tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353949222024-03-13T23:16:50.656-07:00ArtiflectionPublic HistoryAdina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.comBlogger109125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-39830734768390001162023-10-12T07:34:00.000-07:002023-10-12T07:34:32.868-07:00B'tzelem Elohim<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqk3IYYNV1hx9o2-O8pWP1ujgqE5Q3Sa_NDTvh8VRUZIFXzkqlrzEOe-hHmjH5v-lCqlR191qgWq0AhBycJ4omrsSnzDU8WYgSrZcgbis8dkEH_34L4PU62W5SvJF3BzJ1M0W0kvEG13LKx8FgL8mpIAf8BdgE-nfPjUi_9YTYhpKylzz2fx2aiA/s353/220px-Israel_and_occupied_territories_map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="353" data-original-width="220" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqk3IYYNV1hx9o2-O8pWP1ujgqE5Q3Sa_NDTvh8VRUZIFXzkqlrzEOe-hHmjH5v-lCqlR191qgWq0AhBycJ4omrsSnzDU8WYgSrZcgbis8dkEH_34L4PU62W5SvJF3BzJ1M0W0kvEG13LKx8FgL8mpIAf8BdgE-nfPjUi_9YTYhpKylzz2fx2aiA/s320/220px-Israel_and_occupied_territories_map.png" width="199" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Map of Israel, Palestine, and Occupied Territories, as of 2018</td></tr></tbody></table><br />On Saturday, October 8, 2023, Hamas staged a <a href="https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/10/11/israel-hamas-war-list-of-key-events-day-5">surprise attack</a> against Israel from Gaza. And when I say that Hamas staged an attack against Israel, I mean both that a <a href="https://www.cfr.org/backgrounder/what-hamas">paramilitary organization</a>, founded in 1987 with the goal of violently overthrowing the state of Israel and replacing it with an Islamist Palestinian state, planned an attack to terrorize Israel and shake its sense of security and force the world to pay attention to its demands, and that young men, most born after the turn of this century, launched rockets and pushed across physical borders to kill and kidnap men, women, and children, many born even more recently than them. </p><p>Comparisons have been made to 9/11, and as the days go by, I feel my body remember that moment when my 18-year-old self questioned the future-- when I looked and listened and foresaw so much pain, both unavoidable and avoidable, inflicted from outside and self-inflicted. I have felt queasy and uneasy. Invisible, and assumed, spoken for, and pushed to speak. I have not felt comfortable forming words. I have craved a different way of being. </p><p>In this moment, as organizations turn to rhetoric in a tug-of-war for narrative control, and people cry out in grief and fear in Israel and Gaza, I am grateful to the leaders of my Jewish community who are planning a Vigil for Grief and Hope. These thoughtful rabbis and facilitators, including Rabbi Mike Rothbaum, Rabbi Joshua Lesser, Rabbi Malka Packer-Monroe, Rabbi Elana Perry, McKenzie Wren, and Rabbi Ariel Root-Wolpe, have conceived of this vigil in the following terms: </p><p>"In a time of brutality and hatred, we will grieve the loss of Israeli and Palestinian lives and pray for those in danger and for peace. We will seek healing and comfort through prayer, song and reflection that honors the dignity of humanity created<i> b’tzelem elohim</i>, in the image of God."</p><p>But what does it mean to be created "<i>b'tzelem elohim</i>?" What is it that makes us human? We are more than our basic needs for food, shelter, sex, and safety. We are holders of memory and creators of ideas. Memory sustains us across generations, and it drives us to seek revenge. Ideas turn us from animals to siblings, and from friends to enemies. Narratives of justice and sovereignty rights burn in the hearts of soldiers whose grandparents sought refuge from diaspora. Narratives of apartheid and colonization and religious purity drive young people, whose grandparents were displaced from their homes, to terrorize children and kidnap the elderly. </p><p>In 1983, a year before I was born, and four years before the founding of Hamas, Benedict Anderson described the nation as an <a href="https://criticallegalthinking.com/2023/04/25/benedict-andersons-imagined-communities/">"imagined community."</a> Sometimes we imagine it, and sometimes it is imagined onto us. But it is this very human act of imagining that reveals how we are created (how we create) "<i>b'tzelem elohim</i>." Over the next weeks and months, people's actions, in Israel, and Gaza, and around the world, will construct the memories of this next generation. Those memories will fuel their imagination. But let us remember that we are conscious and capable of change, not creatures of pure motivation. Rather than act and react, let us do, and listen. <i>Na'aseh v'nishmah</i>. On the seventh day, God rested, and I can only imagine the profound silence that engulfed the earth. <i>Shalom v'sh'mah</i>. Peace and hearing. <i>B'tzelem Elohim</i>. </p>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-81376236764179886432023-04-20T09:43:00.000-07:002023-04-20T09:43:22.532-07:00Commemoration and Conversation<p>Sometimes what seems like an inconvenience turns into an opportunity. Last weekend, we discovered that my husband had a work obligation at the same time that I was scheduled to help lead and participate in the <a href="https://www.congregationbethaverim.org/event/yom-hashoa-service.html" target="_blank">CBH Yom Hashoah service</a> on Tuesday. I had arranged to loan the MHHE exhibit <i><a href="https://historymuseum.kennesaw.edu/exhibitions/traveling/words_music_memory.php" target="_blank">Words, Music, Memory</a></i> to the synagogue and had helped to organize the service along with wonderful lay leaders Miriam Karp and Sandra Menes. Miriam had secured participation in a candle lighting ceremony to honor the victims of the Holocaust, and offerings of testimony from members of our community whose family members had survived. I had worked to make sure there would be music from our chorus and strings, including a new arrangement of Khayele's Waltz, a piece written by <a href="https://ksuweb.kennesaw.edu/~lsherr/index.html" target="_blank">Laurence Sherr</a>, whose compositions based on words by Nelly Sachs and Shmerke Kczerginski were featured in the exhibition. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7PvCpEShWODE5SHfdqgSLAScZ6n_xrXe39vOvGpqmN7efE16XRhz2Cg-JCSpu0cEqXP7vCTeuybwOMHYqPjq-f2X_aIg7salrGsGmMuDPTey9fK3P0vaO_BAOa_Xedno_82azi191wojwjKfcjLxBwMHVnFk7Zap259E5HVD9rcvSzNuNqyc/s1717/Yom_Hashoah_Candlelighting.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="891" data-original-width="1717" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7PvCpEShWODE5SHfdqgSLAScZ6n_xrXe39vOvGpqmN7efE16XRhz2Cg-JCSpu0cEqXP7vCTeuybwOMHYqPjq-f2X_aIg7salrGsGmMuDPTey9fK3P0vaO_BAOa_Xedno_82azi191wojwjKfcjLxBwMHVnFk7Zap259E5HVD9rcvSzNuNqyc/w400-h208/Yom_Hashoah_Candlelighting.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rabbi Mike Rothbaum introduces Amy Lighthill who lights a candle for the LGBTQ+ victims of the Holocaust at the start of the CBH Yom Hashoah Service on April 18, 2023.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Normally, an event like this would be outside the parameters of bedtime on a school night, and a lot to ask of a six-year-old and a nine-year-old. But with Matt committed to observing a colleague in the classroom, and our babysitter unavailable, Ilana and Leo were with me.</p><p>As an experienced Holocaust educator, I'm used to a fifth-grade minimum for in-depth discussion of the Holocaust, but, of course, my kids have experienced early exposure in bits and pieces as my work has found its way into dinner conversation, and as I've reacted to news events from a perspective informed by many years of thinking about "difficult history."</p><p>But this felt different to me. This would be their first night of immersion in the collective remembrance and mourning practices of their own community. This experience would literally hit close to home.</p><p>I prepared for the coming together of my many identities and responsibilities as best I could. I bribed the kids with a dinner of ramen and boba tea and promised them the opportunity to watch a movie in the synagogue office during most of the service as long as they came back at the end to sing <i>"Ani Ma'amin"</i> with the chorus, beautifully framed as a song of hope and generational survival by our interim chorus director, Bonnie Levine. They were on board.</p><p>On Tuesday morning, I woke up haunted by the <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2023/04/17/us/ralph-yarl-kansas-city-shooting.html" target="_blank">shooting of Ralph Yarl</a> by Andrew Lester in Kansas City, Missouri. Ralph is only seven years older than Leo. He was out on an errand to pick up his twin brothers and went to the wrong house. He made a tiny mistake that almost cost him his life. My children make tiny mistakes all the time.</p><p>At dinner, I mentioned what was on my mind to the kids while we were waiting for our food. Leo's face constricted immediately, and I found myself rushing to reassure him that Ralph was alive. As if that could mitigate the horror of what happened. As if that negated the injustice of the danger that people with black bodies live with as they navigate their day-to-day existence in a country where racism lurks like poison in water after an oil spill. Danger remained with Leo as we entered the synagogue, and stayed with him even after I settled him into the office with a tablet loaded with cartoons.</p><p>About halfway through the program, Ilana came to sit with me. It was past her bedtime, but she pushed her body against mine and laid her head on my shoulder while we listened to testimony from our fellow congregants. People who greeted her weekly with smiles and affection talked about their parents and other loved ones whose neighbors and friends turned away from them. They talked about a world where affection and coexistence were replaced with hostility and murderous intolerance. Ilana quietly absorbed it all. (I only knew the extent of her retention the next morning when she recalled the emotional testimony almost word for word at the breakfast table.)</p><p>When it was time for our closing song, I sent Ilana to fetch Leo. He appeared looking pale. He shivered while he stood next to me and sang along as he had promised. He had been well only minutes before, but he was determined to show his respect and wait until after the service was over to talk with me about what was bothering him. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Oxu5g1eXTQeVZ8C5FgqH09NcMMJwxfSU6axJz1MOXiRtjRg1-45jAvcLCT9OeFmyZV48erAkzeA_GZpb4_6FVfz5_3fzGUF7qu5e5QvJYXyK5-4E11KHf-0b8XTfczFKX_8MwIWDi7C7WCpH1TjUX7IMoWrG87ierh-SrK81BNqY6CuPofs/s1694/Yom_Hashoah_Screenshot.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="880" data-original-width="1694" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Oxu5g1eXTQeVZ8C5FgqH09NcMMJwxfSU6axJz1MOXiRtjRg1-45jAvcLCT9OeFmyZV48erAkzeA_GZpb4_6FVfz5_3fzGUF7qu5e5QvJYXyK5-4E11KHf-0b8XTfczFKX_8MwIWDi7C7WCpH1TjUX7IMoWrG87ierh-SrK81BNqY6CuPofs/w400-h208/Yom_Hashoah_Screenshot.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eden Levine sings the opening verse of Rebekka Goldsmith's rendition of "Ani Ma'aim" with her parents, Michael and Bonnie, accompanying her.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>After the song, Rabbi Mike addressed the children directly. Perhaps he sensed their discomfort. He spoke about why our community was committed to remembering. Why we told these stories over and over again, even though they made us feel sad.</p><p>When the last notes from the strings playing <i>"Eli, Eli"</i> faded from the air, I gathered my children and prepared to leave quickly. As I was packing up the tablet, Leo told me that his mind had been on the possibility of guns and the people who were waiting to use them. He told me that a gathering of Jews observing Yom Hashoah would be a horribly, ironically logical target for a shooter who hated us for who we are. Only weeks before, the concept of a shooter had passed for Leo from the hypothetical to the real when he and his classmates were forced to cancel a carwash fundraiser for their class trip because someone was shot right across from their school. Shots were fired from a car, aimed at a pedestrian nearby, but students witnessed bullets grazing the vines in a ravine right next to the parking lot where the kids were washing cars. They had to run inside and hide until the danger had passed.</p><p>But when does the danger pass? Leo knew that there were people who hated Jews. He knew that Black people were in danger of being shot by police officers and neighbors. His view of the situation painted a world in which his Black friends and teachers might be shot by anyone at any time. </p><p>In the car ride home, I listened, and then I talked. I told my children about the history of policing in the United States, and especially in the South. I told them about slave patrols and about people who wanted to keep Black people from exercising their civil rights after Reconstruction. All of this was fresh in my mind having just attended the National Council on Public History conference in Atlanta the week before. I had listened with rapt attention as journalist Ann Hill Bond interviewed Donna Stephens and Genia Billingsley, co-chairs of the <a href="https://cbcdescendants.org/" target="_blank">Chattahoochee Brick Company Descendants Coalition</a>. I had been <a href="https://ncph.org/history-at-work/grassroots-memorialization-in-atlanta-georgia-a-conversation-with-the-leader-of-the-chattahoochee-brick-company-descendants-community/" target="_blank">responsible </a>for nominating them for a "Grassroots Public History Award." </p><p>Newly haunted by images of children's fingerprints in the paving bricks produced by John English's Chattahoochee Brick Company, I told my children about unjust laws added to the books during the time of Jim Crow. I told them about convict leasing. I told them about how people told each other stories about scary Black criminals in order to justify all the injustice. I told them about how white people who shot Black people were so often believed to have done so in self defense. I told them about how they themselves could come to believe that they had acted in self defense even if there was no sign of true danger. (I thought again about Andrew Lester and Ralph Yarl.) And how even police officers whose job it is to serve and protect their communities could react with deadly force against people they had been taught to fear and approach as inhuman "criminals" rather than people like them.</p><p>I spoke about how those stories were perpetuated and how they persisted. I told them, too, about the lies people tell about Jews. I told them, as best I could, about why people who didn't know any Jews could come to fear and hate them. </p><p>When I was done speaking, I listened again. Unbidden, Leo said, "Jewish people who are white can hide who they are from people who might hate them. Black people can't hide being Black."</p><p>I told him, "Yes. That's one reason why Jewish people experience hate differently, especially in this country. And that's why we have to work extra hard to stand up to hate wherever we see it. It's our job to help get rid of all the poison." I told him that people were doing that now in Kansas City. That the man who shot Ralph Yarl had been charged with a crime and was in custody. That people were not OK with a world where kids were at risk from their neighbors.</p><p>That night, as I was tucking him into bed, Leo thanked me for our talk. He told me that understanding all these things made them less scary. He could face all this stuff with interest instead of fear. I told him I was glad I could help.</p><p>What I didn't say was that as I've gotten older, sometimes all this understanding makes the world scarier to me instead of easier to navigate. I know what people are capable of. </p><p>And yet...</p><p><i>Ani ma'amin</i>. I believe. This is why we remember, and why we teach our children. Even when it's scary. It's ironic how true it is that "all we have to fear is fear itself." (Thank you FDR...) And only we can work to release the antidote to this poison into the world. </p><p>In the words written in song by CBH chorus director Will Robertson, inspired by the perspective of our Rabbi Mike Rothbaum: <i>"L'taken olam b'machut Shaddai. Aleinu."</i></p><p>"To heal the world through the power of spirit. It is on us."</p><p>You can view the Yom Hashoah service on YouTube here: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/iXOyJeU58fs" width="320" youtube-src-id="iXOyJeU58fs"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-41166838614629204642023-03-15T13:05:00.000-07:002023-03-15T13:05:14.255-07:00Good Stories at an Old House<p>In February, three generations Slavin/Langer/DeAngelis women traveled to Savannah for a weekend of cultural immersion, fun, and togetherness. We had a fabulous time. Our experiences are well-documented, and we'll have lots of good stories to tell.</p><p>It seems that Savannah wouldn't want it any other way. Lacking the corporate/financial downtown present in most contemporary cities, Savannah seems to rely on two major industries: shipping and tourism, with a small dose of the education/medical sector thrown in for support. Thus, storytelling is at the heart of the city's agenda for its visitors.</p><p>Founded in Savannah in 1839, the Georgia Historical Society is one of the oldest in the country. Savannah's focus on historic preservation has meant that it is home to some of the best-preserved architectural stock in the country. But what stories do these buildings tell?</p><p>Among others, they tell stories of the architect Hyman Wallace Witcover. As a member of the digital exhibits advisory board for the Georgia Public Library Service, I had a courtside seat to the development of Live Oak Public Libraries' new <a href="https://georgialibraries.omeka.net/s/savarch/page/skyline" target="_blank">digital exhibit</a> all about the architectural contributions of this American son of German Jewish immigrants who called Savannah home from 1888 to 1932. Witcover's buildings include many civic and religious structures, ranging from banks to cathedrals. </p><p>Yet for many, Savannah's private homes contain the most sought-after stories. In that vain, our family enjoyed a tour of the childhood home of Juliette Gordon Low, the founder of the Girl Scouts. Like other contemporary house museums, the Gordon Low birthplace has recently endeavored to tell a more complete story, including the voices of people who had been enslaved in the home, and others beyond the "great family" who gave the place its well-known name. The last time I was in Savannah, I was impressed by the new interpretation at the <a href="https://www.telfair.org/visit/owens-thomas/" target="_blank">Owens-Thomas House & Slave Quarters</a><i>. </i>When I entered the Gordon Lowe house, owned and operated by the Girl Scouts since 1953, I'll admit that I expected a hagiography of Juliette Gordon Low. Instead, we were treated to a thoughtful docent tour which put Low's life in context, from her young childhood in the care of an enslaved nanny who celebrated the arrival of Sherman's troops in the city to her struggles with disability and disappointment. The Girl Scouts organization acknowledged its founding among the elite young women of Savannah and its commitment to expansion and inclusion, with the Girl Scouts among the earliest proponents of desegregation in the 1950s. We all left feeling inspired and engaged in the best tradition of immersive museum storytelling. Kudos!</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4DRRNmJ06n9d2w5qSi5HJsFHZD5v4ekNpLmVwDL44MCjoEqVblLK4tFgIyExGc7-6F5cavGmpLEirf8cKq-FKvKPrErhHsmL1j96kHe3p7kDCHRQ3lWQqounWR0GxSb2jCBwz67FgFabdQKQycPIfyNpfd9XpnIRYBSajD-Da3ZC1MKX7ra0/s2048/IMG_4552.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4DRRNmJ06n9d2w5qSi5HJsFHZD5v4ekNpLmVwDL44MCjoEqVblLK4tFgIyExGc7-6F5cavGmpLEirf8cKq-FKvKPrErhHsmL1j96kHe3p7kDCHRQ3lWQqounWR0GxSb2jCBwz67FgFabdQKQycPIfyNpfd9XpnIRYBSajD-Da3ZC1MKX7ra0/s320/IMG_4552.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reflections and Ceramic Sculpture inside the Juliette Gordon Low Birthplace</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-3D4bG-21NBmRE3ZDPagUzI-rUQ5rM7cNK4-xa6E3UJwIbf1Ct6YGuOheb_4FUgwkBCBsEDDLmq0zkZGtr-0NIHNaEbnAW_zJRYbPjc_Z3OCr-t_QIG3h0ldxgSROTmOkBq_ZjKibgEz1tx7klMsMQZVqpB4OBunvvHzxpwQKDQpGjUicaQ/s2048/IMG_4553.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-3D4bG-21NBmRE3ZDPagUzI-rUQ5rM7cNK4-xa6E3UJwIbf1Ct6YGuOheb_4FUgwkBCBsEDDLmq0zkZGtr-0NIHNaEbnAW_zJRYbPjc_Z3OCr-t_QIG3h0ldxgSROTmOkBq_ZjKibgEz1tx7klMsMQZVqpB4OBunvvHzxpwQKDQpGjUicaQ/s320/IMG_4553.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A modern library inside the Juliette Gordon Low Birthplace</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgplw9H8eENHxcQTN_y-a2WfPRcCk-o4CHQGP17gpaFSwJcKcDI0lah1x7tpQeCBNiHNuD0xvBgna__6fYJIkx0TiboVSVGCnsQsBBclwvsiyJMnM-pqgOSKl5WtQ1zreSF9zFxvsv_wE6Ay35uSE4isdx_7gtLWMe-kSuxpWnXd7dTg42YZr0/s2048/IMG_4554.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgplw9H8eENHxcQTN_y-a2WfPRcCk-o4CHQGP17gpaFSwJcKcDI0lah1x7tpQeCBNiHNuD0xvBgna__6fYJIkx0TiboVSVGCnsQsBBclwvsiyJMnM-pqgOSKl5WtQ1zreSF9zFxvsv_wE6Ay35uSE4isdx_7gtLWMe-kSuxpWnXd7dTg42YZr0/s320/IMG_4554.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A certain six-year-old tourist outside the Juliette Gordon Low Birthplace</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsqvuHXKyAOAqIA-4MJYqI3eDFT5UXFU_XNEeuN6zpg9zDSedOMRIYlY_Q-RUE7Df4-BtMbZv_r2sa9VbAV1JxCM5yfOGsI0Y1hlWiSv5oMWc_nTSiMELPVxcOPijzT2oQjjGITJ3PVs3VCEd2RqnXpHJlMTnk6EKt-T4cU9JZZD5fDQl3zmg/s2048/IMG_4592.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsqvuHXKyAOAqIA-4MJYqI3eDFT5UXFU_XNEeuN6zpg9zDSedOMRIYlY_Q-RUE7Df4-BtMbZv_r2sa9VbAV1JxCM5yfOGsI0Y1hlWiSv5oMWc_nTSiMELPVxcOPijzT2oQjjGITJ3PVs3VCEd2RqnXpHJlMTnk6EKt-T4cU9JZZD5fDQl3zmg/s320/IMG_4592.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That same six-year-old visitor outside the Olde Pink House restaurant in Savannah</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-17279653439988036522023-02-03T12:22:00.001-08:002023-02-03T12:22:43.616-08:00Antisemitism and Political Power<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi293pgsA_xMxZJVBtlGGa3bWM1w8roRS29Ly2i-qXnT9_dOzp3myc56feSrkA3qk-KYQhnGC4eWmfAfMVj5q_HG9lbw0Z-1wh0MmwNZjI5mfl2m_dvIEXUKjt_4VkFhhhsakAUssRNyzLDWvfI6izq3ztpGvz9LhW18wt5VMQHuT4SIqskzRo/s1600/Antisemitism%20word%20cloud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi293pgsA_xMxZJVBtlGGa3bWM1w8roRS29Ly2i-qXnT9_dOzp3myc56feSrkA3qk-KYQhnGC4eWmfAfMVj5q_HG9lbw0Z-1wh0MmwNZjI5mfl2m_dvIEXUKjt_4VkFhhhsakAUssRNyzLDWvfI6izq3ztpGvz9LhW18wt5VMQHuT4SIqskzRo/s320/Antisemitism%20word%20cloud.