGE. WITH HONORS.


Anywho... I'm going to be making a couple changes to this blog in the next week..

So, for today, I'm leaving you with one of my favorite quotes for y'all to ponder:

"Life's most persistent and urgent question is, 'What are you doing for others?'"
-- MLK Jr.

A Small Spiel on speaking Yiddish

Last night I read (yet again), one of my all-time favorite books- Born to Kvetch by Michael Wex. If you haven't read it, you should.

Take my word on it.

So, because of that book. Or, because it's Monday. Or, because I like to educate, I decided to list a few (18 to be specific) Yiddish words for one and all to learn.

Let's begin:

1.BUPKES
Not a word for polite company. Bubkes or bobkes may be related to the Polish word for “beans”, but it really means “goat droppings” or “horse droppings.” It’s often used by American Jews for trivial, worthless, or a ridiculously small amount. After all the work I did, I got bupkes!

2.CHUTZPAH
Nerve, extreme arrogance, brazen presumption. In English, chutzpah often implies courage or confidence, but among Yiddish speakers, it is not a compliment.

3.FEY!
An expression of disgust or disapproval, representative of the sound of spitting.

4.GOY
A non-Jew--a.k.a. A Gentile. In Hebrew one Gentile is a goy, many Gentiles are goyim, the non-Jewish world in general is the goyim. Goyish is the adjective form. Putting mayonnaise on a pastrami sandwich is goyish.

5.KVETCH a.k.a. Jules' Favorite Yiddish Word
In popular English, kvetch means: to complain, whine or fret. In Yiddish, however, kvetch literally means to press or squeeze, like a wrong-sized shoe.

6.MAVEN
Pronounced meyven. A maven usually refers to an expert,(often used sarcastically).

7.MAZAL TOV
A saying of a joyous occasion. i.e.: birthdays, bar or bat mitzvah, weddings, etc..
Actually, mazal in Biblical and Talmudic times meant a planet or constellation of the zodiac. The term "mazal" acquired the connotation of fate or fortune. Mazal tov thus literally meant, "may you stand under a good constellation."

See? You learn something new everyday on this blog. Don't tell me you knew Mazal Tov referred to planets.

8.MENTSH
An honorable, decent, authentic person. A man, woman or child who gives help when help is needed.

9.MISHEGAS
Insanity or craziness. A meshugener is a crazy man.

10.MISHPOCHEH
It means family, as in Relax, you’re mishpocheh.

11.NOSH
To nibble- a light snack. But, you won’t be light if you don’t stop noshing.

12.OY YEY/ OY GEVALT
An exclamation of dismay, grief, or exasperation. The phrase oy vey iz mir translates to Oh, woe is me. Oy gevalt is similar to oy vey, but expresses fear, shock or amazement. If you think you might get hit by a car, this expression would be appropriate.

13.PLOTZ
Literally means to explode(from) aggravation. Example: Well, don’t plotz! Similar to Don’t have a cow! Also could be used as, Oy, am I tired, I just ran the four-minute mile. I could just plotz. That is, to collapse.

14.SHLEMIEL
This could be a clumsy or inept person. Similar to a klutz (also a Yiddish word).

15.SCHMUCK
Often used as an insulting word. Example: What a schmuck! Don't say this in front of your grandmother... it literally refers to a part of the male anatomy.

16.SPIEL
A long, involved sales pitch, as in, I had to listen to his whole spiel before I found out what he really wanted.From the German word for play.

17.SHTIK
Something you’re known for doing. Like, an entertainer’s routine, an actor’s bit, stage business; a gimmick often done to draw attention to yourself.

18.TUCHES
Refers to one's rear end, bottom, backside, or buttocks. In proper Yiddish, it’s spelled tuchis or tuches or tokhis, and was the origin of the American slang word, tush.

Now, get out there and use some Yiddish! Oh, and don't forget to pick up this :

Like, how Jewish are you??

I'm Tired. Actually I'm really, really Tired.

One word can describe the week I've had: LONG.

On Monday I drove to the Cities to spend the night at my parents'. I had to be at the airport at 4 am on Tuesday for a day-trip to DC. My parents live about 15 minutes from the airport and I live 2 hours away. Spending Monday night at my folks allowed me to get two more hours of (much needed) sleep...

As I entered my parent's home I noticed a note on the counter written by The Dutchmen:

water turned off in laundry room.

At this point, it dawned on me that Susie Q and The Dutchmen were on Holiday for 10 days in Texas, visiting Divine Miss M and Doc Holiday...

After turning on the heat (which too, had been turned off), I called The Dutchmen to discuss the fact that I was in a house with no running water. The Dutchmen did his best to explain to me how a socket wrench works. Believe you me, it's tougher than it looks. But I pulled it off thanks to The Dutchmen's step-by-step instructions and was able to take a shower before getting a few hours of sleep.

I woke up at 2 am and was at the Humphrey Terminal by 3:30. After spending the day in DC at USHMM, being awake for 22 hours--It was a very Long, Long day. But any amount of sleep deprivation is worth it (to visit USHMM) in my book.

Then, a couple days ago my advisor invited me to share in Shabbat dinner with his family. I jumped at the opportunity to do so. I hadn't seen my advisor/mentor in a couple months as he is on sabbatical this semester.

