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| Back: Reuben, Irwin, Sarah, Fenya Front: Elizabeth, Pauline circa 1915 |
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| Pauline, Irwin, and Elizabeth circa 1980 |
Dear
Great-Grandma Fenya Zlochevsky – I never knew you, but I see you. You were a
wonderful woman – strong, brave, and loving even in the face of the steep
challenges of escaping the Russian Revolution, immigrating with three young
children, making a life in a new country that was not always welcoming, and
trying to build a feeling of love and safety during a worldwide war. My grandma, your little Elizabeth, told me
about you, her mother. She was in her
seventies then, and I was ten, but there were tears in her eyes nonetheless. You died when she herself was ten -- in the
influenza pandemic of 1918. But I see
you still.
Dear friends
in vulnerable categories – older friends, friends with medical conditions,
friends with compromised immune systems -- maybe you are struggling. Maybe you are worried. Maybe you are feeling blamed, or ignored, or
sidelined, or already triaged by a cold and indifferent world. You deserve better. You deserve everything humanity as a whole can
muster to keep you safe. You are us, and we are you. I see you.
Dear friends
who are healthcare professionals – doctors, nurses, aides, all of you -- you
have done the math, and you know exactly what this may look like, and you know
how horrendous your world may look, for weeks, for months. You know how many hours you may work, what
hideous life and death choices may be placed in your hands, and what huge risks
to your own health are looming. You will
do your best, because you are incredible human beings, but you’re painfully
aware that your best may not be good enough.
You need the rest of us to do whatever we can to lighten your load. I see you.
Dear friends
who are not in a vulnerable category – you may be struggling in other
ways. You may suddenly be stuck at home
with kids too young to care for themselves.
You may not be able to do your job, or earn a living. You may be uncertain as to whether you’ll be
able to get groceries. You may be facing
the cancellation of something you endlessly trained for, or rehearsed for, or
longed for. You may be unable to visit
people you care about – and may never get another chance to see, ever. You may be wondering how you can help, and
feeling lost in your inability to do more.
Your hands may already be raw from washing, and your heart may already
be raw from uncertainty. I know. I see you.
Dear friends
everywhere -- I won’t mention your names.
You don’t need to be called out.
You are already aware of who you are – in some cases, all too aware. But I am thinking of your names. Graphs are important. Graphs remind people who have forgotten their
algebra exactly what uncontrolled exponential growth looks like. But graphs show numbers, and mathy folks like
me are often reminded that most people don’t think in numbers. They think in names. So I’m thinking of the numbers, but I’m also thinking
of your names. I see you.
Dear
Great-Grandma Fenya Zlochevsky – You were a wonderful person. I know this
because your sister and all three of your children told me so. They all lived long, interesting, and
productive lives. Your husband and son
lived to old age. Your sister lived far
into her eighties. Both your girls made it to their mid nineties;
they saw the turn of the millennium. The
millennium! It’s a different world now,
from the one you left 102 years ago. But
it’s also the same world. We have
terrible problems, and wars, and sad inequities, and we don’t treat immigrants
the way we should. But we want and hope
and strive to be better than we are. We
love our children. We love our grandparents. We do the best we
can. Your little Elizabeth was my
grandma. She lived to see three
great-grandchildren, and to know that two more, my twins, were on the way. I’m looking at those twins right now. I’m looking at the girl I named Elizabeth,
after your Elizabeth. I think you’d like
to know all this.
I see you.