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antisemitism Word Cloud Courtesy Yad Vashem</td></tr></tbody></table><br />As the curator of a Holocaust museum, I've spend a lot of time learning about antisemitism. As a Jewish citizen of the United States, I've seen people with power make antisemitic <a href="https://www.adl.org/resources/report/how-platforms-rate-hate-measuring-antisemitism-and-adequacy-enforcement-across" target="_blank">comments </a>overtly, subtly, purposely, sloppily, and everywhere in between. Sometimes those people have been chastised for their remarks. Sometimes only by Jews, but usually by others too. Sometimes proportionately, and sometimes disproportionately. Sometimes everyone chastises them. Sometimes only some people do. Sometimes the remarks are the focus. Sometimes the person is the focus. And as <a href="https://www.aclu.org/bio/kimberle-crenshaw" target="_blank">Kimberle Crenshaw</a> has taught me to see, there are intersections everywhere-- with race, class, gender, age, religion, ethnicity. You name it. Every time accusations of antisemitism are leveled and discussed in public, I feel compelled to pay attention, to react. </p><p>To quote Paul Simon, "I'm weary to the bone." Today's <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2023/feb/03/ilhan-omar-house-panel-removal-republican-reaction" target="_blank">dismissal </a>from the House Foreign Affairs Committee of Representative Ilhan Omar by Republicans in Congress pushed me over the edge. I'm tired of hypocrisy, and I'm tired of my people's pain being used as a political football. </p><p>I offer anyone out there an opportunity to learn about the history of <a href="https://express.adobe.com/page/daJGJ8ENKYkEQ/">antisemitism</a>, and how it interacts with racism and xenophobia. I ask that we condemn all of those poisons of the Anthropocene with one voice. I ask that we require rigor and truth of our politicians, and of ourselves. I ask that we forgive each other our honest mistakes and hold each other accountable for calculated use of harmful stereotypes. I ask that we hold those with more power to higher standards than those with less but that we expect everyone to try. </p><p>I want to believe that my freedom, in a nation aspiring to freedom, includes the freedom to speak for myself and the freedom from assumptions that others speak for me. And I don't consent to being used. Ever. On this <a href="https://www.congregationbethaverim.org/event/shabbat-shirah3.html" target="_blank">Shabbat Shirah</a>, may we all celebrate our freedom to stand up and be counted, and to stand up for each other, and to sit down when we need to rest. </p>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-81165070065741385352022-12-22T11:57:00.004-08:002022-12-22T12:20:22.147-08:002022, in Review: In the MiddleFor me, 2022 was neither a year of beginnings nor a year of endings. Instead, I bore witness to transitions, other people's beginnings and endings. <div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3feBWOc2SvvWDGlai5JwfEfu-Ovg7Uv80vsbBwErrk9gdoYknuvHdLAgHL8yhRpT0HgATxMFl8mALsXqFJC8rBhK0V6Uw1Dt5TqY_vvl97LMz5Iek92bXyJ0A460AnhR9rc5Ox7W-CVEJCUP4puPxrEJkbEZgWAVStD5Z7KbNawA7ihsHJGQ/s2048/IMG_3616.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3feBWOc2SvvWDGlai5JwfEfu-Ovg7Uv80vsbBwErrk9gdoYknuvHdLAgHL8yhRpT0HgATxMFl8mALsXqFJC8rBhK0V6Uw1Dt5TqY_vvl97LMz5Iek92bXyJ0A460AnhR9rc5Ox7W-CVEJCUP4puPxrEJkbEZgWAVStD5Z7KbNawA7ihsHJGQ/w640-h480/IMG_3616.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Southern Magnolias on Agnes Scott campus comfort me all year long. Evergreen, they are always in the middle of their season. They sometimes flower twice a year and shed their big, broad leaves, even as they leaf out in winter and summer alike.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>At work, I witnessed the growth of our education department, with staff taking on new responsibilities to make way for new people and broader capacity. I witnessed the growth of our department's physical footprint on campus and noted the opportunities and challenges represented by our expanding presence online and across the country. Next year will bring the need for a new graphic designer and new directions in programming and audience strategy. Thematic seeds planting in 2021, with <i><a href="https://www.communitynews.org/towns/west-windsor-plainsboro-news/princeton-junction-native-brings-black-jewish-exhibit-home/article_d434abb4-43eb-11ed-b015-d7482c81d27c.html" target="_blank">Black + Jewish </a></i>and <i><a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/episode-23-interview-with-sheena-ramirez-and-adina-langer/id1488780548?i=1000542264094" target="_blank">Words, Music, Memory</a></i>, have begun to bear fruit with focused nurturing. This break marks a breath before we begin our next phase. </div><div><br /></div><div>Professionally, in the broader field of public history, this year has brought the publication of my first book and the need for work to get it noticed. Next year, I hope to follow its ripples out into the community as writers become readers, and readers engage others in conversation. This year, I also oversaw the sunsetting of the NCPH digital media group and the transition to a new <a href="https://ncph.org/history-at-work/about-history-at-work/" target="_blank">History@Work editorial committee</a>. Disintegration and distribution are part of the lifecycle of ideas and institutions.</div><div><br /></div><div>At CBH, where I have dedicated much extracurricular time and energy, I stood at the organizational helm of the the <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Z5g77LYqdDcgA0GnFGQn9rcXMYcL4g9mpctMxApI1kY/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">Ritual Va'ad</a> as we said goodbye to our interim Rabbi Dayle and welcomed our "settled" Rabbi Mike. We are still learning what holds us together as a community as we look ahead to onboarding a new Music Director. I have navigated intergenerational challenges as a leader, mother, partner, and individual seeker of spiritual sustenance.</div><div><br /></div><div>And as a mother, this year, I have witnessed the transition of my firstborn from elementary to <a href="https://www.montessorischoolofdecatur.com/elementary.html" target="_blank">upper elementary</a> where he is thriving, and am marking the transition of my younger one from <a href="https://www.montessorischoolofdecatur.com/primary.html" target="_blank">primary </a>to <a href="https://www.montessorischoolofdecatur.com/elementary.html" target="_blank">elementary</a>, a threshold she is approaching with excitement and trepidation. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpF1eP9lJnTEnsJc-EKbTpYVzisloq_tPbrenAxDmN8L9LBp2y_G9n6QV_RB1wU9QuuAfvywiVerouDh1G0CW921M0w87G-WyHi4J0q3CMb2IqR0EU-TksVvbKmQJXAAUREHFfUx8HCBAi-FLF6EYgbFHRMjI0M4p2qMQPmYrAUNyX3sdrkqw/s2046/IMG_3971.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2046" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpF1eP9lJnTEnsJc-EKbTpYVzisloq_tPbrenAxDmN8L9LBp2y_G9n6QV_RB1wU9QuuAfvywiVerouDh1G0CW921M0w87G-WyHi4J0q3CMb2IqR0EU-TksVvbKmQJXAAUREHFfUx8HCBAi-FLF6EYgbFHRMjI0M4p2qMQPmYrAUNyX3sdrkqw/s320/IMG_3971.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>I am transitioning into middle age. I will turn 39 in February. I am learning to live in the middle, in the "liminal place" as Rabbi Dayle so <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TP7_f4sdCy4" target="_blank">eloquently </a>put it. A strange irony that the steadiest of states for me is a place of observing so many others' transitions. I am the earth that holds others' fire and the water that rises and falls on others' wind. I am becoming acquainted with the wrinkles and silver streaks that will proliferate on my face and in my hair, becoming more and more a part of me. I am passing through a door to the center, where it is quiet, even as the world of my past and future, and everyone else's cares and joys and desires swirls around me like a galaxy. I am comfortable in this place of permanent impermanence. </div>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-16853985650192940702022-06-28T08:38:00.002-07:002022-06-28T12:40:38.558-07:00Rights, Implied and Imperiled<p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmNE8gqis2VIcmfIFBUl3LLhoAGdDqEA3IqdFsSDs1fr3HlmSzJD2on3PONBjKVW2qSbO6lMZTsb-6h4xkc3lC2pS0vKX4JSkzi0Tj92VNHumFQNGtHdYvc2w9nrLMLCerM_ycFIW2au1hSt5uN7lZksTwtk9hgLN2KAqiZQjnfhfXftOI3A/s3264/Blind_Justice_2017-01-11_399.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2176" data-original-width="3264" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmNE8gqis2VIcmfIFBUl3LLhoAGdDqEA3IqdFsSDs1fr3HlmSzJD2on3PONBjKVW2qSbO6lMZTsb-6h4xkc3lC2pS0vKX4JSkzi0Tj92VNHumFQNGtHdYvc2w9nrLMLCerM_ycFIW2au1hSt5uN7lZksTwtk9hgLN2KAqiZQjnfhfXftOI3A/s320/Blind_Justice_2017-01-11_399.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: start;"><span style="color: #202122; font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; font-size: 13.3px;">Blind Justice Statue at the Holmes County Courthouse<br />in Millersburg, Ohio, 2017/ Photo by Chris Light</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I'm by no means a Constitutional Law scholar, but I spend a lot of my time thinking about civil and human rights. These are the fundamental building blocks of our society, the most basic contracts that govern our relationships between each other and, perhaps more importantly, between ourselves and the state. Friday's <a href="https://www.npr.org/2022/06/24/1102305878/supreme-court-abortion-roe-v-wade-decision-overturn">Supreme Court decision</a> to overturn Roe v. Wade has troubled waters that have been relatively stable for my entire life. Like many others, I'm working on wrapping my mind around the implications. </span></p><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">No matter how you personally feel about abortion, or about the legal arguments in Roe v. Wade, we need to recognize (or create) a Constitutional right to privacy now more than ever. Where we do not violate the rights of others, where we do not cause others harm, the state has no role, and neither, by extension, do our neighbors. Even for an "originalist," I just can't see how the framers and the founders didn't see the world this way, and we have no business emulating their oversights. (Race and gender do not rightfully confer subhuman status, even if they did in the 1860s.) That was the whole point of liberation from tyranny. This is meant to be a nation where our rights to coexist, to live, and to love, shall not be infringed. That's not judicial activism. It's just sound interpretation. </span></p><p><span face="Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">At the same time, whatever religious or scientific basis you may use to articulate the moral questions involved in abortion, the possibility remains that there might be a clash between the rights of competing entities. When and how those rights are established is a matter of unresolved (and possibly unresolvable) debate. Different <a href="https://www.npr.org/2022/06/26/1107722531/some-jewish-groups-blast-the-end-of-roe-as-a-violation-of-their-religious-belief">religious traditions</a> recognize "life" at different times in the development of a human fetus. Judaism, in particular, has a <a href="chrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://www.ncjw.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/Judaism-and-Abortion-FINAL.pdf">long tradition</a> of holding the fetus to be a part of a woman's body, not a separate entity, until it takes its own breath. The very <a href="https://apnews.com/article/abortion-laws-government-and-politics-health-77c9ba98c4f4ab46fdbd5bcc47b5b938">concept of a heartbeat</a> varies across scientific and religious traditions. Even if you concede that in the decision to terminate a pregnancy it is possible that more than one entity can come to harm, and the needs of more than one entity ought to be considered, our legal code around questions of homicide and responsibility for dependents comes into play here, but so does our code around involuntary servitude (as well as unreasonable search and seizure in the case of provisions for the enforcement of anti-abortion laws). If a person manages to come into our home without our consent and establishes that they are absolutely dependent on our care, are we responsible for their welfare if we evict them? Is the state responsible? (How many homeless people die on the streets?) I say all this to establish that abortion is a complex issue.</span></span></p><p><span face="Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is exactly this kind of complexity that requires us to uphold the separation of church and state. If different religions establish different criteria for the onset of "life" and therefore the onset of rights of the individual, then the state cannot rightfully adopt criteria based on one religious interpretation over another. If there is scientific consensus around the notion of "viability" then that could be a reasonable criterion for the state to establish legal precedent, but in cases where this is not certain, the state should be compelled not to weigh in. This is a matter of individual conscience. </span></span></p><p><span face="Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">For me, though, questions about <a href="https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/supreme-court/thomas-wants-supreme-court-overturn-landmark-rulings-legalized-contrac-rcna35228">relationships between consenting individuals</a>, and the requirement of any benefits provided by the state being provided evenly across the population, are not complex at all. Unless someone is coming to harm as a result of something you are doing (or not doing), the state has no business regulating your actions. And if the state wants to recognize partnership rights based on an official status (<a href="chrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/14pdf/14-556_3204.pdf">marriage</a>), then that status must be available to anyone who wants it and can prove that their commitment is commensurate. Period, end of story. </span></span></p><p><span face="Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">Since Friday, I've felt like the sands are shifting beneath my feet. An especially uneasy feeling for someone comfortable with the status quo when it comes to our recent history of expanding, not retracting, civil rights in the United States. We are entering a moment of re-litigation, of re-sorting, and a new requirement to argue and to fight where we see injustice. This society is (and must be) ours to shape. For our children and their children, we must do so with integrity, humanity, and sound philosophical precedent (fairness). We must use our power for good.</span></span></p>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-68290602644542943762022-06-16T08:39:00.003-07:002022-06-16T08:39:58.387-07:00Storytelling in Museums Book<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL2VS2TC6VDrBHFt7kJx93h-6hlKnEyxH3RGIF0R7x3OajbVPC1U_Q3rFDNnVTGDoS6PU7N9b3rLrwOh8H5irxEmfhjxV_8133MVC2Jw7p55cGTgthEotwqEPrN69AGBckPfo3dD6dKZMXc4lTy2e8P9MYmkm9u2htQma9GfL4qIY70vRj1lY/s472/9781538156940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="472" data-original-width="315" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL2VS2TC6VDrBHFt7kJx93h-6hlKnEyxH3RGIF0R7x3OajbVPC1U_Q3rFDNnVTGDoS6PU7N9b3rLrwOh8H5irxEmfhjxV_8133MVC2Jw7p55cGTgthEotwqEPrN69AGBckPfo3dD6dKZMXc4lTy2e8P9MYmkm9u2htQma9GfL4qIY70vRj1lY/s320/9781538156940.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cover design by Chloe Batch. Cover image: "E Pluribus Unum," by Rebecca Warde, The Montpelier Foundation, 2017. Photo by Chris Danamayer, ProunDesign</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Like so many folks in creative fields, a silver lining of the past two years is showing through for me in the form of a pandemic project. My pandemic project's roots go deep, to the summer of 2015 when I first started working at the Museum of History and Holocaust Education (MHHE). From this new vantage point, and with a strategic plan that included the creation of a new permanent exhibit based on personal stories of Holocaust survivors, World War II veterans, and home front workers from Georgia, I reached out to the robust, international network of museum folks on Twitter to see about putting together a panel discussion at the 2016 AAM conference in Washington, D.C. Our topic would be the ethics and efficacy of including personal narratives in museum programming.</p><p>Responses came from colleagues I knew from my time in New York City, innovative thinkers I'd met at previous AAM conferences, and a talented new acquaintance from a world away in Australia. Our panel, "Out of Many, One: From Personal Stories to Public Narratives," was a <a href="https://aam.shop.webcast.guru/?download=3319" target="_blank">success</a>, but I didn't want to leave it there. I knew there was more to explore. </p><p>As I worked on new exhibits at the MHHE between 2016 and 2020, the sapling that sprouted from the roots of that "Talk Show" panel thickened and accumulated rings. The trunk of an idea grew more robust, and in a moment of inspiration, I decided to submit a book proposal to AAM press that November. </p><p>Now, almost two years later, <i><a href="https://rowman.com/ISBN/9781538156933/Storytelling-in-Museums" target="_blank">Storytelling in Museums</a></i> will see the sun next month. With contributions from dear friends and colleagues from as near as Atlanta, Georgia, and as far away as Casablanca, Morocco, the idea grew eighteen branches (chapters) ready to drop seeds into the fertile imaginations of people already in the museum field as well as those whose curiosity has just been piqued. </p><p>I know, I've stretched the tree metaphor a bit too far, but I'm really excited about this book and deeply grateful to the 22 authors in addition to myself who worked with me over the past two years to shape and prune their ideas into something beautiful and inspiring and solid. Like the B<i>onsai</i> tree that it is, this book has been a labor of love.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSJ3XW63S9Ezi_CLGV705uAS2DwZmUNxG3YmQ0GZcy0UoXBFkREdVYlA7MUGPpb_35RRaDVI54yTpkHZhUxVXibcHREMcaJNJVYgXAr-e0Bpo-TlXrVs1Tz0DEf1pdrHdV0aOoTTp7LIQWkkImVUZ3iJ0Y1MVxuCU7cPu9JKJUe-5QFNplsw/s2133/Bonsai_Tree_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2133" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSJ3XW63S9Ezi_CLGV705uAS2DwZmUNxG3YmQ0GZcy0UoXBFkREdVYlA7MUGPpb_35RRaDVI54yTpkHZhUxVXibcHREMcaJNJVYgXAr-e0Bpo-TlXrVs1Tz0DEf1pdrHdV0aOoTTp7LIQWkkImVUZ3iJ0Y1MVxuCU7cPu9JKJUe-5QFNplsw/s320/Bonsai_Tree_1.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Bonsai tree in Washington, D.C., December 16, 2018 by Julianibarra</td></tr></tbody></table><br />There will be more to come, but for now, please consider pre-ordering the book for yourself, for your students, for your friends. I mean, who doesn't want a collection of essays published by a professional/academic press? Seriously, though, you won't be disappointed. These authors are brilliant and they have so much to say. Each chapter provides a glimpse into a deeper body of work and a network of relationships across communities. This book is a fractal that won't leave you disappointed.</p><p>'Nuff said for now. See you next month!</p><p><br /></p>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-50408537702044189822022-03-30T12:59:00.002-07:002022-03-31T09:24:36.529-07:00Hiding and Being Seen<p> It's springtime in Georgia, and my neighborhood is awash in blossoms. As the earth warms, and the angle of the sun shifts, the trees have no choice but to bloom, displaying their vitality for all to see.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDRayGhKLRgu65_XTOrCASwFHEJzL-hpLkIc7PkdPSWy2_KMgO-Xg6vMV-3FjrN5KdXetYOR49kob9TELcU0lfXeFs0v3e9nKeiddfikcgkQZf8nSRabsUzmnKHllr9EWzgkVVQL48I2fr2ba7gUTMFG_eiKkXgTgkgV9Q2j_9GGsUimGnifo/s2048/IMG_2389.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDRayGhKLRgu65_XTOrCASwFHEJzL-hpLkIc7PkdPSWy2_KMgO-Xg6vMV-3FjrN5KdXetYOR49kob9TELcU0lfXeFs0v3e9nKeiddfikcgkQZf8nSRabsUzmnKHllr9EWzgkVVQL48I2fr2ba7gUTMFG_eiKkXgTgkgV9Q2j_9GGsUimGnifo/s320/IMG_2389.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_CnABVBUWVZu04nuleyEYwx2fipxD53Gk4CE9-_3ltpsrMy6eQAsQugBzMZOrWNbY4rC8z0HgSsPPuXy12zAdtChRe7QxP907Rs1wx4rMcJxh3i8AabaaIvRNnny_3bT_7wVbDNF8wbSAavc-egOtShW5QCcafDC72ddDRPx-ZQl1q6efD4A/s2048/IMG_2385.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_CnABVBUWVZu04nuleyEYwx2fipxD53Gk4CE9-_3ltpsrMy6eQAsQugBzMZOrWNbY4rC8z0HgSsPPuXy12zAdtChRe7QxP907Rs1wx4rMcJxh3i8AabaaIvRNnny_3bT_7wVbDNF8wbSAavc-egOtShW5QCcafDC72ddDRPx-ZQl1q6efD4A/s320/IMG_2385.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am grateful for their beauty. And this season of reflection, with Passover on the way, reminds me to be grateful, too, for my freedom. What does freedom mean to me? I have had some recent opportunities to engage deeply with the notion of freedom and to consider its presence in my life and its potential for absence, in my life and in the lives of others.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've written before about the special nature of my synagogue, Congregation Bet Haverim (CBH) in Atlanta. CBH was founded in the 1980s by gay and lesbian Jews who were seeking a safe place to worship and be in community with each other. They added a <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1UCZYRriDS6hw0v0cAytMxepEXYeTNSuTXJp2g-wReDI/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">"Prayer for the End of Hiding"</a> to their liturgy which affirms the rights of gay and lesbian Jews to be seen and appreciated in contrast to the ways in which they had been forced into a "dishonest presentation of themselves" by the pressures of the sexual, gender-identifying, and religious majority. Even as it has been <a href="https://www.reconstructingjudaism.org/article/straight-welcoming-creating-inclusive-community" target="_blank">updated </a>over the years to be more inclusive, the prayer continues to celebrate the freedom that comes from ending hiding, blossoming your true self into the light. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As a straight, cis-gender woman, welcomed into this community, this prayer has grown to hold tremendous significance for me. I am humbled by the courage that it took for CBH's founders to open their space to the wider Jewish world, risking being outnumbered and subsumed by people whose experiences did not mirror their struggle. I deeply appreciate what it means to make the choice to come out into the open as your full, true self. At the same time, I have become increasingly aware of the necessity of a baseline of safety for this act to <i>be </i>a choice, and for that choice to bring a sense of freedom and empowerment. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Take a recent, relatively insignificant, example from my life. I decided to cut my hair short. After more than two years of pandemic lengthening, I was ready for a change. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-HTw6980tMhmhVmQP9gvkcHIcjZNvUVgIfkvppvG3Klp-1sE3fYF_hveQlkX56cbqV0T9QyJTnIXki_91Pq3vOPFK1WzVhthli3g6iI0ry9qGkbeDjoXX2_Btj3Oo8NEnIfuIuB4XRvo0kgxIdmSab5_I1IeFcf8TCHBZ6dEjh7CQvcIsdik/s2048/IMG_2397.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-HTw6980tMhmhVmQP9gvkcHIcjZNvUVgIfkvppvG3Klp-1sE3fYF_hveQlkX56cbqV0T9QyJTnIXki_91Pq3vOPFK1WzVhthli3g6iI0ry9qGkbeDjoXX2_Btj3Oo8NEnIfuIuB4XRvo0kgxIdmSab5_I1IeFcf8TCHBZ6dEjh7CQvcIsdik/s320/IMG_2397.jpeg" width="320" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTUkduXrRaefZavcR3ofjrNIaRKgr0cqPnvlNTpTlxYOZVRJAxybybjwuiDvz_dTNGC09ARwwAIqAMCeWVHGvwjHxIi71vXaGk4kZpxqV7lsA6tGS5BWWqU5kuXgRFT6fksWV6CDrXnD6Zgf4ZgRXIXak7BU7iRPsqiq64lQoli_ARHcLFXo/s2048/IMG_2398.