When I’m on my afternoon meander and I’m certain I’ve seen the most exquisite fall trees of all and there could not possibly be better ones a little further I discover another and another and then another a buffet of pistache and sugar maple, dogwood and scarlet oak— shouting out to me in all their glory until I feel like I’m awash in the largesse of nature’s palette— stunning brushstrokes of gold, burgundy, and vermillion and I take out my I-phone trying to capture this abundance of riches, but I never get the photo right and really I shouldn’t try because otherworldly beauty can’t be captured with a mortal I- phone lens instead I’ve learned to stand still and breathe because I know this final show will run out like a smash hit on Broadway on closing night leaves will scatter like discarded jewels in the next big storm overfilling the gutters and roadways and once again I will be overcome with longing
There will be no words⸺ no tributes, no sonnets or verses of consolation, borrowed from the great poets recited for a toddler named Jasper, an adorable laughing sprite napping in his car seat, caught in cross-fire on the I-880, on an ordinary Saturday afternoon. There can be no words⸺ no comprehension, no rationale, and no acceptance, for this not quite two-year old, called up before his time. Was he on his way to Target? He had a Superman costume for Halloween. If only his mother had been in a different lane, would the angel of death still have stalked him? There are no words⸺ when a small coffin is lowered into earth’s bosom his precious life cut down, a felled sapling. Who knows whom he could have been… what gifts he might have given our damaged world? Yes, a go fund me set up, pleas for gun control, police presence, cameras, ten thousand dollars for information, as if, as if….. any of that could change anything. And there never will be words… only rivers of inconsolable tears.
When I had no words ⸺ for my son in law who wept every morning for two weeks after Uvalde when he dropped off my grandkids at school, and for my daughter, a fifth-grade teacher who wanted to leave the country because she was afraid for her students and her own little ones and could barely sleep or eat. When I couldn’t conjure⸺ platitudes or reassurances, offer consolation or guarantees, or my usual common-sense wisdom. For once in my life, I was left speechless, grieving in silence for children cut down before they could be. And I hoped and prayed, maybe, just maybe, we had finally reached the tipping point with Uvalde that we didn’t achieve (unbelievably) after Sandy Hook or Marjory Stoneman Douglas. Could Congress soar above partisanship this time, demonstrating integrity and unity, with new gun control laws, prioritizing a greater good? Still, sadly nothing has changed, shootings every day; in a Walmart, at a L.B.G.T.Q. nightclub, university campuses, a parade, a bank, so routine, so ordinary, I hardly flinch. And the ultimate head-shaking tragedy, when a first grader shot his teacher. And don’t give me your empty thoughts and hollow prayers. It’s much too late for those. There are no words and there never will be.
I’m a blondish plucked chicken underneath my burgundy scarf though I thought I was bold and tough when I cut my hair short weeks ago ready with wigs and peacock-bright coverings until the last wisps started their heartless descent and I wept, sprawled on the bathroom floor
waiting my turn, I sit on the leather chair magazines unopened on my lap admitted by default to this curious flock a sorority I never wanted to join
quietly chirping in different languages draped in cottons, silks, perky knits exotic birds in festooned plumage we steal wary glances at one another
bald beautiful birds shorn to their essence stoic smiles, jutting cheekbones, haunted eyes a thirty-something with a hennaed pate sits to my left proud and elegant, so cool and hip she cries, comforted by her mom I sigh; she is too young for all of this
name called, ID checked again my chemo cocktail prepared I play my music and close my eyes
I see the others in the room we share connected to the tubes tied to each other by strings of understanding the red poison drips relentless
hopeful birds we are all sometimes we chat sometimes we huddle quietly under warm blankets tended to by nurses, family and friends we hover bravely not knowing what tonight or tomorrow may bring praying we will soar again
early 1930’s, Hamburg Germany handsome twins; tall, dapper, in well- tailored suits, the one with a walking stick was my father, strolling on a busy street flanking their beaming mother bursting with pride; it’s obvious her face, lovely, sculpted even amused passersby, watch them posing so guileless, innocent, sweet but if a prescient fortune teller could have read their cards that day they would not have believed what lay ahead their beloved mother would be deported first to Teresen then sent to Auschwitz, May 15, 1944 taken to the gas chambers on arrival I cling to this one photo, a singular remembrance of this noble woman, my grandmother, who never held me in her arms or cuddled me on her lap I study every tiny detail of the photo carefully preserving it in my mind and heart but I take that day for what it was, no more no less just a perfect moment in time, a mother enjoying a moment with her handsome sons
First Place in the Gemini Magazine Open Poetry Competition, May 2022
I would have called you “Oma” You would have called me “Little Doll” I would have cuddled in your lap You would have told me your stories I would have gone to you when I was hurt You would have kissed away my tears.
