Saturday, May 04, 2013

Rose Berenbaum and the Holocaust

It is strangely odd I found myself arguing with a man of Middle Eastern descent on a message board just the other day over the Holocaust.  He claimed the Holocaust was a false story and never happened.  He boasted that the story was a tool by the Jews to garner sympathy and shed a bad light on Germany and the Middle East. He said that Jews were out to destroy the world and that the Holocaust never occurred. 

My mind went numb and I stuttered aloud when I read his words across the message board.  The Holocaust is a subject I know well and it is a piece of history I’ve studied in details since I was in Junior High School.  Come on buddy I said to myself – I’m so ready for your ignorance.  Mr. Achmed (my given name to this idiot) found someone that could stand toe to toe with him on his fallacies and lies.

 Let’s start out with the Wikipedia definition below folks:



The Holocaust, is the term generally used to describe the killing of approximately six million European Jews during World War II, as part of a program of deliberate extermination planned and executed by the National Socialist regime in Germany led by Adolf Hitler. Other groups were persecuted and killed by the regime, including the Roma, Soviets (particularly prisoners of war); ethnic Poles; other Slavic people; the physically or mentally disabled; gay men; religious dissidents such as Jehovah's witnesses, and political dissidents.  Many scholars do not include these groups in the definition of the Holocaust, defining it as the genocide of the Jews, or what the Nazis called the "Final Solution of the Jewish Question." Taking into account all the victims of Nazi persecution, the death toll rises considerably: estimates generally place the total number of victims at nine to 11 million.

Did that get your attention?  NINE TO ELEVEN MILLION people were murdered because Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany thought they were repugnant.  Oh it happened, and now many in society are trying to say it was a big lie and a propaganda tool of Semitic sympathizers.  If I had lived in Nazi Germany and lived an openly GAY LIFESTYLE – I would have been included in that NINE TO ELEVEN MILLION people that are now gone………………..erased………………..wiped off this earth by pure hatred.  Do you realize entire nations, families, generations of families and their way of live obliterated – gone – puff disappeared forever?

So I responded to this idiot over the internet – me sitting in my cozy home in the U.S. and him most likely blogging from the Middle East.  I advised him he needed to go back and read history and look at the thousands of pictures of the dead all lined up in chalk covered mass graves and think again.  He argued and stammered with me that it was a lie – basing his reasons on heresy and more lies.

I explained to him I’ve seen and interviewed a SURVIVOR of the concentration camps, I heard her stories and saw the number tattoos on her forearm.  Mr. Achmed it was no lie.  Mr. Achmed it happened and Mr. Achmed you are full of crap.  I realize it was a conversation I’ll never win – but I found it necessary to stand up to this anti-semitic and hateful man. 

As I went round and round with Mr. Achmed in this pointless argument, I thought about Rose Berenbaum.  Rose Berenbaum was a survivor of Ravensbruck – a concentration camp in northern Germany.  She was a guest speaker at a conference I was assigned to cover one spring day almost 20-years ago.  She was a small framed woman and when I met her she was in her mid 70’s. As I introduced myself to her, she gripped my hand and held it tightly with both of her hands.  As I sat down and listened to her story I studied her weathered and fair face.  I quickly became aware that I was sitting next to a heroine and a heroic survivor.  She should have never lived through that nightmare I kept thinking to myself as I listened to her story and took notes.  She told me the story of her family being uprooted and separated from her father and brother – she and her sister marched with their mother to one location after another and finally to Ravensbruck.  After 14 months both her mother and sister had died and she was alone and almost dead when the troops liberated Ravensbruck.

As her she neared the end of her story she rolled up her long sleeve shirt and exposed seven rudimentary and small black numbers that had been tattooed on her forearm.  As she held up that frail arm towards me I could see a lifetime of suffering inside her brown eyes. I could feel her pain, her rugged spirit and her will to survive. She had survived Ravensbruck.  Rose looked at me in a defiant pose and said,  “The Germans branded me a prisoner, branded my skin because of my faith and told me I would die a prisoner.  This tattoo is proof that no ink, no mark and no amount of hatred can overcome the will to survive.  I survived and this tattoo is that brand to remind me that I am here for a reason and I prevailed over hatred."

I gave Rose a hug before I left – in my lifetime I will never meet another fearless and brave woman like that wonderful and grand survivor. I’ll never let her story die and I’ll never forget her and the images she made on my young mind. 