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTUkduXrRaefZavcR3ofjrNIaRKgr0cqPnvlNTpTlxYOZVRJAxybybjwuiDvz_dTNGC09ARwwAIqAMCeWVHGvwjHxIi71vXaGk4kZpxqV7lsA6tGS5BWWqU5kuXgRFT6fksWV6CDrXnD6Zgf4ZgRXIXak7BU7iRPsqiq64lQoli_ARHcLFXo/s320/IMG_2398.jpeg" width="240" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLfKeoB8zsYN_8DYGpxh2G90n3_GY5DLzp43agUifMtkH89eFno_O-pgO8aN6pc6mu30K6PVkRbOkkumkhIoLCNgahBLp1_hAKNbXq10IBJpet8FLId8M6_xCCFmv27ueuOazeHzdD9KcyFOJl06n-BBOjVh1HD7aACfemUhehrDiuF_SJ5Xs/s2048/IMG_2400.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLfKeoB8zsYN_8DYGpxh2G90n3_GY5DLzp43agUifMtkH89eFno_O-pgO8aN6pc6mu30K6PVkRbOkkumkhIoLCNgahBLp1_hAKNbXq10IBJpet8FLId8M6_xCCFmv27ueuOazeHzdD9KcyFOJl06n-BBOjVh1HD7aACfemUhehrDiuF_SJ5Xs/s320/IMG_2400.jpeg" width="240" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGkMDg9ogbr48ptFTT9Dg0mnYXKhMAfz93H0ZR2sk6ARkEwVFFNk6wBW2ZDEAyzIy1nJSgrQVrqAvy_78fTc_I-7qFLXbVOVBnKIWo0lp0aSUesekyKxss5S7XmOnqNa73R4FIB9HJ4UDnuJL_wqxHvnSA208beuqBt9xrSsCzcksHuAdIf0/s2048/IMG_2402.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGkMDg9ogbr48ptFTT9Dg0mnYXKhMAfz93H0ZR2sk6ARkEwVFFNk6wBW2ZDEAyzIy1nJSgrQVrqAvy_78fTc_I-7qFLXbVOVBnKIWo0lp0aSUesekyKxss5S7XmOnqNa73R4FIB9HJ4UDnuJL_wqxHvnSA208beuqBt9xrSsCzcksHuAdIf0/s320/IMG_2402.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When my kids saw the new haircut, they were not impressed. My daughter asked "why?" in a voice laden with sorrow. My son said the haircut looks "bad" and that it emphasized the newest citizens of my scalp, my gray hairs. I knew it was a big change, and that it would shift the way I present myself to the world. I would have to wear it with confidence, knowing that there are many ways to be "feminine" and it was OK to look my age. I know that I am lucky to live in a time and place (and a body) where my risks for being harassed for my fashion choices are minimal. I am "out" as a (white) Jewish woman just two years shy of her 40th birthday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All that being said, two other recent experiences reminded me of the freedom that comes from also being able to hide, and how that freedom does not belong to everyone. This past weekend, I had the honor of attending the Marvin C. Goldstein Project Understanding Retreat for Emerging Leaders, a gathering sponsored by the American Jewish Committee (AJC)'s Atlanta <a href="https://www.ajc.org/atlanta/BlackJewishCoalition" target="_blank">Black/Jewish Coalition</a>. The coalition has been around since 1982 when John Lewis, Sherry Frank, Cecil Alexander, and other members of Atlanta's Black and Jewish communities got together to campaign for the renewal of the Voting Rights Act. Today, the retreat is primarily about increasing "understanding of, interactions amongst, and authentic relationships between those identifying with the Black, Jewish, and Jews of Color communities."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmPgg08c2LQ06f8irXMKn2NxwZWxDbJ7mV6iBue2hJtSHm_LDZM8siJ_aBHU4GbtyAR4h5E_EFZhSBd0FEmXqbZU8P5Rzdge_KraT8KFIWMkEmo-EHcl6WOT41iKxwMcMSkfVR_NzKM3VEAINPTq9ZKpxqjmytHdm4uZEIdPJrFMjJ2pdDdI/s1024/ad1a0b39-ebb6-43aa-87cb-1260d777bca7.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmPgg08c2LQ06f8irXMKn2NxwZWxDbJ7mV6iBue2hJtSHm_LDZM8siJ_aBHU4GbtyAR4h5E_EFZhSBd0FEmXqbZU8P5Rzdge_KraT8KFIWMkEmo-EHcl6WOT41iKxwMcMSkfVR_NzKM3VEAINPTq9ZKpxqjmytHdm4uZEIdPJrFMjJ2pdDdI/w640-h480/ad1a0b39-ebb6-43aa-87cb-1260d777bca7.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Project Understanding Class of 2022</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A key part of fulfilling that mission involved frank conversations among the retreat's cohort of about forty Black + Jewish professionals under the age of forty. Perhaps the most intense iteration of this conversational process was the "everything you wanted to know" session on Saturday night. After listening to members of the "Black delegation" talk about how they kept their wallets in the driver's side door in case of traffic stops and crossed the street to avoid being perceived as following a white person at night, the white "Jewish delegation" was asked how white privilege functioned in our lives. (This year, the Jewish delegation was almost all white-presenting Ashkenazi with the exception of a few who were Mizrahi or Sephardic or of Asian-American heritage.) I found myself answering that white privilege meant that I could move through the world without people knowing that I was Jewish. Non-Jewish white people were not generally guarded around me. In some cases, they might openly reveal antisemitic sentiments, not directed at me at all. In essence, I could hide.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBvmVTaSvOZrcQ8idyQamAujViYNuP0d8hmAzV8qMZZTZ7vojyJAgsnImU9qNwIK_YKaVxHp23XYL7we9gNp_JdTt6k8_0nerKhwPBtl79oYy4itwCc4zmyZKYThsebZCrb1V6ozFulM29jDtpN3nP693kL81-U0j0kWUdmOQPIgbVyWrNeQ/s2046/IMG_2392.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2046" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBvmVTaSvOZrcQ8idyQamAujViYNuP0d8hmAzV8qMZZTZ7vojyJAgsnImU9qNwIK_YKaVxHp23XYL7we9gNp_JdTt6k8_0nerKhwPBtl79oYy4itwCc4zmyZKYThsebZCrb1V6ozFulM29jDtpN3nP693kL81-U0j0kWUdmOQPIgbVyWrNeQ/s320/IMG_2392.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One way I often reveal my Jewish identity is through wearing a Star of David necklace like this one, a duplicate of that worn by my mother and grandmother.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the United States, it is impossible to hide from racism in a Black body. At the same time, it is all-too-possible not to be seen. This morning, I visited the Dignity Museum, a project of the non-profit organization <a href="https://www.lovebeyondwalls.org/about-us/" target="_blank">Love Beyond Walls</a>. I had the honor of hearing Terence Lester, the organization's founder, speak about his life. Lester talked about his experiences with homelessness and his experiences being mistaken for the janitorial staff at a large gathering of donors fundraising for nonprofit organizations where he was the keynote speaker. Lester spoke about the parallels between his experiences as a Black man moving in predominantly white spaces and those of people experiencing homelessness across the country. He spoke about what it was like to be feared, discounted, and stereotyped. He also spoke about the power of choice, a most basic building block of freedom.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6uW31LOMjBylw-Mme3Hza3_qN7DCpSvNLIGpfJ2YgNSXALHAM0R0zuQ5T0ANqslTswIIHQUndnLIQ4CBzeq2GorFEjykZnUsEwe8bOC_QY4y2sh6qzg73BiuNH9SN27giHJnnlSjwi-J8KRaah1BtyAePlYKxJCrF2imFr-VW8T81sEX7y1k/s2048/IMG_2406.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6uW31LOMjBylw-Mme3Hza3_qN7DCpSvNLIGpfJ2YgNSXALHAM0R0zuQ5T0ANqslTswIIHQUndnLIQ4CBzeq2GorFEjykZnUsEwe8bOC_QY4y2sh6qzg73BiuNH9SN27giHJnnlSjwi-J8KRaah1BtyAePlYKxJCrF2imFr-VW8T81sEX7y1k/s320/IMG_2406.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Housed in a trailer, the Dignity Museum can travel around the country.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5INVfYW2hMlNGkHXurw0uEa-AQ4s2KbjqThTpftRKsknMTFOKcWNCqNnJMcYOKHtpemGIWIQe30v4yUEeXDNv0MJ1V8aJdojZELDW-izoCbJvYg0sL_rXOIUFfZL3gitB87SfUauiQFtkktykMLIUnitWAquyGn1G7ENxE2OTSwatbeDdcY/s2048/IMG_2408.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5INVfYW2hMlNGkHXurw0uEa-AQ4s2KbjqThTpftRKsknMTFOKcWNCqNnJMcYOKHtpemGIWIQe30v4yUEeXDNv0MJ1V8aJdojZELDW-izoCbJvYg0sL_rXOIUFfZL3gitB87SfUauiQFtkktykMLIUnitWAquyGn1G7ENxE2OTSwatbeDdcY/s320/IMG_2408.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiklPmln1vXqfW_AQ_9Y2KE65fYJKZt6kOkL32FT5bwqaZjUTI7QeqI0EZy90aXpOscGKsHftHSX4hwH_VFntybx1C4pOQsQMD6N_yiFMw3kuZB21PDGWfFM5x4WKKkZ1d_PN4PLvAkZ8178RAiKIU8-GXiPZ0zAA8argZ8RCaiMyYJygzrbBE/s2048/IMG_2409.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiklPmln1vXqfW_AQ_9Y2KE65fYJKZt6kOkL32FT5bwqaZjUTI7QeqI0EZy90aXpOscGKsHftHSX4hwH_VFntybx1C4pOQsQMD6N_yiFMw3kuZB21PDGWfFM5x4WKKkZ1d_PN4PLvAkZ8178RAiKIU8-GXiPZ0zAA8argZ8RCaiMyYJygzrbBE/s320/IMG_2409.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZ8uSQPszo5X7la2Kc1OFA0xAR8LFNclMLHTQJf3BUkW9cFXpWaxuPUvVyzcgv7dNZW_9BlCSzLZSWgzDthJx-q5pHWcUtnS58mQL7HmRdx5H6OemH84NR-UcmKzeL7KS8Se8UT-D1iKtR_TboemvkrE1_Uz51_vLO4X9q7sIuDqIZlOVirs/s2048/IMG_2410.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZ8uSQPszo5X7la2Kc1OFA0xAR8LFNclMLHTQJf3BUkW9cFXpWaxuPUvVyzcgv7dNZW_9BlCSzLZSWgzDthJx-q5pHWcUtnS58mQL7HmRdx5H6OemH84NR-UcmKzeL7KS8Se8UT-D1iKtR_TboemvkrE1_Uz51_vLO4X9q7sIuDqIZlOVirs/s320/IMG_2410.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before entering the Dignity Museum, members of our group were given pieces of cardboard and a sharpie and asked to write what we might put on a sign if we were homeless and seeking help from strangers. The act of writing was powerful and emotional.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxItCSS75imJdsCcX36NfAb5Is5mnR3WpgJaeAytNdVqd1hwAyx1_cyNbeiMq-lmxIOZn6aC7o5JxPZMg1MF7sHBfRmXhR6hi6Gsap4MIiptV4cpCfkOFmOi1CkaiOh05ZkeWZnpLdszFr4AgkiD3Dh8uQIAblJuXNRNIlZ9z3DVqdKClJc1M/s2048/IMG_2411.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxItCSS75imJdsCcX36NfAb5Is5mnR3WpgJaeAytNdVqd1hwAyx1_cyNbeiMq-lmxIOZn6aC7o5JxPZMg1MF7sHBfRmXhR6hi6Gsap4MIiptV4cpCfkOFmOi1CkaiOh05ZkeWZnpLdszFr4AgkiD3Dh8uQIAblJuXNRNIlZ9z3DVqdKClJc1M/s320/IMG_2411.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love Beyond Walls included excerpts from oral histories with people experiencing homelessness in their tour of the Dignity Museum as well as quotes on the wall.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAztPxURXixXerfbxtze7U5MQNZ5PogMGQthlta9ujQ5AB5KSTgTGH12ze0VA7iAtxV431S9ZVC1W4rIfWZjTziTS--8t7JEcF0qM4xXGrltEDT3INTMhTqprciHVuHhr4Ss7y_fBMkXXDywIHmDx1U_JDFsped6fx6397FdwrTwHoMrQHLJw/s2048/IMG_2412.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAztPxURXixXerfbxtze7U5MQNZ5PogMGQthlta9ujQ5AB5KSTgTGH12ze0VA7iAtxV431S9ZVC1W4rIfWZjTziTS--8t7JEcF0qM4xXGrltEDT3INTMhTqprciHVuHhr4Ss7y_fBMkXXDywIHmDx1U_JDFsped6fx6397FdwrTwHoMrQHLJw/s320/IMG_2412.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeFc4qSRT00cd2Kq7lj-A2dghN2xDysYOqyYO9bZkVMNYGLITA0y-RX8H8ai-JiEIoy2b9uR_wLnYY1d5OafUXA9D27dSMYgCHSYFNYJP7caT7JRg6OWnq7xNArSpbYJN5qmR_PnYXGeKewQdFVbonpP34aDIejgf2soEZkN1Egvc1NsOQpE/s2048/IMG_2414.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeFc4qSRT00cd2Kq7lj-A2dghN2xDysYOqyYO9bZkVMNYGLITA0y-RX8H8ai-JiEIoy2b9uR_wLnYY1d5OafUXA9D27dSMYgCHSYFNYJP7caT7JRg6OWnq7xNArSpbYJN5qmR_PnYXGeKewQdFVbonpP34aDIejgf2soEZkN1Egvc1NsOQpE/s320/IMG_2414.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0hOYX0yW-1Sf7RbhKNLnyNPpTCKCRgD5c-gJSMk_ug2NxetMA4q1hhv_e1TpycWilRhadNyI9T84XZ13egbS9ab3x-3uWhD91KOPOK8nD9ABgq2HqtmEdJugsfRS68jF2rNu0MXA5jt_KkxAtWdeNsARj-vhfpu5ygCv8HY9mqiAezMq1HGM/s2048/IMG_2415.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0hOYX0yW-1Sf7RbhKNLnyNPpTCKCRgD5c-gJSMk_ug2NxetMA4q1hhv_e1TpycWilRhadNyI9T84XZ13egbS9ab3x-3uWhD91KOPOK8nD9ABgq2HqtmEdJugsfRS68jF2rNu0MXA5jt_KkxAtWdeNsARj-vhfpu5ygCv8HY9mqiAezMq1HGM/s320/IMG_2415.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Terence Lester controlled the soundscape inside the Dignity Museum with an app on his phone.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In his final book, <i>Where Do We Go From Here</i>, Dr. Martin Luther King wrote about "the world house" in which we all live. We are interconnected, whether we want to be or not. Terence Lester quoted King in his explanation of the work of Love Beyond Walls. An understanding of our interconnectedness can lead to "systems thinking" which is helpful when looking to address global problems. At the same time, my experiences over the last few days have brought home to me the limitations of systems thinking. It can be easy to get caught up in a desire for big solutions to big problems. After all, the more freedom of choice we have in our lives, the more powerful we can be. And yet, when those solutions are not forthcoming, it can be easy to feel a sense of futility. If there are too many choices of actions, and none seems perfect or guaranteed to succeed, why not withdraw into our own lives? Why not hide? I am reminded that when you hide, you cannot seek. We have the freedom to see and to grant others the freedom of being seen. And those small connections turn into a web of connections more powerful than any one person can be on their own. Ironically, the power is there, even if it's too big to see. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /></div><br /></div><br /></div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><p></p>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-86418624023187868782022-02-10T10:33:00.003-08:002022-12-12T13:18:28.485-08:00Reflecting on Intergenerational Relationships<p>In January, the last of my four grandparents passed away after about seven years of decline into Alzheimer's. The final four of those years of decline, which proceeded my Grandma June's death, were precipitous. As I was writing the eulogy I would present at his funeral service, I found myself reflecting on how memory changes as we move through the stages of our lives. </p><p>My Grandpa Lee died in 2005. He slipped and fell on some icy steps in early November. His decline, following a surgery to fuse his second cervical vertebra, took everyone by surprise. I visited him in the hospital over thanksgiving break, and when I got back to school, I couldn't concentrate. I was distraught enough that I applied for an extension on my fall semester coursework. I returned home again in time for his death and funeral in early December. </p><p>My memories of those weeks are patchy with emotion. I didn't read a eulogy at my grandpa's funeral. I remember putting my arms around my younger brother, and how my Grandma Rita was late, as usual. My feelings crystalized later in <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1KJIp3qN3m8m-FIKlu5FZYbK-5g0EwnMv/edit" target="_blank">songs</a>, and <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1tiA1aNctuL6gE2cfm6xrk0SzD0nEkpKY3Eqq8X8kzGE/edit" target="_blank">poems</a>, and I encapsulated my whole relationship with Grandpa Lee in the dedication of my honor's <a href="https://digitalcommons.oberlin.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1456&context=honors">thesis</a>, completed in May 2006. In it I wrote,</p><p>"Finally, I'd like to thank my grandpa Lee. With his sense of humor, love of nature and history, and unwavering creativity, my grandpa was an embodiment of 'heritage' to me. Although he didn't get to see it to the end, I think he would appreciate this thesis."</p><p>As the seasons turned, we remembered Grandpa Lee in other ways. My father, brother, and I recorded an interview about him at the StoryCorps booth at the WTC Path station after I started my job at the 9/11 Memorial. In 2013, my husband and I named our newborn son for him. </p><p>Then, on April 2, 2016, my Grandma Rita died at the age of 89. Unknown to my family, I was pregnant with my daughter at her funeral. Ten years after my Grandpa Lee's death, I was in a different place professionally and personally. And I'd really gotten to say goodbye to her. The <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1JDGN2QCBnKazmJX76Qnrr4Cy7I8HAak2SiymIzxH3E0/edit">eulogy </a>I wrote for her reflected this different mood. It became a real tribute to her personality, however quirky and sometime infuriating, and to what she had gifted to me. </p><p>My Grandma June's death, two years later, came as a complete shock. She succumbed to a previously undiagnosed heart condition after only a few months of close care from my mother. She and my Grandpa Dick had only recently moved from Aventura, Florida, to Princeton, New Jersey. I rushed to say goodbye to her after she underwent emergency surgery in early May 2018, but I flew back home instead of attending her funeral. It was a difficult decision, but I felt like my duties were to Leo and Ilana and Matt rather than to an extended stay with my family in New Jersey. It was a time that felt so busy and alien, and my memories ventured back to my childhood. It was those memories that came back to me in a rush on the train from New York City to Princeton Junction, culminating in a <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ATuNj8Z--8GAYRlvCBBpSDc1FeAQFysTJHfsixM55Pc/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">eulogy </a>read by the rabbi at the funeral. </p><p>After her death, time moved more quickly. The world descended into a pandemic, and my Grandpa Dick descended into dementia. When he finally passed, we were granted a chance to reflect on his entire life. It's that reflection that came out in the <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_qTRwSUfpZcrbxl6uvUP2FayZZgtp43-GkFyv2w7H2U/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">eulogy </a>I presented at his funeral. </p><p>His passing marked the end of a chapter in my life and the lives of my children. Now, my parents' generation is the oldest (save Matt's Grandma Irene) with whom we are connected. The distance between life and death seems shorter somehow, and the distance from childhood seems longer. It's easy to feel like a leaf in the wind. So I'll conclude with this offering from Will Robertson, the inestimable chorus director at CBH, recorded with friends from their homes. Everywhere, everywhere there is beauty. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/m4Q93uQDu2g" width="320" youtube-src-id="m4Q93uQDu2g"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-28424035481333332852021-11-12T12:49:00.002-08:002023-09-28T10:53:03.194-07:00Inter-discipline: Words, Music, Memory<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4sUbwkI0T4E/YY7KxQ1EXVI/AAAAAAAAMJw/HRKCJ6VH5G4fuy99IHVxak-9mSJ8CkWWwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1254/48b92cda-05bb-4f4c-a133-7dc756d70506.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="835" data-original-width="1254" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4sUbwkI0T4E/YY7KxQ1EXVI/AAAAAAAAMJw/HRKCJ6VH5G4fuy99IHVxak-9mSJ8CkWWwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/48b92cda-05bb-4f4c-a133-7dc756d70506.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Words, Music, Memory exhibit on display at Morgan Hall </td></tr></tbody></table><br />Tuesday of this week marked the 83rd anniversary of the flagrant state-sponsored pogrom of <i>Kristallnacht</i>. On Tuesday evening, I sat in KSU's Morgan Hall of the Bailey Center for the Performing Arts to experience a <a href="https://arts.kennesaw.edu/music/news/posts/kristallnacht_commemoration.php" target="_blank">commemorative musical performance</a>. Of course I watched the talented musicians on the stage and the speakers who shared perspectives from the podium, but I also used my vantage point in the special reserved section across from stage left to scan the audience for reactions to the performance. I watched as elders clasped each other's hands and college students drew breath sharply as they heard the voice of <i>Kristallnacht </i>survivor <a href="https://vimeo.com/209847437">Ben Hirsch</a> talk about how the German police protected the thugs throwing Molotov cocktails inside his childhood community synagogue on the morning of November 10, 1938. I watched as couples leaned in to hear cellist <a href="https://arts.kennesaw.edu/music/news/posts/jesus_castro_balbi_named_director.php" target="_blank">Dr. Jesus Castro-Balbi</a> vibrate the air with his deft pizzicato and groups of professors close their eyes to better hear the choir's polyphony during their performance of <a href="http://ksuweb.kennesaw.edu/~lsherr/index.html">Dr. Laurence Sherr's</a> "Fugitive Footsteps."<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L4MZCYPXZDg/YY7LJt4cEaI/AAAAAAAAMKA/OtdnSTICvEEBgvJLUeVLupxlIha_j9JGgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1254/7e1657c8-c189-4fad-bc5f-b8fe50868da6.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="1254" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L4MZCYPXZDg/YY7LJt4cEaI/AAAAAAAAMKA/OtdnSTICvEEBgvJLUeVLupxlIha_j9JGgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/7e1657c8-c189-4fad-bc5f-b8fe50868da6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jesus Castro-Balbi of KSU</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YCpvcHFwZ4U/YY7LJr1QyCI/AAAAAAAAMJ8/WrxI9v0UnLIiB6zOYEUIlrFA8mklsaJMQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1254/23f39e5c-a3b6-4f33-9333-49b97c789ba6.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="835" data-original-width="1254" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YCpvcHFwZ4U/YY7LJr1QyCI/AAAAAAAAMJ8/WrxI9v0UnLIiB6zOYEUIlrFA8mklsaJMQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/23f39e5c-a3b6-4f33-9333-49b97c789ba6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rabbi Joseph Prass of the Breman Museum</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qsv0n0Meq0w/YY7LJt22doI/AAAAAAAAMJ4/wEDHfuPnnsccSSLbgFn06hEmonAzuMAmQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1254/a61e910c-1ade-4a03-9def-a6287646e5b0.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="835" data-original-width="1254" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qsv0n0Meq0w/YY7LJt22doI/AAAAAAAAMJ4/wEDHfuPnnsccSSLbgFn06hEmonAzuMAmQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/a61e910c-1ade-4a03-9def-a6287646e5b0.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baritone Cory Schantz with the KSU Chamber Singers</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JN51RBNff7E/YY7LJ559rqI/AAAAAAAAMKE/CASaHS-UFFcqaNDRZUHfNj0MVEYyUJ_dwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1254/b8ade3f0-b938-4024-b7ae-f360c9ee8243.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="835" data-original-width="1254" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JN51RBNff7E/YY7LJ559rqI/AAAAAAAAMKE/CASaHS-UFFcqaNDRZUHfNj0MVEYyUJ_dwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/b8ade3f0-b938-4024-b7ae-f360c9ee8243.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, presenting about Words, Music, Memory</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A1KqfQbwVmI/YY7LKTur8bI/AAAAAAAAMKI/JSff1CcJ9fMhUkDzG9arU1w_qMndlwNLgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1254/f04c5452-c897-4982-883a-d83154ef22dc.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="835" data-original-width="1254" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A1KqfQbwVmI/YY7LKTur8bI/AAAAAAAAMKI/JSff1CcJ9fMhUkDzG9arU1w_qMndlwNLgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/f04c5452-c897-4982-883a-d83154ef22dc.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pianist Judith Cole, tenor Nathan Munson, clarinetist John Warren performing pieces by Lori Laitman and Jake Heggie</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N_kTvbYP9jk/YY7NJmUFyRI/AAAAAAAAMKg/tXHRDzQXyz4X7auDNHidlEIaqlKWSJ0lACLcBGAsYHQ/s1254/9a1af799-341f-4e1d-9707-2ec5102a0770.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="835" data-original-width="1254" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N_kTvbYP9jk/YY7NJmUFyRI/AAAAAAAAMKg/tXHRDzQXyz4X7auDNHidlEIaqlKWSJ0lACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/9a1af799-341f-4e1d-9707-2ec5102a0770.