I would have looked like you You would have laughed when people said that I would have had your high cheekbones You would have fussed with my straight hair I would have slept on your shoulder You would have sung to me about geese and rabbits
I would have made cut-out cookies with you You would have taught me your recipes I would have run to you with my report cards You would have been in the first row for my graduations I would have helped you when you were sick You would have sat with me when I had the chicken pox
I would have told you my secrets You would have kept them forever I would have brought around my sweetheart You would have welcomed him into your arms I would have stood under the marriage canopy You would have wept tears of joy
But they shipped you on the train to Auschwitz And you walked to the showers of gas Your precious light extinguished forever And when I hold my own sweet grandchild I think about you… I would have called you “Oma”
Nominated by Viewless Wings for 2025 Pushcart Nomination, Quillkeeper’s Press
A rare January-in-Northern California morning colder than New York City. I layered best I could, adding a knit hat and furry gloves.
And can I tell you about the sky, cerulean blue, a rare slice of heaven that took my breath.
The lake shimmers as if knowing, it’s on prominent display. Ducks gleefully skimming the water of this urban paradise. City gardeners tend to flower beds. Nannies prattling in Spanish wheel their little charges.
A weary man warms in the sun, naps on graffitied benches, his backpack serves as a hard pillow.
Another lost soul shuffles by, body odor trailing, earnestly mumbling to himself, holding up his pants. A woman carts a worn carry-on, pauses for a smoke, asks passersby for money. Joggers push through, oblivious to everything except keeping up their pace.
On the perimeter, ragged tents and tarps provide makeshift shelter for homeless. Clothing hangs from branches of once stately oak trees. The clutter is endless— desk chairs, blankets, duffels, hot dog buns, empty wine bottles, single running shoes, even a glittery high heel.
As I walk, Welcome to the Hotel California streams in my earbuds. The words seem oddly appropriate. “This could be Heaven or this could be Hell.”
her kitchen, her kingdom she, a conjurer of magical offerings from an ancient O’Keefe and Merritt just one smallish oven a clock that read 12:30 never shedding her European roots her repertoire solid, good food
I, an interloper spoiled first- generation over-achiever rarely offering to help attempting disastrous half-hearted cooking forays but it was really OK with her school was priority to our immigrant parents
but I’ll forever regret I didn’t watch when she made her roasts heavenly smells of braised meat filling the house
and I didn’t observe when she baked her masterpieces apfel kuchen redolent with cinnamon swollen yeast doughs like big stomachs patted down then smothered with cut Italian plums
but thankfully I gleaned what was important from the little things she did like paprika dusted carefully hand-chopped parsley garnish her presentations flawless
and when she made lunch for Mr. Cooper, a crusty handyman in worn denim overalls I learned what it meant to be gracious and hospitable to anyone who came to our house
a glass of Manischewitz, Campbell’s Vegetarian Vegetable soup simmering thick egg salad with mayo and French’s on challah a generous slice of her marble pound cake arranged on a cut-glass plate those precious lessons I never forgot.
Poetry arrived in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where it came from, from winter or a river. —Pablo Neruda
By Joanne Jagoda
I went back to my old neighborhood, wrote about the cracked skylight in the too-warm kitchen, the Norman Rockwell calendar, hanging next to crinkled appointment cards under thumbtacks, and recalled my immigrant mother serving lunch to Mr. Cooper, a crusty handyman in overalls, her thick deviled egg on challah and a fat slice of marble pound cake.
