Because I remember

 "Desperate pregnant women will have abortions. Making abortions illegal again will just sacrifice women with no money and resources to get safe abortions."

 

By Lynne Foster Shifriss

 

BLOOMINGTON, IN — If the Justice Department’s lawsuit against the State of Texas’ new abortion law succeeds, I will still keep donating and raising money for women’s reproductive rights. When the Covid situation allows, I will resume volunteering to escort women into the Planned Parenthood clinic safely, making small talk to drown out the screams of protestors.

 

That’s because I am old enough to remember.

 

Roe vs. Wade did not happen until I was a sophomore in college, in 1973.

 

But when I was in high school, my mom told me this story. Mom had gone to work when I was in junior high so that my sister and I could go to college. There was another woman in the office. Mom did not know her well. But she called Mom one day, begging her for help. She was on the floor of a motel room, bleeding a lot. She had had an abortion there. But now, she was alone.

 

The man had told her he loved her. She slept with him. When she got pregnant, he dumped her. She had no family willing to help her.

 

My mom was able to get her to the emergency room. She lived.

 

Mom said, when she told me the story, “You know, I’m a Republican. But we can never let men decide these things for us.”

 

And then, during college, I had a dismal summer job, folding and bagging clothes that had been returned at Lane Bryant’s, a huge clothing company in Indianapolis.

 

Across the table was a woman just my age, 20. She was married, with a five-year-old child. Her husband beat both of them, sometimes with a coat hanger or other instruments. She told me that the year before, when she found out she was pregnant again, when abortion was still illegal, she was terrified. Her minister told her it was her duty to stay with her husband. But she dreamed of getting away, of taking her child and starting over someplace far away. She aborted herself with a knitting needle, puncturing her uterus. She nearly died.

 

After I went back to college in the fall, I asked her to bring her child and come for a weekend. She said, “We can’t really be friends. Our lives are different.”

 

But our lives were not just different because I got to go to college. My mom and dad would always have supported me. They might have been furious if I had become pregnant without being married, but they would have done everything they could to help. Or I could have borrowed money and gotten an abortion.

 

People with money can always figure out a way. But women without supportive families, without money, cannot.

 

Here in southern Indiana, when I was escorting at Planned Parenthood, we saw plenty of women who had come from Kentucky, where Louisville has the only abortion clinic in the state.

 

So when that law passed in Texas, I googled to see where there are abortion clinics in Illinois. Because you can bet that other states will do the same kind of thing, and Indiana is likely to be one of them.

 

A few years ago, some of us were at the Indiana Statehouse, advocating on behalf of Planned Parenthood. A friend of mine said to a state rep, “Why do you sign onto these laws to make getting an abortion more difficult? You know that the state will be sued and it will be found unconstitutional, and all you’ve done is cost the taxpayers of Indiana a few hundred thousand in legal fees.”

 

The rep said “It’s saving babies.” But it isn’t. Desperate pregnant women will have abortions. Making abortions illegal again will just sacrifice women with no money and resources to get safe abortions.

 

The day after the 2016 presidential election, I said to my husband, “We’d better make sure the cars are in good shape.” He asked why. And I told him that it looked likely that I’d be driving women to Illinois.

 

And I am still ready, if that need arises. Because I remember.

Thinking about hate

 

I published this column in 2016, when I was the religion editor at the H-T. Hank didn’t mention a connected story I have heard many times — that the Rev. Ernie Butler, a civil-rights leader and long-time pastor of Second Baptist Church, showed up that week with a hat filled with money to help, a gift from his congregants.

*********

In the midst of tragedy, friendship and community prevailed

This guest column was written by Hank Berman of Bloomington.

I had moved to Bloomington in 1971. It was a warm and balmy mid-August 1983 evening as I drove home from my business in downtown Bloomington on East Third Street.

I drove past our temple, Beth Shalom, on Third Street. It is nestled between University Baptist Church to the west and St. Thomas Lutheran Church to the east. Great neighbors: During the Christian holidays of Easter and Christmas and the Jewish High Holy Days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the three institutions share their respective parking lots.

That night, my wife took the call.

The temple was on fire.

I rushed over to Beth Shalom, and by now, there were many firemen there, hoses hooked up, flames rising inside and smoke pouring from the windows.

