What we can all learn from Jackie and Doug

It’s almost too fitting that today we celebrate Pesach and Major League Baseball’s Jackie Robinson Day. Having spent the last two days with people far more experienced than I in the sports industry at the Official Major League Baseball Diversity Business Summit, I found myself reflecting on the themes of freedom and slavery.

In today’s Baseball Operations panel, I felt the need to ask the impressive moderator about her experience and “challenges” leading on-field operations as an Asian woman, but that presumed that this woman, who nearly became the first ever female GM, was something of a lesser employee, “challenged” by her identity, and should justify her experience because of, or perhaps more accurately, IN SPITE OF, her gender and ethnicity (and who knows, maybe sexuality and religion, too). It might have even unintentionally insulted her in front of her colleagues.

Instead, my question was to all panelists (which also included two male assistant GM’s, one African American, one White) regarding the role of analytics in the changing face of baseball ops and in return, I received a career-boosting, substantive answer. Inevitably, another woman asked my restrained question, and the drama was pronounced DOA with the moderator’s sharing that she felt proud to have been able to do what she loves and to have always been taken seriously in her roles. Another student next to me leaned over and whispered, “By the way, if you ever hear a company or individual take ‘pride’ in something they should already be doing, exercise caution.”

Later, we were treated to a private screening of 42, introduced by Ms. Sharon Robinson herself – a force of change in her own right. When Jackie was coming up, he didn’t think about facing the immense adversity that he did, and he certainly didn’t let it stop him. He just wanted to play ball, and boy, did he ever. I think Doug Glanville has echoed that brave sense to “shrug it off” (and then respond appropriately) in his recent The Atlantic piece. Having always been a Glanville fan, today, as I reflect on freedom and slavery, I have become an admirer:

After talking to my own mother, I found myself thinking back to something that happened at summer camp when I was 5 years old, my son’s age now. During one exercise, we were asked to form a circle, and the boy next to me recoiled, saying, “I don’t hold hands with darkies!” I could have felt humiliated, but I just shrugged the whole thing off. It seemed obvious that he had the problem, not me.

As the Commissioner and this article has pointed out, there is so much work to be done, but we’ve come so very far. I’m proud to be a member of the community of change.

חג כשר ושמח

Life times ten

Shanah tovah u’metukah

In looking back on the year, I realize that there are ways I’ve tried to be private and some ways to be public.  One of the things that has inspired me to be open is the story of little Idan, a baby of a GS alum that is suffering from an extremely rare disorder, HyperIGM.

It’s made me think about mortality.  Today, just before the sun begins its descent, ushering in this most high holiday, the family of Idan passed the $180,000 mark in their fundraising efforts.  For anyone familiar with Judaism and specifically, gematria (numerology), 18 represents chai, or life.  The Zablockis are not only reflecting on life today, but life times ten!  What a wonderful thought to meditate on this Rosh Hashanah.

This year has brought unprecedented challenges into my life.  At 30, I thought many of these things were “beyond me.”  As a nontraditional student, I truly thought my slate had somehow been cleaned.

But the good part is that I have learned to LIVE, truly and fully.  Thanks to the most generous gifts of good friends and family, I learned that life IS hard (no denial!) and that you can live fully WITH and BECAUSE (not depite) these challenges.  Not just that, you can live… times ten!

Si je n’étais pas allée à l’université après le lycée, je serais devenue un astronaute. J’aurais volé un vaisseau spatial dans l’espace, seule à avoir visité des extraterrestres et avoir vu des planètes lointaines.

Si je n’étais pas allée à l’université après l’école secondaire, je serais devenue une danseuse de ballet. J’aurais dansé de grands chefs-d’œuvre de Balanchine sur la scène avec les goûts de Jock Soto, Darcy Kistler et Wendy Whelan. Mon tutu aurait coulé pendant que les danseurs m’auraient levé en l’air. La musique de Stravinsky et Tchaïkovski nous aurait guidés dans l’exécution, ce qui conduit le public à travers un monde fantastique de magie et d’enchantement. Tout le monde m’aurait vu sur la scène pendant que je glissais et tournoyais, comme si je flottais.

