In the past, I’ve periodically mentioned my cousin Andy Elisburg who is the General Manager and Executive VP of the Miami Heat NBA team. (As I’ve noted before, but for those just joining the party, no, that is not a typo, but his wing of the family changed the spelling very long ago.) And today, we head in that direction again. But not to Andy. Instead, we take a detour. One that brings us to his niece, Abby Berger, who is a junior in high school. The other week, her grandmother Nancy sent me a copy of a short speech that Abby gave. Now, I often get sent things that friends, relatives and acquaintances have written, including pieces that their children wrote -- which they figure, as a writer, I’ll be interested to see, and even impressed by. And I do like to see them. But a little perspective is needed here first before going any farther. The challenge when sent material is how to respond. Because over the years it's part of what I do for a living, and I’ve been given screenplays, novels, articles and stage plays written by professionals, some of them Tony, Emmy, Writers Guild, and Humanitas award-winners, to get my reaction and suggestions, and have also edited several books, as well, and more, going back to when I was the head writer in the Universal Picture publicity department. I always tell the person first that I will be totally honest with them, if that’s what they want. (They always say, yes, absolutely -- though most don’t mean it. What they want to hear, and often even expect, is "Not since William Faulkner has literature moved me so much -- and that it my brutally honest opinion.") But, yes, when the person is not a professional I do always keep in mind the background of the writer and the work’s intent. Still, though, because I always really do try very hard to be honest -- and polite -- it’s very often a concern wondering what I’ll have to say when I dive into a work, holding my breath that the piece will be nicely done. I thought Abby’s speech was superb. Not just for the writing, but for what it said. Explaining her experience living in a world most people never see, or even consider. And a world that today is especially deeply important and meaningful. As her grandmother put it, a world where “we often have no idea what children, hear, see and process.” This was for her confirmation at temple, about being a child growing up over the years amid all the normal pressures someone young faces, just trying to find your place in the world and staying firmly who you are, when additionally surrounded by an outside environment that is very different, at times even hostile, from one’s Jewish homelife. I asked for permission to use Abby’s speech and whether she wanted me to use her name or preferred not. She gave her okay to both. Given what she writes, I'm not surprised. Though I nonetheless admire her decisions. And am glad because she deserves the credit. Here is her speech. I think it’s wonderfully written, thoughtful and moving. And very meaningful, most especially today. Shalom everyone, I’m Abby Berger -- and by now you know the prompt of my speech: how to explain to a room full of Jews what Judaism means to me. As poor Rabbi David knows, I struggled with this speech. On the surface, being Jewish is just what I am. I have the signature Ashkenazi curls, I love matzah ball soup, and I like to throw random yiddish words into my sentences for fun. I’ve always known these things. Yet I’ve been fighting to prove I exist ever since elementary school. One of my favorite Jewish concepts is Tikkun Olam. In your program, it is defined as “healing the world.” It can also be defined as “improving the world.” As kindergarten me saw a giant Christmas tree go up every December, and nothing else -- I decided that the way I would improve the world was through education. And that’s what I did. I taught my fellow classmates about Hanukkah every year, by bringing props and telling stories. With help from my mom, I even got the front office to put up a menorah and dreidels next to the tree, every year. I left elementary school quite proud of my accomplishments. Mazel Tov!- I had won! And then came middle school. This was the time of braces and growth spurts-I joined orchestra, and I learned about the “glories” of Algebra. This was also when I was properly introduced to the Holocaust. I learned about it from Hebrew school, and a little bit in 8th grade, but I also learned through books. The only Jewish characters I could find in chapter books were always about the Holocaust. So of course, I read them, and I learned. I kept this history in the back of my mind, but as a middle schooler, we tend to forget things, and I didn’t really think about it. Until one day, in orchestra, I saw a swastika carved into my cello. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a cello up close, but it has a tough top coat- to get a scratch through is difficult. To find out that someone had taken the painstaking time to carve a symbol of hate on such an innocent canvas -- that was baffling for me. Talk about a wake-up call. I reported what happened to my teacher, and soon the school counselor gave a presentation on hate symbols and why they can hurt people. I then continued to educate those around me about Jewish holidays and the deliciousness of matzah ball soup. (although first I had to explain what matzah was). So I left middle school, proud I had made a difference. Mazel Tov! -- I had won! And then came high school. Oy. Gavolt. In between classes, extracurriculars, and learning to drive, I soon realized that I was the only practicing Jewish student in almost 2,000. To say I experienced some antisemitism is to put it lightly. Students would do the nazi salute and post holocaust memes, and teachers would let them get away with it, with nothing more than a warning. I’m sick of it. By now, I have come to realize that the common denominator for all of these incidents was that people didn’t know I was there. They didn’t know a Jewish student went to their school, and witnessed what they did. So I'm doing what I do best- educating. I remind my little Southern Indiana town that there is a whole world of people who are different, and some are quite close to home. Now, how does this answer the prompt? What does it mean to be Jewish as a public school student in Southern Indiana? It's the moment of hesitation to put on a Star of David necklace. It's not hesitating to correct someone's mispronunciation of a holiday. It’s the telling and retelling, and retelling, of the story of Hanukkah every December. It’s making challah. It’s eating- lots and lots of eating. It's keeping a list of anti-semitic moments I've experienced. It's the plan to use that list to start a revolution. These are all answers I’m sure Rabbi David did not see coming. For me, to be Jewish is to exist. To take up space, and learn, and educate. To hope for the better, but to start on the problem now. So Shalom, I’m Abby Berger. And I’m proud to say that as a Jew, I exist.
4 Comments
Debby and Alan Berger
1/4/2024 05:49:30 pm
WE ARE TRULY BLESSED WITH WONDERFUL, THOUGHTFUL , CARING AND TALENTED GRANDCHILDREN. THANK YOU FOR SHARING ABBY'S SPEECH WITH US.
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Robert Elisberg
1/4/2024 08:50:53 pm
Thanks for your note. Sharing it was not only the easy part, but it almost would have been malpractice if I didn't.
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Andy Elisburg
1/6/2024 06:20:21 pm
This was an incredible story by Abby. Her ability to personalize the story so you felt the pain and the pride in her resolve makes me incredibly proud to be her Uncle Andy.
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Robert Elisberg
1/9/2024 10:02:59 am
Andy, yes, it's the "pride in her resolve" that leaps out throughout.
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AuthorRobert J. Elisberg is a political commentator, screenwriter, novelist, tech writer and also some other things that I just tend to keep forgetting. Feedspot Badge of Honor
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