I wrote about golden poppies trailing over the splintery fence, the glorious lilac tree in the backyard, Mrs. Fishel spying from behind her living room drapes, keeping the street safe, and Mrs. Hetrova, our piano teacher, who came on Wednesdays, with her pillbox hat where she hid her money from hooligans.
I wrote of “going downtown” on the 5 Fulton with my mother and sister, wearing little white gloves, a dress, never pants, for school shopping at the Emporium on Market St., then tuna on toast at Blum’s and sharing a piece of crunch cake.
And it all came flowing back to me, the fog shroud, the briny smells, the eucalyptus trees, Saturday afternoons in Golden Gate Park rolling down and down Lindley Meadow with my cousins.
And when I journeyed “home,” it was as if I viewed my life through a new prism, but I couldn’t stop the sad memories from showing up too, party crashers, poking and prodding, stories I did not want to dredge up but could not leave untended or unwritten. I had found my voice.
Finally after two weeks I have emerged from the haze of jet lag. I wanted to write down my thoughts and impressions of our recent trip to Vienna and Israel. We took this trip to celebrate my oldest grandson, Shmaya’s, Bar Mitzvah in Jerusalem. Before we went to Jerusalem, our three grandchildren wanted to do some European travel and somehow we decided with the other grandparents, Wendy and Doug, that the three kids would fly to Vienna, and all the grandparents would spend five days there before flying to Israel.
I had found an apartment/hotel in the heart of the Jewish neighborhood recommended by the local Chabad house. It was a comfortable place, and we had arranged for the kids to have their own apartment and Doug and Wendy had theirs Jeff and I arrived first after flying to Munich then a short flight to Vienna. My first impression was this was an elegant city, clean and well cared for. This was confirmed when I saw how meticulous sanitation workers picked up trash. We arrived in the early afternoon and the children would arrive in the early evening. I got a text from them and they were on their way. I went down to the lobby to wait. It was a thrill to see them after a year. What is remarkable is when we are together, there is no distance, no awkwardness, just lots of hugs and kisses to catch up on. Technology keeps us close and it is the same for the other grandparents as well.
We had picked up dinner for the children from one of the kosher restaurants in the neighborhood. There were probably ten to choose from. It is a culture shock to see religious Jews on scooters, living their every day lives in a place where there were once Nazis parading down the avenues. I could almost close my eyes and imagine Nazi flags hanging from the older buildings. Religious children scampered by, young women in stylish wigs pushed strollers. We were also close to two kosher markets. One was small; the other reminded me of markets in Israel and had a bakery and restaurant where we had breakfast a couple of times.
We got the kids settled the first night and went to sleep. We took them on a Hop on Hop Off bus the first day to get an overview of the city and made several stops. The other grandparents would arrive in the afternoon. The kids couldn’t wait to go to the huge amusement park, Prater, which had a Ferris wheel that was over one hundred years old. The children had a joyous reunion with their other grandparents,(aka Zabah and Zeema), and they were game to take the kids to the amusement park already on their first night in Vienna. (Wow….they are amazing and we are blessed to share our kids with them!)
The next day I had arranged for us to have a private tour led by a guide of the Jewish historical sites and Holocaust memorials. The Judenplatz Historical Monument known as the nameless Library has books stacked together with their spines backward without handles on the doors. It is quite stunning. We walked around the area and visited the Stadttempel, a beautiful synagogue which was ironically spared during Krisstallnacht when all the other 93 synagogues were destroyed. It was built as part of an apartment complex and destroying it would have set the buildings it was attached to on fire.
However during our tour, I was starting feel yucky, and I was also not enjoying the hot weather, probably in the 90’s. I knew I was coming down with some sort of stomach virus. After the tour, I went back to our hotel and rested. We had plans to go to Chabad for dinner that night which was just a few minutes from our hotel. I was feeling well enough to go (I had tested myself for Covid which thankfully I did not have), and all of us went to Chabad for Shabbat dinner. There must have been 100 people there from all over for a typically wonderful, welcoming Shabbat feast. Jeff keeps insisting it was one of the best meals we had during our whole trip. We met the friendly Rabbi and were impressed at how well organized the dinner was. We had our own family table. Jeff and I left right after dinner but the kids and Wendy and Doug stayed longer for singing.