Friday afternoon and evening I was able to talk and catch-up with my advisor, The Rebel Rabbi about school, life, my future, jobs, etc... The good conversation was followed by an amazing Shabbat dinner. Seriously, Amazing does not do justice to the meal I had last night.

I stayed until around 8 pm and then drove back up to Central MN. I was tired while driving home. Tired yet content. It had been a very good day.


I had to stop at my apartment before going over to Wyatt Earp's house- where I'm house/dog sitting for the next two weeks.

I entered the door to my building, walked up the stairs, turned my key and opened my door. In the entry/hall way into my apartment I have a plaque hanging on the wall. I just bought it on Tuesday at USHMM. It says,

Blessed are you in coming in,

on one side and

Blessed are you going out.

on the other side. In the middle of the plaque there is Hebrew writing.

As I was just about to close the door behind me, I heard a voice walk by that is all too familiar.

It was the voice of a young punk who lives down the hall from me. He was walking by my door and saw the plaque on my wall.

I know this young man in the very loosest sense of the word. He likes to stand outside our building. A lot. If I happen to be letting my dog out (which I often do while I'm outside), he'll usually strike up a small conversation with me.

But nothing, I mean nothing could have prepared me for what came out of this punk's mouth.

Scenario:

Julie has unlocked her apartment door and is walking in and taking off her shoes. She was holding her door open a bit, as she took her socks off.

A young man walks by... pauses and turns around and says in a very loud voice, "Hey. Like, how Jewish are you"?

Julie: "Beg your pardon"?

Punk: "I see that Jewish thingy on your wall". He was pointing his finger at my wall.

Julie: "Oh." I didn't want to pursue this convo any further. I was tired and had only stopped home for a minute or two. I smiled shrugged my shoulders as if to say I dunno, and started to shut my door.

Again, the Punk repeats: " So like, how Jewish are you"?

Hold your Horses. Did this kid actually ask HOW Jewish I am? He didn't ask if I was Jewish. He assumed I was from a plaque. I promise you, dear readers, I tried really hard to maintain my composure as I swung open my apartment door to educate this punk on a thing or two.

I've been trying to keep my cool these days when religion comes up... but this, this put me over the edge.

I replied with the first thing that came to my (exhausted) mind:

Julie: "How Catholic are you"? I had no idea if this punk-kid was actually Catholic, but that's a well educated guess, in Central Mn.

Punk: "What? Um..I guess I'm... oh, wait.... that's right, Jewish is a religion".

Julie: "Judaism is a religion". A person who practices Judaism is Jewish.

Punk: "I always forget that, that Jewish is,... like, yaw know, not a.... a... an ethnicity. Ya know like how Muslims' is........"


Thought in my head:

DON'T DO IT JULIE! BITE YOUR TONGUE! FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING, BITE YOUR TONGUE!!

Second thought in my head:

Aw, Screw it. This kid needed a good lesson in religion and ethnicity (not to mention grammar).

I was now leaning diagonally in my door way, arms crossed, legs crossed, my lips were pursed with anger. My body language alone should have told this punk to back down and lay off the questions.

With my forehead and eyebrows scrunched, I said to the punk, "Huh. So like, what country do the Muslim's come from?"

No lie, it took the punk about 1 second to reply with, "Africa."

My point was proven. The punk was/is an imbecile.

I was shaking my head with disbelief. In a very sarcastic tone I said: "Huh uh. Africa is a continent. The entire population on the continent of Africa are not Muslim."

Punk: "Well, you know what I mean. They're like, over there." He gestured with his hands. "Like, by Africa."

Julie: "Are you referring to the Middle East"?

Punk: "Yea, yea! The Middle East! I forget it's name".

My cheeks were the color of a fire engine. My eyes were glaring. My eyebrows and forehead were scrunched--This punk was making the crows feet around my eyes double by the second. His grammar alone made me want to whack some sense into him!

I was staring at the ground, rubbing my forehead with my hand while I thought about what I was going to say to the punk to make him understand the difference between religion/race/ethnicity.

It was late. I was tired. I started to mumble... "Ya know, I gotta get going". I pointed inside my apartment. "But you, you should really buy a ma... Hold on. Wait! Stay right there. Don't move! I'll be right back!" I ran to my living room wall. I looked over all my maps. After deciding which one I could do without I tore (one) of the three world maps I own off my wall. I walked back to my door while rolling the map up in my hands. "Here," I handed him the rolled map. "Study it. Keep it. When you find the country called Muslim or Jewish, let me know."

The punk, who now had a scrunched face of his own, replied with "Um. Thanks."

Julie: "Seriously. S-t-u-d-y IT."

And with that, I shut the door to my apartment.

Maybe with the help of a map, the punk will be able to realize the difference between religion/race/ethnicity. If not through my map, then that punk needs to start wikipedia-ing in a big, bad way.

Either way, I'm sure the punk will want to talk about this topic (if/when) I run into him again.

I'm going to have to work on my patience until then. Patience is not one of my strongest virtues.

Maps and Blacklists

I'm about 80% positive that I have been blacklisted.

I honestly think that the government keeps tabs on yours truly. I have reasons to believe this. The fact that I always get asked to step aside by airport security for an extra check, is one of the many happenings that has led to my assumption that I am blacklisted. Also, I think it's because I'm not Jewish and majoring in Holocaust Studies. And I order a lot of books online. And maps. And I travel quite frequently.

