It was a close call, but my parents did it; the America they left for my generation was a safer and saner world. At age 10, being allowed to head out to play for the entire day, all I heard from mom was, “Be home by 6 and call if you’re going to be late. I worry.” Unimaginable today. Wives say, “Be careful.” Moms say, “I worry.”
The Apple AirTag was still a long way off. The only two tracking devices were looking out the window and a kitchen wall phone with an 8-inch cord. If my mother wanted to find me, she called other mothers.
We lived in an apartment building with no back or front yard; when I left to play, they had no idea where I was or who I was with. Their only clue that I was still alive was when I came home filthy. My hello was, “Go wash up before you touch anything and use soap. That’s what it’s there for.”
Because I have children and grandchildren, I can now understand the sigh my mom let out when she saw I was still in one piece. That’s another thing she said: “Come home in one piece.” I wonder if Humpty Dumpty’s mother was the inspiration behind “Come home in one piece.”
They worried about me getting hurt or, God forbid, run over; they knew I was a habitual jaywalker. My wife, unlike me, is not a jaywalker. For some unknown reason, when she spots hundreds of cars and trucks racing toward her, she lacks the desire to beat them across.
The America my generation seems to be leaving our kids and grandkids is not safer nor saner, and it breaks my heart. I’m worried for the future they will be facing. My parents had little to no concern that some antisemitic lunatic on the prowl was going to randomly shoot us kids while we were standing on a chalk base during a stickball game, or that I would be beaten senseless walking home wearing my yarmulke. Antisemitism was not an issue for me growing up. The real yarmulke concern back then was one of respect; I removed it when entering a non-kosher Chinese restaurant.
After the Second World War, things got quiet; the Jews were pretty much left alone. My parents understood not to trust quiet, though. When our house was too quiet, they wondered what I was up to. When the world gets too quiet, we also need to worry.
The American quiet has now morphed into flak-jacketed, pistol-packing, pepper-spray-carrying guards outside schools, shuls and kosher restaurants. It was inconceivable that I would not be allowed to walk my wife or child to the gate to see their plane take off and kiss them goodbye. We all believed this could never happen in America. We were so very wrong.
The Jew virus has mutated from “We will always be safe in America” to “Where would we go if we had to leave?” Counting on help from America is evaporating quicker than steam from a hot shower. Again, it breaks my heart.
My generation will probably be okay, but if my kids and grandkids had to leave, where to: Asia, Africa, South America, Antarctica, Australia, Europe? Move to Israel; how safe is that if Iran ever gets the bomb?
We have gone from the America of “This could never happen” to “It’s happening.” So, I ask whether it is healthy, mentally and physically, to continue watching videos about how bad things are getting? Should I continue reading and writing stories like this one that have almost no solutions? How many stories before we’re too shook up to get out of bed or to send our kids to school or shul?
My personal solution is to listen to the few voices I still trust, that may or may not eventually let me down. Cut back on most of the videos and stories that get me crazy and occasionally voice my beliefs in private and public forums that most of my family hates me doing, fearing for my safety.
I pray to God the third act is saner and safer than what my mind projects and America returns to its senses before it destroys itself from the inside out.
Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer and hosts, along with Danny Lobell, the “We Think It’s Funny” podcast. His new book is “Why Not? Lessons on Comedy, Courage and Chutzpah.”