The Oakland Raiders and the Hospital Bill
The next morning I felt lousy and was concerned that I might need an antibiotic. We decided to go to a hospital which was close by, in walking distance. I am having a not very good record of getting sick during our travels as I also visited a hospital when I got Covid in Morocco last October. (yuck) Long story short, we got seen quickly. The doctor gave me a number of blood tests and some IV fluid. I did not have an infection (luckily) and basically had to wait out the virus which took about a week to get over. Two funny things happened which Jeff has made a highlight of the stories he tells about our trip. One, was when we were about to leave the hospital and wanted to get documentation and a bill to give to Medicare, the doctor told us our visit was NO CHARGE!! Jeff almost plotzed. This would never happen in the US to be treated and walk out without paying a cent! The other thing which was so funny was as we were leaving, the doctor asked where we were from. We said, “Oakland”, near San Francisco. She told us she is a big fan of the Oakland Raiders. That was really a kick, in the middle of Vienna, to find a doctor who knew about the Raiders. In fact, she played on a flag football team called the Oakland Raiders.
The next few days in Vienna, I managed as best I could, hoping to feel better, but my stomach was iffy. The weather was hot, hot, hot which also made it more difficult to do everything we wanted to do. My nephew Marcus joined us in Vienna and he took the kids to Prater one night where they stayed until one in the morning.( Nice to be young and be able to sleep in. )He also took them on a bike ride. While they were riding bikes, Jeff and I went to the Sigmund Freud museum which was the house where he lived and treated patients. Wendy took the three kids after the bike ride to a forest for zip lining and climbing. (She is the best grandmother!) One of our highlights was taking our granddaughter, Atara to a chamber music concert in a magnificent church. It was an experience. When we came out, the downtown area was packed with people, bustling with cafes and restaurants. We had not been in that area before so it was fun to see this hip part of Viennese nightlife.
Jerusalem, Traffic Jams and Skunk Spray
We left Vienna for Jerusalem Monday, July 24 with the three grandchildren. The other grandparents would stay in Vienna an additional two days. It was a short, three hour flight. Andy, my son in law, picked us up at the airport. He could take us, two of the kids but Atara, the oldest took the fast train from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem which only takes a half hour. He got all our luggage situated and we were enjoying our water bottles and his air conditioning. It was probably close to 100. We knew there were demonstrations after a vote which put limits on the power of the Supreme Court which was very divisive, but Andy thought he could bypass the potential traffic mess (or as they say in Hebrew, the balagan, which works for any mess. Despite his best intentions, we were right in the middle of it and our normally 40 minute ride took about 2 ½ hours. We managed OK with water and snacks. A poor woman had to abandon her car and hit the side of the road to relieve herself. Not a pleasant sight and my heart went out to her.
The demonstrators had blocked a major highway and getting in to Jerusalem was almost impossible. Finally the traffic started to move and we managed to get to our hotel. We were also greeted by the “skunk water” spray, a foul smelling odor that lingered in the hot air which had been used to disperse the crowds. Our hotel was nor far from the Begun Highway. This was not our most auspicious welcome to Jerusalem. I could not begin to discuss the complex issues which had Netanyahu fighting against a large portion of the population. I was sad to hear how this decision pitted Israelis against each other. I can only hope and pray that at some point there can be some workable compromise.
We stayed at the Wyndham Ramada which is a fifteen minute walk to where our kids live. They had made some nice improvements to the hotel including efficient elevators and the rooms were comfortable and spacious. There is also a big swimming pool with cool water which came in handy on the very hot days. Our daughter, Devora, came to the hotel. It was so wonderful to see her. It had been way too long as she had not come to the US last summer like the kids. We had a dinner with her in the lobby, a time to catch up and be together.
Staying at a hotel in Israel often includes a large buffet breakfast, Israeli style. What this means is tons of cheeses, a huge variety of salads, pastries, egg dishes, and everything else you can imagine. Jeff likes his simple breakfasts and is always searching for oatmeal. My stomach was still tentative and I ate very little. I can close my eyes and see the full tables of food with almost overwhelming choices. Unfortunately it was wasted on us.
