Apparently, I’m “Jewish . . .”

October 8, 2024

What? How could I be “Jewish”? My hair when young, was blond, my eyes still blue. Aren’t I Aryan instead, German?

Well, maybe one side of me, the Kreilkamp side? Or is this true. Maybe even my paternal Grandma K was “Jewish,” given that her maiden name was “Blum.” Is that Jewish? I have no idea, but have been told it is. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that my mother was Jewish, her name “Rosenberger.” That’s what counts, the maternal line. Oh?

I’d heard that, but I ignored it, even when I discovered that my Mom never met her own grandparents, even though they lived in the same Minnesota town! That Mom’s mom had banished her own parents, due to their being Jewish.

Ye gods. What is all this division, hiding, secrecy? Stupidity? It’s sure not new, is it.

My own “Jewishness” got outed (for sure?) some decades ago, when my then brother-in-law caught my parents off-guard. They were eating lunch in the facility provided by their elder care facility. All of a sudden, John turned to Dad, and said, “Hey Ben, I’ve been doing some geneaology on Renee’s side of the family. And it appears they are Jewish!”

By this time in her life, Mom was “out of it,” her increasing dementia releasing her from hearing and having to respond. But Dad? He was another story. Guardian energy intact, he looked at John, intently, and then muttered, loudly: “So? So what?!”

Mom’s maiden name was Rosenberger, so yes, likely Jewish, I hear.

Interesting fact: I can remember, growing up, going to my Mom one day in 1953 (I was 11), seeing the execution of the Rosenbergs in the news. Ethel Rosenberg was said to have been Jewish. I asked Mom: if Rosenberg is Jewish, isn’t Rosenberger Jewish too?” “No, no,” she hushed me right down. Apparently, that little “er” at the end made all the difference. Mom was NOT Jewish. Get that?

I haven’t bothered to do my geneology, and really, I don’t care. But I do find it interesting that the whole “Jewish” question keeps on popping up, front and center, over and over again, ever since I was a kid, and yeah, I know, way way before.

What does it even “mean” to be Jewish? Some think it’s to have “semitic” blood, whatever that is. Don’t know. Haven’t ever “checked.”

Some say it means to be God’s “chosen” people, as in the Bible. (So, apparently, always victimized by others, who are jealous?)

But what is the bible, but a silly book written by human beings? Or maybe I should say, which Bible? Which version? And Old Testament or New?

I confess: I’ve never read the “Bible,” and don’t ever plan to, aside from what was it, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God.”

Oh really? Whose god? Which god. Aren’t there many so-called gods, each one designed to make those who comply with their “orders” slaves?

And then there are my “Jewish” friends, both near and far, from now and times past, even one husband, my dear Jeff Joel, who had mastered upwards of 30 languages, but whose own Dad refused to let him learn Hebrew when young. Why? Why did his own family deny their Jewishness? Whatever that means?

As for Israel, that strange, potent little “nation” that was, apparently, claimed for “the chosen ones, Jews,” and ripped from those who lived there? Israel. Surrounded by “enemies.” It’s as if deliberately “they” set up Israel’s location to be a continuing flash point for conflict, for war, forever!

All three Abrahamic “religions,” what are they but mind-controlled “sects” of one kind or another, set up to hate and kill each other forever? Or to “learn to get along.”

One state? Two states? Which is it to be?

And what’s this about 89 people in congress and senate have “dual citizenship” with Israel? Did the Mossad have cameras set up on Epstein’s island for the purpose of blackmail? Does Israel control the US Gov? Not the first to ask.

But then October 7, last year. One year and one day from today. When, apparently, some in Israel set up their own citizens to be captured and killed by Hamas and thus drum up false flag bloodlust for yet another genocidal war, ongoing, and that the Biden administration helps to finance. What’s the death count now? 

What’s with everybody these days? When will our species grow up? When are we going to see through various mind-controlled dogmas that continue to capture so many in their hungry maw? When are we going to see through the military industrial banking complex that profits off both sides of any war?

I decided to write this post when I saw this wordy meme, which I can barely read, the text is so small. Nor do I care to bother to read it. To “figure it out.” But I do know it purports to give the history of “Israel,” and/or of “the Jews,” on and on. Yuck.

 

At Green Acres, Balancing the Opposites, Here and Now

October 7, 2024

See Saturday’s post.

Yesterday’s daytime screen fast was mostly successful, though I did have to check twice on emails. In fact, almost immediately I felt freed up, to read two books that had been lying in wait for me, both the one I mentioned in the last post, and one culled from Dani Henderson’s life story, Angels, Demons, and Aliens: True Documented Paranormal Investigations.

But, first and foremost, I was able to join our little Green Acres Permaculture Farm crew in our Sunday morning work parties, ending with lunch. FINALLY. Ever since Elisha and Dave joined us, by buying the third house, on August 12, Elisha, with lots of interest and experience in growing food, and a life passion for community (her Jupiter in Aquarius on the Ascendant!), has taken charge of our work parties, and everybody is eagerly participating. All except me, forced by an internal directive, to join a small neighborhood committee that unsuccessfully attempted, it turns out, to preserve the the best of the past by turning the entire Green Acres Neighborhood (247 properties, mostly small, modest homes from the 1950’s and ’60s, which have gradually turned from owner-occupied (thanks to G.I. Bill) into 80% rentals) — into a Conservation District. The bureaucratic maze we needed to negotiate in our attempt was mind-boggling, not to mention soul-devouring, and though the Bloomington Historic Commission initially cheered us on, we all knew that a majority on the newly elected City Council would likely ax the effort. Which they did. (For now.)

After three months of this herculean absurdity, this group exercise in recognizing, on a deeply local level, how the forces of individualism where “money” is involved, derail the push for community. One paradoxical dynamic — individualism vs. community — deeply disturbed during this era, knocked our little idealistic group to our knees.

On the hyper local front however, and by this I mean, in our tiny, three home, six people Green Acres Permaculture Village, this dynamic is functioning beautifully!

What follows is a photo essay, with Marita taking the photos on my ipad at our work party, since, remember, I was off screen yesterday.

Here’s yours truly, walking out to join the crew on the corner of DeKist and Overhill, with the goal of readying that corner for spring with weeding and mulching. Elisha wants to plant things out there, but not sure what. They need to be plants that don’t require much care. The corner will eventually also have a sign.

Geez! I look depressed! Not true. Just old. Nearly 82. When old, one’s face falls, unless and until expression lights it up.

Asking how can I help? Elisha said, you can get the vines out! Oh good! I love to “de-vine;” it’s my specialty, I joked. Then somebody else joked, “the divine de-viner.” That’s me.

Okay, now, concentrate.

Geez! Poor vines! I’d be scared of me if I were them!

All six of us were out there today, the first time ever on this brand new Sunday morning with lunch scheduled. Great fun.

Me, Dave (behind pole in back), Elisha, Emerson. Joseph with wheelbarrow below. Marita behind camera.

Lunch was fun, too, the frequency very much that of community!

Looking back on our hours together the next day, I realize that as far as our little realm is concerned, it was good that I couldn’t join everybody for work parties since Elisha arrived. That way, they could move into resonance with each other and invite me in, rather than, as in the past, me being the one who focused the group energy. It’s time! Time for me to begin to “retire” — and it’s happening in a more graceful way than I could ever have imagined! Grateful.

Today I went out to the corner to check out the finished product. Looking good!

Thanks, in part, to the massive chip drop we received only a few days ago.

One more: two views of the wonderful arugula bed that just keeps on giving, one crop after another.

Yes, though the whole world may be scheduled to fall into chaos during this Red October, we, here at home, balance the scales,

people and plants.