Inheritence

Just finished reading this piece in today's Op-Ed section of the NY Times. Beautifully written, these two paragraphs really sum up pretty nicely how I've felt about my modest upbringing and what I would want to pass along to my children, regardless of tax bracket I end up occupying:

I am not talking about trust-fund brats who get arrested for throwing hissy fits on Sunset Boulevard. I’m speaking of those perfectly well-mannered folks whose parents left them enough to ensure they never have to lie awake at night worrying about college tuition or second mortgages.

The young family who can afford the brownstone without ever enduring cramped life in an apartment, the couple who are able to jet away on holiday while the rest of us sit in traffic on the way to the local beach, the household whose teenage children are never asked to help out — there is something missing here, the sense of accomplishment derived from patient effort. It is hard not to think that their parents have done them as much harm as good by installing an express escalator on the uphill sections of their lives.

I'm humbled and saddened this morning as I read about and look at pictures of the prisoner swap that happened on the Israel-Lebanon border this morning. The picture of the two black coffins carrying the remains of the two soldiers whose kidnapping sparked the war in 2006 between Israel and Hezbollah is captivating. And it reminds me how high we value these human beings- even bodies, just bodies, being returned to their families for a proper burial and a proper mourning. A value so high that they were worth not just other bodies in exchange, but the freedom of a cold blooded murderer. People can debate forever whether or not the price was too high, but at least we can now, sadly, remove two names from list of the missing for whom we prayed every week for two years.

We place a high value on these things. And for that, I'm proud.

Time

Last night, even before reading this New York Times article, I turned to Andrew and asked, "When is it time to say enough with the name-reading ceremonies, the all-day coverage of memorials, and move on to a different type of remembering?" I didn't mean for the question to be cold and careless; just the opposite. As a Jew, I'm all too familiar with yearly ceremonies and memorializing those who were tragically killed throughout the years. But at what point do we turn to each other and say that we've grieved enough and it's time to do something different on this day? Not forget- never forget!- but just something different.

Far be it for me to suggest what that different would be. I've already written too much about my experiences, and Andrew was right last night when he said that I have a visceral reaction anytime the topic is brought up. I can't deny the fear of reliving, and I'm sure neither can many of those who either lost loved ones, experienced the terror first hand, or experienced any other sort of trauma because of it. And perhaps that's describing most of us.

As much as I want to move on, something pulls me towards reading the commentary and news articles, the first-hand accounts, and staring at all the pictures. But there's gotta be some sort of medium between not being able to let go and letting the day pass like it's any other day. Maybe it's just a function of time.