Si je n’étais pas allée à l’université après le lycée, j’aurais voyagé à travers le monde. J’aurais visité 56 pays, de l’Australie à l’Azerbaïdjan.

Si je n’étais pas allée à l’université après le lycée, j’aurais étudié l’histoire de ma famille. J’aurais appris à connaître ma grand-mère avant qu’elle ne meure et a appris l’histoire de mes ancêtres que l’histoire officielle ne m’a jamais permis de rencontrer.

Si je n’étais pas allée à l’université après le lycée, j’aurais suivi l’injustice dans le monde, la lutte pour les causes que j’ai crues et j’aurais redressé les torts où je les voyais.

Si je n’étais pas allée à l’université après l’école secondaire, je me serais rendue compte que la vie est plus qu’une collection de classes, de livres, et de sujets. J’aurais découvert que les relations sont plus difficiles et plus complexes que ce que nous trouvons dans l’histoire ou la littérature. J’aurais vu que la douleur est plus tangible, et la beauté plus incroyable, que ce que j’ai vu dans les films.

Si je n’étais pas allée à l’université après le lycée, j’aurais vu que le monde est plus grand que moi. Et puisque je ne suis pas allée à l’université après le lycée, c’est ce que j’ai fait.

Si yo no hubiera ido a la universidad después de la secundaria, me habría convertido en un astronauta. Me hubiera robado una nave espacial en el espacio, sólo para visitar los extranjeros y ver planetas distantes.

Si yo no hubiera ido a la universidad después de la secundaria, me habría convertido en una bailarina de ballet. Yo habría bailado obras Balanchine en el escenario con artistas como Jock Soto, Darcy Kistler y Wendy Whelan. Mi tutú se habría hundido mientras que los bailarines me han levantado en el aire. La música de Stravinsky y Tchaikovsky nos habrían guiado en la ejecución, lo que lleva a la audiencia a través de un mundo de fantasía de magia y encanto. Todo el mundo me habría visto en el escenario mientras me resbalé y me di la vuelta como si estuviera flotando.

Si yo no hubiera ido a la universidad después de la secundaria, habría viajado por todo el mundo. Habría visitado 56 países, desde Australia a Azerbaiyán.

Si yo no hubiera ido a la universidad después de la secundaria, habría estudiado la historia de mi familia. Habría aprendido de mi abuela antes de morir y se enteró de la historia de mis antepasados ​​que la historia oficial nunca me ha permitido conocer.

Si yo no hubiera ido a la universidad después de la secundaria, habría seguido la injusticia en el mundo, la lucha por las causas que yo creía y habría corregido los errores que he visto.

Si yo no hubiera ido a la universidad después de la secundaria, me habría darme cuenta de que la vida es algo más que una colección de clases, libros y temas. Habría encontrado que las relaciones son más difíciles y más complejas que lo que encontramos en la historia o la literatura. Hábria visto que el dolor es más tangible, y la belleza más increíble que he visto en las películas.

Si yo no hubiera ido a la universidad después de la secundaria, me habría visto que el mundo es más grande que yo. Y como yo no fui a la universidad después de la escuela, eso es lo que hice.

Inspiration

Today, my inpsiration returned. Have you experienced it? That moment when not only do you realize that all is not lost, but that you were quite lost for quite some time.

It’s the moment when, while walking around New York, you remember to look up, rediscovering the beauty in the buildings and the sun in the sky. It’s the moment with friends that reminds you have love in your life and love is good.

Most important it’s the moment where space reenters your life. In between the professional and the political, the personal reemerges. Your instinct and inner voice return. You remember why you live; you refeel the passion that propels.

You breathe once again.

Eulogy

For my whole life, my grandma was old.  And I’ll admit that, like a lot of kids, I was a little scared of old people.  Visiting her meant going to Queens, so naturally I thought we might not make it home.  But of course we always had a nice time.  If it were Thanksgiving, we would pick her up and take her to our house to stay over.  On Thursday morning we would come into her room and watch the Macy’s Day Parade in our pajamas (she of course was dressed with makeup on by the time we got up).  Other times we would go out to dinner or have breakfast at her apartment (I remember she had Temptee whipped cream in her fridge year-round, not just on Pesach).  In the evening we would watch Jeopardy! but not Wheel of Fortune, a choice I came to respect on a deep level.  While I was too young to understand the questions or even the fact that the questions were the answers, I found it impressive that a woman of her age took on the challenge and routine of watching it night after night.