As my argument with Achmed ended and he disappeared in the internet black hole – I thought it was the least I could do to stand up for Rose and of the Holocaust she endured and survived through.  May we never let the Holocaust be forgotten or the likes of Achmed will try to convince the world that the Holocaust never happened.  Rose Berenbaum what a mighty warrior you were………..

"Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it."
George Santayana

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Simon to Simon

The moment had all but faded into my frontal lobe membranes. It didn't occur to me that I had met Paul Simon, (for those of you too young to know a great musician from the 60's and 70's - Paul Simon was the other half of Simon and Garfunkel and one of the greatest songwriters and singers of our time) until I was listening to "The Sound of Silence."

It was several summers ago and I was dating a girl that lived in Deep Ellum in Dallas. As I was driving around and around Deep Ellum trying to find a parking space, I noticed a shiny and black Porshe parking in front of me. As I sat waiting, I noticed this guy had a man holding a parking space for him. I was distracted and fiddled with my radio. I looked up again and a man of short stature and jet black eyes and hair was walking in front of my Jeep. I stared at him because I found his face familiar. Oddly familiar. He motioned for me to go around him and I obeyed, driving by him slowly - I was still trying to determine how I knew this guy.

I parked the Jeep and walked across the street to Club Dada. The Dallas club icon was vibrant with laughter and music. Edie Brickell was on stage and the place was alive with sounds of her soulful voice. I met my date at the bar and she introduced me to several of her friends. After some small talk and ordering drinks we shuffled our way to the back of the crowded outside stage. After weaving my way past throngs of people and barely able to see two people in front of me, we found a high perch next to the sound mixer booth. I looked straight-ahead and watched Edie Bricknell do her weird and funky sing-dance vibe with the mike attached to her lips.

A throng of people walked past me and knocked me into a fellow standing next to me. Before this incident, I hadn't noticed anyone standing next to me. I weaved into his shoulder and looked sideways to apologize for invading his space. Two inches from my face was Paul Simon. It dawned on me then that it was Paul Simon I saw in the parking lot. It was Paul Simon standing inches from me listening to his girlfriend Edie Brickell sing. I put on my calm face and apologized for almost knocking him over. He grinned at me and said it was no problem, that he was used to big music crowds. I found that funny, because I knew who he was and imagined he had stories upon stories to tell about the crowds that come to see him sing.



He saw me giggle and asked me if I liked the concert. I told him I had loved Edie Brickell since college and that she was one of my favorites. Before I thought about it, I blurted, "I think we have something in common, my last name is Simon do you think we are relatives?" He stood back to stare at my features and grinned somewhat amused, "Simon huh? He asked again and I said, "Yes my name is Andrea Simon." He looked at me again and said, "We'll we are both short and our hair and eye color are the same, maybe we are." I shook his hand and told him I had listened to him since I was young, because my parents loved his music. He smiled and said thank you and looked back to stare at Edie Brickell.

I stood there for a couple of songs and eventually followed my party to another part of the bar. I don't think I realized then that I had met Paul Simon. He was humble and so average-Joe that I tucked that memory far back into the recesses of my mind and almost forgot about it. Until a few months ago, as Amber and I listened to his music and then the memory came flashing back. Yep, that was the day I met Paul Simon and who knows maybe we are related?

Monday, December 06, 2010

My grandmother on my mom's side - yes my lilly white mom who's maiden name is Cross (very English) - mom Maudene Rowe Cross is the one that carries American Indian. My grandmother's 4th grandmother Sarah Cooper was the daughter of Nancy Black Fox. Nancy's father was Chief Black Fox who married Daughter Attakullakulla - whose father was Chief Attakullakulla whose father and mom was White Owl Raven and Nancy Moytoy. (Are you still with me).........



Chief Attakullakulla

Apparently I come from a long line of influential Cherokee chiefs. I love you grandma - who'd have thought your milky skin would reveal Cherokee? Grandma always said her grandmother Allie Vallines was American Indian. As soon as I discovered her grandmother's roots I gave grandmother a call and relayed the information. My grandmother is 83.............she was very thrilled.

So let me tell you a little bit about White Owl Raven based on Emmett Starr's history of the Cherokee:

White Owl Raven 1680 - 1741

Husband of Anawaya Nancy Moytoy
White Owl Raven was an Algonguin Infant when captured, He was adopted by the Cherokee Tribe and was raised by Woman Nancy,and was of another clan,could have been Paint Clan, which allowed him to marry Nancy Moytoy of the Wolf Clan,as People of the same clan are forbidden to marry by Cherokee Law. Later he was adopted by a man called Trader Tom Watts.,who was the friend and business partner of Thomas Pasmere Carpenter, He married Nanye Hi Nancy Moytoy II, This story by Old Frontiers, by John Brown and by Emmett Starr's history of the Cherokee.

