Why We Do That Thing We Do

I performed this piece at the monthly open mic at the Hudson Valley Writers Center on Sept. 18. I address it to my fellow performers to pose the burning question of "why"? I provide my thoughts on the topic, with evidence.

Why do we do these open mics, pouring our hearts into our prose and poetry? Creative fulfillment, recognition, extravagant publishing contracts? Appearances on shows like “America’s Got Iambic Pentameter Talent”?

My why combines personal expression with a keen sense of history. That said, the level of feedback is very low. Clicks on my blog posts and open mics on YouTube barely create a ripple. By far the most viewed is one I did right there in Sleepy Hollow in 2019, “To Live and Die in Mission, Texas,” 1,200 views. Nothing else comes close.

Recently I’ve discovered one of my “why” reasons: Connection with readers and listeners. The pace of personal contact is picking up.

Due to the devouring power of AI, people are finding essays I’ve written at the Times of Israel and contacted me for more information. I always reply and nurture the relationship.

An April 2015 article, "Birthright Germany, Part 7: From Germany With Questions," published after I had visited Germany, mentioned my Uncle Max and Aunt Ruth in Texas. I knew Max was from Czechoslovakia. Family lore said Max and Ruth helped rescue or resettle Holocaust survivors from Europe. I could find nothing about this. Then, 11 years later, I received a cryptic email asking about Max and Ruth. I spoke with the sender, who was related to Max. Given some data points, I verified that Max and Ruth had helped a teen who had escaped Czechoslovakia on a “kindertransport” in the late 1930s. The teen ultimately resettled in Texas and was very close to Max and Ruth. This exchange enlarged my family circle and forged a profound link to history.

The very same article mentioned my partner Naomi’s grandmother, Valesca Schulman Leiseroff. I always provide complete names in my historical essays. That paid off here, when a woman in London researching the Schulman family’s history contacted me. Naomi shared some of the plentiful records her grandmother and father had saved. Naomi and the woman found they were second cousins.

I’ve done several essays mentioning my great-great-grandfather, Rabbi Hayyim Schwarz. He moved from Germany to Texas in 1873. A few weeks ago, a woman contacted me about her research on Rabbi Schwarz and families in Germany. It turns out my great-grandmother Valeria and her great-grandfather Leo were siblings, so we’re closely related. Her research found Rabbi Schwarz published a German-language prayer book (Siddur) in 1854 titled Poems and Psalms for the Holy Worship of Reichenbach's Jewish Community in Silesia. No copies exist, so it probably was meant only for his congregation. I guess I inherited the writing gene from him.

One more story. Earlier this month I published an essay titled “Converging Lives in Transit: Lisbon, June of 1941.” It outlined the stories of four families who all left Lisbon for New York in June 1941. One was Naomi’s father and his mother; another was the artist Marc Chagall. For those of you in Westchester County, you can find Chagall’s stained-glass windows in the Union Church of Pocantico Hills. They’re magnificent.

The section on Eric’s time in Lisbon was the longest, taken from the memoir I helped him write. Soon after posting the piece, I had several comments. They all shared details about Aristides de Sousa Mendes do Amaral eAbranches, the Portuguese consul-general in Bordeaux, France. By issuing thousands of visas, he ignored strict orders from the Portuguese dictator António Salazar, who wanted to keep desperate Jews and others out of Portugal. I had heard of de Sousa Mendes, but Eric’s memoir credited Salazar with admitting refugees, for a price. I replied to everybody and said I would consider a follow-up post on de Sousa Mendes. He and his family were severely punished for defying the dictator. Long after his 1954 death De Sousa Mendes gained worldwide recognition for his fearless actions, including Yad Vashem in Israel.

So keep writing and speaking, get your pieces out there. I bet most of you can tell stories about similar impact. You have no idea who might be reading and taking your works to heart. You may not get rich or famous, but you’ll shake somebody’s world or at least locate some unknown relatives.