Later, after my grandmother moved to Maryland, best laid plans were interrupted by nature.  Shortly after arriving here, her son (my uncle) Danny passed away.  She and the rest of our family were forever changed by that experience; even through our last visit, she never failed to mention her sadness of his passing.  Also, I had gotten older and so naturally our relationship changed and evolved.  Over the years, things changed.  I became taller than Grandma, a fact I pointed out repeatedly as it was a day I very much looked forward to (to which she replied, “Rachel, everyone’s taller than me.”).  I also figured out how to answer the questions (or rather, supply the questions for the answers) to Jeopardy! And while I was always interested in our family’s history and its importance in the fabric of the American Jewish experience, after coming back from living abroad I became more committed to recording that history and spending time with the only grandparent I was fortunate to get to know.  This later relationship is where we grew close and it is this time that I treasure the most and therefore makes this day so hard.

For the last couple of years, I have been coming down to see Grandma every chance I’ve had.  When I couldn’t get away because of school and work, I would feel extremely guilty, knowing that she was a special blessing and time with her was precious.  Walking into the Ring House, I was always welcomed with open arms by the staff, residents, and Grandma.  Sitting at her table for dinner, I felt like a guest of royalty.  I quickly came to understand how deeply loved and welcomed my Grandma was by all because I was treated the same.  “You have the best grandma,” people told me.  “I know,” I would respond.  I felt privileged to hang with such a local celebrity.  Accompanying her to shul was no different: she clearly found a physical, emotional, and spiritual home here in what I like to call the Maryland Jewish Ghetto.

Though Grandma and I might disagree, I believe that I got more out of our visits than she.  Escaping the chaos and confusion of life in New York City, I repeatedly took the bus down I-95, relishing the opportunity to see my Grandma and put life in slow motion for a couple days.  Some people may have found her pace and her devotion to routine trying, but I came to respect it as meditative and ultimately the way to remain present and stable in life.  My conversations with her and her good friends at the Ring House taught me to focus on what matters: loyalty to family, living with integrity and intention, generosity and gratitude, kindness and courage.

Henny taught me about honoring truth, both the truth of our history and the truth in our hearts.  Perhaps she and I got along because we’re not the type to keep our feelings to ourselves – one could say she had chutzpah.  But her moral fiber was stronger than anyone I have ever known. Grandma had a way of living honestly without being disrespectful.  She managed to be authentic and kind; I think that’s why so many people who knew her liked her.  From the staff at the health center to her friends at the dinner table, everyone knew that despite her age, she would always keep it real.

Her peaceful nature and story of survival through extreme adversity taught me to stay open and present throughout all of life’s journeys, to appreciate moments that aren’t necessarily grandiose, and to remain humble, always.  No matter what may come our way, she taught me that the secret is to live each day anew with a steady yet positive sense of yourself and the world.

Some people might find my close relationship with my Grandma curious.  Perhaps you would think I might’ve preferred to spend my precious free time with people my age.  But she was a wonderful personality with whom I truly enjoyed spending time.  She and I would genuinely laugh together, whether it was while recently watching the Iowa caucuses or me teasing her for being a stickler.  Other times I would just sit and listen to her tell me stories.  Anytime I wanted to know something, no matter if it touched on wartime or death, she would patiently share her life’s journey with me.   We could talk for hours.

Last week I spent several wonderful days with her.  Grandma hadn’t been feeling well so we mainly visited at her apartment and I was grateful that she finally let me take care of her for once.  Even though she was sick, I knew that if I could crack a joke and see her smile that everything would be ok.  She laughed when I snarkingly asked, “Now are you going to tell me how to do everything?”  Of course I didn’t know that that would be the last time I would get to see her, but I am grateful that I got to squeeze her and have her smile up at me with that beautiful, warm, glowing smile of hers.

