Free Spirits in Love
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One of my favorite stories about my late mother-in-law, AKA Nana, was the group family photo taken at a wedding. She had a huge copy made, which hung prominently in her living room. She loved that picture. But when my youngest sister-in-law was divorced, what was she going to do with a beloved and expensive family portrait featuring her former son-in-law?

Nana was a clever woman. Even in this pre-digital era, she found a way to erase him from the family. She removed the beloved photo from its frame and drew a curtain over her daughter’s ex. Then, she drew a matching curtain on the other side. I wish I had inherited that picture because it was masterful. From that point on, whenever new members joined my husband’s side of the family, the running joke was not to end up standing near the edge of the photo.

I wish I had adhered to that lesson, as I inherited my parents’ love for taking family photos to mark special occasions. We took so many of them and I still love reminiscing about who had joined the family, how cute my kids and then grandkids were, and how my nieces and nephews had found partners and started their own families. I never dreamed I would one day be confronted with Nana’s dilemma, but sadly it happened. Not too long after we gathered to celebrate my mother’s ninetieth birthday, my youngest daughter and her spouse divorced, and I was left with what to do about that family portrait, the last one that included Mom, who died less than two years later.

The offensive ex-son-in-law was very tall and stood in the back row. I had some rudimentary skills with photo editing and decided to remove his head. Wish I could have done that in real life. So, I did, but he was holding the baby who ended up weirdly floating in space. I tried rehanging the picture like Nana had done, but my editing resulted in an eerie family photo. Ultimately, I took it down with great sadness.

Ultimately, my daughter remarried and pictures that include her second husband and their blended family are great. But I struggle with what to do with almost ten years of photos pre-divorce. What about the album from her first marriage that includes many people I love who are no longer here? Baby pictures of her children with their biological father? I hold on to these things in case my grandchildren want these photos of their biological father someday. He has been totally out of their lives since the divorce. No child support or visits. But it’s better for them than being pulled back and forth between feuding parents. My daughter’s current husband officially adopted them, so they are blessed to have a real father in their lives.

On our 50th anniversary, the family photo that is the featured image was the only gift I wanted. I can put this one in a frame and have happy memories of that day when our family was once again whole. No need to cut anyone out of that picture.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What amazes and terrifies me about the role that timing (or is it luck?) has played in my life is how dismayingly often my future has been determined by chance events. So many times, the course of my life has been diverted by what happened – or didn’t – at some random moment.  Planning and effort often seem to take second place to fickle Fortune. Scientist and writer Stephen Jay Gould wrote an entire book on what he called “contingency,” meaning that the flow of events is so often and profoundly altered by seemingly small changes in direction or result, that if went back and did it all over an infinite number of times, you’d never get the same result twice.

One major example in my life was shared in Bookends. On that day, an epic lifelong friendship began that, had either of us been, literally, a minute earlier or later on our errands, would not have happened. But it didn’t stop at who I would share a dorm room with for a few years. That meeting has reverberated through our shared lives ever since, like ripples from a stone landing in a pond, spreading out, affecting things farther and farther away from the initial impact. Its influence has grown and spread and maybe become more subtle with time, but like energy, it has persisted.

Had I not encountered Alan that day, the events that lead up to my renewing my relationship with Maria, and all the damage that she wrought upon me, would not have occurred. Which means, quite possibly, that I’d have had the will and hope and energy to make my academic career a reality. Also, absent the dark years of serial bad relationships that were a direct result of my chaotic and wounded post-Maria emotional state, my first marriage would certainly never have happened, even if Wife-1 and I had happened to meet, which is also  highly unlikely. Which means I’d never have met Gina. I wouldn’t have moved to Chicago. I’d never have met Alan’s lovely wife, and made new friends both here and abroad. I wouldn’t be writing this story. Meeting Alan that day at the FDU Housing Office in late summer of 1975 has turned out to be maybe the single most consequential thing that ever happened to me, from which so many other events have derived.

Contingency. That meeting happened at a nexus in my life, a choke point, a crossroads that I didn’t know I had reached, a moment in time where, all unseen, various threads leading to my futures were crossing, interweaving, to be lengthened, spliced…or cut.

Of course, there was also the time the plane I was on avoided a mid-air collision by a few seconds. Or the unusual October thunderstorm that led Gina and I, who then barely knew each other, to quit lab work for the night and go see a dumb movie. Or the lab explosion that missed removing my right hand by about five seconds.

Life is basically a casino, and although the House always wins in the end, sometimes the players catch a lucky streak.

 

 

 

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.

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

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.

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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