Nancy Moytoy of the Wolf Clan (born ca. 1683)

Daughter of Amatoy Moytoy 1683 - 1741

Nancy Moytoy of the Wolf Clan (born ca. 1683) was a member of the Cherokee/Shawnee Moytoy-Carpenter dynasty. She was the eldest daughter of the Cherokee chief Moytoy I of Chota and the mother of Attacullaculla. She was the wife of Moytoy III (Savannah Tom Carpenter), who was Attacullaculla's father, and later to his adopted brother Moytoy IV (Raven of Chota Carpenter). Her mother was Quatsy of Tellico, of the Wolf Clan.

Nancy Moytoy was the daughter of Chief Amatoya Moytoy I, she married White Owl Raven who was a captive Algonquin,and who was adopted into the clan, and raised by another Cherokee Woman named Nancy.

Children of Nancy Moytoy and White Owl Raven:

1. Chief Attakullakulla-born 1708 in Seivers Island,Tn and died May 1777,In Natchestown, NC which is now Tennessee.

2. Killaneca the Buck-born 1712,Tellico,TN- 1761, Cherokee, TN

3. Killaque Raven- born 1714-Tellico,TN- died 1757-TN

4. Tame Doe Raven, born 1716,Cherokee Nation,TN died 1760,Cherokee, TN

5. Betsy Owl Raven, born 1730,Cherokee Nation,TN died May 1777, Alabama

I believe my journey has ended with White Owl Raven since he was kidnapped and later adopted but I hope I have more to share to you on the Moytoy side.

DO YOU REALLY KNOW WHO YOU ARE??

Progress or Destruction of our History

I recently moved to Cary, NC (suburb of Raleigh/Durham) - this town is in a growth explosion like I've observed in my hometown of Dallas back in the 1980's and 1990's. Rarely do you come across old farms left standing in the middle of suburbia in Dallas - if any remain they belong to stubborn landowners that refuse to give up their way of life or the family land all in the name of progress.

Behind me is a shopping center......

So this is the case where I live now - it is JUST HAPPENING, and what this means is I see tons of old farms still standing in the middle of surburbia development or many of them sitting on heirloom farmland just wasting away. It's sad to me - we tear down every iota of history all in the name of progress. Don't get me wrong I love my home in my planned community, but isn't there enough room to preserve parts of our past? Why do we have to go in and tear down a 100-year old farm and a handmade dovetailed barn along with it's 100-year old trees just to build over it? I never understood that mentality in Dallas, and I don't understand it here in Raleigh.



On my way to work every day, I see at least 6 farms that have been here since the early 1800's. One or two are still lived in and lovingly cared for, and the other's were probably abandoned after being bought out, or the owners escaped the suburban sprawl or just sold out due to growth. It's a sad and disappearing remnant of our agricultural past...........a past that none of us would be here unless our forefathers cultivated this land.


An old barn in Morrisville, NC - about a mile from the Morrisville Station Civil War skirmish.

Call me a sentimental sap, but I see beauty in neatly manicured and loved farms.......I see history of the land, the house and a family. I see settlers pulling up to this land in wagons and making that piece of land and home their legacy. I think it's a tragedy for all that history is lost by a single bulldozer razing it over to build a 'master-planned community or parking lot'. A true shame...............tragic..................parking lots and cheaply built homes are the legacy we will leave our children.

Old home in downtown Morrisville - completely being overtaken by new road construction - thus the reason I could barely stop to take a quick picture. It must have been a grand home in its day.......this home was here during the Civil War skirmish.
A proud and loved farm still owned by the original family that settled it - it is surrounded by master planned communities and an incoming highway. I wonder how long they can survive?



So, today on my lunch, I went out and took some quick pictures of some of these old homesteads (mind you most have super roads around them or are surrounded by neighborhood divisions.) I'm sure there time here is limited...........I wanted to capture their beauty and capture their history as much as I could. Getting these photo's was no easy task dodging traffic.........and I took these on my Blackberry with full intentions of getting my good camera and re-taking them on a weekend when traffic is less hectic.

A Tribute to the American Farm..........a dying legacy of our past!

John F. Kennedy in my Hometown

I've often viewed this photo at the old diner off Main Street in Grand Prairie, Texas.........and have loved it. This is a photograph of John F. Kennedy shaking hands with Grand Prairie residents on Main Street.  Unfortunately, this photo was taken before he was gunned down in Dallas.