Have you seen the maps I own?



another view:



Don't mind the Elvis posters and cardboard cut-out.

Maybe it's a little hard for you to see exactly which maps I have placed on the walls of my living room? I'll walk you through a couple of them.

Here is my most valuable map:



Please understand, none of my maps are valuable (money wise), per say. They all have a reason and purpose that relates to my education. Borders, countries, names, etc... are not the same as they were during WWII, so I refer to this map. a lot.

Here's the title and key:


Let's look at another one of Julie's Maps:



This is the small city of Oswiecim located in Poland. It commonly goes by the name the Nazi's called it: Auschwitz.

I have visited Oswiecim twice.



My first trip to this city lasted for 24 hours. Yes, dear readers Julie has slept in the town of Oswiecim/Auschwitz. Right here:



The Glob Hotel. Not Globe. Glob.

My first trip to Oswiecim was with Susie Q and The Dutchmen. The Dutchmen thought it would be a great idea to spend the night at The Glob (about a half mile from Auschwitz-Birkenau) the night before we were to tour the camps. I saw nothing wrong with his idea. However what he failed to mention prior to our arrival, was that The Glob Hotel is located right in front of the railroad tracks. Also, it is the only hotel in the city. You see, most people don't see the positive aspect of spending the night in a small deserted city which houses the remains of the largest mass killing center in Nazi occupied Poland.

Crazy.

Look again:


Railroad Tracks. While seemingly harmless in any other setting I can assure you, they are not as peaceful when you're staring out a hotel window in the city of Oswiecim/Auschwitz. Tracks that are still used in Poland. Tracks that have trains running on them all night long.

Freaky. I know.

You couldn't pay me to stay there again.

Recap:
I've spent the night is Oswiecim, I own multiple (educational) maps of concentration and death camps, and too many books to count, and (of course) DVD/documentaries that are Holocaust/WWII related.

Definitely Blacklisted.

Ummm, Excuse Me? Did You Just Compare Gettysburg to Auschwitz?

Yesterday was rough day. Well, it didn't start out rough; for a Monday it was actually going quite well.

I woke up at 6 am, finished reading a book while listening to Schubert. -- I have always been a Debbie-Downer when it comes to classical music. (I mean, Elvis was born for a reason!) However, I would like to thank one of my very best friends Lawyer Lacey; for bring me to my senses. You're right Lawyer; classical music does make great background music for reading.

At 1 pm I went into work early. I made a quick stop by the admissions office on my campus to pay a balance on my account.

Here is what started my rough day-

I walked into the Student Services office. I waited a couple minutes while the Man behind the counter finished up his phone call with his wife before offering to help me. (I can only assume was his wife). All I heard of the conversation was, "Mmmm.. hmmm. Mmm...hmmm. Honey, can I call yaw back in a bit? A student just walked in. Okay. Love you, too. Buh-bye."

The Man hung up the phone and asked what I needed.

Me: " Oh, I have an outstanding balance on my account. I was just wondering if I can pay that off?"

Man: "Sure. Can I get you're student ID?"

I rattled off my ID.....

Man: "Okey, dokey. Looks like you owe $698.27."

Me: "Yep".

I start writing out a check.

You need to know what I was wearing for this story to make any sense:

I was wearing a red zip-up sweatshirt that has the word POLSKA and the Polish flag on it. I bought it while studying abroad in Poland last spring. Under my zip-up (which was unzipped) was a red Hillel t-shirt with visible Hebrew letters across the front.

As I was standing there trying to write out six-hundred ninety....on the check, the man (out of no where, I'd like to add) pokes my sweatshirt, and says "Is that from Poland?!"

I was taken a little off guard by the fact that this guy had just poked my chest. I answered "Ah, yeah.."

My main concern was spelling all the numbers correctly on the check I was writing.

I didn't agg on this conversation. I just wanted to write the darn check and get outta there. But this man, obviously thought I was there to chat it up.

Man: "Did you go there with school?"

Me: "Yes"

Man: "Really? I have always wanted to go to Poland! If I was going to go to Europe, I'd want to see something like that! Ya know, out-of-the-norm."

Me: "......Oh...that's nice" I said, while pondering this man's enthusiasm about Poland.

I tore the check out of my checkbook and handed it to him.

Man: " So, I hear when you go there, you get to see the concentration camps?!"

Me: "Death Camp. Yes, they took us to Auschwitz." -- of course I didn't want to be all I'm a Holocaust Studies Student on this guy, but there are noted differences between concentration and death camps. I only corrected his assumption that I had seen a concentration camp while studying with our school.

I was waiting for him to print my receipt.

Then, I kid you not, the Man says: "I went to Gettysburg a few years ago. I bet seeing the concentration camp it's a lot like that."

Thoughts in my head:

WHAAAATTT!!! Dude, are you actually comparing GETTYSBURG to AUSCHWITZ?!? Breath. Breath. --Don't agg him on Jules. Grab the receipt and walk out.

Okay, I get the 'death' theme in both cases and how it makes one feel knowing they're standing where thousands or millions have died.

But, comparing the attempted extermination of European Jewry to a three-day battle during the Civil War? Really?

I too, have been to Gettysburg. And yes, it's an ery feeling being on the battleground. But it's not really comparable to seeing the crematoria at Auschwitz.

Just sayin'.

I was almost speechless.

