Over my many years as a Massachusetts resident, I’ve been called for jury duty three times. The first time, after waiting for hours with all people called that day (including a cousin of my husband’s), my pool was called into the courtroom. The judge asked if there was any reason why any of us couldn’t serve for an extended period of time (I believe it was a murder trial). My hand shot up. The judge called me up to speak to him privately. I informed him that I was the sole caretaker of my two small children. My husband was a management consultant who traveled all the time. In fact, he would be on a flight to Houston in a few hours and I needed to get home to pick my children up from school. I was immediately dismissed.

The second time (this was in March, 2004) was a bit more interesting, though offered the same results. Another long wait, then called into the court room. This time, the bailiff read a list of names and asked if we knew any of the people on the list. One was the woman from whom we’d purchased our home 18 years previously. Again, my hand shot up and I was immediately dismissed. She was a psychiatrist who got into some trouble for having an affair with the husband of one her patients – totally unethical! It broke up both the marriages and she married the other man. I don’t know what the trial was about, but perhaps that misdeed had something to do with it.

I was called once again, more recently, but a few days before my date, received a message that my service was not required. And that is my history with jury duty, or lack thereof.

The Psychology department specialized in animal studies. Herrnstein and his students did their work on pigeons not people.
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As a young girl, I was inevitably drawn to him. He wore a sophisticated suit, was handsome and elegant, and his deep gaze had me completely entranced by his charm. We hit it off during our blind date, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. I thought this was a gift from heaven and true love was blooming.

In “Nighthawks” created in 1942, Edward Hopper depicts two people in the same space, each immersed in his and her own dream.

However, marriage was not as blissful as I hoped. In fact, it turned into a nightmare. His alcohol and gambling addiction made him unstable, and he even physically abused me. I tried to help him overcome his addictions, but it ended in failure every time. Every incident of domestic violence that occurred when he was drunk felt like a demon rising from hell, with angry shouting and physical abuse. His violent behavior was deeply imprinted in my mind, causing me extreme fear and helplessness.

I began to lose confidence, became timid, and even began to doubt my own abilities. I was afraid to leave him, to face a future alone, and to lose custody of my daughter. Even with countless problems and violence, I still tried to salvage the relationship.

However, when I found out he had a new lover, my heart shattered into pieces. I could clearly see that he was pursuing novelty, while I was just an old woman. I became unattractive, as if my life was only the mundane part of satisfying his desires. I felt extremely lost and hopeless.

In the end, I knew I had to leave this toxic relationship. Although it was difficult, I believed it was the right choice because I deserved a better life. I needed to start over, rid myself of that nightmarish scene, and embrace happiness once again. I filed for divorce.

But in Japan, family connections, and politics often play a significant role in determining outcomes in divorce cases. As I looked at the judge’s impassive face and felt my husband’s family’s unyielding attitude, my world crumbled around me. My beloved daughter was awarded to my ex-husband for custody, and I was stripped of all our family’s property and status due to baseless accusations of adultery. My heart felt like it had been shattered into a million pieces. This was not an outcome I could accept.

I tried to prove my innocence, but the court seemed to have made up its mind. It was unwilling to hear my side of the story or learn the truth. I was slapped in the face by Japan’s male dominance and the harsh reality of the cruelty and ruthlessness of human nature.

As I thought back on the happy and hopeful years I had spent with my ex-husband, I couldn’t help but think about how complicated my situation had become due to Japan’s society and legal system.

It seemed as if my life had been taken away from me. I realized that I could not break through my ex-husband’s family’s political connections, I was destined to fade away and be cast aside on the fringes of society. Tears streamed down my face, and I felt like I had lost everything – love, family, and future.

I knew that there was only one choice left for me: to face this cruel world alone. I would be deprived of the chance to watch my daughter grow up, which was one of the most painful things I could imagine. But I needed to keep moving forward, even if sometimes I stumbled and lost my way. I believed that someday, my strength and courage would help me emerge from the darkness and embrace happiness and freedom once again.

The summer of 1961, the place—the Federal Justice Building in Connecticut, the courtroom for hearings before the Selective Service hearing officer, me.

By refusing to accept the legitimacy of the draft, I received a federal order to appear before a judge who would accept my refusal or punish me with a two-year prison sentence for illegally avoiding the draft.

Months before the FBI my argument questioned my position as a Jewish conscientious objector. Was my Jewish defense adequate to avoid the draft based on my faith?