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dr. Catherine Lewis of the MHHE presenting about the history of <i>Kristallnacht</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>Tuesday marked the KSU culmination of an interdisciplinary project that <a href="https://arts.kennesaw.edu/music/news/posts/words_music_memory_holocaust.php">launched </a>on September 19, 2021, but really began in the winter of 2020. Words, Music, Memory: (Re)presenting Voices of the Holocaust has represented for me the best kind of interdisciplinary work I can do as a public historian.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-riidoGR1Q3k/YY7NsKpRQ4I/AAAAAAAAMKs/wNI5G2V0JyUtJ63LJioMXsdQnzHMl26XwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC_8171_good.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1367" data-original-width="2048" height="214" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-riidoGR1Q3k/YY7NsKpRQ4I/AAAAAAAAMKs/wNI5G2V0JyUtJ63LJioMXsdQnzHMl26XwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/DSC_8171_good.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laurence Sherr, Adina Langer, Sheena Ramirez, Jeanette Zycko, and Jeremiah Padilla after the first Words, Music, Memory concert on September 19, 2021.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Public history on its own has many of the markers of good interdisciplinary work. Practitioners build bridges between historical content (and its sources) and audiences (both specific and imagined). But when you fuse public history with the arts, new possibilities emerge. In particular, emotional through-lines are exposed, and the affirmative acts of humanity along the <a href="https://spark.adobe.com/page/nCHeHO08HvKq7/" target="_blank">chain of commemoration</a> are revealed.</p><p>By this logic, performance based on historical content is, by its nature, public history. And, at the same time, every performance is an act of radical presence. We are here, remembering, together. The wonder of that action <em style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Oxygen-Sans, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Helvetica Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">— </em>that people choose to be together, in a particular moment, honoring the voices of the people who witnessed the past <em style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Oxygen-Sans, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Helvetica Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">—</em> became real to me over and over again as I focused on the Words, Music, Memory project from the summer of 2020 through the fall of 2021. </p><p>I was also amazed and gratified by the willingness of artists to share their craft, and their creative process, with me. From renowned playwright <a href="https://spark.adobe.com/page/nCHeHO08HvKq7/#interview-with-wendy-kesselman" target="_blank">Wendy Kesselman</a> to young actor <a href="https://spark.adobe.com/page/nCHeHO08HvKq7/#interview-with-mia-quiney" target="_blank">Mia Quinney</a>; and from producers <a href="https://spark.adobe.com/page/nCHeHO08HvKq7/#conclusion" target="_blank">Mina Miller</a> and <a href="https://spark.adobe.com/page/nCHeHO08HvKq7/#interview-with-tomer-zvulun">Tomer Zvulun</a> to living composters and librettists <a href="https://spark.adobe.com/page/nCHeHO08HvKq7/#interview-with-jake-heggie-and-gene-scheer" target="_blank">Jake Heggie, Gene Scheer</a>, <a href="https://spark.adobe.com/page/nCHeHO08HvKq7/#interview-with-composer-lori-laitman" target="_blank">Lori Laitman</a> and <a href="https://spark.adobe.com/page/nCHeHO08HvKq7/#interview-with-composer-laurence-sherr" target="_blank">Laurence Sherr</a>, these insightful, purposeful souls were willing to open themselves up to my inquiry. They talked about the words and the lives that inspired them and the ways they applied their craft to interpreting and connecting those words with new audiences, perpetuating memory and creating experiences unique to their place and time. Likewise, the young <a href="https://spark.adobe.com/page/nCHeHO08HvKq7/#introduction" target="_blank">artists</a>, Martha Hemingway and Julia Guevara, who illustrated the writers on the exhibit panels, each illuminating their own understanding of these poets and diarists through imagery and color. </p><p>And then there was the effect of this project on the people whose lives were touched directly by the events of the Holocaust and World War II. The way that <a href="https://georgiajourneys.kennesaw.edu/tours/show/16" target="_blank">Hershel Greenblat</a> shared how soprano <a href="https://sheenaramirez.com/" target="_blank">Sheena Ramirez's</a> voice brought him back to his childhood in Austrian DP camps listening to his mother sing lullabies as she raised him and his two sisters while enduring lasting injuries sustained while resisting Nazi aggression. The way that <a href="https://georgiajourneys.kennesaw.edu/tours/show/33" target="_blank">Susan Berman</a> talked about her mother's escape from Germany on a <i>kindertransport</i> to England, similarly to poet <a href="http://www.kindertransporte-nrw.eu/kindertransporte_erinnerung_2_e.html" target="_blank">Anne Ranasinghe</a> whose aunt enabled her escape and whose words were set to music by Lori Laitman and sung by Sheena Ramirez. The way that <a href="https://georgiajourneys.kennesaw.edu/tours/show/35" target="_blank">Hank Van Driel</a> described his childhood in the Netherlands, the country that took in refugees of the M.S. <i><a href="https://historymuseum.kennesaw.edu/exhibitions/traveling/st-louis.php" target="_blank">St. Louis</a></i> like the Simon family (Berman's mother's family) and hid Anne Frank only to suffer deeply under Nazi occupation and give up <a href="https://www.annefrank.org/en/anne-frank/go-in-depth/netherlands-greatest-number-jewish-victims-western-europe/">three quarters of its Jews</a> to the Holocaust. </p><p>There were also members of the audience with no obvious connection to this history who stood and testified to the emotional impact of the commemoration, to their sense of the world's need for this work. The universalism of emotional impact may seem banal in its predictability, but the magic it produces is exactly the opposite. When we are moved, it is never cliché. The alchemy of words + music = memory. And memory is always new. </p><p>In this season of gratitude, I am thankful for having been able to work on this project and for its continuing momentum. Next month, I will join my dear friend, Sheena Ramirez, as she presents her DMA recital at <a href="https://www.jmu.edu/civic/holocaust-remembrance.shtml" target="_blank">James Madison University</a> where the exhibit will be on display through their International Holocaust Remembrance in late January. Stay tuned for more!</p><p>Update: Starting September 29, 2023, the exhibition will be on display at <a href="https://www.oberlin.edu/news/bearing-witness" target="_blank">Oberlin College</a>. Its sojourn on campus will culminate with a visit from me and Sheena in November to include an encore of our lecture/performance and a curatorial talk on November 16, 2023. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-18634432765963442052021-08-21T04:45:00.001-07:002021-09-10T06:55:23.922-07:00The Irony of "The Outsider"With the 20th anniversary of the terrorist attacks of 9/11 fast approaching, people across the media have had a <a href="https://hyperallergic.com/665644/we-need-to-reform-the-september-11-museum/">lot </a>to <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/12/arts/design/9-11-museum-budget-cuts.html">say</a>. Sometimes I think an entire book could be written about the human obsession with anniversaries, especially those with round numbers, but that's a subject for another blog post.<div><br /></div><div>Still, this year marks a significant commemorative moment, a decade since the opening of the 9/11 Memorial in New York City, and six years since the opening of the museum. And since I speak to students every year about the making of the 9/11 Memorial & Museum, folks have been sending me new resources of interest on that topic.</div><div><br /></div><div>So naturally, "The Outsider," a new documentary produced by Abramorama, piqued my interest.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fszk8osPklo" width="320" youtube-src-id="fszk8osPklo"></iframe></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>I remember the film crew headed by documentarians Steven Rosenbaum and Pamela Yoder making regular appearances at the museum offices at One Liberty Plaza both while I worked there full time and even, on occasion, coinciding with my monthly visits once I'd relocated to Michigan in 2010. Over the course of six years, the filmmakers had accumulated over <a href="https://www.ny1.com/nyc/all-boroughs/news/2021/08/03/september-11th-memorial-and-museum-new-documentary-the-outsider-highlights-tensions">600 </a>hours of footage of meetings, interviews, construction, and more.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I was surprised when I saw the trailer by how they chose to frame the story. Having watched the full documentary, I feel comfortable declaring my dislike for it in its entirety. </div><div><br /></div><div>As a history curator, I am sympathetic to the challenges of creating a coherent narrative experience from many disparate moments-- quotations, images, vignettes. And especially knowing the dangers of oversimplification, you have to work harder to balance viewpoints, provide context, and check your biases. I also know this can be even harder to do in a documentary, which relies on a linear chronology, than in a museum exhibit (or even a website) where visitors can make choices about where they dwell and how they move from topic to topic or space to space.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yet, the irony of "The Outsider" is that it seems to purposefully do just what it laments in its observation of the development of the 9/11 Memorial Museum. "The Outsider" claims that the professional staff who worked to build the museum moved from an open-ended presentation of the evidence and impact of 9/11 to a closed narrative of U.S. victimization and grievance culture. The documentary alludes to political pressures and personality differences and implies that there is something inherent in the professionalization of public history that results in an attitude of "question answering" among curators. But the documentary never explains what actually changed between the museum's alleged vision in the early stages of the planning process and the vision of the museum upon its opening in 2014. Worse, the documentary creates a story with a cast of archetypes-- a scrappy protagonist, a staid, conservative leader-turned-villain, a small number of supporting players who get caught up in the central conflict-- where none of that existed. By imposing a narrow narrative on a complex and organically unfolding process, the documentary does exactly what it claims that the 9/11 memorial museum did in the creation of its exhibits. </div><div><br /></div><div>Especially painful to watch were the many missed opportunities to expand the story and make it truly multivocal. There were moments when you could see that the project team was much larger than the few the film chose to follow. There was beautiful footage of artifacts, explored with the guidance of the chief curator's eloquent descriptions. There were moving scenes of empathy expressed by the director of exhibitions as she assembled photographs for the memorial exhibition. There were allusions made to the multiplicity of perspectives among family members and other stakeholders in the development of the project as well as the tremendous pressure baked into the project's expectations from the beginning-- its massive scale, its central location, the rawness of the wound felt across demographics of American and international society. Yet, it seemed to me that every time the story had an opportunity to bloom outward and ask the legitimate questions raised by such an unprecedented endeavor, the documentary creators purposefully reigned it back in to focus narrowly on tensions they perceived between the visions of Michael Shulan, the creative director, and Alice Greenwald, the director of the museum, bolstered by a pile of unexplored assumptions. Why would professionals lack an appetite for raising questions? Why would the presence of politicians on the nonprofit's board automatically skew the project in a conservative direction? Why might the museum wait to explore some of the political and cultural ramifications of its central event until after its initial opening? (As an aside, I discovered today that a reviewer in the <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2021/08/19/movies/the-outsider-review-911-museum.html">New York Times</a> agrees with me.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Twenty years after 9/11, the geopolitical changes wrought by the event and the social rifts illuminated in its aftermath are becoming more apparent. As I write this piece, the Taliban is reestablishing control in Afghanistan. Debates over how things that make some people safer make others feel less free are rising to a fever pitch. The ways in which race and religion and class consciousness intersect with national pride and a sense of belonging remain contested and unresolved. The questions that need to be asked are being asked by many. And many are trying to provide answers. And the 9/11 Memorial Museum, in all its imperfection, sits in the middle of this milieu. The people I knew who worked on this project, and who continue to work on this project, aren't heroes or villains. They are storytellers working in the medium of the museum. They are taking it day by day. </div>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-73811466088834372532021-05-13T08:57:00.000-07:002021-05-13T08:57:44.241-07:00Timestop: Musing on Impossible Desires<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k8YbKziqdhs/YJ0mU5V_Q2I/AAAAAAAAL7A/ZQePbfszC0czL-EOSJQlamTWCQYCOGqYwCLcBGAsYHQ/s920/3w1umg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="920" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k8YbKziqdhs/YJ0mU5V_Q2I/AAAAAAAAL7A/ZQePbfszC0czL-EOSJQlamTWCQYCOGqYwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/3w1umg.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Superhero Meme courtesy Imgflip.com</td></tr></tbody></table> More than a year ago, we were having one of those typical dinner conversations with a six-year-old and a three year old, and my son asked us each to name the superhero we would most want to be. I didn't have to think long before coming up with my hero: Timestop. She would have the power to pause everything and everyone around her. Somehow she would be able to keep going, moving among the people and objects of the world. Sometimes she'd fix things. Sometimes she'd just relax and enjoy the peace and quiet. <br /></p><p>At the time, I'm pretty sure I was motivated by the realities of my long commute. Wouldn't it be lovely to stop all the traffic and mute all the noise and just float on over to my destination? But lying awake in bed last night, I realized that this fantasy goes deeper for me. As a public historian, I specialize in telling stories that help people make sense of the past. I trace the threads that run through our shared experiences. I try to untangle the knots that lead to confusion in the present, and I know that I'm motivated by a desire to stop us from making the same mistakes over and over again. But underlying this desire is a need for there to be a tapestry that can be isolated long enough to grab ahold of the threads. For stories to be stories, they need to begin, and to end. </p><p>And yet, history doesn't work like this. Every origin story has an origin story. And we keep making history, every day. Time doesn't stop. And neither do people. We act, and react, and react again. We hurt, and we heal, and we hurt again. </p><p>In my striving for a reflective practice, I've come to recognize a false assumption at the root of historical thinking in the Western European tradition. Our interpretive and analytical goals are based on the idea that we can isolate the past in order to study it. Although much has been written about the impossibility of history as a true "social science," especially given the inability of historians to conduct controlled experiments or repeat each other's findings, the desire for these things to be possible remains. I feel it in my own frustration with current events. "Stop!" I want to yell. "We haven't even made meaning of the past yet. Don't add new complications to the story!"</p><p>My work with students this semester on an <a href="https://historymuseum.kennesaw.edu/exhibitions/traveling/black-and-jewish.php" target="_blank">exhibit </a>about historical relationships between (and among) Black and Jewish communities brought this tension into stark relief. How do you tell a story that isn't over yet? Does it have chapters, or merely themes and variations? In the end, I think my students and I were able to rise to the occasion, which is all we can really ask of anyone. Among other things, our research and curation revealed a central tension around the nature and disposition of the state of Israel, and it shed light on the questions at the heart of national identity and belonging that remain relevant in Israel, the United States, and around the world. Can a nation that is built on an exclusive form of heritable peoplehood also assure civil and human rights to all of its inhabitants?</p><p>As I write this post, this decade's fragile peace in Israel and Palestine is teetering on the verge of dissolution, and the peace within our own communities (especially Jewish communities) around Israeli politics is sorely taxed. Even my own <a href="https://www.congregationbethaverim.org/" target="_blank">CBH</a> synagogue, which has been a bastion of the most civil online conversations I've seen over the past year around issues of racial legacies, white supremacy, immigration, and sex and gender identity rights, saw fissures and scars rising to the service when members began to talk about what's happening now in <a href="https://www.cnn.com/2021/05/11/middleeast/israel-gaza-violence-analysis-intl-cmd/index.html" target="_blank">Jerusalem</a>. </p><p>And I found myself wanting to climb into a phone booth and turn into Timestop when I thought about all the young people who are waking up to worlds of disappointment in their elders, fear for their safety, anger over a sense of being told false narratives. All the analysis of the past that we can provide doesn't change a present that refuses to deliver, a present where people keep making new mistakes, and real people get hurt, get angry, and hurt each other again.</p><p>But it's time for me to acknowledge that Timestop's superpower is neither possible nor desirable. The only antidote to history is death. Instead, life goes on in all of its inscrutable emergence. I will never stop seeking understanding through stories, and new stories will never stop being born. Instead of trying to stop it all so I can gain a sense of control, I can only yield to the beauty, and the horror, and the beauty again, adding what thread I can to the ever-growing tapestry. </p>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-72423817411125852162021-03-22T08:09:00.004-07:002021-03-22T08:14:16.957-07:00Scope and Content Notes: Public History and ActivismIn this second spring of the "<a href="https://covid-19archive.org/s/archive/page/welcome">plague year</a>," I'm attending the <a href="https://ncph.org/conference/2021-annual-meeting/">NCPH 2021</a> annual meeting virtually. Although it's has been challenging to bring my full attention to the conference, even when I'm tuning in, I've still been able to <a href="https://twitter.com/search?q=%23ncph2021&src=typed_query">witness </a>and participate in a lot of valuable "convening" of the best and brightest in the field. <div><br /></div><div>On Friday, March 19, 2021, there was a particularly powerful live session called "Local History as Public Advocacy." Convened by Kathryn Julian of Westminster College, the session carried the following description: "History has long been used as a vehicle to raise awareness for contemporary problems, to advance social causes, and to reveal the roots of societal injustices and inequalities. But local and public historians, working in a discipline with its own set of methodologies and questions, confront limits to what history can or cannot 'say' about the present. This roundtable aims to deepen the conversation on how public historians can or should advocate on behalf of communities, whether in museums, the classroom, the arts, social media, or through political channels. We will reflect on the constraints and limitations that historians confront at the intersection of history and public advocacy." The session brought together a diverse group of commentators from across the field including Holly George of Utah State Historical Society, Chel Miller of the New York State Coalition Against Sexual Assulat, Jedediah Rogers of the Uta State Historical Society, Angela Tate of Northwester University (on her way to a new job at the Smithsonian), and Lacy Wilson of the Charlotte Hawkins Brown Memorial State Historic Site (and formerly of the Owens-Wilson House and Slave Quarters in Savannah, Georgia). </div><div><br /></div><div>The conversation ranged across issues, from place-names in Utah, to staff experiences in Illinois, to visitor expectations in Georgia. Some powerful insights emerged from the conversation. Among them:</div><div><br /></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Sometimes institutions want our training but not our advocacy.</li><li>Institutions can show a lack of care for their staff when they inadequately prepare them for the ways in which visitors will burden them with their grievances.</li><li>Sometimes defending a sound methodology is a form of activism (what I might just see as good public history would seem to others to be activism.)