Almost.

Me: "seeing a death camp is pretty different than seeing Gettysburg. But yes, they're both emotional places to visit."

I grabbed my receipt, thanked the Man and walked out of the office. I stopped to put the receipt in my wallet and thought about the conversation I just had.

Gettysburg=50,000 casualties.
Auschwitz= over four million deaths.
I had on a Polish sweatshirt and a Hebrew T-shirt.
The Civil War vs. The Holocaust.

The Man was at least twice my age. He is working as a secretary at a state university; I can probably assume hasn't studied world history in a while. Maybe I should have cut him a little more slack?

Still, he flabbergasted me.

I wish I would have gone back into the Student Services office and given that Man a history lesson or two on the differences between the Civil War, World War Two and The Holocaust.

I could have exited the Student Services Office quoting Clark Gable as Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind;

"Frankly My Dear, I Don't Give a Damn."

Well, I probably wouldn't have done the Rhett Butler impression. But it would have made me feel better.





It also might have made my day a little less rough.

Donnie Wahlberg. Celeb Nicknames. and Presidents.

It's Monday morning. I suppose you knew that already.

Today's post involves stories of Miss M, Donnie Wahlberg and Celeb Nicknames.


Let's start with a fun memory:

In the early 90's, I shared a bedroom with Miss M. Actually, we shared a bed.
Being that I have a certain tendency to talk in a "Chatty-Cathy-Julie" style; staying quiet at night was hard for this girl. Miss M would yell(usually more than once a night): "Mom, can you come in here and make Julie be quiet?!"
In which, Susie Q would would open our door and gently remind me that it was time to sleep.

That usually only kept me quiet for a couple of minutes.

Miss M had to find a solution on her own, heaven forbid her sleep be compromised by her punk kid sister.

Again people, let me remind you: it was the 90's.

Five letters: NKOTB.

Above our bed, Miss M had hung a NKOTB poster. Now, I love NKOTB as much as the next girl. But when I was 6 years old, Donnie Wahlberg was FRICKIN SCARY LOOKING.

So, to shut her kid sister up (kid sister with an impressive imagination, I'd like to add) Miss M would say in a 'gritted-teeth-tight-lipped' tone (to make her sister understand the severity):

" Julie! If you don't zip your lips Donnie is going to come out of that poster and eat you!!"

Okay. Again, I was 6 years old. Anyone remember what Donnie Wahlberg looked in 1991? Let me remind you:



Point of story: Unless you want to have nightmares of Donnie Wahlberg with a gotee, crazy side-burns, wearing a bandanna and has the eyes-of-the-devil as he's running after you in a forest while simultaneously attempting to bite you; shut up and go to bed.

Next topic for today: I have always loved, loved, LOVED celebs whose Hollywood nickname is their initials.

Examples:

JTT ( Jonathan Taylor-Thomas)


I don't care what year you were born; all girls of the 90's had a JTT crush at one point or another. Excuse me, did you actually think that we were watching Home Improvement because of Tim Allen. Please.

RDJ (Robert Downey, Jr.)

Noooooooooo, not this RDJ:


I'm talking about the sober RDJ. This Handsome RDJ:



Do you remember the film Only You? You shouldn't, it was a terrible film. However, if you haven't seen Charlie Barttlet, you're missing out.

SJP ( Sarah Jessica Parker)
Now, I like Sex in the City, but I first came to know SJP as 'Janey' in Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. Before she married Ferris Bueller:



and who could forget her side-kick, Lynne? Helen Hunt doesn't make the list of celebs with the best nick-names--but I'd hate for my readers to not know what Helen Hunt looked like in this 1984 flick:



No blog about celeb nicknames is complete with out these fine men:



JFK, RFK, and EMK. John Fitzgerald, Robert Francis, Edward Moore

and.... since were taking presidents:



FDR (Franklin Delano Roosevelt) ps-- I am not a fan of that guy.

and



LBJ (Lyndon Baines Johnson)


Here's a personal favorite:



MLK, Jr.


The next two pics involve men who are not known for their nicknames. However, this is my blog and I'm breaking the rules.

I love this picture of Theodore. I can't help but wonder what he's laughing at.



I'll end this post with a little something to make you smile on a Monday morning:

Life. Death. and the CDC

Dear Beloved Readers of My Whimsical Blog,

Most who come and visit this site are people I personally know or at least have met. We are probably friends, family, or acquaintances. However, I know for a fact that some people end up here by mere happenstance.

One might have googled the word Holocaust and unbeknownst; landed here at my quirky site. After reading the introduction: Life of a Holocaust Studies Student, I may have grabbed your attention for a moment or two.

After all, you're probably curious about the kind of a person who wants to study systematic mass murder? And furthermore, why would she blog about her experience?

I blog for basically one reason. Because I want to know exactly why it is that I am choosing the career that I feel has called my name for 17 years. I thought that by sorting through memories of my past (via a blog), I would some how find the answer that I not only want; but desperately desire.

You see, I haven't quite figured it all out yet. My life, that is.

Why is it that I feel the calling to educate others of an unfathomable historical act of monstrosity? Why didn't I pursue a happier occupation? You know, like, a career with rainbows, butterflies and dandelions? Say, an elementary school teacher?