So today I’m sad.  Even though she has only just left us, I miss my Grandma terribly.  I’m sad because her thousands of stories, about an entire generation most of us will never know, have left us.  I’m sad because her calming presence in every situation is gone.  I’m sad because her exquisite smile that somehow lit the entire room is gone.  I’m sad because my connection to my heritage, my faith, and my people, is gone.  You would think 96 years would be enough, but I wish she would have lived forever.

Someone told me recently, “Even if we attempt to prepare ourselves to lose someone we love, we don’t necessarily prepare to lose someone who unconditionally loves us.”  Grandma showed me true, unconditional love and in return, I learned to love fully.  No matter where life led us, all she desired was that her family were happy and close.  She also would have liked it if we bundled up in the cold, took an extra piece of fruit when we left, found a good Jewish mate, and called and visited her more.

And so in my grief, I offer these prayers.  That her spirit is now set free from the harshness this life brought her.  That we treasure her memory and the gifts her incredible spirit brought us.  Most of all I pray that we should be so lucky to enjoy a life so long, but should we live it with half as much grace, class, and kindness as Henny Boehr did, it will be a life worth celebrating.

January 15, 2012

If you see something, say something.

It’s hard to verbalize and confront situations in which you see something unacceptable going on.  Wondering whether to speak up, let it go, or pass the responsibility on to others is a difficult decision, especially when juggling multiple priorities and sometimes, multiple issues at once.  The idea of “picking your battles” has come up a lot this year, and I recently had a “success” I wanted to share.

At Columbia, I’ve noticed that a lot of people complain about things, pointing out unfairness.  Unfortunately I haven’t seen a lot of this griping converted into action.  As an activist, I often feel that I have to stand up where others won’t.  For me, “picking your battles” takes on a new meaning and holds different currency when I see that by sticking my neck out, I am not confident that others will follow.  By speaking up, I feel that I risk my own reputation and in the Ivy League, reputation seems to be everything.

This summer I had an experience which brought this to light.  Unfortunately, a professor was simply not doing her job.  It was an unfortunate situation because many of us were eager to learn the material and had sacrificed a lot to take this intensified, shorter version of a 10 week class (with breaks and study days) in just 6 weeks.  The course material was already daunting but the idea of it being condensed to a seemingly unfathomable timeframe was intimidating to say the least.

In any case, when the class headed down its rapid, irreversible downward spiral, I noticed that my colleagues were more than aware of what was happening.  They shared my sentiment that an injustice was taking place and that our currency (energy, money, and time) were now being wasted.  Even after the problems were recognized and persisted, however, the only communication seemed to be at the bar.

As an organizer, I of course was the first one to attempt action.  I encouraged my peers to write in to the department, as I had, and I later attempted to circulate a petition to formally show our disappointment in the class and professor’s performance.  Only one other person signed the letter.  My peers’ responses were centered around fear.  “If I was doing better in the class, I would sign.”  “I’ll sign it after the final.”  While I understood their concern, at the time I found it mind-boggling that my colleagues in the struggle would not unite with me in action.

The painful memory of the class stayed with me, even through the first day of a new course which used that material as prerequisite.  As the professor proceeded with a review of the summer class material, I felt my heart race and my blood boil, if that’s a realistic physical sensation to imagine.  When catching up with my peers over “How was your summer?” coffee, I noticed that they, too, had been deeply affected by this experience.  Some who had never received worse than a B in a class were now staring at an unfairly marred GPA on their transcript.

The department chair reached out to me to follow the written communication up with an in-person conversation.  While I didn’t want to re-live the past, I did appreciate the offer and made an attempt to diplomatically state my case in person.

In our conversation he took me seriously, which doesn’t always happen at Columbia, even as a mature student.  Unfortunately, he said, there wasn’t much he could do but explained how the department needed to hire a large amount of temporary contract professors quickly because of the rapid growth of interest in the field, and that this professor would probably not be serving beyond her term.

So when you see something, say something.  You never know when people will be listening.