Firemen inside were fighting the fire feverishly.

Everything was black except for the flames, smoke, flashing lights from the fire trucks and the shadows of the brave firemen fighting the fire.

It reminded me of the news films I had seen so often before during the war in Europe. Temples burning down were shown in black and white news films.

One of the firemen leaned out of one of the broken windows with smoke pouring out. There was a young boy on the outside — he couldn’t have been more than 8 or 9 years old, and the fireman yelled to him to come to the window. The fireman handed him one of the holy scrolls, a Torah he had retrieved from the Ark (the cabinet where Torah scrolls are stored).

The youngster could not hold the Torah as its handles were close to the kindling point and very hot.

I took the Torah from him and I laid it gently on a blanket.

The fireman then handed out the other Torahs and I placed them next to the first one.

A gentleman came up to me saying that he was the president of St. Thomas Lutheran Church next door, and he wanted to offer his church as a place of worship for members of Beth Shalom for as long as it would take to rebuild.

I pointed out our president and the gentleman approached him and they were deep in conversation.

The next Sabbath we had our Reform services on Friday evening, and Traditional services Saturday morning as usual — only now they were held at St. Thomas Lutheran Church. Covers were over the crosses.

A member of Beth Shalom, Max Rubin, now 94 and his wife Edna, 90 (they recently celebrated their 70th anniversary) built an ark on wheels which contained the Torahs, and we would roll it down to the front. Edna made beautiful curtains for the Torah ark and the appropriate cover for the church’s altar.

The services continued at St. Thomas every Sabbath and through the High Holy days until Beth Shalom was rebuilt, five times larger than before.

It was determined that the fire had been set by a Neo Nazi group that was hiding in Tennessee.

They were caught and brought to justice.

Congregation Beth Shalom now houses close to 200 families. It is flourishing. Besides weekly worship services, it has a fully operating Sunday school and preschool facility directed by Didi Kerler.

Rose and Irving Fell, Dr. George Lewis and his wife Sydelle were some of the founders of Beth Shalom who raised the money to build it and then rebuilt after the fire.

Alvin Rosenfeld and Joe Belth, also founders, have led the Traditional services on Saturday mornings for all this time.

Friday evening Reform services are led by Rabbi Brian Besser. We serve all sectors of the Jewish community with the main theme of inclusion of all, Jews and non-Jews, as led by Rabbi Besser.

Beth Shalom is flourishing under the direction of the board of directors, presided over currently by its president, Carolyn Geduld. Rabbi Brien is beloved by all, and his inspiring leadership is a virtual gift to the congregation as well as the city of Bloomington.

One persons’ take on extremism and survival at the same time, some time ago. The parallels to today are scary.

'I hope my smile can be seen in my eyes": New ways of connecting flourish among limitations of pandemic

This guest column was written by Lynne Foster Shifriss of Bloomington, Indiana. Shifriss is a retired copy editor from The Herald-Times, and now knits, bakes, does political volunteer work and helps take care of two-year-old twin granddaughters.

 

Connections. Recently, I saw a small felted-wool sculpture in an online catalog of the Persisterhood Workshop. That’s a feminist crafting group here in Bloomington, Indiana, which contributes proceeds from sales to women’s groups.

 

I wanted to buy the “tree goddess” sculpture as a gift for our daughter Abby, but

it was sold. The artist, Gail Bray, agreed to make another for me, in support of Persisterhood Workshop.

 

Courtesy photo/Lynne Foster Shifriss

A felted-wool “tree goddess” sculpture 

was created by Bloomington, Indiana, 

artist Gail Bray to support The 

Persisterhood Workshop, which benefits 

women’s groups

Our Abby lives in Fort Collins, Colorado, and is quite the lover of the outdoors. Often on weekend hiking and camping trips with her women friends, she has also been known to take her hammock into the nearby Rockies and spend a quiet afternoon among the trees.

 

Abby recently sent our family a link to a New York Times podcast about Suzanne Simard, a scientist whose field is the connection between different trees and organisms in the forest. And they are certainly interconnected in fascinating ways. Listen to the podcast here.

 

I was delighted to remember, as I listened to the tale of the trees and their connections, that the little tree goddess would be delivered to our home soon. 