I've pondered the question of why I do what I do for years. I've never been able to find an accurate answer. However, I think my studying, or (the extent to which I choose to study the Holocaust) has something to do with the fact that I haven't had any trepidation about death or dying-- That is, since I was about 14 years old.

This is not to say that I live a reckless, carefree (or do not appreciate) my life. On the contrary.

However, I do believe that our Maker is going to take each and every one of us Home when the time is right. The worrying about how, when, or where one's death will take place; is something I really can't relate to.

I have always viewed death as a part of living. I don't view death as terrifying or scary.

Death is unavoidable and will (someday) happen to everyone I know and love. Why spend the days that I am alive worrying about a fated circumstance? It just doesn't make sense in my eyes.

Don't take me wrong. This doesn't mean I don't feel human emotion in regards to death and dying.

Or, that the thought death has never crossed my mind.

Preferably, I would like to die in a situation that doesn't involve water. Drowning has always been a colossal fear of mine. (My parents put a large pool in our backyard when I was 7. This might have something to do with my drowning paranoia.)But, that's the dying part. Again, I don't see the hullabaloo of death.

Growing up, Susie Q used to (and still does) say to me and my siblings,

"Heaven is a dance floor".

(Those who know Susie Q, can tell you that to describe Susie as optimistic is an understatement of the century. My mother is the hap, hap, happiest person I know. She has been this way since I was a babe in arms).

Back to fearing death. If you think heaven is a dance floor, it makes fearing death kinda hard. I mean, who doesn't like to dance?

Other Causes of Death and Why I Dismiss Them:
Gun Shot? Well, there's a lot of crime out there. I cant say this is a positive 'no', because I do carry pepper spray for a reason.
Plane Crash? Based on the plane-crash to death ratio; I'd have to say no.
Fire? Again, the likelihood just isn't there.
Car Accident? Umm...this might actually be a possibility; there are some crazy driver's on the roads.
Heart/Health Problems? Well, heart disease does run in my family; so I cant rule this out completely.
Accidental Poisoning? I don't want to get all statistical on you, but according to the CDC only 27,000 people die from poisoning per year. Usually this happens to youngsters.
Falling? I hate heights. The thought of skydiving or bungee-jumping make my stomach churn. And again, the CDC claims that death by falling is most common in the elderly.

Yes. I'm nerdy and went to the CDC website.

By this point you're probably assuming that I have never experienced the death of a loved one.

I wish that was true.

This leaves me with a question that I don't know how to answer.

How is it possible that I can tolerate studying mass murder? Is there a reason I don't run in the opposite direction at the mere notion of death?

In all fairness,(and so you know), I would classify myself as a fairly overall happy person.

I am:
Not Depressed.
Have No Major Complaints about my life.
Have Great Friends.
Loving and Supportive Family.

So, why does a relatively happy person study death, you might ask?

I have no clue. But if someone out there knows the answer, by all means please share.

Is it because I view life differently than other's?

Or because I tend to be confident of my own mortality?

Could it be maybe, just maybe, that it takes a person such as I, who doesn't fear the unknown of an afterlife to tolerate the burden that comes with studying the Holocaust?

There is a moment when the burden of conscience (that comes with knowing what has happened and what continues to happen across the world) starts to take its toll on a person.

Believe you me.

All the Black-Eyed-Susans and fields full of dandelions can't make this girl forget that one and a half million Jewish children were murdered during the Holocaust.

Though hard to bear, I can handle the emotional baggage that is attached with my career choice. Personally, what I consider a more urgent matter, is how our world is permitting the reality of history to repeat itself.

Ignoring human-ignorance only allows narrow views to consume the minds of our youth. Young adults of today who are still cognitively processing their own conception of how the (present generation in power) regards the reminiscence of world events. This cognitive process of our youngsters is shaping the future leaders of tomorrow's world.

The actions our world makes today will predicate how succeeding generations will contemplate the importance of world issues.

Issues like, genocides. And the decision of when a Country or UN should be obligated to aid victims. Regardless of China's stance.

Just Sayin'.

Thoughts in Your Head: Wrap it up Jules, you're ranting.

So here it is: I want to know why I don't fear death. I have some inklings about my (lackadaisical view of death), but nothing that makes me 100% positive of why the thought of death doesn't scare the begeezers out of me.

Moreover, I need to know that the death of innocent victims will not go unaccounted in the hereafter. When innocent death becomes acknowledged, one would assume that(as human being to human being), we would all understand and value of life and end meaningless suffering.

That's all I have to say about that.

Love,
Julie



“The stupid neither forgive nor forget; the naive forgive and forget; the wise forgive but do not forget.” ~Thomas S. Szasz

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Friday's Word = Ambiguous.

FYI: Rant on Pauly Shore included.

Happy Weekend!

Today is, like, the best fake Holiday!

Last night as I was driving, I heard to most wonderful news. Today, March 10th is EMBRACE AND OWN YOUR MIDDLE NAME DAY!

Get Outta Town!

Middle names,(as many of you know) is a little bit of an obsession of mine. So, today's holiday, is like, the best fake holiday I've ever heard!

I plan on celebrating this fake holiday all day.
Nope, I'm not lying.

I know, you're probably thinking --

She's interested in Holocaust Studies and middle names?
Man, I hope she has a good therapist.

No, no...you see, my parents happened to give their children very original middle names. Mine is Cecilia. Miss M has a middle name so long and ancient that I still don't know how to spell it.