</li></ul><div>All of these insights raised important questions about the intersections of our personal and professional ethics. When we make connections between the present and the past, we are inevitably advocating for something, even if that something seems tremendously obvious to us as public history professionals. Still, there are limitations on when, where, and how, that kind of advocacy can, and should, take place in our work. These are the limits placed on the "<a href="https://www.archives.gov/research/catalog/lcdrg/elements/scope.html#:~:text=Scope%20and%20Content%20Note%20should%20contain%20information%20about%3A%20who%20created,is%20to%20the%20activities%20documented%3B">scope and content</a>" of our work. </div></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">All of this was swimming around in my head as I prepared to co-facilitate a "late-breaking" session on Saturday, March 20. Our session, "Public History: Here and Now" came about when we were wrestling with whether and how to write a reflective post for History@Work as an editorial team shortly after the confirmation of the Biden/Harris presidential election and the coinciding right-wing insurrection at the U.S. <a href="https://www.npr.org/2021/02/09/965472049/the-capitol-siege-the-arrested-and-their-stories">Capitol</a>. Our session description tried to bring it all together: "<span style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-family: Roboto; letter-spacing: -0.5px;">What does it mean to do public history in 2021? This past year has been marked by the ravages of the COVID-19 pandemic as well as political unrest ranging from the anti-racist protest movements spurred by the police killing of George Floyd in May to the right wing extremist insurrection at the U.S. Capitol on January 6. But the deeper roots of all of these phenomena have a way of intertwining with our personal and professional identities. A little more than four years ago, </span><em style="background-color: white; border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #212529; font-family: Roboto; letter-spacing: -0.5px;">History@Work</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-family: Roboto; letter-spacing: -0.5px;"> published a reaction to the presidential election of Donald Trump (</span><a href="https://ncph.org/history-at-work/a-response-to-the-election)" style="background-color: white; border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Roboto; letter-spacing: -0.5px; text-decoration-line: none;">https://ncph.org/history-at-work/a-response-to-the-election</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-family: Roboto; letter-spacing: -0.5px;">). Now, we are hoping to create space for NCPH conference attendees to reflect on the meaning of their work at this historical moment. Guided by facilitators, participants will discuss the values that underlie their pursuit of public history and the challenges and opportunities they perceive in their work right now. The conversation might lead to a round-table reflective essay on </span><em style="background-color: white; border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #212529; font-family: Roboto; letter-spacing: -0.5px;">History@Work</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-family: Roboto; letter-spacing: -0.5px;"> following the conference."<br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 12.96px; letter-spacing: -0.5px;"><br /></span></div><div>The session itself was purposefully closed, in order to create a safe space for participants to share how they were thinking and feeling "at this historical moment." We didn't know who was going to attend, so we created a process to take the temperature of the field in advance of the conversation. We started with three sets of questions.</div><div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>What values underlie your pursuit of public history? What do you perceive as the greatest challenges to those values in recent years?</li><li>What information would allow you to better assess whether your work is effective?</li><li>What (if anything) do you perceive as “political” in your work? What do you think others might perceive as “political?” Has this changed over time? Can/should public history be used to de-escalate divisions in our society? And how can/ should we de-escalate divisions without suppressing perspectives? Is de-escalation the same as making peace with injustice?</li></ol><div>After receiving a few anonymous responses to these questions, we re-framed them for the session, which would take place via Zoom break-out rooms via PheedLoop, as follows:</div></div><div><ol style="text-align: left;"></ol><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Your Public History Values</b>: What drew you to public history? Do those reasons still resonate? What do you see as inside the scope of your work/public history? What do you see as outside the scope? Has that changed in the last four years?</li><li><b>Challenges of the Moment</b>: What challenges have you encountered or observed over the past year, or over the past four years? What are their origins? How do they manifest in your professional and/or personal life?</li><li><b>What We Need:</b> What would help you do your work better? (Information, funding, cultural change, etc...) What can we do to support each other in this work? What should we focus on outside of work? </li></ol><div>The conversation was fruitful and seemed beneficial to those who attended. We will likely circle back to it as we consider what a post for History@Work might look like. For my own part, I am continuing to mull over my own thoughts and feelings on these topics. What belongs in our work? What doesn't belong in our work? Where do we belong in the work? I realize I've been thinking about these things a lot since the "<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/05/12/realestate/muslim-museum-world-trade-center.html">Mosque at Ground Zero</a>" incident back at the 9/11 Memorial, but these past few years have upped the emotional ante even further.</div></div><div><br /></div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I'll conclude with a case study that this week ended up providing for me:</div><div><br /></div><div><div>On Tuesday, March 17, 2021, there were <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/live/2021/03/18/us/atlanta-shootings-massage-spa">shootings </a>at three spas in metro Atlanta that killed eight people including six Asian women. These murders have elevated an important public <a href="https://medium.com/awaken-blog/on-anti-asian-hate-crimes-who-is-our-real-enemy-207ee7354926">conversation </a>about escalating violence against Asian-Americans during the pandemic and the relative lack of public support for the community.</div><div><br /></div><div>As the curator of the Museum of History and Holocaust Education, I am one of our social media managers. I posted this message on our social media on Thursday (the fact that I was initially alerted to the events by a friend on Wednesday afternoon reflects my attempts to keep my sanity by maintaining a news diet):</div><div><br /></div><div>"We are saddened and rattled by escalating violence against people of Asian heritage in our communities as they are blamed for the pandemic and targeted for harassment. We must remain vigilant against scapegoating and racism. For ways to help:<a href=" http://ow.ly/qSpC50E2tXT"> http://ow.ly/qSpC50E2tXT</a>" And I included an image of the "Stop Asian Hate" graphic showing two people holding a candle together with a heart background that's been making the rounds as a visual meme.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-35HxEEbrpPk/YFirfG25OzI/AAAAAAAAL3g/zrIgQBkjRk4ezwP1L_BkYgtNN6Ooyxu_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s720/162299501_10158992476045279_1057568088221883457_o.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="508" data-original-width="720" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-35HxEEbrpPk/YFirfG25OzI/AAAAAAAAL3g/zrIgQBkjRk4ezwP1L_BkYgtNN6Ooyxu_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/162299501_10158992476045279_1057568088221883457_o.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>On Friday morning, I saw that there was a comment on the MHHE post: </div><div>"Why not stop all hate. There were no cries to stop Asian hate in LA with the Rodney King riots targeting Korean businesses. Seems the only victims of hate these days or people who have victim identities. Or what about any of the riots around the country that started last summer targeting innocent people?"</div><div><br /></div><div>I found myself disturbed, but not at all surprised, by this comment. I looked at the man's public profile and concluded that he probably follows MHHE because of our connection to WWII history. His profile is filled with images related to the U.S. Army and commemoration that would traditionally be considered "patriotic." Lots of flags and photos of white male Army veterans. It also included a few relatively tasteful graphics showing his support for Trump in 2020.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nevertheless, the man's comment disturbed my breakfast. Thinking about his response, and what my response to it should be, cut into my "non-work" time with my husband and family. I played out various scenarios in my head of what a conversation on social media might look like. All of the scenarios seemed to lead to escalation that could be potentially damaging to the MHHE or, to me personally, depending on how they played out. I wanted to call him out for false equivalencies, for the kind of right-wing victim culture that seems to compel people to respond to solidarity and sympathy statements with a requirement that we refrain from highlighting inequality and harassment rooted in a particular racist history when we see it because "white people are also harassed, and Black people can be violent toward other minorities." </div><div><br /></div><div>But I could imagine glib rejoinders, because that's how social media culture works. Social media isn't a place for real conversations.</div><div><br /></div><div>I thought about who my real intended audience was with the initial comment about Asian hate-- I wanted to make sure that our friends and patrons who are Asian and Pacific Islander know that we're thinking of them, and know that we see what's going on and see the disturbing connections to anti-Asian bias that have risen up at many other times in our past--- and those larger connections to racism and scapegoating that enabled the worst atrocities of the WWII era. The goal was not to be alarmist, but to let people know that we see, hear, and support them. But what to do about people like the commenter? Our museum is based in northwest Georgia. Many members of our audience are probably politically aligned with his views.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, in the end, I left this comment on his comment: "If you have questions about why MHHE would choose to bring attention to targeting and harassment of Asian Americans right now, you are very welcome to explore our many free resources including university-level educational modules, online exhibits, and more. <a href="https://historymuseum.kennesaw.edu/education/digital-education/?fbclid=IwAR0_O9cCzHCFCqdONvJTSd_KVoql-TAjP5-KMX_nYj7NOnFBhg0I-4sLnTM">https://historymuseum.kennesaw.edu/edu.../digital-education</a>/"</div><div><br /></div><div>This partially feels like a cop-out, but it also feels like the best I could do. We have a lot of long-form, nuanced, free public history material that people like the commenter are welcome to interact with at their own pace. Our online resources are rooted in inquiry, try to anticipate many questions that contemporary people might have about the past, and attempt to provide perspectives both broad and deep. Maybe, if someone like the commenter took the time to participate in our educational modules about immigration, about Japanese internment, about Black Lives Matter, or about the targets and victims of the Holocaust, he might come away with a better idea about why a Holocaust museum would call attention to contemporary bias incidents against Asian Americans. Maybe even a small seed would be planted that might help him think and react differently in the world. But then again, maybe not.</div><div><br /></div><div>Still, I find myself frustrated by my feeling that I can't (or shouldn't) engage the commenter directly. Am I wrong about that? What does it mean when a public historian is unsure of how to talk with "the public?"</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-33835047674595734702021-02-08T12:41:00.004-08:002021-02-08T12:41:49.374-08:00A Constituency for Immigrants<p> This semester, I am teaching an honors class at KSU based on questions raised in the <i>Refuge or Refusal</i> traveling <a href="https://historymuseum.kennesaw.edu/exhibitions/traveling/refuge-or-refusal.php">exhibit </a>created by the MHHE in 2018. The class alternates between facilitated discussions with the students based on readings focused on immigration history and visiting speakers who Zoom in and offer their perspectives on contemporary issues. The students, who range across majors from anthropology to mechanical engineering, and nursing to zoology, post discussion questions in advance. They are then asked to think critically about what kinds of research they would need to do to answer their questions properly. The final assignment in the course will be to come up with a research question related to immigration and tentative plan for how they would collect the data necessary to answer their question.</p><p>Readers of this blog will know that I've been posting regularly about the intersections of <a href="http://www.artiflection.com/search/label/immigration">immigration,</a> public history, and current events since 2008. But it was last week's visiting speaker, Isha Lee of <a href="https://www.welcomingamerica.org/">Welcoming America</a>, who raised an issue I hadn't really considered before. She told the students that when Welcoming America was founded in 2009 with a public policy advocacy mission, its founders were told by government insiders that the reason no comprehensive immigration legislation had moved forward in <a href="https://www.brookings.edu/blog/fixgov/2019/02/11/can-immigration-reform-happen-a-look-back/">Congress </a>since 1990 was that there was "no constituency for immigrants." So instead of advocating policy at the federal or even state level, Welcoming America focused on building a movement locally. The organization's efforts range from helping to share data on immigration impacts gathered by economists and think tanks to creating metrics for municipalities to assess the welcoming nature of their policies. And since people begin to care about others when they get to know them, they also promote a week of festivities centered on food, music, and conversation every September.</p><p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u0CxrpLFlWc/YCGg1QHO_aI/AAAAAAAAL00/JExjQG_d_LIU6hKGpKP75aL203_EdnzfACLcBGAsYHQ/s1280/WW_FBevent_v2-e1597419305301.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u0CxrpLFlWc/YCGg1QHO_aI/AAAAAAAAL00/JExjQG_d_LIU6hKGpKP75aL203_EdnzfACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/WW_FBevent_v2-e1597419305301.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2020 Welcoming Week Logo from Welcoming America</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p>After class last week, I kept chewing on this idea of "no constituency for immigrants." When I started the research that led to the creation of Refuge or Refusal, I knew that there was plenty of constituency against immigrants. In 2016, that seemed to be the primary <a href="https://www.vox.com/2015/7/29/9060427/nativism-research-immigration-trump">cause </a>of Donald Trump's nomination to the republican ticket. And yet, I'd grown up in the 1990s. I'd heard the phrase "a nation of immigrants" uttered by politicians too many times to count on my fingers. I'd also been to countless Passover seders in which we talked about the imperative of welcoming the stranger, for "we had been strangers in the land of Egypt." But it seems that I was foiled again by the shifting media landscape and the disconnected spaces of political information.</p><p>Thus, when I heard President Biden's first foreign policy <a href="https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/speeches-remarks/2021/02/04/remarks-by-president-biden-on-americas-place-in-the-world/">speech </a>on the radio, and the <a href="https://www.npr.org/2021/02/04/963650814/america-next-biden-to-talk-about-foreign-policy-as-russia-myanmar-crises-flare">analysis </a>that followed it, I was surprised again by the workings of public opinion. President Biden rooted his plans for an expanded refugee policy in a recognition of the worldwide effects of climate change as well as the need for a withdrawal of U.S. arms from violent conflicts, including the civil war in Yemen. Biden noted that "The United States’ moral leadership on refugee issues was a point of bipartisan consensus for so many decades when I first got here. We shined the light of liberty on oppressed people. We offered safe havens for those fleeing violence or persecution. And our example pushed other nations to open wide their doors as well." The analyst who contextualized the president's speech and explained his executive order to raise the refugee cap to 125,000 for the next fiscal year noted that Trump's war on refugees and asylum seekers had back-fired with recent polls showing increased bi-partisan support especially for refugees. By demonizing refugees as a part of a hardline approach to immigration rooted in the rhetoric of fear and criminalization, Trump had inspired more people to think about immigration in new ways. Time will tell whether he did his part to create a constituency for immigrants after all. </p><p>I've posted so many lamentation on this issue recently. I'm grateful to have the chance to post something hopeful instead. I know that it will not be easy to welcoming 125,000 refugees during a global pandemic, and that executive orders can only go so far, but this is a start. And I will do my part to share my gratitude with those who make policy as well as those who benefit from it. This is the America I want to live in-- a place where people want to come, not from where people hope to flee. </p>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-33700556978878620172021-01-05T08:06:00.001-08:002021-01-05T08:14:28.140-08:00Material Culture Riff for the Holidays<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y652xsV-NW4/X_SLm_Y6-_I/AAAAAAAALxU/NtWPcts-2kUbEeIBGC-sTUmqmi9Iig9PQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_1019.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y652xsV-NW4/X_SLm_Y6-_I/AAAAAAAALxU/NtWPcts-2kUbEeIBGC-sTUmqmi9Iig9PQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/IMG_1019.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br />It's a time-honored tradition for grandparents to send gifts for grandchildren that require parents to take time out of their pajama-clad relaxation on Christmas morning to put together something whose assembly methods were seemingly conceived by sadistic robots. <p></p><p>I preface this riff in the spirit of gratitude. Our daughter is four years old. The look in her eyes when she saw that the box that was too enormous to place beneath the tree was meant for her was priceless. In fact, our entire holiday experience during quarantime was a bittersweet mix of yearning and fulfillment. We were home to light candles on every night of Chanukah. We spun dreidels for caramels and butter mints and made West African Spice Donuts for breakfast. On the second-to-last night of Chanukah, we opened gifts from my family endowed with the olfactory spirit of transportation straight to my parents' den in New Jersey: wool and firewood smoke; books and fresh bread; soap and clean cat fur. The games that arrived from a shop in Brooklyn carried thoughtful intentions from my brother and sister-in-law. "Who Am I?" was a highlight of our Sunday with our daughter showing an uncanny knack for drawing magical creatures.</p><p>A week later, we tackled the pile of gifts that had slowly accumulated beneath the tree since early December. Santa had cheekily left gifts for the kids in their bedroom: crystals that replicated rainbows in the eastern morning light. After a traditional breakfast of "eggs in purgatory" we took the unwrapping at a leisurely pace. Unicorns figured prominently, as did texture and interactivity. A set of toys made in Japan was labeled "Squishy Paradise." Marvel figurines began epically battling immediately. Brightly colored bed-sets bedecked with beloved characters were revealed and squealed over. Movies, books, and games from as nearby as Decatur and as far away as Vermont were studied and then set aside for later enjoyment. The room crackled with the potential energy of laughter. A real china tea-set with wonderful, whimsical, polka-dots was treated with the reverence it deserved until plastic practice swords drew both children out into the yard in the chill of the morning. No weeds or dead branches were safe.</p><p>There was a lull in which my husband and I looked at each other and knew it was time. We opened the box labeled "Step 2 Kitchen" and were met by a cascade of plastic pieces followed by a flurry of decal sheets and finally the clang of a plastic bag of screws. The instruction sheets contained only numbers and pictures. There were no pre-drilled holes in the plastic. I repeat-- no holes. We set about our task with an inevitable combination of snark and devotion. Yes, we will get a hammer to punch holes in the plastic with the screws. But yes, the spirit of Christmas will be tested when said hammer and screw dig into a thumb instead of the intended plastic. No, we are not privy to the magic formula of attaching parallel plastic pieces at a 45 degree angle. Yes, we will studiously study the decal diagram. No, we will not procure a screwdriver long enough, and tiny enough, to reveal the battery slot to endow the larger burner with sound effects. </p><p>Maybe forty minutes and some creative profanity later, the kitchen was assembled. Here was a perfect reflection of American consumer expectations in 2020. There was a Kurig-style coffee maker with single-use pods for coffee, tea, and coco. Only the magic of make-believe would enable their endless reuse. There were two paper to-go cups, made out of plastic. There was a tiny smart phone pre-loaded with an array of colorful apps. A food and water dish for a small dog was built into the bottom of the pink decor. Our daughter loved it all, although she did not understand the coffee maker. (I'm one of those sticklers for grinding my own beans and using an Aero-press.) Our son became the dog. They named him "Earthquake" after the sound and fury he unleashed within the empty box that had contained the kitchen. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T2-tjc65jcI/X_SQQPsnEMI/AAAAAAAALxg/TWiNipLOgTMDDLvepPduAj9pyMpCJKUVwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_0328.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T2-tjc65jcI/X_SQQPsnEMI/AAAAAAAALxg/TWiNipLOgTMDDLvepPduAj9pyMpCJKUVwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_0328.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>We moved the kitchen into our dining room where it was immediately dappled by rainbows from our daughter's Santa-crystal. Wonderfully, goofily bedecked in my quarter of the set of four matching sloth pjs sent by my aunt in Texas, and watching the sun twinkle on the blue topaz "ice" necklace given to me by my husband, I felt the kind of warmth intended by the season's traditions of gift-giving more completely than I had ever felt it before. Our nuclear family was alone together for the winter holidays for the first time in our son's seven years, the thirteen years of our marriage, and the 36 years of my life. But we were alone like a crystal in the window. We had caught the gifts, and the cards, and the texts, and the calls like rays emanating from sources of light across the miles. We had become a prism for that light and all the intention behind it. And I felt that the "things" of this season would continue to vibrate with the light of their intentions long into the new year. </p>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-38103264637752212932020-09-27T13:32:00.001-07:002020-10-01T09:45:29.302-07:00Seeing What is Hidden: a Yom Kippur Reflection<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are places in our nation that are difficult to see, but when called upon to look closely, we mustn’t turn away. </span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-94dc3143-7fff-0475-f1d0-526ab9fc7a5d"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On Monday, September 14, a former nurse at the Irwin County Detention Center in Ocilla, Georgia, filed a whistleblower </span><a href="https://projectsouth.