We spent the next two days visiting with our family and at night had dinner with old friends from Oakland, Joel and Ruthi Ackerman. It is always fun to see them when we come to Israel. We had dinner at a restaurant we like, not far from the hotel, just one light rail stop away. We have become quite comfortable using the light rail which is close to the hotel and Andy gave us bus passes which make it a snap. You have to swipe your pass when you get in the car. There are inspectors which come by every so often and check if you have paid, and people get tickets all the time.
Building Building Everywhere
Jeff made an astute observation that Jerusalem will be unrecognizable in ten years, except for the old city. In our family’s neighborhood, Kiryat Moshe, as in many, many neighborhoods in Jerusalem, there is a tremendous amount of building and redevelopment going on. Many old apartment buildings have been knocked down, or in some cases they have been retrofitted, floors added on top, apartments remodeled. Families are paid to move out for several years until they can come back to a new apartment. There are different plans being implemented. The whole landscape of tired, worn out buildings is being renovated, and it will be a sparkling new city. There are huge cranes and building sites everywhere. Devora and Andy are not sure yet what will happen to their building. They don’t want to move but are waiting to see what will transpire in their neighborhood. There are also extensions to the light rail being constructed in several areas of the city so many major roads are a mess.
We were in Jerusalem during a difficult time as the city commemorated the holiday of Tisha b’ Av, (the ninth of Av)the saddest day of the Jewish calendar and a fast day which recalls the worst tragedies which have befallen the Jewish people. Andy and family fasted, though we did not. We decided it would be appropriate to go to Yad Va Shem, the holocaust memorial, on Tisha B’Av. We had been there several times before. Once again we were reminded of the worst inhumanity man is capable of which is stunning. We spent almost three hours going through the rooms and which document the history of Hitler’s rise to power, the lost communities, individual stories of survival . I was struck by a large youth group of American kids, having lunch ( obviously not fasting) outside on the patio of the building. Seeing them, their youthful exuberance, made me happy in the sense that Hitler did not win and we prevailed. I felt this emotion too when I was at the playground on Shabbat afternoon, and it was teeming with adorable screaming kids from large families.
After the holiday, it was full speed ahead for the Bar Mitzvah. Friday night the two sets of grandparents sponsored the Shabbat dinner in the Ramada hotel. We were a group of twenty five, and it was so special to celebrate this wonderful occasion together. Saturday morning we left the hotel with Doug and Wendy and excitedly walked to the Shapell yeshiva which was maybe ten minutes away. The Bar Mitzvah was in a chapel with the women in an upper room separated behind a curtain which we opened. Shmaya was a champ and read a long Torah portion and his haftarah flawlessly (and fast!) He essentially had been preparing for his Bar Mitzvah since he started school so chanting the Torah was almost second nature, but still required much preparation.
After the service there was a kiddush lunch and then in the evening we went to Devora’s and Andy’s place for the “third meal.” There was tons of yummy food and again the family had a chance to be together and catch up. Elana, my youngest daughter, and Saul and Bayla and Elijah, were there. Andy’s brother Seelig came in from Washington DC. My cousin’s daughter Kimberly and her family were there from Corta Madera, CA. My niece Julie and her husband Rusty who have been living in Jerusalem for the past three years were there with four of their children, their oldest was away. My nephew Marcus was representing his family and came in specially from Philadelphia. He was the “older” cousin and got pounced on and pummeled endlessly. Atara and Eliana are the proud sisters of Shmaya, and it was wonderful being with them and hearing about their active lives. Israel offers so many opportunities to teens. There are youth groups and Atara has assumed a number of leadership roles in a special organization called Krembo Wings, (named after the gooey marshmallow cookie) which is a youth movement that accommodates children with disabilities. She also regularly rides an ambulance for MADA, Mogen David and has become a docent at the Israel Science Museum. Atara led the family on an impromptu tour. Eliana has tons of friends and enjoys her youth group as well. She attends a boarding school outside of Jerusalem that she really likes.