Cecilia is not only original and fun: I have a song- thanks to Simon and Garfunkel.

Cecilia also rolls of the tongue quite well...

Julie Cecilia Retka

I think it would sound a bit better if I had a British accent. Then again, everything sounds better with a British accent. Ooh.. or how 'bout an Aussie accent? Can you picture the Crocodile Hunter (of blessed memory) saying my name?

"Joulie Saysilya Ratka. Crikey! That's a great name, mate".

-- I love the Crocodile Hunter.

My cousin Megan, (Hi, Megs!) who lives in Sydney, gave me an Aussie dialect lesson while she was here on Holiday this winter. Aussie is pronounced Ozzie. No, no.. not Awwziee, as we Minnesotans would say "Ozzie Osborn". To Minnesota natives, Aussie is said like Oszie.


Susie Q also had her own version of saying my name when I was being a young cantankerous child:

Juuulllliiie CECILIA Reeettka

-- she would draw out my first name for 2 or 3 seconds followed by an emphasis on my middle name and then a (shorter) drawn last name. This was followed 99% of the time by "Wait Till Your Father Gets Home." Any child of the '80's knows what I'm talking about.


Over the years, a hobby of mine developed. I need to find out each person's middle name that I am friends with. I am more likely to remember one's middle name than their first. My memory is weird, as I've told you before

Most people are really nice about sharing their middle names.

The nice people are usually girls. No lie.

Boys on the other hand, seem to be much more insecure when asked about their middle name. I don't know why this is, when I figure it out I'll let you know.

I can usually pinpoint a boy's middle name with three questions.

1. What's your father's first name?
2. What's your grandfather's name?
3. What's your father's oldest brother's name?

In my years of investigative studies, I have found that one of these questions will lead to finding a boy's middle name about 75% of the time.

If I find out that your middle name is (in my eyes) cooler or more unique than your first-- I usually end up calling you by your middle name. For the rest of your life. Just ask my cousin Henry (his real first name is Matt), or my friend Jurgen (whose first name is Chris).

I could go on writing about middle names for hours. Seriously. So, I'll stop here today and continue my rant middle names a different day.

Now people, go out there and embrace your middle name today!

Who's Lookin' Classy, Now?

My new & improved blog!


Okay, you're probably not feeling as much love as I am, for the new look and style of my website. (julieretka.com)But, after slaving for hours trying to figure out how to work/run a blog. Alone. Sans blogspot. It's a work of magic (a miracle, as Susie Q would say) that I managed to pull this off.

Enjoy cruising through the new layout!

Movin' on Up

One morning last week, after reading a few of my favorite blogs while sipping my morning cup-o-joe and listening to SModcast, I had a moment of clarity.

I thought "Jules, you gotta build your own website."

Brilliant, right?

A website where I could have a different page for each of the topics I write about.

Pages Titled:

Julie's Random Thoughts and Rants

No, I'm not lying. I am a Holocaust Studies Student.

Tips and Tidbits for Future Students of Holocaust Studies.

Page three will definitely be my favorite. It would include tips like:

When in Barnes and Noble, respectfully standing in the WWII/Holocaust section, (AKA the only reason worth going to B&N in your mind.) DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT talk to anyone. If this means having to pretend you're deaf, so be it.

I've learned this lesson the hard way.

More than once.

Answering any question, weather it be from a B&N employee or the cute boy standing next to you in the 'military' section of WWII, will only end with you being humiliated. Take my word.

Scenario: You are in B&N. Standing in your favorite section, deep in a book that you want to buy (but since your a college student, you'll probably debate the price and end up writing down the title/author, go home and purchase it on Amazon for a quarter of the price. You know it's true.)

The Cute Boy is glancing in your direction. He notices you're already half way through the book you plan to buy *wink, wink*; a book entitled Rethinking the Holocaust. He moves a little closer to you and asks, "Are you a student at State?"

You: "Yea."

Cute Boy: "Really? What's your major?"

You: "Umm... it's a specialized history major."

Cute Boy: "I'm a history major too."

Thoughts in your head: "Duh, cute boy. Why else would you be in this section of the store? It can't be just to talk to me. After all, I have no make-up on and came from the gym." You flash a smile acknowledging the mutual area of study, and continue reading. Eyes in Book.

Cute boy: "So, what are you specializing in?"

RIGHT HERE. This is the reason you NEVER TALK TO ANYONE IN A BOOKSTORE.

You: "The Holocaust."

Cute Boy: Says nothing. He'll make a nodding notion with his head, which of course means he's thinking your a wacko. or Jewish. Either way, his mother wouldn't approve. Where I live, 99% of boys are German Catholic. He's probably picturing his grandmother rolling in her grave. He might stay in the WWII section for a bit longer or do a glance at the watch and make a gee, I gotta run facial expression.

During this time, unbeknownst to you your cheeks will be turning the shade of "Judy Garland Shoes RED". This happens as you try to find the sentence you were reading in the book your holding, before the Cute Boy started up a convo with you. Then the thought of how he'll re-tell this story to his friends; the story about a wacko girl at B&N who actually wants to specialize in the Holocaust will be told at his next house party.


See my point? Talking + Bookstore = humiliation.

I assure you, this whole situation is avoidable. I took two semesters of Sign Language in college, but for those of you who need to learn how to sign, "I'm deaf".