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/OIG-ICDC-Complaint-1.pdf" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">complaint </span></a><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">along with Project South and the Government Accountability Project to the Department of Homeland Security that alleges “Lack of Medical Care, Unsafe Work Practices, and Absence of Adequate Protection Against COVID-19 for Detained Immigrants and Employees Alike” at the facility. Among these allegations is a pattern of reproductive sterilization of migrant women without adequate informed consent which, if true, would be an egregious abuse of state power, especially if it were proven that these unwanted medical procedures were a deliberate attempt to prevent migrant women from having children in the United States (which would make those children U.S. citizens). </span></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The facility is run by a private company contracted by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), an agency of the U.S. executive branch. Immigrant detention facilities are governed by a set of </span><a href="https://www.ice.gov/factsheets/facilities-pbnds" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">performance-based national detention standards</span></a><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> established in 2011, but ICE is responsible for its own oversight. Learning about this complaint, I knew I had to speak out in favor of a rapid response, from three positions: my position as a Jewish person seeking to repair the world (tikkun olam), my position as a citizen with rights and responsibilities for a democratic nation, and from my perspective as a history curator specializing in the relationship between citizens, nations, and human rights. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Museum of History and Holocaust Education at Kennesaw State University, where I am the curator, presents public events, exhibits, and educational resources focused on World War II and the Holocaust in an effort to promote education and dialogue about the past and its significance today. Among the pillars of our mission are understanding the ethical and political consequences of our actions and acceptance of civic and personal responsibility. In 2017, we took up the topic of immigration because we knew that people were struggling to understand the complex history that led to present-day immigration debates in the United States (which had become riddled with dehumanizing rhetoric), and because we recognized the role that statelessness, revocation of citizenship status, and immigration restrictions played in the lives of people attempting to flee Nazi Germany in the lead-up to World War II and in the efforts of survivors of the war to find a place they could call home.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last Tuesday, we partnered with Welcoming America and CivicGeorgia to host an education <a href="https://historymuseum.kennesaw.edu/news-events/refuge-or-refusal-welcoming-week-2020.php">event</a> based on our 2018 exhibit </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Refuge or Refusal: Turning Points in U.S. Immigration History</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Amidst the complexity of the topic, we hoped that our participants would come away with a single big idea: immigration policy and citizenship status are powerful tools that affect people’s lives, and in our democracy we have changed them many times as we’ve attempted to define the purpose and composition of our nation. During our event, we reviewed a timeline of those changes and also considered the effects of a shifting legal landscape on people seeking safe and stable lives in a complex world. Among other trends, we noted the precipitous rise in immigrant incarceration since 2015. Increased incarceration of undocumented immigrants awaiting deportation hearings and asylum-seekers awaiting case hearings is associated with the criminalization of immigration offenses and the federalization of enforcement beginning in the 1990s. (In our country, we regard jail time as a punishment for a crime; routine jailing of immigrants treats the act of border-crossing as a criminal offense.) The </span><a href="https://www.dhs.gov/homeland-security-act-2002" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Homeland Security Act of 2002</span></a><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> granted powers to the Secretary of the new executive agency to detain or release noncitizens during pending removal proceedings. And since 2015, the federal government has attempted to use incarceration as a </span><a href="https://www.leagle.com/decision/infdco20150220f84" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">deterrent</span></a><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, arguing that “one particular individual may be civilly detained for the sake of sending a message” to others “who may be considering immigration.” Although the deterrence effect is made possible only by the visibility of immigrant detention as a policy, many immigrant detention facilities are located in relatively sparsely populated rural areas of the United States, essential to local economies, but away from the direct view of many American citizens. Irwin County Detention center is 3.5 hours southeast of Atlanta, in a <a href="https://www.census.gov/quickfacts/irwincountygeorgia">county </a>with fewer than 10,000 people, 70% white, 30% Black, and 4% Hispanic. The majority of the employees at the Detention Center are Black, and many of the people incarcerated there do not speak English</span></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Although immigration policy created the situation at Irwin Detention Center, the complaint filed on Monday is not about immigration. Immigration is at issue only insofar as it has placed individuals at the mercy of the state. The complaint represents a means by which citizens are attempting to work within our governmental bureaucracy to ensure that our nation is protecting human rights, maintaining minimal standards of treatment for people within its custody, and for people working for companies that enforce its policies. It is up to all of us to use what power we have to shed light on the places where the most vulnerable people are hidden.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The founders of the United States believed in the idea of a nation built on the doctrine of natural rights, a nation that would attempt, at its core, to protect the rights of its citizens to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. A thorough study of American history illuminates the many points of contention around who could be a citizen, and the rights of non-citizens, but the idea of inalienable rights demands that we affirm these principles time and again. Still, even if all people are created equal, life circumstances and group conflicts affect their relative power over each other. What, then, is the responsibility of people with power?</span></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">World War II and the Holocaust awakened the world to a need to set aspirational standards for human rights for all people, regardless of their state affiliation or citizenship status. In 1948, the newly established United Nations General Assembly adopted the </span><a href="https://www.un.org/en/udhrbook/pdf/udhr_booklet_en_web.pdf" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Universal Declaration of Human Rights</span></a><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Still, there is no single agreed-upon agency that can enforce respect for those rights around the world. Thus, it is up to us to assess our own power, and to use it where we can to protect those whom circumstances have rendered most vulnerable. And if our democratic state incarcerates people while they wait to learn in which nation they will be allowed to pursue their happiness, then we cannot turn away from them in that limbo; we cannot leave them hidden in the dark. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">---</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XV0pDkUFhGk/X3D0zqiK2xI/AAAAAAAALnE/3U1I3YYic6EBrsZQz5od8DnNFAe2S8cMgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1440/120102192_10159115765138714_8624482494219098004_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1440" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XV0pDkUFhGk/X3D0zqiK2xI/AAAAAAAALnE/3U1I3YYic6EBrsZQz5od8DnNFAe2S8cMgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/120102192_10159115765138714_8624482494219098004_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taschlich Group gathering in Front of Irwin County Detention Center. Rabbi Joshua Lesser and Lily Brent are in the center.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What then should we do? As I've written before in this</span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/35394922/3810326463775221293#" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">blog</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, there are senators, such as Corey Booker, who have attempted to respond to the COVID-19 pandemic by passing emergency legislation to release all people in ICE detention who do not pose a risk of harm to the people of the United States. By legal standards, that would be just about everyone. As I write this, the</span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/35394922/3810326463775221293#" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">FIRST</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Act is stalled in the Judiciary Committee. There are other ways to act. On Friday, September 25, Rabbi Joshua Lesser of</span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/35394922/3810326463775221293#" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Congregation Bet Haverim</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in Atlanta led a group of people in a</span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/35394922/3810326463775221293#" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Taschlich</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ritual outside the Irwin County Detention Center in Ocilla. My dear friend Lily Brent, who is the executive director of Repair the World Atlanta, was there. She wrote of her experience, "Today, I had the honor of convening with friends and colleagues to issue a moral and spiritual call for collective repentance and societal change. In front of Irwin Detention Center in Ocilla Georgia, we spoke out against detention of people seeking to immigrate to this country, against racism from slavery to mass incarceration, against unsafe and unsanitary conditions of confinement, turned potentially deadly under COVID, against the long history of medical neglect, abuse, experimentation and exploitation of Black, Latinx and Indigenous people, against greed and profiting from all of the above instead of seeking solutions to poverty and inequity. May this be the year for justice."</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-86f75265-7fff-8428-499e-773ac94b88f5" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On Yom Kippur we do Teshuvah. Often translated as repentance, "teshuvah" literally means "to turn around." We turn around to seek ourselves. And we do it again every year. We seek a better world again, and again. We seek a world where we take responsibility for each other. We seek a world where our eyes are open, and our hearts are open. We return to our fiercest hopes. These were the hopes of the people who founded the United States in the image of a nation free from tyranny. These were the hopes of the people who recognized the effects of the poison of slavery and racism on the history of this hopeful nation, who fought for a more perfect union. These were the hopes of the people who came to build a new life in this nation, fleeing from situations that put their lives in danger, situations beyond their control. And these are my hopes. As I open my ears to Kol Nidre tonight, I will be praying for the strength to continue to hope. In the words of Arundhati Roy, "Another world's not only possible. On a quiet day, you can hear her breathing. She's on her way."</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">May we all have the strength to use what power we can to build a foundation of justice so that all creatures may be free to pursue their happiness, speedily, and in our time.</span></span></p><div><br /></div></span>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-69881417819967791232020-08-31T16:27:00.003-07:002022-09-01T12:36:47.136-07:00Museums and Change: from Timeliness to Timefulness<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="direction: ltr; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xvs4prGJPyA/XzVmmYSGzRI/AAAAAAAALg4/AWYdwNfpkkEEFcdJQ0wIclpksbiFAXS8gCLcBGAsYHQ/s599/435px-Theodore_Roosevelt_Memorial_Hall_entrance.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="435" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xvs4prGJPyA/XzVmmYSGzRI/AAAAAAAALg4/AWYdwNfpkkEEFcdJQ0wIclpksbiFAXS8gCLcBGAsYHQ/s0/435px-Theodore_Roosevelt_Memorial_Hall_entrance.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In June 2020, the American Museum of Natural History in New York City <a href="https://www.amnh.org/exhibitions/addressing-the-theodore-roosevelt-statue">requested </a>that the equestrian statue of President Theodore Roosevelt, which also "communicates a racial hierarchy that the museum and members of the public have long found disturbing" be removed from the steps of the museum. </td></tr></tbody></table><div style="direction: ltr;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">It's been a long four months* since I last reflected on the role of museums in 2020, this most anxious of years. These months have been marked by heat and pressure, sudden eruptions of anger, and slow revelations of fault lines in every sector of society. And the cultural sector in which museums and public history institutions are deeply rooted has fared <a href="https://www.architecturaldigest.com/story/covid-19-impact-on-museums">poorly</a>.</p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">Statements from museums and related professional organizations in solidarity with the protest movements in support of #BlackLivesMatter and calling for an end to race-based social injustices have <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/11/arts/design/museums-protests-race-smithsonian.html">ranged </a>in intensity and <a href="https://ncph.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/NCPH-Statement-on-the-Killing-of-George-Floyd.pdf">specificity</a>. There have been large-scale pandemic-related <a href="https://hyperallergic.com/578201/tenement-museum-education-staff-layoffs/#:~:text=The%20Tenement%20Museum%20on%20Manhattan's,of%20the%20museum's%20education%20staff.">layoffs </a>and controversial <a href="https://www.freep.com/story/entertainment/arts/2020/07/03/ex-mocad-employees-allege-racism-toxic-workplace-museum-reopens/5372805002/">re-openings</a>. There have been efforts toward <a href="https://museumworkersspeak.weebly.com/">mutual aid</a> and vocal <a href="https://www.indystar.com/story/entertainment/arts/2020/07/18/newfields-curator-says-discriminatory-workplace-toxic/5459574002/">exits </a>from museum professionals hired to promote inclusion. Responses from people <a href="https://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2020/08/what-should-a-museum-look-like-in-2020?fbclid=IwAR3bUa4cyi6LTXrJs-K7Jcheq0Xu0L0jdJCp4QGihqAZ7kvaigyYxC5fvvY">within </a>and outside the field have likewise varied from cautious <a href="https://www.aam-us.org/2020/06/09/racism-unrest-and-the-role-of-the-museum-field/">optimism</a>, to deep <a href="https://www.inquirer.com/news/black-lives-matter-philadelphia-museum-of-art-response-protest-staff-criticism-20200611.html">disappointment</a>, to demands for the <a href="https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/manitoba/cmhr-ceo-resigns-1.5627928">resignation </a>of the CEOs and board members of <a href="https://www.artforum.com/news/sfmoma-chief-curator-gary-garrels-resigns-after-staff-outcry-83581">some </a>of the largest and oldest institutions. Some call for change through new <a href="https://incluseum.com/2020/08/06/reflexive-cartography-or-a-ritual-for-the-dying-museum-landscape-the-socio-political-impact-of-change-in-museums/">frameworks </a>for <a href="https://ncph.org/conference/other-programs/an-evening-with-aleia-brown-twitter-chat/">relationships </a>within and <a href="https://leadershipmatters1213.wordpress.com/2020/08/10/the-museum-crisis-does-reflection-help/">across </a>communities. Others call for radical reorganization and the <a href="https://ncph.org/history-at-work/we-need-to-talk-about-public-historys-columbusing-problem/">ceding of power</a>. There are some who are convinced that museums are <a href="https://museum-id.com/are-museums-and-archives-irredeemable-colonial-projects/">irredeemable</a>. There is a "Death to Museums" movement (although, despite the provocative name, it is <a href="https://deathtomuseums.com/">pushing </a>to help museums emerge anew from the nadir of their existence), and calls for <a href="https://www.cnn.com/style/article/natural-history-museum-whitewashing-monuments-statues-trnd/index.html">abolition</a>.</p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">Calls for abolition are based on the premise that museums are inherently colonialist and white supremacist enterprises, that they do harm by the nature of their origins and their structures. Yet, unlike monuments, erected by the people of the past for a particular symbolic purpose, museums are living entities, and they can change. And they have. Museums are staffed by people who can, and ought to, listen to the analyses of their critics. No person who enters a museum, works at a museum, or whose story is told at a museum, should be de-humanized, disempowered, used, or tokenized. And museums are staffed by people who have something to contribute to the conversation, who can, and should, articulate the value that such living institutions can provide to an anxious world.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="direction: ltr; float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n4Mnm7rgb4o/XzVoqwRrqFI/AAAAAAAALhI/sXpqcNciTsgnhjAhFZa-vbJ7bhSJwJygwCLcBGAsYHQ/s419/Don%2527t_Eat_the_Pictures_VHS.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="237" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n4Mnm7rgb4o/XzVoqwRrqFI/AAAAAAAALhI/sXpqcNciTsgnhjAhFZa-vbJ7bhSJwJygwCLcBGAsYHQ/s0/Don%2527t_Eat_the_Pictures_VHS.jpg" /></a> </td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">VHS cover for "Don't Eat the Pictures," <br />1983 <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">More than a decade into my career, I have internalized <span>what I believe to be the dearest values of public history and museum practice. I love museums across their iterations: the forums, yes, but even the </span><a href="https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/j.2151-6952.1971.tb00416.x">temples</a><span>. They are places for encounter, for resonance, and for occasional repugnance. In the immortal words of Sesame Street's Big Bird, in the 1983 PBS special, </span><i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MUtkBzj7nvU">Don't Eat the Pictures</a></i><span>, </span><span> "Where does today meet yesterday? In a museum!" Yet I still struggled to think critically, and to set myself aside, when confronted by the idea that this thing that I love should be abolished else risk doing social harm rather than social good. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span>~~~~~</span></p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">In late July, I took a "stay-cation." I refrained from reading emails or articles, stayed off of Twitter and went on Facebook only to post daily photographs of something "really big" and something "really small." I set a goal for myself to meditate on "<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Timefulness-Thinking-Like-Geologist-World/dp/0691181209">timefulness</a>," an idea crystallized in the work of geologist Marcia Bjornerud. Change usually happens slowly, but change happens. And change does not have an automatic valence. It can be positive, negative, a mixture of both. That valence is in the eye of the beholder. Rocks don't care. </p><div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="direction: ltr;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="direction: ltr; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="direction: ltr; text-align: center;"></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="direction: ltr;"><br /></div><div style="direction: ltr;"><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="direction: ltr; float: left; margin-left: 1em;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oOFhs6gMnGQ/XzVpiBvYRUI/AAAAAAAALhQ/buyXuy3I_vsi55ZThrPWmdIR_CNX550BwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_4988.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="246" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oOFhs6gMnGQ/XzVpiBvYRUI/AAAAAAAALhQ/buyXuy3I_vsi55ZThrPWmdIR_CNX550BwCLcBGAsYHQ/w328-h246/IMG_4988.JPG" width="328" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The author near the summit of Kennesaw Mountain, with Stone Mountain in the far distance</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="direction: ltr; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="direction: ltr; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="246" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zETi7dnqxg0/XzVpuGQHqAI/AAAAAAAALhc/OQQ3RLPB1PwDw8IKBKOYQVwaEZ7YsRoOACLcBGAsYHQ/w328-h246/IMG_4999.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="328" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: right;"><div style="direction: ltr; text-align: center;">Close-up view of crazy-quilt at the High Museum of Art</div></div></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="direction: ltr; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="direction: ltr; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="246" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZVmWEDpJljc/XzVpuCC5tdI/AAAAAAAALhU/hMxvIetWMW85ISnWjtVmwM3fE-GDxPlTACLcBGAsYHQ/w328-h246/IMG_5001.