On Sunday after the Bar Mitzvah, I had arranged for a tour of some of the highlights of the old city with expert tour guide Shulie Mishkin. It was fun shlepping around with her to some of the sites we had not seen before. We all had lunch in the old city. Jeff and I returned to the hotel for swimming in the pool and Bayla and Elijah joined us.
Monday morning Jeff and I met my cousin Rachel and cousin Celia who was visiting from New York. Rachel and her husband Nat have seven sons and thirty one grandchildren.( I’m not sure I could remember the names of thirty one grandchildren.) When I think of Rachel and Nat’s kids and grandchildren and now great grandchildren and add up all the other children and grandchildren who are descendants of, my grandparents, Etel and Nathan Bernstein who perished in the Holocaust it is a significant number. I am reminded of the scene at the end of Schindler’s list when all the families are gathered of those who survived. We had a lovely brunch in a café which is part of the Israel theater. It was great getting together and catching up.
The main Bar Mitzvah celebration was Monday night in the Jerusalem forest in a lovely room, almost like a lodge. There were family and a few friends, but most of the attendees were Shmaya’s buddies. One of the highlights was a drum circle led by the DJ which the kids (even the big kids like Jeff) really enjoyed. There was a yummy dinner and spirited dancing.
On Tuesday, following the Bar Mitzvah, our wonderful son in law, Andy, picked up our big luggage and took us to the bus so we could catch the correct line to Tiberias. We wanted to go somewhere where we had not been recently and also were planning on meeting a friend there. The bus ride was about two and a half hours. The hotel was lovely with a great infinity pool. We didn’t imagine how HOT it would be there…really unbearably, unpleasantly hot and humid which made us not want to do much of anything except stay in the air-conditioned hotel room or be in the pool. We did manage to meet our friend for dinner but didn’t stay long because it was not possible to walk around, even at night. The next day we thought we could beat the heat and got up early to walk. We were wrong. Even at 8 am it was impossible to walk around. We went back to the hotel for more cooling off in the pool. In the afternoon, we had hired a cab to take us to Sfad where we would meet up with Devora and Andy and Elana and family.
Hasids and drones
Sfad is a quirky, artsy, place, picture Sausalito. It is filled with galleries, many run by transplanted American hippies. The streets are crowded, and we stayed in an alley with the children and Marcus in a stone building. At first we thought, Oy Vey, but we adjusted and after we went to the market for some food to make for breakfast (French toast) we managed fine. Andy and his crew, Elana and Saul, Jeff and Marcus went to the Jordan river for a rafting experience. It was crowded with rafts as this was a very popular vacation time for Israelis besides tourists. Devora and I had some quiet time to ourselves visiting galleries and jewelry shops. We had lunch together in a courtyard. I treasured having this time with her. After the crew came back, everyone got ready to go for a dinner at a well-known grill restaurant. It was a challenge just getting out of Safed. The streets were packed, the roads narrow and cars can barely pass each other. I was fascinated by the Yeshiva we passed with lots of black coated students pouring out. This is a particular sect, the Breslov yeshivah, with distinctive frockcoats and flat hats. The boys all have curly earlocks and they could be transplanted from the nineteenth century. There are large Hasidic contingents in Safed as some famous Hasidic rabbis are buried close by. The Breslovs were blocking the street, and I looked up and there was a drone hovering over them, perhaps taking a picture. I wished I could have taken a photo but I was in the car. What perfect juxtaposition, the crowd of Yeshivah boys, old world, and the drone above them, new world.
We returned to Jerusalem for the final Shabbat. Devora had ordered amazing food for the weekend from a restaurant with a huge variety and had everything delivered. It’s so nice you can do that in Jerusalem! We had a restful Shabbat and after Havdalah had a cab pick us up and take us to the airport for our trek home. I wish I could have slept on the plane, but I never can. It took me almost a week to catch up. Despite the heat, the jet lag, the stomach virus, just being there for Shmaya’s Bar Mitzvah and getting to spend time with Atara and Eliana and of course their parents made it all worth it. I would recommend avoiding Israel in the summer if at all possible!
Joanne Jagoda 