Leaving the wall to return for the tale-end of the Jewish
nosh gathering, my thoughts return to ‘him’ as I pass the Nogales repub
‘headquarters’, a small building overwhelmed in red, white, and blue with ‘his’
signs and other republican campaign signs.
I remember my grandmother’s panicked call to me, after
Bush stole the election, after the planes crashed into those other mammoth tyrants
of u.s. hegemony, after people reacting more like robotic killing machines than
real humans, urging me to leave the country, to grab my daughter, my lover, my
friends and flee.
One of the few stories my grandmother told me about her
time in germany during hitler’s rise to power was the one about how very early
on she tried to convince her husband to take her and the children and the rest
of the family and leave the country. He refused.
She would have gathered the family and escaped by
herself, she announces, but she agreed to stay with him ONLY if he brought
money out of the country, which, being a salesperson with permission to travel
abroad, he did. I think this stash is what they were able to forfeit to buy the
way out of Germany for four of them in 1939.
Her frantic voice, usually the bright, confident tenor of
wise age – she was 99 years old at the time – was thin and breathless with
strident instruction: leave, leave, leave – leave everything, take nothing but
your lives and run away.
I know ‘he’ has been compared with hitler but more
menacing than ‘him’ is the people and their hatred and inhumanity he is
releasing and elevating from the sewers and cesspools of the u.s.ofa.’s very
As I walk down the sunny sidewalk, marveling at the
bluest skies with small contrasting fluffy white clouds, I wonder if groups of
Jews met together before the ‘election’ of hitler, if they worked hard to
combat the hate and bigotry, and I know the gas chambers were later filled with
such sheras and heroes – as these border crossings and these ‘boundaries’ on
either side are the graveyards of such sheras and heroes as well.