The judge began the inquisition by challenging my Jewish beliefs. He said, “The Bible is full of stories of warfare.”  Certain that he was ignorant of Judaism, I pointed out that the Levites were exempt from military service, the Mishnah did not glorify war, and exemplary Jewish Rabbis, and philosophers, such as Martin Buber promoted pacifism.

Then he used the seemingly “gotcha” argument. “Would you have joined the war against Hitler?”

This question tried to undermine me either as a Jew who did not care about genocide, or a closet an antiwar Marxist. I defended myself from the first assumption, and remained silent on the second, fully aware it was a trap.

I explained that the strategy and purpose of the Allies was not to save the Jews. The first two years of the war

A portrait of me from my anti-war days

did not attempt to rescue the Jewish population. The military and State Department even sealed or concealed reports on genocide. They refused to destroy the train tracks that conveyed Jews, among others, to their death in the camps. After the war, ex Nazis received government and economic posts in Europe, but there scant Jews in high policy positions. The main support of the survivors was to support them in the exodus to Israel and the establishment of a Jewish state outside Europe.

I did not take the bait of providing a Marxist argument. Namely the war was between two capitalist systems. Victory for either one would not bring either peace or justice to minorities, especially African Americans, Jews, and women. The Soviet’s loss of life of twenty plus million was the major effort and sacrifice against Hitler. American post war policies threatened the safety of the Soviet Union. Rather than forcing Germany to pay adequate reparations to the Soviet Union, Europe supported the revival of Germany with the argument that this was necessary to contain Russia. American Marxists argued that Europe had regularly invaded the country:  Napoleonic, Crimean War, the White Russian uprising, and recently the threats from NATO. Russian socialism with its emphasis on equality, social justice, anti-capitalism, and anti-colonialism provided an alternative to Western hegemony, hypocrisy, and wars against the working class and the western imperialism.

The Hearing officer spent further time pestering me. A month later, I received his decision. The negative FBI report had diluted my appeal. But since I was on Pre-med track in college, he gave me the option to be a non combatant medic.

I refused this compromise. The position was still under military authority.

Consequently, a year later my appeal to the California State Board of Selective Service Appeals decided I was truly a conscientious objector, ordering a two-year commitment to community service.

However, my local board in Los Angeles had the final say. They determined I was unfit to serve in any capacity. They did not want me to take advantage of the conscientious objection status. So, they officially labeled me as a 4-F reject. I was physically, mentally, and morally unfit to serve in the U.S. armed forces.

For the next forty years I threw myself into antiwar movements. I establish friendships with such leaders s as Noam Chomsky, Howard Zinn, antiwar movements such as the Committee of Concerned Asian Scholars, and the American Friends Service Committee.

In Prague in 2019

But in 2014, during Russia’s claim to Crimea, I actively favored political and military policies in favor of Ukraine. I opposed the pacifist and left socialist support for Russia to maintain its occupation of Crimea and southern Ukraine.

During my trip to the Czech Republic in 2019, I demonstrated in Prague for solidarity against Russian threats to Ukraine.

If I were 20 years old today, I would find a way to support the Ukrainians. I would even enlist to become a medic!

Doing My Civic Duty

I’ve been called for jury service four or five times over the years,  and once was even appointed forelady and tasked with announcing the jury’s verdict to the judge.

One case I remember was about an accused shoplifter charged with taking clothing into a department store dressing room,  removing all the price tags,  and attempting to flee the store with the stolen goods.

The judge instructed us that jurors may not visit the crime scene and therefore Bloomingdales would be off limits for the duration of the trial.

That’s when I realized that doing one’s civic duty can demand real sacrifice!

RetroFlash / 100 Words

– Dana Susan Lehrman

When I started blogging, I named my blog “Still Advocating” — and indeed I am.
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The Pavilion 

In March 2020 on the cusp of the Covid outbreak my husband was scheduled for surgery,  but the prospect of him spending even a few days in a large New York hospital was worrisome.  Luckily his doctor discharged him one day post-op,  I took him home,  and the next day we left Manhattan and drove to rural Connecticut to what had been – until then – our weekend house.

Thus we began our Covid quarantine as full-time country folks,  and in fact we didn’t return to the city for over a year.  During that time,  other than our son we had no visitors,  had all our groceries delivered,  baked lots of banana bread,  and learned to live in lock-down.  (See Sheltering in Place and The Summer of My Discontent)

Our house is in a resort community where we have a circle of friends,  mostly weekenders like ourselves.   But during those early months of 2020 as New York rapidly became a Covid epicenter,  many of them  – like us –  came up to sit out the pandemic away from the city.