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="328" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="direction: rtl; text-align: center;">Zoomed out view of crazy quilt at the High Museum of Art</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="direction: ltr;">During the week of my stay-cation, I hiked with my husband on former Civil War battlefields where Confederate and Union troops clashed, and bystanders were displaced from their homes. We visited two newly re-opened museums. The <a href="https://high.org/">High Museum of Art</a> was quiet, masked and muffled. Like many contemporary art museums, I believe that the High has embraced the idea that <a href="https://artstuffmatters.wordpress.com/museums-are-not-neutral/">"museums are not neutral."</a> They are powerful places where people go to experience culture that has been endowed with a certain gravitas. I enjoyed my encounters with objects socially constructed into art. But I was tired of thinking about people, and their contexts, and their intentions. </p><p style="direction: ltr;">My visit to <a href="https://tellusmuseum.org/">Tellus Science Museum</a> a few days later offered the rejuvenation I needed to re-kindle my ability to engage with the vast matrix of human overlays on the natural world. Here was change on display in glittering exuberance. Marble, schist, gneiss, quartzite. Metamorphosed from sediments buried deep beneath ancient seas. Or equally likely from sudden intrusions of igneous rock-- granite, basalt. diorite. Of course Tellus exists because of human activity-- mining, endowment, informal education. The minerals within were there because humans value them for their beauty, rareness, and ability to offer clues about the vastness of the past. But the rocks within the earth would be there regardless of human activity, and they will remain long after we are gone. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="direction: ltr; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5dl38CNKmH8/XzVpuGTe6TI/AAAAAAAALhY/YE_vlh4vJ_oYqQzN1Qn1re4frjyeukPJACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_5003.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Amethyst quartz crystal at the Tellus Science Museum</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"></div></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="direction: rtl; text-align: center;">~~~~~</div><span></span><div><div style="direction: ltr;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">The second week in August I caught up with a "Tuesday Talk" sponsored by the <a href="https://www.semcdirect.net/">Southeastern Museums Conference</a> that I had been unable to face in real-time. I was dealing with one of my darker moods, feeling demoralized and defeated. The topic was change, and the invited speaker was Andrea Jones of <a href="http://www.peakexperiencelab.com/">Peak Experience Lab</a>, a consultancy that specializes in helping museums change from within. She began her talk by allowing participants to acknowledge their weariness, whatever the cause. She then pointed to the recent calls for museum abolition and asked participants to consider what they would keep if museums as we know them were to die.</p><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">Many participants talked about community. Others centered the role of objects and the perception of authenticity. I would add to this the experience of encounter and the opportunity for juxtapositions difficult to find elsewhere in life. Where does today meet yesterday? But where, also, can today meet today? Where can my today meet your today? In a space made sacred through mutual intention. And making sure that intention is mutual takes work. It cannot be assumed. Mutuality must be constructed with care. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="direction: ltr; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PT7ord0_Cuc/XzVsq1UbRcI/AAAAAAAALh0/fJgmwq98-OkVvx3WwFFp8djJyDDpRiMcQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_4992.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PT7ord0_Cuc/XzVsq1UbRcI/AAAAAAAALh0/fJgmwq98-OkVvx3WwFFp8djJyDDpRiMcQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_4992.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">One of the main sets of markers showing the location of Union and Confederate troops at Kennesaw Mountain National Battlefield Park, now a beautiful space for quiet contemplation.<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="direction: ltr;">Everything that humans create depends on other humans-- on their desires, their labor, their creativity, their willingness to allocate resources, and their power over each other. Institutions should not exist for their own sake. But where there is value, it should not be wasted-- sacrificed on a fire so hot that all is vaporized. Instead, we should subject our institutions to steady heat and pressure so that they are metamorphosed. The original sediments remain, but they emerge realigned. Previously separated layers are folded together. And they are solid— until they weather away. Because eventually they will. But even in timefulness, it's all right to be present in our own bounded moment. After all, we are only human. All of our accumulated lifespans amount to less than two seconds from midnight on the ever-expanding <a href="https://flowingdata.com/2012/10/09/history-of-earth-in-24-hour-clock/">clock </a>of earth's existence.</p><p style="direction: ltr;">* This post itself took almost a month to write and revise. I'd like to acknowledge, gratefully, the contributions of public historians <a href="http://kingstonhappenings.org/doers-dreamers-sarah-litvin/">Sarah Litvin</a>, and <a href="https://www.chicagotribune.com/suburbs/lake-forest/ct-lfr-shout-out-stein-tl-0910-20150908-story.html">Laurie Stein</a>, and also a deep read of the wonderful NCPH <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQ6_95iX-6g&feature=youtu.be">2020</a> <a href="https://online.ucpress.edu/tph/article/42/3/10/111122/In-the-Spaciousness-of-Uncertainty-is-Room-to-Act">address </a>by outgoing president Marla Miller. As always, my husband, Matt DeAngelis, is an invaluable sounding board.</p></div>Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-5886774823015848272020-06-01T19:25:00.003-07:002020-06-08T18:28:01.495-07:00Elohai Neshama<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Elohai Neshama</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-90099f2a-7fff-703b-1873-54b6c498c45e" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Oh Infinite,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">the soul that You breathed</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Into me is pure.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And into us,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">breath, upon breath, open</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">throats: speech</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">into ears, open</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">passageways for vibrating </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">air, turned again</span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">to breath-- O2</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">N2, CO2, H2O, micro-- pure</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">or impure.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">...</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Lacking life,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">replication begets destruction.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Breath struggles,</span></div>
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">passageways</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">besieged, constricted, blocked</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">by infection,</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">or by a knee</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">for nine minutes, on a street in Minnesota</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">where people breathed</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">and heard.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">…</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Oh Infinite, </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">unblock our passageways</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">that we may be open</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">to justice.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">To peace.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Amen.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"></span></div>
<a name='more'></a>Inspired by the Hebrew morning prayer, <i style="background-color: white; font-family: "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">Elohai, neshamah shenatata bee tehorah hee</i> whose English translation is "My God, the soul that you breathed into me is pure," this poem is dedicated to the people whose breath has been cut off during the COVID-19 pandemic, whether by the novel coronavirus itself, or in the recent string of killings of African American men and women by law enforcement professionals or (in the case of Ahmaud Arbery of Brunswick, Georgia) by those believing themselves to be law enforcement professionals.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p_h9iycqkRM/XtW3BHGUcZI/AAAAAAAAKc4/Mdj7b_ltNVAuajmOtgsCGaCZyV7Q76DagCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/George_Floyd_Protest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p_h9iycqkRM/XtW3BHGUcZI/AAAAAAAAKc4/Mdj7b_ltNVAuajmOtgsCGaCZyV7Q76DagCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/George_Floyd_Protest.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peaceful protesters at a Justice for George Floyd protest in Minneapolis, Minnesota, May 26, 2020<br />
Image by Fibonacci Blue</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our communities are under pressure. Our country is under pressure. Our world is under pressure. Our sense of <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/01/technology/george-floyd-misinformation-online.html?action=click&module=Top%20Stories&pgtype=Homepage">truth </a>is under pressure. Let us hold each other up and allow each other to breathe freely.</span></span></div>
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Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-92017330152254845532020-04-27T08:47:00.001-07:002021-02-08T12:42:11.071-08:00Maintaining Momentum in "Quarantime"<div>
In October 2019, what seems like a lifetime ago, I co-presented a <a href="https://www.semcdirect.net/resources/Documents/2019%20Annual%20Meeting%20Charleston/FINAL%20PROGRAM%20SEMC%202019%20Charleston%20pms%20364%2010_1_19%20(1).pdf">session </a>at the SEMC Annual Meeting in Charleston, South Carolina, entitled "Maintaining Momentum: How Do We go Beyond One-Time Community Engagement Programs." My co-presenters were Lisa Jevack of the <a href="https://uvafralinartmuseum.virginia.edu/">Fralin Museum of Art</a> at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville, VA, and Natalie Sweet of the <a href="https://www.lmunet.edu/abraham-lincoln-library-and-museum/index.php">Abraham Lincoln Library and Museum</a> at Lincoln Memorial University in Harrogate, TN. The three of us had met as part of the SEMC Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion <a href="https://semceiat.wixsite.com/eiat">Action Team</a>. Natalie and I had worked together on the Action Team's "People and Museums" survey in which we found that programs were the #1 way in which museums attempted to reach new audiences. We were interested in exploring what it meant to go beyond one-time programs and the challenges afforded by weaving work with new audiences (or new mission-relevant themes) into day-to-day curatorial and educational activities. Lisa brought a much-needed art perspective to the topic. The three of us had our university-affiliations in common. </div>
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Six months later, we are in the midst of an unprecedented <a href="https://www.aam-us.org/programs/about-museums/covid-19-resources-information-for-the-museum-field/">crisis </a>for modern museums. What it means to "create a program" or "engage audiences" has shifted as we attempt to produce virtual content and move our essential functions online. This very act raises questions around access, equity, and inclusion. Who do we leave out when we move content online? Are we simply attempting to hold onto our existing audiences and friends, or are there ways to build new connections during what I've come to call "quarantime?" How has streaming video and virtual conferencing re-defined the intimacy of a museum encounter? Is informal learning possible without the serendipity of physical space?</div>
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All of these questions have vexed us since the advent of the internet. And the role of museums as social spaces and forums for exchange has been debated repeatedly. We define our <a href="https://marginalrevolution.com/marginalrevolution/2020/04/which-relocations-can-reopen-first.html">social importance</a> not only by our current popularity but by our ability to promote continuity-thinking. Despite the constant pressure to innovate and to "stay current," museums' most essential function is reflection. We connect the present with the past. We don't pretend to have all the answers, but we try to offer spaces for people to think before they act.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Threads of Memory exhibit at the Museum of History and Holocaust Education, December 2019</td></tr>
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Whether or not we are comfortable in this space, "quaratime" has forced us all to slow down and reflect on the purpose of our work. What is essential? What can be put on hold? What will benefit from re-focus or re-interpretation? The MHHE's introductory <a href="https://historymuseum.kennesaw.edu/exhibitions/on-site/threads_of_memory.php">exhibit</a>, <i>Threads of Memory</i>, which opened in December 2019, reflects on many of these themes through looking at the period from 1933-1945 as a time when existing threads (people, ideas, events) got tangled up and emerged transformed. Perhaps we're living through another one of those moments. It's too soon to tell what the world will look like on the other side, but museums can continue their work as places for people to stop, and rest, and contemplate. Conclusions will have to wait. "Quarantime" is a perfect opportunity for re-introducing ourselves to the process of inductive reasoning. Now is the time to gather information, to record immediate and temporary impacts, to keep a journal of disruptions and openings, connections and distances. It seems that momentum during this time is precisely that-- no acceleration-- inertia in its purest form. </div>
Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-86212179179507800522020-04-20T09:06:00.000-07:002020-04-21T05:41:29.737-07:00Refuge in LimboYesterday, April 19, the MHHE was meant to host a joint event with <a href="https://www.elrefugiostewart.org/">El Refugio</a> to honor the work of the organization's network of volunteers. Since learning of my synagogue's long <a href="https://www.congregationbethaverim.org/blog?post_id=241618">commitment </a>to the organization, a hospitality house and ministry of humanitarian connection for immigrants and asylum-seekers incarcerated at Stewart Detention Center in Lumpkin, Georgia, I had wanted to become involved. The opportunity came for me in January of this year. I drove the two hours from Decatur to Lumpkin with a fellow CBH-member whom I had just met. Over the course of the long car ride, we got to know each other and combed through our feelings in anticipation of this visit to the private prison now sub-contracting for <a href="https://www.ice.gov/">ICE</a>. We were curious, afraid of what we might encounter, ashamed of our fear. I know that I felt a sense of guilt associated with the ease with which I could slip in and out of this federal prison, maximum security for ease of administration, not circumstantial necessity. But I also knew that guilt was not a useful emotion. I am free, and with that freedom comes the obligation to use my voice and my access to networks, platforms, people, to speak on behalf of those who are not free.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My car parked near the courthouse square in Lumpkin, Georgia, January 4, 2020.</td></tr>
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On that day we visited Lumpkin, though, I was not there as an educator or a public historian. I was there simply as a human being. A woman who could offer my smile through layers of bullet-proof glass, and my broken French over a scratchy telephone line. My partner and I spoke with an asylum-seeker from West Africa. We talked about books, music, history, food. The man confirmed that the food in the facility was edible but terrible. He worked in the kitchen. He also told us that he passed the time playing soccer in the prison's outdoor yards. He was lonely. There were few French-speakers in the prison. But he had not given up hope.<br />
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After our visitation window had passed, we returned to the beautiful El Refugio hospitality house to debrief with the other members of our group from CBH. We shared a delicious meal assembled by the volunteers. We wrote our first letters. Since then, I have corresponded with the man I met at Stewart regularly for the past three months. I've sent him books about art to practice his English, and a French-language version of Irene Nemirovsky's <i><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/09/books/review/09gray.html">Suite Francaise</a></i>. In the last letter I received from him in late February, he was thrilled to tell me that his asylum appeal had been granted, and he was waiting for a new court date. And then the COVID-19 crisis hit in earnest. I have not heard from my friend since I sent him a letter on March 31.<br />
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I had planned to write this post to celebrate the work of El Refugio. I was thrilled to connect with the leaders of this faith-based organization with a mission of hospitality and visitation. I was looking forward to bringing our organizations closer together, serving the educational needs of volunteers. Stewart County, of which Lumpkin is the county seat, is the second most <a href="https://www.indexmundi.com/facts/united-states/quick-facts/georgia/percent-of-people-of-all-ages-in-poverty#map">impoverished </a>county in the state of Georgia. There are no hotels to serve the family and friends of the people incarcerated in <a href="https://www.corecivic.com/facilities/stewart-detention-center">Stewart Detention Center</a>, operated by Corrections Corporation of America (CoreCivic), so El Refugio opened its hospitality house in 2010, two years after beginning its work of leading visits to the Detention Center. In 2018, the organization received a donation of a six-bedroom <a href="https://www.elrefugiostewart.org/el-refugio-receives-gift-from-full-frontal-with-samantha-bee/">house </a>(one originally built by the owner of one of the county's prosperous cotton plantations) from Samantha Bee and TBS. But in March, Stewart Detention Center suspended visitations, and the hospitality house shut its doors. The facility had its first <a href="https://www.wabe.org/ga-immigration-center-sees-first-case-of-covid-19-as-guard-tests-positive/">confirmed </a>case of coronavirus on April 1, 2020. ICE has continued to <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/18/us/deportations-coronavirus-guatemala.html?searchResultPosition=2">prioritize </a>deportations of undocumented immigrants amidst the pandemic. The fate of those already in detention, where social distancing is next-to-impossible, remains <a href="https://www.npr.org/sections/coronavirus-live-updates/2020/04/16/835886346/ice-releases-hundreds-as-coronavirus-spreads-in-detention-centers">precarious</a>.<br />
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The Coronavirus pandemic has provided a great deal of <a href="https://www.thelancet.com/journals/lancet/article/PIIS0140-6736(20)30757-1/fulltext">evidence </a>that people who are vulnerable under normal conditions become even more vulnerable when society is in crisis. For those of us whose primary mission is to "educate for a responsible future," a crisis in the present can feel tremendously demoralizing. Everyone is under strain. Everyone feels vulnerable. It's hard to tell who is listening, who feels empowered to think beyond their immediate needs and the needs of their family and loved-ones. At this moment, I am unable to strengthen partnerships and make new connections. I cannot host a potluck dinner. I feel like calling on my senators to <a href="https://www.humanrightsfirst.org/press-release/human-rights-first-endorses-legislation-release-detained-immigrants-halt-immigration-0">endorse</a> Cory Booker's "<a href="https://www.booker.senate.gov/imo/media/doc/MDM20356.pdf">Federal Immigrant Release for Safety and Security Together (FIRST) Act"</a> would be like shouting into the wind (although I'll try anyway).<br />
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Right now, I know that I <i>can </i>inquire after the health and safety of my friend. I know that I <i>can </i>bear witness.Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-31503843568293321202019-07-30T12:32:00.001-07:002019-07-30T12:32:57.222-07:00Spring and Summer of Welcoming MuseumsMay and July this year marked some fantastic opportunities to visit museums in New Jersey, New York, and Vermont with my family. It takes a special site to engage a 2.5-year-old and an almost-6-year-old along with their mid-30s parents and an assortment of other relatives. Integrated children's programming marked our best experiences in science, history, agriculture, and art museums this season.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image of "Written in Rocks" Gallery courtesy Micah Langer</td></tr>
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The New Jersey State Museum proved perfect for a rain-threatening morning in May. I grew up in New Jersey, but I don't recall ever visiting the state's flagship museum during my childhood, although it is clearly popular with field trip groups. Our visit began with a most favorable impression of Trenton. Upon parking our car a few blocks northwest of the museum on State Street, we were greeted by a local lawyer who offered to watch our car for us from his office window. When we entered the museum, we were surprised to discover that admission is free. We began by visiting the <a href="https://www.state.nj.us/state/museum/dos_museum_exhibit-written-rocks.html">local dinosaurs</a> on the second floor, pausing for a snack break in the multipurpose room overlooking the Delaware River, and then making our way through <a href="https://www.state.nj.us/state/museum/dos_museum_exhibit_big-things.html">"Pretty Big Things: Stories of New Jersey History."</a> Both of these exhibits were marked by children's activities within the exhibit space (although they were best integrated in the "Pretty Big Things" gallery). Both kids enjoyed dressing up as animals/explorers in "Written in Rocks," giving the adults an opportunity to learn some up-to-date paleontology.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ilana the explorer. Image courtesy Micah Langer</td></tr>