It's a black stain for Dallas and always has been but it is kind of cool this happened in my hometown and that it was a part of history.



JFK in Grand Prairie, Texas and it's publication in LIFE magazine on July 25, 1960

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

The Smoky Mountains - Just 75 Years in a Billion Year Timespan

It's another busy day at the office. For those of you that don't know, I work as a technical writer from home, pounding out user manuals, software guides and any other written materials my company might ask of me. Today I took a lunch and sat down on my couch to eat a salad and flipped on the TV.


With the backdrop of the Smoky Mountains behind her, Dolly Parton stood atop the state line of Tennessee and North Carolina, right in the middle of the Smoky Mountain National Park. Both states are rededicating the creation of the Smoky Mountain National Park - it's been in existence for 75 years. Theodore Roosevelt dedicated it's creation back in 1934.

The beautiful mountains and Dolly Parton caught my attention. I've been a Dolly Parton fan since I was a child. I grew up listening to her songs and admire her for being real, true to her roots and the fact that she doesn't take herself seriously. Dollly is just good folk. Dolly is a product of the Smoky Mountians - she is as real as these mountains are in beauty, culture and tradition. Dolly is the ambassador for the Smoky Mountain National Park this year and has been on a quest to raise money for this beautiful park.

This part of the country is new to me. I made my first drive-thru the 'Smokies' just last October. I drove that winding road from North Carolina to Tennessee with my mouth open at the utter beauty of this mountain range and at the God-created vivid colors of the leaves changing. If you don't believe in God - drive through the Smoky Mountain National Park during the Fall and you will.

Being a Texas girl - mountains are something I'm not used too. Gee what I've been missing all these years - these majestic mountains roll and flow over the horizon like an elegant sculpture. The range is home to an estimated 187,000 acres of old growth forest, constituting the largest such stand east of the Mississippi River.

The name "Smoky" comes from the natural fog that often hangs over the range and presents as large smoke plumes from a distance. This fog, which is most common in the morning and after rainfall, is the result of warm humid air from the Gulf of Mexico cooling rapidly in the higher elevations of Southern Appalachia. There is no doubt the Smokies are majestic - proof that there is heaven here on earth. These mountains were created over a BILLION years ago.

How small they make one feel. No wonder the Cherokee people revered these mountains, fought to keep them, hide in them and ultimately most of them were forced to move from them in the "Trail of Tears." Little did I know when I moved here over a year ago - did I ever contemplate I was moving to an area where my forefathers came from...............I never in a million years would have fathomed my ancesters intertwined with these great mountains.

As sure as I took a journey in my car through the Smoky Mountains last year - I also started a journey of tracing back my ancestry. God put me here for a reason, I would find out later after my journey through the Smokies. Through my ancestry research, I found out I was the 7th Great-Granddaughter of Cherokee Chief Attakullakulla (on my mom's mom's Rowe side believe it or not) - Little Carpenter, Peace Chief of the Cherokee, 1699-1797. For more information on my great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather see the link below:

http://www.aaanativearts.com/cherokee/little-carpenter.htm

Attakullakulla was born around 1712 on what is known today as Sevier Island in the French Broad River of Tennessee. His father was a minor chief in the "Overhill Towns" of the Cherokee Nation. The towns were so named because they sat over the rolling hills of the lower Smoky Mountains along the Little Tennessee River. The infant’s given name was Ookoonaka and he spent his earlier years in the Cherokee towns learning the ancient ways of his people. He would become a legend among his people and a voice of reason that would help his people carve out a permanent existence for themselves in a new era of North American history.



This world we reside in is small - little did I know last October, that I was crossing the paths of my ancestors. I was walking on the land where they lived, fought and died. It makes me even prouder of these mountains - even though I'm not a Tennessean or North Carolinian, my family was a part of the land and a part of American history. We are all connected somehow - whether that be in blood, by the land or by our causes.

The Smokies are over a billion years old - God created them before I was even a thought in the universe. The Smokies were here in the 1700's for my ancestors to dwell on, before I was a speck in the future. Now, I'm here in the present and the Smokies still stand grand and regal - they will remain tall and proud long after I'm gone and forgotten..............

Who knows maybe Dolly and I are related??? One never knows........

View from the top of the Smoky Mountain National Park - March 2009
Appalachia View from North Carolina
View from Cades Cove / Tennessee
Another view from Cades Cover Park near Gatlinburg, Tennessee