Each night on the TV news,  with office buildings nearly empty,  and shops and restaurants and Broadway theaters shuttered,  we watched the city that never sleeps gradually become a ghost town.   And even our country community seemed deserted as we all stayed indoors, venturing out only occasionally to the local markets and shops,  while on the roads only a few intrepid souls could be seen out driving or biking or jogging.

And locked down with only my spouse for company led to some martial strife,  and I realized how much I craved the companionship of other women.

I was certainly not alone in those feelings,  and one day a friend called and asked me to join her and other women in the pavilion where summer parties and outdoor concerts were usually held.  “Bring a folding chair and we’ll sit six feet apart and talk.”

And so the pavilion became a safe place to share our pandemic fears and our feelings of isolation,  and of course to talk about so much more.  We met weekly,  and sometimes only six or seven of us were there, and sometimes more than a dozen women showed up.  We began to bring bag lunches and often stayed together for most of the afternoon.

And there in the pavilion old friendships were strengthened and new ones forged,  and during that first spring and summer we all looked forward to those gatherings.  In the fall we continued to meet as long as the weather permitted,  and then over the winter we Zoomed,  and in the spring we returned to the pavilion.

But as time passed and with the advent of vaccines our Covid concerns lessened.  After that second pandemic summer many of us moved back to the city,  we resumed our old routines and responsibilities,  and we came to accept the new normal of post-pandemic life.  And altho our bonds remained strong,  we eventually stopped meeting as a group.

But those gatherings in the pavilion had been an antidote to our isolation,  an affirmation of our sisterhood,  and a lifeline when we needed it most.

– Dana Susan Lehrman 

I first heard this old Irving Berlin song (which you can hear below) during our 8th week Operetta concert at the end of camp, in August, 1969. The concert was devoted to his songs. It seems to perfectly sum up this week’s prompt, though, as I will explain, it does not apply to me. Berlin wrote many songs about loneliness, some during WWII for the GIs who left their loved ones behind to go fight against the Axis powers so Americans would be free from Fascism. Maybe some in this country, who claim to be patriots, need to be reminded of our history as they cozy up to Viktor Orban, think Putin isn’t so bad, etc. In a Fascist society, there is no First Amendment freedom of speech, nor the right to bear arms, practice whatever religion one chooses or vote freely. These so-called patriots should go back and study civics again, if, indeed, they ever studied at all.

I am a social creature and enjoy my time with others – family and friends; going to gym classes with others, going to meetings with acquaintances, attending lectures. But then I need my downtime; to just be by myself, no one around; to be able to do exactly as I please, eat what and when I choose, have total quiet, read as I choose, do all my projects, get lost in my old, romantic movies. I find it soothing. I am not lonely at all. This can go on for weeks at a time (I still go the gym, to be sure and run errands, but I am essentially alone at home).

After years of looking after my children while my husband worked (and often traveled several days a week), and now he has been retired and home full-time for more than two decades with no projects beyond daily exercise, I do look forward to time alone. But that is not to be construed as loneliness.

On the other hand, our daughter in Seattle, has become a shut-in since the onset of COVID. She is a tech person and has always lived in an online world, but this is different. She’s had all her vaccinations, including the first bivalent booster (and hopes to get a second soon – she has some underlying conditions). Yet, she remains fearful of eating in public, going to a movie, doing anything where there might be crowds. Last year, she flew home for Thanksgiving and does plan to come again this year. She wore a good mask through the airport and knows the air quality is good on the plane.

She admits that getting COVID isn’t the real problem; she is fearful of long COVID – the brain fog, the extreme fatigue, etc. She knows the odds of her getting it aren’t high, yet she remains fearful, so stays inside, seeing just a few good friends. She is a contract programmer, so there is no need to go to an office. Yet she is very lonely and it wears on her. She admitted to me a few months ago that COVID has ruined her life. It made me terribly sad to hear her say that and I wished I could help her – reason with her, but I know that I cannot. I cannot wish away her fear. She suffers from anxiety and can go down into deep depressions. She has sleep difficulties and struggles with her weight. All of this adds to her fears about COVID. This is not something I can I help her with (beyond being supportive), but my heart goes out to her. We can only hope (and point out to her) that the world is returning to normal; she can choose to join us.

Now she tells us that she and her special friend will move in together in a few months. This is, indeed, great news! She said they are both a bit hesitant, but are going to take the plunge and will begin looking for an apartment together. And best of all, she will no longer be lonely!