Photography Thinks
Before we convince ourselves of our rightness or righteousness, let’s not forget the world around us, most of which is water, above which the wind blows. Other ways exist to supply power than fossil fuels. And, you don’t need to be a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.
All Americans owe a debt to these men, mostly young, who changed the course of history. They gave their life for me. Families of Jews made the decision to bury them with their brothers. 149 Carrera marble Mogen Davids stand, marking their graves. No rocks to mark my visit. I left my tears. Some leave roses.
Vets on our tour and others laid wreaths for all. Most who came on the Beaches are now dead. No way to mourn them enough or apologize for our inhumanity. When we ask why we do this, we know the answer.
A monument was erected to the fallen on Omaha Beach. Soldiers did better on nearby Utah Beach. I try not to believe the dead were sacrifices, though things like that happen in wars. Sad but true. And to think these guys were volunteers….
Here are Dan and Loren. Met on the cruise. They hail from Plantation, FL.
Fun to meet someone with my name, albeit a woman. She didn’t make fun of me or call me Warren or Moron. Have trouble introducing myself, because people comment on my name. Uneasy, I have always been, being a boy named “Sue.”
So, I like Duck. That has it’s own problems. People make fun of that, too. Like, “my name is goose,” or “quack, quack.” But Duck is fine and easy to remember. And, you should remember, too, not to make fun or a person’s name or make it a conversation starter.
So, my Mother died during my hearing. She had a heart attack watching Governor Pataki rail at me, demanding I resign. As I sat shiva, newsmen prowled outside until shooed by Kendall, out neighbor. My brother blamed me for her death. Family deserted me. Few came to our home.
I was refused an extension of time to appear, a point noted somewhere in the decisions supporting my removal. I never really got a chance to mourn or grieve.
Today, we are traveling through Europe. A rabbi has been brought aboard to lead the seder. At his lecture on Jewish values, I asked the assembled crowd if people would join to make a minyan. Yes, women are invited.
We got 8. Found Kaddish prayer on my I Pad. Rabbi asked if I could read Hebrew. I said, “yes, as long as I don’t cry too much.” I did cry and we did say Kaddish.
Senior Citizes are all over the place in Sunny Southern Florida, people staying alive, remaining active. Staying purposeful.
They get around. Know the bargains. Like to shop without dropping, especially in grocery stores. Instant kindness in the aisles and checkout. Someone carries the bag, maybe the person is older than they are, but less frail. Keeps them all busy and out of trouble.
Buses pick them up in the communities their kids have dumped them. They get spruced up, equip their walkers with fresh tennis balls and shopping bags. They don’t buy much; cannot eat what they used to. One stop shopping: drugs and food. Bus takes them home.
They love to smile and converse, especially with someone they haven’t seen before pays them a courtesy.
So, to get ready to celebrate Saturday night date night, I need some flowers, some vodka and wine and a hope to be a millionaire.
Chris manages Total Wines in Wellington, FL
Maria arranges flowers at Total Flowers in Boca Raton, FL
Maria sells lotto tickets at some dive in Boynton Beach, FL, where you can buy almost anything.
Having been declared unfit for Judicial Office in July, 1998, because, according to the per curium opinion, I put my own interests above that of society, lacked judicial temperament and violated the law, I remove my name from consideration to replace Justice Antonin Scalia.
In addition to my having been declared legally incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial, along with allegations I was a domestic abuser, racist, sexist and insane, I would refuse to serve even if I were nominated and approved; the process would be too painful. I have been beaten and abused quite enough. Not tough or thick skinned, anymore. The establishment won. It destroyed my dreams, my legal and judicial career; took my Mother, home and place in the community; and ruined any chance I could do social justice, leaving the world better than I found it. Find someone else, Mr. President, I have been made quite miserable enough.
And, this time, during the interviews, when my removal came up, I would tell you honestly what I did and what I think of the Criminal Justice System, unrestrained by the hope I would have been reprimanded and put back on the bench when I kept my mouth shut and the hope I would get the exalted job on the Court.