Here ya go:




Today's point: I'm a Holocaust Studies student; The Dutchmen knows more about the Internet and web building than me. So my brilliant build your own website, Jules! --Is something I probably should have spent more time researching. Between finding a host and a domain and all other terms and nonsense that I had no clue came with building a website... I may have bit off more than I can chew...
It might take a couple weeks before it's up and running, and I'll post the URL on here when it's ready. However, in the meantime I wont be posting very often. Thanks for your patience!

PS--I've been working on my photo shop skills. Here's a pic I took last summer:

Trial and Error: Assumptions about a Holocaust Studies Student

Everyone is raised with certain opinions or beliefs whether we like them or not. I know I am an opinionated person, but I hold true to my convictions in a confident manner. I’m not saying that all of my opinions are right...But they're mine.

Example:

If I see a Confederate flag plastered on the back of a truck, I don’t automatically assume that the owners of that truck are racist. I assume their uneducated. And Ignorant.

I’m just sayin’. That's honestly what I think.

Opinions and attitudes allow us to better understand one another. Usually.

In my case, the more people understand me the more flabbergasted they become.

Since this blog is about studying the Holocaust, one probably assumes that I inform or at least (admit) the specific details of my education when questioned.

Yeah, Not Really...

When questioned about my undergraduate major, my answer will differ from person to person depending on the date, the day, the person and the time. There is a reason for this.

My life moves at one speed. Fast.

I walk fast.

I talk fast.

I read fast.

I write fast(and not legibly.)

I think fast.

Fast, people. My life is fast.

Telling someone that I am a student of Holocaust studies, especially if they don’t know me, is always followed by at least three questions:

“What does one do with a Holocaust Studies degree?”

“What made you decide to study that?”

“Are you Jewish?”

These questions cannot be answered by one or even two sentences. I don't always have the time. Just answering whether or not I'm Jewish is at least a paragraph.

"Am I Jewish?"

"No, but I think that Jewish, Christian and Islamic faiths all share the same God. So, I believe in the Jewish faith, but no, I don't practice Judaism." ....

One question leads to two questions...

"You believe in Judaism, but wait, you're not Jewish?" You see the pattern developing.

Curiosity killed the Cat, people.

After I have answered two or more questions about my academic choices, a person starts to get uncomfortable.

The shifting begins. The facial gestures are unconsciously appearing. It's started.They're making assumptions. They're opinions are changing.

Is she crazy? No.

Is she lucid? Yes. That rules out insanity.

Is she a neo-Nazi? No.

Maybe I heard her wrong. She did say Holocaust Studies, right? Yes.

Not crazy... not insane...not anti-Semitic....


Yep. That's it. She is crazy. --
These are the questions I assume (by interpreting the facial expressions)that people ask themselves while I'm giving them a run-down on why I am a Holocaust Studies student.


I have learned through trial and error, that sometimes it's just easier to answer college related questions with: "I'm a 'history major'".

To me, history major is a (true) and fast answer. I have answered the question with four words and, it's not technically a lie. It also avoids the customary chain of questions.

Big Words- Not a fan.

You know what's annoying?

I'm not talking about little annoyances such as getting caught behind someone who is walking too slow or people who say " I love Rock 'n Roll!" But have no appreciation for Elvis.

Lately I have been extremely aggravated by people who are enamored/infatuated with Big Words.

People who use big words in every day small conversations are, simply put, not my favorite kinda people these days...

I'm a Plain Jane kinda gal. I don't use big words in my vocabulary. I'm not mentally challenged (okay, let's not kid ourselves. I suck at math). But math doesn't count. Susie Q said so.

Back to my point, why is it that people feel the need to use big words when small words are just as effective? People who think it is necessary to put a big word in a conversation about, say, movies, are going to see my eyes roll.

While discussing a movie, I don't want to hear someone practice GRE vocabulary.

" Gawd, Vince Vaughn, is like, soooo ostentatious."

Hello people, Vince Vaughn is cocky and a show off. Why use a big word when the little words work?

From a Plain Jane perspective, I have no idea why people are so obsessed with humongous words in the first place. Maybe while writing a paper or trying to show off in front of a professor, fine. I understand that big words are indispensable to a college student.

But really, is it necessary while discussing Vince Vaughn? Really?

I have never been what one calls a quiet person. My personality and voice are well, loud. I know that I am also a bit chatty at times... However, what I would not call myself is loquacious, while speaking informally. Big words are not always better words.

There are a few Big, or rather odd words I learned/heard while growing up from Susie Q and The Dutchmen.

Susie Q: "Julie, don't say things like that! That language is putrid!"-- this phrase is commonly used by Susie Q after I have said a word which she finds utterly disgusting (the four letter kind). Susie Q has been an avid fan of the words putrid and cantankerous for years.

The Dutchmen: "Can I get anyone a libation?"-- In my house, the word libation means a drink with alcohol served at a social gathering. What The Dutchmen is really saying is "What kinda drink can I get ya?" or "Name your poison." The actual definition of the word libation is connected to the Catholic Church. My dad never mentioned that. Thus, while using the word libation in my early 20's, I offended a very devout Catholic at a Christmas work party.

Moral of today's rant: big words are not always better words. Lets do everyone a favor and not forget to use a miniature word in between the (over-use) of gigantic words, okay?

Thank you.

