October 03, 2005

dear little village, little town

Listening to the ongoing interviews with people displaced from New Orleans, I started to hear something a little different today. The immediate shock of loss is over, and people are beginning to know what they've lost and what they have left. Suddenly I get it on a whole different level. Especially among those who are reluctantly comtemplating making a new life somewhere else, I started hearing a familiar tune.....

"All we found were my wedding rings and a waterlogged videotape..."

"A little bit of this, a little bit of that, a pot, a pan, a stove, a hat...."

People spoke of the difficulty of attending a new church, instead of the one they'd always attended, whose priest had baptized anf married them.

"Where else could Sabbath be so sweet?...."

People spoke of trying to keep in touch with the old neighborhood, whose residents are now scattered across the country.

"Where I know everyone I meet....">

People spoke of decide whether to leave, weighing in the balance leaving of jobs they'd been in for decades and old familiar routine, of leaving a place where they had a place and a role, where they knew who they were and how they fit into the community. And I heard:

"Soon I'll be a stranger in a strange new place, searching for an old familiar face..."

I don't have roots where I live now. I was born and raised in Philadelphia, as my parents were before me, but the generation of my family that immigrated to America ranges from my grandparents to my great-great-grandparents, no farther back. It takes books, movies, plays - stories - for me to understand what leaving means from a place where you do have roots, but though they have more free choice, and though visiting home or even moving back later will be much more possible than it was for immigrants a couple of generations ago, it looks to me like those who decide to leave New Orleans will be feeling something of what their ancestors did for wherever they left in order to settle there. For those who go back and then decide to move away, I suspect the American Wakes that used to be given to Irish immigrants will have a new life.

"What do we leave? Nothing much, only....

Only home. Only knowing who you are and how you fit into where you are. Only the part of you that's part of it. I hope that those who stay will be able to build a new home, and that those who go will find a new home.

Posted by dichroic at October 3, 2005 11:16 AM
Comments

That was lovely, Paula. And yes, I started humming as soon as I saw the entry title.

Shana Tovah!

Posted by: Melanie at October 3, 2005 11:52 AM

It's universal, isn't it? We're more alike than different... I believe I've said that before. Shana tovah!

Posted by: l-empress at October 3, 2005 07:44 PM

Paula, thank you for this. About 10 years ago, we "put on" Fiddler on the Roof. I was in the chorus and every time we sang "Anatevka" my eyes filled with tears and I could not see my way as we trudged around the aisles of the church. Only home - a new home - a home rebuilt. How I feel for the folks affected by those who were evacuated from New Orleans. Lindley

Posted by: Lindley at October 4, 2005 12:01 AM
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