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Notes from a Crusty Seeker

A Call to My Ancestors

I am calling on my Ashkenazi ancestors for support. Literally—please hug me! I need your resilience. You, who migrated from East Africa to Central and Eastern Europe. You who originate from the early indigenous tribes of this region.

According to an analysis of my DNA, I know that you were solo thinkers who, while others were procreating like rabbits, set about figuring out how to domesticate seeds and feed everyone. You must have been strong. Very strong and focused and confident to ignore the rabble and stay with your task—although, obviously, some of you procreated or I wouldn't be here.

When I was young, all I saw was a lineage of craziness that I disowned.

At age 65, living in turbulent times, I feel your music. There are many musicians and artistic people who came before me. There are Russian Jews who survived the pogroms and settled in an unknown land. There are intellectuals who, although they may not have been so good at people skills, revered knowledge and wisdom that is no doubt a legacy I enjoy.

I call on you to embrace me.

Suddenly I love my old homely face. It is a map of you all. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Come to me. Embrace me. Help me to be as strong as you were!

Help me to domesticate and deliver this morning's seed; help me deliver this message to anybody who is willing to tolerate hurt rather than rechanneling it into hurting others with epithets or deeds, who will stretch to feel compassion rather than disdain for hurt they do not understand:


They were strong enough to ensure their and your survival. No matter what your lineage, you have resilient people behind you. Try to feel them. Call on their wisdom. Realize you are not alone and commit to the best of yourself.






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