 

I bought a copy of the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel The Overstory by Richard Powers to give to Abby with the tree goddess figure, as the book references the work (in a fictional character) of Suzanne Simard, the scientist in the podcast.

 

I then discovered that the artist was originally inspired to make the figure by reading that book. 

 

A gift from an online catalog, communication via email, a podcast shared via text message. Learning about communication in a deep and different way. A wonderful circle, a present delivered by a woman I have never met in person. Connections.

 

In an NPR broadcast years ago, someone said that the Internet would make us define community differently.

 

I often think of that now. Even the trees of the forest live in community. We just didn’t realize it.

 

We humans long for hugs, for telling stories around the dinner table, for being physically present at theater, concerts, religious services, lectures.

And yet, our sense of community has evolved in the ways that we connect over Zoom, Facetime, social media.

 

I like the “renewal” service at our synagogue. Meeting over Zoom is limiting in some ways, but our services sometimes include a friend who now lives in Washington, D.C.; a former member now in Louisville; as well as friends who graduated from Indiana University’s music school and now teach and perform with a home and jobs based in Ireland.

 

Our dear daughter-in-law Laura recently coordinated a Zoom holiday party for her company, Evans Consulting. Two weeks prior, she sent out “mocktail” recipes so everyone would have time to get ingredients. Gift baskets with snacks were delivered to everyone’s homes. People were encouraged to dress up or wear an ugly sweater for the party. 

 

Courtesy photo/Lynne Foster Shifriss

Laura Borntraeger moderates the

 Zoom Evans Consulting holiday

 party from the dining room table. 

Employees were encouraged to dress up 

or wear ugly holiday sweaters 

as they joined in the Zoom party.

 

I was in and out of the room helping with our twin two-year-old grand-daughters and missed some of the Zoom party, so I asked Laura to go through the program: “We had a segment called ‘Holiday Traditions Around the World’ and showcased China (Chinese New Year and dumpling making); Portugal (traditional Portuguese Christmas dinner); Germany (glühwein and advent calendars); India (Diwali and the start of the auspicious time of year and wedding season); and Jewish traditions for Hanukkah, including eating latkes and lighting the menorah.”

 

People were so creative! They included recipes, a game, an Indian wedding video and an interview with a woman’s Portuguese grandparents!

 

Yes, the employees no doubt missed the traditional dancing at the holiday party, but the shared stories were charming and deeply meaningful to hear. Different, but good. Connections.

 

Theater companies, including our Jewish Theatre of Bloomington, have done wonderful and innovative productions during quarantine. My husband Jordan, daughter Amalia and I recently beamed a Zoom JTB play to our living room television, and sat enthralled on a Sunday afternoon, pulled in by the strength of the performance, even over Zoom. 

 

My husband Jordan and others created, in the past few years, local interfaith programs under the name “Noah’s Ark.” The first year, religious questions were discussed in small groups; the second year, racial healing was the topic. 

 

Continuing with talk of racial healing during the pandemic, I was at first cynical how well deep discussion would work over Zoom. I was wrong. Using the small breakout groups function, talk was spirited, intimate, heart-sharing.

 

And while social media can certainly be criticized, it does make communication and just finding things out easier. 

 

Twitter, Facebook and Instagram (and others) have taken down a wall. Commenting publicly to your elected representatives is simple to do and fast. Following journalists and public figures lets you see real-time comments on breaking news, share information and have conversations about it — all while quarantining at home. Connections.

 

Maybe the past few years will be known in history as a time of corruption and tragedy, or maybe it will also be known as a time of greater engagement and examining values. 

 

The American public is not only voting in greater numbers. Have you ever had such conversations about bills in progress, how law applies to news you hear, what you can personally do to affect change? So many people I know are writing postcards to encourage voters in Georgia. The sense of being personally inspired to take action — even though at home — is fascinating.

 

I did a fundraiser for the Biden-Harris campaign, and again for the Georgia runoffs, baking extra loaves of challah and selling them, wearing my mask while delivering the bread to peoples’ homes — some people who I know only via social media. And taking payment mostly via Paypal. It has felt wonderful to do something from home — but possible only through social media — to contribute to the bigger picture. Connections. 