Sadly, Judge Kaye just died and I never got to ask her if she read the record and really believed the finding that she based my removal on. Judge Lippman lives, as do Judge Ciparick and my erstwhile lawyer. One day, maybe I will find out what happened to me. 20 years, almost to the day, and, yes, I have not gotten over it and never will.
My qualifications, Mr. President, make me the ideal choice for the job. I would bring life experience to the interviews. When I raised the issue during my misconduct hearings, the Commissar ridiculed me for my “morning milk,” “legal realism” approach to the job. I was against mass incarceration, putting drug users in jail and exacting fines from those who had no money and no jobs. I refused to set silly bails asked by recently admitted with large law school debts ADAs reading off cue cards handed to them by Supervisors in lofty offices making more than I was, preferring to find alternatives based on community ties. But, alas, that caused me to be denominated as “anti-prosecutorial.” Now, who knows.
Twenty-five years ago, when I was still somebody, I met Justice Scalia at a Judge’s reception at New York County Lawyers. I was a NYC Criminal Court Judge, a Dinkin’s appointee, sitting in the Bronx, moving the calendar, deciding motions and conducting trials. I asked him, after introducing myself, if he thought that sitting in a trial court doing the work most judge do would have made him a better judge. The handlers gasped, as he sipped his wine and responded (don’t remember exactly due to my then anxiety and present aging brain, but close enough): “… don’t know how you do it. In a millisecond, you make a decision to admit or deny and then years later, I get a case which I discuss for 6 months with three of the smartest people to graduate from law school and decide whether you were right or wrong.”
So, Sharon Duckman does geneology. On line, another geneologist finds her. Usually Sharon searched for Natters or one of her other projects. This time, a Duckman found her. Susan Duckman. A Scotswoman.
The discussion continued. Who knew? Another Duckman. Elizabeth. She lives nearby in West Palm Beach. We met at the Norton yesterday.
More to say, but let me leave it at this: I love family and I wonder what happened? How did this family that struggled to come to America, to escape persecution and find opportunity to achieve, dissolve so quickly, leaving Judaism, dismissing cousins, and rejecting their genes?
Check out the Duckman eyes on Susan and the Duckman attitude on Elizabeth. I cannot tell you the warmth I got from these babes. Terrific.
Any time a photojournalist dies, the world is a little less safe and its future a little less optimistic. One image can bring a message words can only hope to deliver. One need not know the artist to understand her voice.
Her obit in the NYT tells of a woman who saw truth and put her vision to work to educate and enlighten.
How inspiring she must have been to those who saw her work or worked with her.
I delivered a lecture on Preserving Memories – Jews and Photography at Anshei Shalom’s Lifelong learning program. We talked about the origins of the craft, some of the practicioners of the art and capability of images to document, inform and entertain. Haven’t been in front of a group in years, especially when not wearing a suit or robes. I was shakey. About 50 attended and seemed engaged. Nice to talk about art instead of sociopaths.
What would photography be without Jews? Vanity Fair wouldn’t be the same without Annie Liebowitz. No Iwo Jima Memorial without Joe Rosenthal. No VJ day without Eisenstadt. Jews gave photography by Richard Avadon, Jay Maisel, Stieglitz, Diane Arbus, Bruce Gilden, Arthur Felig a/k/a Weegee, Joel Meyerwitz, Lisette Modal, Bruce Davidson, Arnold Newman, August Sander, Elliot Erwitt, Mary Ellen Mark and on and on and on. We wouldn’t see a lot of what we see or know what we know were it not for Jewish photographers.
Where did our camera sight come from? God gave us light and dark so we could see. God called it day and night. Photographers call it contrast. God created us in God’s image, telling us to create, make images we can see, which we can look at (not worship) giving people vision to make the world a better place. Jewish photography is genetic, hot-wired from God, a tool for the mission to do good deeds and leave the world better than what we found when we got here.
