Celebrating the Growth, Purpose, and Promise of Our Graduates
The stage of New York City’s famed City Center was bathed in a vibrant glow. As a member of the faculty, I sat among my colleagues behind the speaker’s podium, sharing in the infectious exhilaration of the graduating students. We applauded, thrilled for them, as they streamed in from the lobby, energized by joyful pride in their momentous accomplishments.
Oops, I Did It Again
My cousin Marty and I sat staring at the pitch-dark house. We had pulled up to the address that was scribbled on a scrap of newspaper and were thoroughly confused. This seemed to be the right place. But there were supposed to be lots of people there, and there was not even a glimmer of light through any of the windows. How weird! We were unsure of what to do and finally decided we’d at least ring the bell before driving off.
Breaching Trust
“Why in the world would he say you can’t drive?” I asked, completely baffled. This was 15 years ago. My mother, Sylvia, called from Florida to say that her pulmonologist, Dr. Wolker, issued that perplexing instruction to her during her annual exam with him that morning. At the time, she was 87 but she was in good shape, physically and cognitively, so this directive seemed to come out of left field. The experience with Dr. Wolker would prove maddening.
To Lock Or Not To Lock?
Whaat? I thought, bewildered. Why in the world would anyone ask that? That was my immediate reaction when Scott asked me the strangest question. He lived two doors down on our quaint suburban street in Binghamton, NY, where I attended the university for one semester back in the 1970s. It was a quiet street, off the beaten path, with single family and multi-unit homes interspersed with no apparent rhyme or reason in the planning.
Bravery, Tragedy, and a Family Bond
It was 1943. Izbica was a ghetto in Nazi-occupied Poland that had become a hub for transporting Jews from Poland and Austria to the Belzec and Sobibór concentration camps where they would be gassed to death. Many, too, would be killed right there in Izbica, the last image their eyes taking in was a rifle pointing directly at them. Nine-year-old Miriam Binder clung tightly to her mother’s hand as she and a large group of strangers in Izbica were forcibly herded into a cemetery. Stricken by the sight of a pit filled with dead bodies that lay before them, Miriam and her mother looked away, terrified they would soon be lying at the top of the burgeoning heap of death.