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We concluded our visit with a circle through<a href="https://www.state.nj.us/state/museum/dos_museum_exhibit-jersey-crocs-rule.html">"Jersey Crocs Rule!"</a> which had some truly clever info-graphics and body-scale activities. My son is still comparing the relative bite-strength of different animals of the present and the distant past. On our way out, we breezed through the art exhibit, just long enough for me to appreciate the curatorial approach through which all the artistic eras are placed in their historical context. Yay for linking art and history!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leo and Ilana both loved the interactives in "Jersey Crocs Rule!" Images courtesy Micah Langer</td></tr>
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The only exhibit that proved tough to maintain my kids' attention in a way that was safe for the artifacts was the Civil War Flags exhibit. There simply wasn't enough room to provide the kind of in-gallery supplemental children's materials that worked so well elsewhere. Plus, textiles are always challenging due to the low-light-level requirements and careful protection of the artifacts. I'm looking forward to returning to the museum next time I visit the Garden State. My only other note of critique is that the museum's <a href="https://www.nj.gov/state/museum/index.html">website </a>does not do justice to the experience on offer. Tucked into the NJ Department of State's parent website, the museum is not able to assert its own friendly, accessible brand. If NJ is willing, I'd wager some Web emancipation would help the museum gain some cultural traction.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leo in front of the "Rainbow Garden" at Fort Ticonderoga</td></tr>
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Our museum adventures continued in July with a visit to <a href="https://www.fortticonderoga.org/">Fort Ticonderoga</a>. After a disappointing trip to Colonial Williamsburg in the winter of 2018, I was a bit nervous about spending the day at a living history installation. We were helped by some interesting weather (periodic cloud-bursts mixed with sun) and a divide-and-conquer approach to the visit (I stuck with Ilana while Matt and my father-in-law followed Leo's interests). I quickly came to appreciate the attention-to-detail paid by the park's interpretive staff. Each year, the interpreters depict a different moment in the fort's history. In 2019, it was the year of 1755 when the fort was under French occupation. Uniforms were made for accuracy on the premises and musket demonstrations were conducted with the original French commands (and ample English interpretation). Ilana and I hung out by the camp stove while soldiers lit fires to boil water for split peas and fry up salt pork. Although these rations would undoubtedly prove monotonous as daily fare, they smelled delicious to Ilana who wanted to partake. The food was off-limits to visitors, but Ilana and I were able to sew a red felt tuke in the soldiers' barracks, instructed by a drummer in the fife-and-drum corps whom Ilana eagerly followed on a parade down to the King's Garden. Meanwhile, Leo attached himself to a team of working red oxen and learned about their care and feeding. We all enjoyed lunch in the colorful gardens before hitting the road again, bound for Vermont. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ilana and me nap-bound after a visit to Shelburne Farms</td></tr>
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Oxen were just the beginning of Leo's tour of northeastern agriculture. <a href="https://shelburnefarms.org/about/history">Shelburne Farms</a> proved to be another highlight of our trip, from the morning chicken parade to opportunities to milk a cow and pet baby kids. Leo found a whole day's worth of interesting activities concluding with the chicken round up at the end of the day. We all enjoyed sampling cheese made on-premises while watching curds and whey slowly separating via paddles in a metal vat. Shelburne Farms is a curious place originally owned by the Vanderbilt-Webb family who consolidated 32 family farms into a single estate between 1886 and 1902. Its current mission to educate for a sustainable future dates back to 1972 and a 1984 nonprofit organization. Today, the staff does a great job of integrating the educational and working farm elements, even including kid-centric activities, such as play-food, books, and miniature farm animals, adjacent to all the places where adults may wish to linger and learn.<br />
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Easily confused with its sister institution down the street, the <a href="https://shelburnemuseum.org/">Shelburne Museum</a> is an experience worth having for all ages, and one that simply cannot be had in a single day. We first visited over Thanksgiving weekend, last November and most of the 39 buildings on its 45 acres were closed for the season. We still found plenty to enjoy in its year-round buildings, but our summer visit was even more fun. The highlight for me was the Steamboat Ticonderoga, a Lake Champlain steamboat that operated during the first half of the 20th century and is now in permanent dry-dock. The visitor experience on the Ticonderoga and elsewhere mixes protected original artifacts with accessible reproductions and carts laden with hands-on kids' activities. This helps to ensure that visitors heed "do not touch warnings" when they are given but are able to scratch the itch to touch most of the time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leo "asleep" in a reproduction state room on board the Ticonderoga</td></tr>
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My favorite "do not touch" zones included a 19th century general store and modest homesteaders' cottage.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leo and Ilana in "jail"</td></tr>
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In addition to the steamboat and an early 20th-century jail, the kids loved the carousel and circus building which contained an enormous miniature circus parade in all its strange, exoticized, turn-of-the-20th century hierarchical entertainment culture glory. Like the Henry Ford and Greenfield Village, the Shelburne Museum is a great place to go to learn about American culture and American self-conception precisely because of its artifice and inauthenticity juxtaposed with "real" architecture and artifacts.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ilana sliding down at "Champ Lane" at the ECHO Center</td></tr>
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A chronicle of our visit to Vermont's great kid-friendly educational attractions would be incomplete without a shout-out to the <a href="https://www.echovermont.org/">ECHO Leahy Center for Lake Champlain</a>. Highlights for Leo included the "skull stories" hands-on science cart expertly facilitated by a young bearded educator (with sparkly nail-polish just like Leo's!) and a "magic sand" table where you could follow the path of moisture through your custom topography by making it "rain" with a wiggle of your fingers beneath a video sensor array. Ilana loved the "Champ Lane" exhibit where she could pretend to board a boat, direct the flow of water, serve me "ice cream" and "sushi," sort fruits and vegetables in English and French, view animal x-ray film, and slide down from a kid-proportioned tree house. It was fascinating for me to observe how this exhibit, designed for children ages 0-6, really didn't seem to engage Leo's full attention anymore, a marked change from our last visit when he was less than 5.5.<br />
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As a curator who does not specialize in exhibits for young children, I'm so appreciative of living in what feels like a golden age for child engagement right when my own children are in that sweet spot when positive impressions of museum visitation are being made!<br />
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<br />Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-19010011088525957942019-05-06T07:07:00.000-07:002019-05-06T07:07:30.448-07:00Newest Museum CrushEver since hearing Christy Coleman speak at AAM in 2016, I was excited about the creation of the new <a href="https://acwm.org/">American Civil War Museum</a> in Richmond. I visited the Museum of the Confederacy in 2007 and recalled being moved by the intimate objects on display, but there was no encompassing meta-narrative that brought everyone's perspectives together (and it was called the Museum of the Confederacy). The newly (e)merged <a href="https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/civil-war-museum-speaks-truths-former-capital-of-confederacy-180972085/">museum </a>promises to deliver what neither the Museum of the Confederacy nor the American Civil War Center could on their own.<br />
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I learned more about <a href="https://onmonumentave.com/">On Monument Avenue</a> at SEMC in Jackson, Mississippi, last year, and that in and of itself, as a work of responsive or reactive public history, is impressive.<br />
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I can't wait to visit the new museum!Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-52128732263609983942018-10-29T11:37:00.001-07:002018-10-29T11:37:23.843-07:00Open Letter to President Trump<br />
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<span lang="EN">I have submitted this as a letter to the editor to two Atlanta-area newspapers, but I would like to share it here as well. The horrific shooting at Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania on Saturday morning, October 27, haunted me. I was filled with sadness and rage. This morning, I learned that it was the worst act of anti-Jewish <a href="https://www.cnn.com/2018/10/27/us/jewish-hate-crimes-fbi/index.html">violence </a>in American history. I was moved to write from my heart the following morning. Words can lead to violence, but perhaps they can lead to healing as well. In that spirit, I will follow this post with another one soon about our newest exhibit, <i>Enduring Tension: (En)countering Antisemitism in Every Age.</i></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This rainbow witnessed on the night of my grandmother's death is a source of inspiration for me in times of trouble.</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN">October 28, 2018<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Dear Mr. President,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Again, our nation is in mourning for eleven
people cut down in their house of worship. The killer’s motivation was
well-documented. Yes, he is an antisemite. But he was moved to take action by
an acute fear of refugees, a fear undeniably stoked by you and your supporters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Since you began your presidential campaign, I
have heard a lot about “law and order.” You claim to care about the safety of
the American people above and beyond all others in the world. Yet, in this
moment in America, I have never felt less safe. I commend you for your quick
condemnation of this most recent mass shooting, and I agree that gun safety is
not the central issue at hand. However, safety for your beloved American
citizens must not depend on their ability to employ armed guards at their
houses of worship every Sabbath. It is time for you to take responsibility for
the power of your rhetoric.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Yes, fear brings people to the polls. Fear of
immigrants, whom you’ve characterized as criminals, rapists, terrorists
disguised as families fleeing foreign wars, this fear may secure your party’s
power. You have the power, and you are unlikely to lose it as long as people
feel threatened by forces you have carefully portrayed as coming from the
outside. But you have unleashed the power of that fear within our borders. You
have released a poison into the hearts and minds of Americans, and you must
take responsibility. If you care about America, its greatness, and it’s safety,
you must acknowledge the power of your words to do more than bring cheering
throngs to your rallies. You must acknowledge the power of your words to
motivate people to do violence to citizens enjoying America’s most essential
freedom. The freedom to worship God on a peaceful October morning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Adina Langer<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Public Historian<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Curator of the Museum of History and Holocaust
Education at Kennesaw State University<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Jewish American<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Mother and Wife<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Great-granddaughter of Immigrants Fleeing
Antisemitism in Europe<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN">Decatur, GA, USA<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-90904530500902222702018-10-26T09:35:00.000-07:002018-10-26T09:35:25.147-07:00Mississippi RevisitedEleven years ago, I visited Mississppi for the first time. I was working as a curatorial assistant at the National September 11 Memorial Museum, and I chose Jackson as my location to staff on our 25-state <a href="https://www.911memorial.org/sites/default/files/DocServer/NS11MM-Pittsburgh_Final.pdf">National Tour</a> because my Oberlin friend Sarah was working there as an oral historian for the <a href="https://www.isjl.org/">Goldring/Woldenberg Institute of Southern Jewish Life</a>.<br />
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Even then, my understanding of Mississippi history, and my sense for the importance of the Jewish pursuit of <i>Tikkun Olam</i> ("repairing the world") intertwined. As a thirteen-year-old bat mitzvah, I had written a "hero report" about my father's cousin, Michael (Mickey) Schwerner, a martyr of the Civil Rights Movement. Schwerner was killed, along with fellow <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Congress_of_Racial_Equality">CORE</a> organizers James Chaney and Andrew Goodman, by the Ku Klux Klan outside Philadelphia, Mississipi. The young men had been sent to investigate the burning of the Mount Zion Methodist Church in Longdale, Mississippi, where they had met with church leaders to organize a "Freedom School" a month prior. Freedom Schools were designed to help Mississippi's disenfranchised black community acquire the skills necessary to pass the discriminatory literacy tests required by the state for voter registration. Mickey Schwerner was 24 years old when he was killed.<br />
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I was 24 years old in 2007, and I found the quiet timelessness of Jackson's November landscape spooky. I did not imagine that I would return to the streets of that southern capital where people had battled for the soul of America 40 years before. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rotunda of the Old Capitol in Jackson, Mississippi</td></tr>
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Earlier this month, an opportunity came to revisit this unsettling place. The <a href="https://www.semcdirect.net/">Southeastern Museums Conference </a>met in Jackson, and the new <a href="https://mcrm.mdah.ms.gov/">Civil Rights Museum</a> steps from the <a href="http://www.mdah.ms.gov/new/visit/old-capitol-museum/">Old Capitol</a> was the professional community's pride and joy. The pre-conference workshop sponsored by the <a href="https://www.aam-us.org/category/education-interpretation/">American Alliance of Museums' Education Committee</a> (EdCom) took place at the auditorium shared by the <a href="http://give2mississippimuseums.com/">"Two Mississippi Museums,"</a> the Civil Rights and History Museums built side-by-side. In fact, the seeds for the creation of this unique partnership between a state museum focused on the breadth of Mississippi's human experiences and a topical museum focused on its greatest challenge were sewn not long after my first visit to the city.<br />
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The Civil Rights Museum's dynamic director and team of dedicated educators took us on a rapid tour through its galleries that, thanks to the talents of the staff and the genius of its design team of <a href="https://www.hilferty.com/">Hillferty and Associates</a> and <a href="http://monadnock.org/">Monadnock Media</a>, skirted the line between evocative experience and sensory overload. After coming through the Jim Crow gallery, where monuments to lynching victims stood like trees beneath looming racist images and slogans, I found myself in a space of light and music, right across from Mickey Schwerner's name emblazoned on a memorial wall to the movement's many martyrs. As "This Little Light of Mine" played in syncrony with ribbons of light along a giant fiber sculpture, I gave in to emotion. I let the tears run down my cheeks. I was moved by so much that day-- by the stories told in the new museum; by Mississippi's commitment to facing hard truths; by the power of my profession and its dedication to healing the world through evidence-based narrative encounters.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"This Little Light of Mine" Installation at the Mississippi Civil Rights Museum</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner's names on the wall</td></tr>
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Museums are not places to find all the answers, but they can be places to ask hard questions. They can provide the kind of inspiration that can only be created by humans working together. At the moment, the MHHE stands poised to launch a new traveling exhibit called <i>Enduring Tension: (En)countering Antisemitism in Every Age. </i>At the heart of the exhibit is the notion that Jewish experiences, and Jewish values<i>, </i>can inspire everyone to pursue justice, year after year, in every place and time. In the words of Torah, Parshah Shoftim, "Tzedek, tzedek, tirdof." "Justice, justice, shall you pursue." The road is hard, but the journey is necessary.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On our way to Jackson, my colleagues and I stopped at the new National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Alabama. The effort to remember American lynching victims is monumental and impressive. Above, you can see the ubiquitous memorial water feature. </td></tr>
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<br />Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35394922.post-26462891635702441052018-09-05T07:47:00.000-07:002018-09-05T07:49:45.069-07:00Immigration and Welcoming<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Panel or Refugees and Immigrants at the exhibit opening</td></tr>
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Last Thursday, I was thrilled to open our newest exhibit at the MHHE, <i><a href="http://historymuseum.kennesaw.edu/events/ror_reception.php">Refuge or Refual: Turning Points in U.S. Immigration History.</a> </i>Over 150 people came to the opening reception to learn from a panel of immigrants and refugees whose experiences spanned more than 50 years, and to enjoy food representing cultures from around the world including coffee drinks provided by Refuge Coffee, a Clarkston-based company that teaches recent arrivals the skills they need to become entrepreneurs.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Students and professors who wrote essays for <i>Green Card Youth Voices</i> </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A diverse and satisfied crowd at the opening of <i>Refuge or Refusal</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-veCip37dDXY/W4_pG-kkHtI/AAAAAAAAGcM/7RFgyD_uYN8tbqVwmQTXcvXZxYCaK_3EQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_3579.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-veCip37dDXY/W4_pG-kkHtI/AAAAAAAAGcM/7RFgyD_uYN8tbqVwmQTXcvXZxYCaK_3EQCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_3579.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Immigrants Stories cases attempting to "compare apples and oranges"</td></tr>
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As a university museum, we often joke that the best (and possibly only) way to get students to come to an event is to offer free food. But the relationship between food, welcoming, and being welcomed is deeper and more profound than that. Four of the six stories we tell in our inaugural Immigrant Stories case happen to revolve around food!<br />
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This summer, I had the privilege of "breaking bread" with Sarah Litvin, the director of the <a href="https://www.rehercenter.org/">Reher Center for Immigrant Culture and History</a> As a public history start-up, the Reher Center understands the importance of forging emotional connections between visitors and the stories of the past. According to the center's website, the organization's mission is to "preserve and present stories with universal appeal about immigration, community, work and bread."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6_LqYcfLRsM/W4_pEwHoKEI/AAAAAAAAGb8/VcobwJrlvb8hzb0xHnCLWc50-n37n48MwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_3313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6_LqYcfLRsM/W4_pEwHoKEI/AAAAAAAAGb8/VcobwJrlvb8hzb0xHnCLWc50-n37n48MwCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_3313.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah Litvin preparing to break bread in front of the Reher Center in Kingston, New York</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SOneCtxaNdA/W4_pEijM0HI/AAAAAAAAGb4/22jMFSjLlJ8CEAPF_2lVV4Wx2jU711weACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_3317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SOneCtxaNdA/W4_pEijM0HI/AAAAAAAAGb4/22jMFSjLlJ8CEAPF_2lVV4Wx2jU711weACLcBGAs/s320/IMG_3317.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah Litvin standing beside a life-size cardboard cutout of Mollie Reher </td></tr>
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<i>Refuge or Refusal</i> provides a chronological and thematic backbone for understanding the complex history of immigration, a story central to the identity of the United States and its role in the world, before, during, and after World War II. As a public historian, however, I am reminded of the many ways in which museum exhibits work best as stepping stones to larger conversations, to encounters among people who might think they are more different from each other than they really are. It has been exciting to watch those conversations happen at the Reher Center through the experiences of my friend, Sarah Litvin, and to have had the opportunity to launch conversations like that at the MHHE.<br />
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Adina Langerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09147452091565574467noreply@blogger.com1