I happened on another Philip Roth novel after many years. I read his contemporary novels. This is one set in 1988 and published in 1993. I found this one through a series of talks by JTS, the Jewish Theological Assn webinars on Stories and Storytelling. I watched the last one entitled Not All about Eve, about Genesis and I started the series because of my studies about the Noah chapter in Genesis for my talk in October. One thing leads to another.
The remorse poem about the cat's death was on Facebook this morning.
By the time I set the stage for this story, I am afraid I'll forget why I am writing it. I am getting texts from Linda intermittently and she is so unhappy.
Philip Roth grew up in Newark, living on Leslie Street where my Grandma Rosa rented a room and I went to visit her in the afternoons when I had no Hebrew school or on the weekend, from like ages 10 to 15. Then we moved to Millburn and I saw her less often and never alone.
Philip Roth went to Chancellor Avenue School as I did,, which is also mentioned in this book. He had Mrs. Duchin for fourth grade. So did I, seven years later! In another of his books, he mentions the gym teacher whom he calls Mr. Kantor, but his name was Mr. Keniwoth. H e was also my gym teacher during the years when I had terrible nighmares of Nazi soldiers in jodphers , carrying whips as they marched us around the gym and made us climb the ropes and the horses and the parallel bars.
Of course I was unable to tell anyone about my Nazi nightmares because my parent s and grandparents did not know I understood all the horrid stories the grandparents told over and over again to their friends and relatives who had survived the war, safe in the US as I had. I guess I felt guilty about that, too.
I also know that my mother told me so many stories of her dog Toddie, whom she had to leave behind in Germany when my parents emigrated in 1937. She missed him so much during the war years when she walked us to the park in the afternoon. Rita was in the stroller and, as I often quote, my mother wanted me to hold on to the stroller when I wanted to walk alongside her without holding on.
We children always wanted a pet, but I was 15 before we moved into our own house and we got Friskie, a wire-haired fox terrier. I left home for college soon after Friskie entered our lives. I remember he ate Sharyn's unwanted food from the floor where she secretly gave it to him, but I do not remember being especially attached to him. We had a parakeet, who my Oma tried to teach to say "Pretty blue boy" unsuccessfully and chicks at springtime one year who were sent "to the farm" when they became chickens or ducks, whatever they were destined to be.
I soon married, had children and pets of all kinds..I loved them, cared for them, but I don't remember any of the strong feelings my contemporaries have for their current and lost pets.
Why?
My cousin Carol once described me dismissively, as a "specist." She said I put people above plants and other animals. Indeed I do, although I never understood that as a flaw before she kind of accused me with it.
And I think that, too, is a result of my being the daughter of the Holocaust. Although surely Toddie died in Germany, my mother was so much more distraught over the imminent loss of her parents during the years when she knew not where they were or if they lived, she could not give equal weight to the dog she left behind. Her gratitude when HIAS informed her that her parents had contacted the agency and were once again in Frankfurt, Germany was overwhelming.
The idea, when a pet died, that it was "only a pet" was born then. A pet could be replaced. Family members could not.
No comments:
Post a Comment