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.

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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