...play a song for me. Not to forget the request to keep it simple. Would that it was that easy, that simple to keep it simple. However, the world is neither simple nor has any ambition to be so. While there exist certain principals seemingly simplistic, as in "All men are created equal", think of the wars fought over that statement, so obvious, yet so difficult to integrate within society. Instead, we have had great divisions of society with, when all is said and done, that simple, should be obvious sentiment as the root cause of it all.
It is when mankind, generally men (ahem) misinterpret or add their own corollaries to those simple statements, that we have the onset of upheaval, violence, the worst side of mankind, and the devastation as a consequence can be quite long in duration and intensity. All the while, off in a corner, unnoticed, is the Tambourine Man packing away his instrument for peace and simplicity.
Last night was interesting. We wandered down memory lane, many lanes, recalling songs we once sang, hoping, so sure, that the peace we sang of, the universal love, the perfection of mankind, would become true. Who would want otherwise, or so our hearts told us, forgetting that alongside our hearts were those with cruel, cold minds who cherished other values, who weighed things differently. Other ambitions took first place and dreams went the way of those once promising green fields where valleys and rivers were picturesque and hope abounded.
Gone. Plans and dreams withered in the harsh rays of unshielded sun. Rivers dried up and valleys were built over. Plans never truly solidified went unrealized and were finally consigned to forgotten sub-basements somewhere off who knew where, as life took precedence, Dreamers and their dreams gave way before the pragmatists and slowly, surely, visions of green fields drifted away, dimmed, and finally vanished.
Reminisces flowed and there was laughter aplenty as we spoke of who we once were, who we became -and why - along with the adventures of our lives. Inevitably, we all began to wonder, to ourselves, then aloud, and as we all are people of a certain age, thoughts turned to legacy.
What were we leaving behind? Were the physical items of our wills of most importance or was there more, had to be there, and clear, which were of vital importance and responsibility. Had we paid enough attention to that legacy, the non-physical? Those values have held our people together in the past, in our increasingly uncertain present, and will do the same in the future if we hold to them, keep them alive and of relevance, for they will be the buoys we need as we, they, swim in difficult waters.
As Americans, native born or born into DP camps to parents who were Holocaust survivors, we realize now, more than ever, that we all are sandwich generations. We bring from the past, live it, modify it in the present, and transmit it to the future. Inevitably some things go awry, fall victim to interpretation or dismemberment, transformed, almost to the point of nonrecognition, but we must make the effort to keep the good, discard the failed, the harmful, choose our leaders carefully even as we must be the leaders our families need. Only thus can we, now the top layer of the sandwich, do our best to ensure a viable future for the rest of the sandwich and the pieces to come.
How we choose to do so, carry on and about our responsibilities is up to the individuals. We pass or fail; at whatever level we choose there are always choices to be made even when those choices are almost nonexistent. We can be forced to cross a street, but do we do it proudly or do we cringe? Do we sacrifice for the fancier, bigger car, or for the better education, the deeper faith? Do we value the golf game or play catch in the backyard?
The backbone of self-evaluation is the application of honesty as one finds a mirror for the soul. Delve deep and wide, looking through your best glasses. Some of us were surprisingly frank - and brave -in self-evaluation. Others were a tad more hesitant. As for me, well, lawyer!
We need to find our inner, unjaded voices again. We need to recall the songs and idealism, the anthems of our youth. Surely, we have not all turned irrevocably to sourpuss disillusioned figments of old age!
We need to peel the disfiguring layers over our eyes and souls. Reinvigorate ourselves, open up the valves of hope and idealism, at least a tad. It will be hard, G-d knows -as we have all undergone many body blows. However, somehow, we must stand strong, take as many breaths as necessary until we can at least hum a bar or two of one of our old standards. It definitely feels good.
Perhaps we can even locate and bring back Mr. Tambourine Man and his clan, ready to play. To send forth that bar of hope, for always there is one waiting, hoping, knowing, there is a better world out there ready for the remake. Only the notes were missing and here they are again.
Joining in the chorus of hope we hear the voices of the Turtles and the words of Ecclesiastes:
"To everything turn, turn, turn
There is a season turn, turn, turn
And a time to every purpose under Heaven
A time to gain, a time to lose.
A time to rain, a time of snow.
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it's not too late."
Surely, if I. pessimistic and jaded as I have become, can feel and hear that little bird of hope chirping nearby, so can the rest of us. If we want. If our ears are open along with our hearts. If and if and if.
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Yitzy, sweet boy, you are one of the body blows, one from which it is very difficult to recover. We are still bent in grief. Perhaps one day the pain will be less sharp, though not now. Not now.
Miss you much.
Love you more.
Always and forever. Always and forever.
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