May Things "Peace" Themselves Together

This is the yahrzeit candle I lit on Thursday night for my grandmother, who died in 1991 at the supposed age of 91.  (We believed she was as old as the century, because that's what she'd always told us.  Only when we obtained her social security records, did we learn that she actually was born in 1896, nearly a full year before my grandfather.  Despite the time period in which they met as neighbors in the same lower east side tenement building, she was neither a flapper nor a "cougar," and, it was then -- I would guess -- that she "revised" her date of birth.)

Although I always called her "Grandma," her name was Fanny.  According to Kolatch, "Fannie," "Fanny," and "Fannye" all are pet forms of Frances.  About Frances, Kolatch writes this:

From the Anglo-Saxon, meaning "free, liberal."  The feminine form of the masculine Francis.  Frances actually means "free-woman," while Francis means "free-man."  The origin of these names dates back to the Franks, a confederacy of German tribes who for a long time battled with the Romans before settling permanently in Gaul, in the fifth century.  France took its name from the Franks.  France, Francesca, Francis, Francoise, and Frania are variant forms.  Fania, Fannie, Fanny, Fannye, Fran, Francine, Frani, Frankie, and Ranny are pet forms.

More fitting was what she would have referred to as her "Jewish name" -- Frume, which Kolatch says is a variant form of Fruma.  It derives from the Yiddish, meaning pious one, and indeed, although not especially pious in the traditional way, she was extremely devoted to her family.  As a young woman, she and a sister left Vienna in 1921, and worked tirelessly in New York City's garment industry, saving enough money to bring the rest of their siblings and their parents, all of them escaping increasing economic hardship and growing anti-Semitism.

Perhaps as a carryover from her work as a milliner, my grandmother oft-repeated this expression during challenging times:  "Don't worry...things will piece themselves together."  I bring to mind this phrase when needed in my own life, and especially now, for the sake of Israel, do I pray that "things will "peace" themselves together."

Roses Not Rockets

Dear Penn Station Violin Player,

What a wonderful surprise to hear your beautiful rendition of Erev Shel Shoshanim amidst the crowds this morning as I made my way through the Long Island Railroad corridor up the escalator to New Jersey Transit.

How soothing to hear your sweet melody, even as rocket fire blasts shake our beloved Israel, fraying the nerves of her people, and sending them into shelters for cover.

May this be a true Shabbat shalom for those who need it most, and may the dulcet tones of peaceful music overpower the explosions -- in Israel and throughout the world.

Thanks again,
~ JanetheWriter.

War is Not Healthy...: A #DaysofAwe Post

Although I spent most of my growing up years in New Jersey, my family did live in Silver Spring, MD, just outside Washington, DC, from 1968 to 1972.  It was a crazy time in a crazy place, and even though I told my mother I wanted to be a hippie for Halloween one year, I really didn't know what hippies were, and I knew even less about the war they were protesting.

In my memory, though, this image was everywhere during that era:

How sad that the world seems not to have learned much during the last four decades...or, in fact, during the many millennia that came before.

Inspired by Stacey Z. Robinson, this post is one in a series marking the Days of Awe, the 10 days of reflection, repentance and renewal between Rosh HaShana and Yom, Kippur.  Because Stacey graciously provided a list of writing prompts for this period, I'm going to play along...perhaps not as diligently as I did during Elul, but as time and inclination allow.