 

And friendships. Even though we are not having lunch around a table, conversations with friends are still happening. In fact, I’m in better touch with some old friends of many years than I was before the pandemic. That includes some friends from my high-school and college years. Reconnecting, now as people who have lived lives, made careers, raised children, lost loved ones, is deeply joyful. And we can still admire each other’s children and grandchildren, gardens, delicious dishes, homes, exchange political articles and cartoons and reflections — from home.

 

I mentioned earlier that social media has taken down a wall. Recently, I learned that some old friends of mine were good friends in grad school with LindaThomas-Greenfield, the new nominee for U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations. 

 

REUTERS/Thomas Mukoya

U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry and U.S. Assistant Secretary of State for Africa Linda Thomas-Greenfield attend bilateral talks with Kenya's President Uhuru Kenyatta at the State House in Kenya's capital Nairobi, August 22,2016.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 *** A sweet small-world thing. So glad to see that John Kerry will be working on climate change in the Biden-Harris administration. Jordie taught Kerry's daughter Vanessa in junior-high science at The Park School in Brookline, MA.

 I don’t remember if I met Thomas-Greenfield at their home over on West Doty in
Madison, Wisconsin, but I vividly remember the many fun gatherings I attended there. 

 

I used to say that my little orange VW knew her own way to Madison after my friend started grad school up there. I tweeted a sweet anecdote from those days to Thomas-Greenfield and she graciously replied, and was glad to be back in touch with her old friends.

 

Reading about the ambassador-nominee has given me more reason to think about the idea of connection. She is known for her “gumbo diplomacy,” inviting people over to eat her gumbo. On Twitter, Thomas-Greenfield said “Wherever I was posted, I’d invite people of all walks then make homemade gumbo. That’s how you break down barriers, connect, and see each other as humans.”

 

But I don’t think she just served up a tasty meal. I’m pretty sure that she’d be handing a knife and a bunch of celery to whoever was there, and asking someone else to stir the pot, ensuring that everyone would feel at home.

 

As Thomas-Greenfield ended her term as Ambassador to Liberia in 2012, Liberian President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf spoke about her “helping to reform the Armed Forces of Liberia, to rebuild the social and physical infrastructure and to restore justice and the rule of law.”

 

But then Sirleaf added “while your accomplishments are many, it is not what you did but what you shared with us as a person that we will remember.” (Read the article by K. Riva Levinson about Linda Thomas-Greenfield in The Hill here.)

 

Maybe if I tweet again to Thomas-Greenfield, I can get the recipe for her famous gumbo, and we can celebrate "gumbo diplomacy" at home on Inauguration Day, welcoming her style of friendliness and collaboration, part of a new administration representing the America we envision in so many of our dreams and goals.

 

Maybe we can have a gumbo-eating, Prosecco-toasting Zoom party with friends on January 20. I may be crying with relief and gratitude, but I bet I won’t be the only one.

 

While it is true that we are now living through a tragic time, I see so many accounts by health-care workers on Twitter, helping to inform us, seeking comfort. People announce a death on Twitter or Facebook and have the chance to talk about their loved one publicly, to honor their memory. 

 

People relieve their anxiety and stress about politics and the pandemic by humor and jokes on social media. 

 

The health and economic and emotional situations have been sad, challenging, frightening and anger-inducing in 2020.

 

But the creativity in creating new ways of connection is beautiful. 

 

Sirleaf said of Thomas-Greenfield, “… it is not what you did but what you shared with us as a person that we will remember.” 

 

We may be doing it differently, but we are sharing who we are, what is important. 

 

We are sharing our dark nights of fear, the happy photographs of far-away loved ones. 

 

We are sharing recipes and books and articles. 

 

We are learning from each other in threads on Twitter, in comment conversations on Facebook. 

 

We are telling our reps what we think. 

 

We are crowdfunding for people who need help.

 

We are understanding, I think, more than ever, how important connection is.

 

Maybe, in this time of pandemic, we have learned even more to share who we are as people.

 

As I deliver my challah sometimes, a customer will open the door to see the bag I’ve left on the porch. 

 

I stand with my mask on, a safe social-distance away, and cross my arms across my chest, in a “hug” gesture. And they do the same. 

 

I hope my smile can be seen in my eyes.