Knowledge. Memory. and a Bookshelf.

Sorry for the delay, I'm still wrapping up the next piece of my life puzzle, which involves: middle school and trips to Europe....

In the mean time, I have discovered a problem. A very serious problem. I never thought this day would come. But, it has.

I know too much.

You're probably thinking, "What's she talking about?"

Let me explain.

I have, what I would call, an average - to slightly above average- memory. I'm just sayin'.

I can remember specific details that serve absolutely no purpose.(I have memories of standing in my crib, I was probably under the age of 3, and watching my neighbor walk through our back yard). Useless.

However, I also have plenty of useful memories. Useful to me, anyways.

Prior to this semester, I never had a problem 'knowing too much'. I prided myself on it, actually. Or I used to pride myself on it. Until four weeks ago.

I have a certain professor this semester who really cares about citing sources in papers. I agree with him, one needs (and should) give credit where credit is due.

Insert my problem.

You see, I thought I agreed with him. That was until he returned a paper I had written on WWII. In one paragraph, I didn't cite a source. The truth was, that I didn't know the source. I was the source. I was docked a grade for not citing one paragraph in a 3 page paper. One Paragraph. I had three other sources. Seriously.

I didn't plagiarize.

It wasn't made up.

It was just facts that I knew.

Thanks, Memory!!

At first I was furious at the professor.Who did he think he was?!? It wasn't like the information was false! This was the truth!


After re-reading my paper and my prof's overly nice comments, reality set it. Okay. Maybe I was a little at fault. For all the memorizing I have done over the years, why had I not memorized where I had gathered the information that is subsequently seared into my brain? C'mon Jules! You know better!

Fact:I do not know when I first memorized that the Holocaust is defined as: The Systematic Mass Murder of European Jewry by Nazi Germany and Their Collaborators Between the years 1933 and 1945.

I just know.

This problem surfaced again while writing a different paper for the same class. It was a paper on The Battle of Britain. I thought I'd jazz up the paragraph where I wrote about the German Air Force. Herman Goring, specifically. I added tidbits about his life during and before WWI, his faithfulness to Hitler starting in the 1920's...historical facts. Memorized facts.

This time I knew better than to not cite a source. So, in all honesty, I cited myself. In Chicago format, nonetheless. (Julie R. Holocaust/WWII Information Gathered Over the Years. 2/2010)

I was sitting on my living room couch typing my paper when I looked up. This is what sits across from my couch.

Books.


Here's some close ups:


I assure you, I did not move or re-arrange anything on this shelf before snapping a few shots











These encyclopedias were my Christmas gift (2 years ago) from Susie Q and The Dutchmen. Yes, I asked for them.

Fact: if my apartment were to catch fire I would, first: make sure my dog was okay. Second, grab my cell phone. and Third, run back in, if for no other reason than to save these glorious gems.

Clothes? No. Laptop? Replaceable. Encyclopedia's of the Holocaust? Priceless.

Here's my point:
Tally up the ton of books I've read, add 16 college Holocaust/WWII courses and 6 religious studies courses. Don't forget to add the gazillion hours I have watched documentary footage, films, interviews,PBS,BBC WWII related stuff, etc.. Or my trips to Europe, or the survivor's I've interviewed, or my trips to DC, or ... you get it.

I don't do math. Sorry.

I can not be expected to know how I know.

Don't blame me. Blame my memory.

My People ~ Part I

Because I know you're all dying to know, or because I should have done a better introduction before now; I'm going to take a brief moment and introduce you to 'my people'. We all have them. The ones you call when you're happy, sad, or just need to talk. I'll start with Susie Q and The Dutchmen. My parents.


Don't they look cute in this picture? The photo is a little dated, taken 5 years ago at Miss M's wedding. To this day it remains my favorite picture of them. Happily married after 30+ years, and the most genuine people I've ever known.




Meet my sister, the Divine Miss M and her husband Doc Holiday. Miss M has taught me a lot in life. I don't think a little sister could ask for better role model. She's very smart, sassy, and chic.

Doc is from Jersey. He is a funny, geeky, goofy, smart-alack, (sometimes) purple, sports freak. He also has an accent. Not a 'Joysey' accent, it's a mix of the east coast/mid-west; one has to hear him speak to understand.
Doc and Miss M are two peas in a pod. Love ya guys!

This is one of my favorite pics of me and Doc from Xmas 2009.

We were watching Oklahoma! and obviously, very excited.


Last but not least...





My big brother, Wyatt Earp. He's a laid back, outdoor lovin', sarcastic,"mess with the bull, you'll get the horns", kinda guy. And he likes guns. So I call him Wyatt Earp. (If you havent noticed, Tombstone is one of my favorite movies).

Like Doc Holiday, Wyatt Earp also has an accent. He acquired it over the years. One word: Fargo.

I'll give you a quick example of how he sounds. This is a exact word-for-word voicemail he left me a couple nights ago: "Yaw, Julie? Okey, yaw, this 'ers yer brother. Yaw....I'm gonna need yaw to call me back. Awwwww, yah. Yaw know 'de number. Awwww, ookay? Yep, guess that's all. Tak to yaw soon."

He's Wyatt Earp. 'nuff said.

I still have plenty more people to introduce (which is why this is titled Part I). For now, these are the people who will commonly appear in my chronicle. Part deux will come later....

"Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city." -George Burns