Einen Guten Rutsch
In Germany they don’t just say Happy New Year; they say Einen Guten Rutsch ins neue jahr, wishing you a good slide into the new year. Ease and fluidity. Possibilities. A chance to look at one’s life and make changes. Maybe a condensed version of a do-over, a new start, or a leaving behind of that which does not serve us well.
Here we are, already halfway into January. I have nothing good to report…yet. The wildfires destroying LA. Disease and starvation due to war and/or climate change in Haiti, Mali, Afghanistan, Nigeria, Yemen, the Occupied Palestinian Territories, the Sudan, Ukraine, and more. The political chaos taking place all over the world. Moral and ethical decrepitude in those “public servants” we entrust with our well-being. Countries are fighting for their freedom. The shift to autocracy is gaining momentum worldwide. According to our outgoing President, the next great threat we face is that the U.S. is on the path to becoming an oligarchy. Think Big Tech.
Democracy has never been more fragile.
Having spent the last seven years studying my native country and how someone like Hitler fooled the average German citizen into believing he was their hero, my hackles rise easily when I read or hear current rhetoric that sounds so familiar. The promises and faulty reasoning that can sound so enticing. What is that saying? “History repeats itself, first as a tragedy, second as a farce.” By Karl Marx, no less. But even Mark Twain said “History doesn’t repeat itself but often rhymes.” Historians believe that broad patterns of human behavior emerge over time, and we are doomed to repeat mistakes.
My family and I spent our holidays in our secluded cabin in the Tusquittee mountains of North Carolina. We found a spindly pine tree on our land, hauled it home, and adorned it with a string of large colored lights. We kept a fire blazing in the open fireplace of our great room and spent many hours staring into it. Trying to think of nothing. Looking for inner peace. No news. The guys watched football (of course, sigh) and I spent many hours taking our three dogs up the mountain. We hung out with friends, and ate well. We were depleted. We felt the need to be fortified.
I allowed my personal grief to run its course; December 18th would have been my German father’s 97th birthday. He passed on March 5th, two weeks before a planned trip to visit him with my husband. Ironically, a few weeks later my story of finding him was accepted for publication by Vine Leaves Press. Grief and joy cancelled each other. Now the story will be his public legacy.
I reflected on the time I was able to spend with this man whom I had not known for most of my life. Grief mingled with joy again, for the love and acceptance he and his family offered. My joy of knowing him is the foil to the story of my mother’s family and what they endured in WWII. A lot of books focus on the plight of innocents in the Holocaust, as they should; it is a dark era that must never be forgotten. But it is also important to remember the other victims, the good people who learned to endure the choices their government made. That learned to keep quiet to stay alive. To use their wits to survive.
During my stay at the cabin, I read a book that tells the story of such a family. Written in first person POV (reads like historical fiction), it is a true story of the author’s mother. Her name is the title of the book—a unique name: WALTRAUD, by Tammy Borden. https://www.tammyborden.com/ The book is getting great reviews and has been a favorite of book clubs. I loved it. Ms. Borden clearly dug deep into researching and verifying facts and events, while highlighting the emotional impact of those dark days: the hunger, the fear, the sense that this was a nightmare that needed to end. But it wasn’t until Waltraud and her husband escaped to America that they learned the full extent of the horrors Hitler had unleashed.
My father once told me most people did not know, many refused to believe that such evil could exist. Stopped believing in God. My father was only sixteen when he was conscripted into the Heer and sent to the lines as a messenger, running crucial information between the troops. He was wounded and captured in Normandy in 1944. Fortunately, he was sent to Belgium to work on a farm, planting crops for a starving Europe. His host family treated him well and soon he returned home to start a new life. He was one of the lucky ones.
My wish for this new year is that somehow our leaders can find a way to respect each other, to get along. To be wise and make decisions that are good for our world and all people. To put aside individual egos and try to work collectively on healing the planet and holding each other up. Let’s all work on acceptance. And peace.
