Today, however, I am overwhelmed by what seems to be the complete greyishness of the day, and the utter beauty, this often thought of bland color, reflects. The solid ice, a winter shoreline, is greenish-grey. The naked branches of the pine and spruce trees are brownish-grey, and the distant skyline is bluish-grey. Interestingly, my friend, Burt, looks out the window he sees a bland, nasty day. He describes the grayish scenario as “somber”.

Through his sight, the grays of the Peterborough winter are dull, somewhat like the skies and moods of a Russian film. This color that thrills me, places a damper on his day. In it, within the grey, he senses a season hibernating, a time perhaps closer to death than life – “something that will be”, a “sleepy hollow. I see a pallet. I detect something very much awake and raring to go!! Because of these grays I am compelled to sketch, and paint. They encourage me to remember the Impressionists looking out over the darkening fields, and nearly unlit villages of Europe. How exciting.

The real consideration, however, is that two sets of eyes, see so differently. Where Burt’s grey is one thing, mine is another. While his represents a very particular world, mine presents something else. Amazingly, both are valid. So how are we to deal with this reality? How do we except that which we focus on appears differently to me, than it does to you? 2011 will be a year for the Jewish people, when this question will be asked over and over.

Whose grey is truer? The Israeli government is negotiating with Palestinian leadership, and there are those who will see, this situation putting the Jewish state in peril. Others will look at it and be convinced that they are seeing a colorful grey, an environment where peace will be possible. Two sets of eyes; two different conclusions. Which grey is truer? 2011 will be a most interesting year because the schism between denominations is growing bigger and bigger. Orthodox Judaism is moving more and more to the right, and while Conservative and Reform Judaism have taken the same turn, the differences between the two – particularly having to do with conversion – are enormous. Here the grays have become muted. How are we to see them?

I have studied art over the years, looking closely at Vincent Van Gough. He never bores me and I want to learn more about his life, brushstrokes, choice of colors, especially the tans, ochre’s, reds and oranges and grays. I will stare at The Potato Eaters for hours on end. But not everybody will. I know there are those who dislike Van Gough. Is he a good artist or otherwise? Whose gray shall we rely upon? Whose vision shall we trust? Peterborough and its grayish winter made me reflect on this question, on this human condition. What are we seeing, when we see it? How does it look to us, and how does it look to them? What is reality in all of this? 2011 will be a most interesting year. Look closely.

Menachem the Learned

By Avrum Rosensweig

Oil on Canvass (2010)

THE BIRDMAN FINAL (2010)

ACRYLIC ON CANVASS

BY AVRUM ROSENSWEIG

Mazel tov, Mom.

Between the two world wars, a little girl was born to Hinda and Moishe Chaim Flicht. They named her Gitel. She was Menashe’s younger sister and Meyer’s older one. Gitel was adorable. She bobbed her hair and had straight bangs.

Of course, there were lots of people living in the Flicht house on Oxford Street in Toronto, next to the pop factory, so Hinda was busy. That translated into Gitel, at four years old, babysitting and pushing her little brother, Meyer, around in the stroller, up Oxford to Augusta Avenue, along Nassau Street to Spadina Avenue and back to Oxford. Once she left Meyer by Weinstein’s grocery. She went to play. Why not! He was okay, but Hinda wasn’t great.

Gitel was a hardy little girl brought up by the sweetest of parents. Their deep love of family would serve her well throughout her life, particularly later on when she would become a rebbetzin. But we’re not there yet.

Everyone was involved in fighting the Nazis, including Gitel.

At 12 years old, in the summer of 1942, she, Meyer and her cousin, Fishie, collected comic books door to door and sold them at the corner of Spadina and College Street. There, they stood near the bank, encouraging passersby to buy the books to help the victims of the bombings in Britain. They raised $1200.  

Gitel was always an “A” student, both at Lansdowne Public School, where she won an oratorical contest, and at Central High School of Commerce.

And she was athletic, as were her brothers. Menashe was a football and basketball player and swimmer and Meyer, a baseball pitcher and later a handball player.

At Central Commerce, Gitel was the captain of the girl’s basketball, baseball, and volleyball teams; played on the winning badminton team and was on the regular swimming team and ornamental swimming team. Today, she continues to swim laps every day.

The ’40s passed and news came that six million Jews had been slaughtered, including Gitel’s Uncle Moishe, his wife and two children, shot in their village of Wirzbnik, Poland. Gitel’s bubbie went into bed upon hearing the news and never came out. But Gitel’s spirit continued to soar.

In 1953, she married Shragah Phyvle, a Jewish leader who had saved war orphans and launched the Agudah in Toronto. He was a rabbi. That suited the Flichts just fine.  

Gitel and Phyvle moved to Kitchener, Ont., and for 36 years worked hand-in-hand leading the Jewish community as rebbetzin and rabbi. Her job was demanding, but she was splendid. She took care of her five children and people in need who lived in the family’s house, taught in Talmud Torah, and belonged to the Hadassah and other committees.

In 1989, her beloved Phyvle died. In 1991, she married Marcus Weinberger. (Gitel accepted Marcus’ proposal knowing he had cancer. Through her unconquerable love, she gave him another 11 years of life). Phyvle taught Gitel about her Jewish spirit and Marcus showed her the world.

Today, my beautiful mother, with baby-pink skin, has over 25 grandchildren and more than 20 great-grandchildren. She tends to each one, and makes all of us feel that we are her favourite. She is an entrepreneur and a fine businesswomen.

Happy birthday, Mom! I believe you have personified Jonathan Swift’s words: “May you live all the days of your life. You should be well and healthy until 120.”

By the way, I know I’m your favourite!

We turn not older with years, but newer every day. – Emily Dickinson

Art by Louis Bourgeois, a most interesting artist who has received tremendous accoladeds for her art, around the world. 

See the Guggenheim art awards. http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/09/23/art-awards-and-the-nominees-are/