Monday, January 21, 2008
“Shacharis Musings" (revised 2/10/08)
As morning light little shines
in still wee hours before dawn’s rise
speak to Him before day begins
through visions of angels' eyes.
Praises of kindness and words proclaim
majestically soar o’er ocean sand
the majesty of Creator’s fame
know whom before doth thou stand.
Close thine eyes to worrisome day...
With shroud enwrapped o'er thee
bound both arm and head adorned
closer to Him a moloch be.
Ancient hopes on pages worn
in prayers long seen through tears,
awaken molochim early morn
to pray for length of years.
Examine each day ere too late,
In prayerful haste lest thou proceed
Secure a place at Heaven’s gate
Prey not upon man doth heed.
Alan Busch
1/21/08
Dear Readers,
Please see my other writings at http://www.writersstockintrade@blogspot.com/
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Dear Friends,
I am indeed fortunate to have the support of a good many fellow writers, family, friends and supporters-one of whom has written a splendid review of my book. The link below will take you to the Book Shelf feature of the current issue of Jewish Press. Please take note of the link at the bottom of the review to my dedicated website www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com where you can purchase copies of the book.
Click here for review: Title: SNAPSHOTS In Memory of Ben
Please click on the following site Blessings for Dogs - Google Book Search to purchase some of the creative works of the reviewer.
Sincerely,
Alan D. Busch
I am indeed fortunate to have the support of a good many fellow writers, family, friends and supporters-one of whom has written a splendid review of my book. The link below will take you to the Book Shelf feature of the current issue of Jewish Press. Please take note of the link at the bottom of the review to my dedicated website www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com where you can purchase copies of the book.
Click here for review: Title: SNAPSHOTS In Memory of Ben
Please click on the following site Blessings for Dogs - Google Book Search to purchase some of the creative works of the reviewer.
Sincerely,
Alan D. Busch
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Dear Friends,
My book can now be purchaed at Target on line ...
snapshots in memory of ben : Books : Target Search Results
My book can now be purchaed at Target on line ...
snapshots in memory of ben : Books : Target Search Results
Monday, January 07, 2008
Dear Friends,
Here are a few more reader reactions to Snapshots. Please remember to continue to buy copies by visiting www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com.
It is a wonderful book, Alan. Clearly a work of love, and can be helpful to others on a similar journey. You touched well on something that others not in acute grief either forget, overlook or are uncomfortable with: grieving goes on, and on. Thank you for writing it and for sharing it with others
Nancy
Hi Alan,
I finished reading Snapshots and just want to commend you on what a terrific job you did in many areas. By the time I finished reading it I felt like I knew Ben very well, in spite of the fact that I never met him. You also did a great job in describing the pain that continues long after the loss. As I read the book I got the sense that Ben affected the course of your life just as much as you affected the course of his, long before that tragic day in November. Snapshots gave me a good sense of your parenting experience, not just with Ben, but with the entire family. This book was very powerful on many levels.
My brother was killed in an accident involving a bicycle on June 15, 1957. He was 11 at the time and I was 7. Now, over a half century later, I still vividly remember all of the events of that day as though it happened yesterday. I'm sorry to say, the void that comes with the unexpected and untimely loss of a family member stays with you the rest of your life. The only thing that changes is your ability to move on as time goes by. As time goes by, also, you wonder what that family member would have been like today, and you feel that family member's absence when there are special events involving the family. I would bet my life you thought about Ben on your wedding day and envisioned what it would have been like had he been there with you to share the experience.
You are so right when you say the grieving process is very individualized for every different person. My mother was able to move on, albeit without a day having gone by where she doesn't think about her lost son and missing him. My father was a totally broken man who never recovered. He never wanted to go to bar mitzvahs because they were too painful and it filled him with sadness when he saw others enjoying themselves with their sons.
One of my most powerful memories came with the loss of a cousin in St. Louis. You might have known him -Sherman Bradley. He was a few years younger than me and I'm quite sure he graduated from high school at Ladue. He was in his late teens at the time he was killed in a traffic accident. It happened in an intersection where his truck was struck by a Greyhound bus. I'll never forget the way his grieving father, cousin Marvin, looked at me when I made my shiva call. He very sorrowfully uttered: "Now I know how your father felt." That says it all.
Alan, I hope the book is widely read and becomes a classic.
Anonymously Submitted
Here are a few more reader reactions to Snapshots. Please remember to continue to buy copies by visiting www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com.
It is a wonderful book, Alan. Clearly a work of love, and can be helpful to others on a similar journey. You touched well on something that others not in acute grief either forget, overlook or are uncomfortable with: grieving goes on, and on. Thank you for writing it and for sharing it with others
Nancy
Hi Alan,
I finished reading Snapshots and just want to commend you on what a terrific job you did in many areas. By the time I finished reading it I felt like I knew Ben very well, in spite of the fact that I never met him. You also did a great job in describing the pain that continues long after the loss. As I read the book I got the sense that Ben affected the course of your life just as much as you affected the course of his, long before that tragic day in November. Snapshots gave me a good sense of your parenting experience, not just with Ben, but with the entire family. This book was very powerful on many levels.
My brother was killed in an accident involving a bicycle on June 15, 1957. He was 11 at the time and I was 7. Now, over a half century later, I still vividly remember all of the events of that day as though it happened yesterday. I'm sorry to say, the void that comes with the unexpected and untimely loss of a family member stays with you the rest of your life. The only thing that changes is your ability to move on as time goes by. As time goes by, also, you wonder what that family member would have been like today, and you feel that family member's absence when there are special events involving the family. I would bet my life you thought about Ben on your wedding day and envisioned what it would have been like had he been there with you to share the experience.
You are so right when you say the grieving process is very individualized for every different person. My mother was able to move on, albeit without a day having gone by where she doesn't think about her lost son and missing him. My father was a totally broken man who never recovered. He never wanted to go to bar mitzvahs because they were too painful and it filled him with sadness when he saw others enjoying themselves with their sons.
One of my most powerful memories came with the loss of a cousin in St. Louis. You might have known him -Sherman Bradley. He was a few years younger than me and I'm quite sure he graduated from high school at Ladue. He was in his late teens at the time he was killed in a traffic accident. It happened in an intersection where his truck was struck by a Greyhound bus. I'll never forget the way his grieving father, cousin Marvin, looked at me when I made my shiva call. He very sorrowfully uttered: "Now I know how your father felt." That says it all.
Alan, I hope the book is widely read and becomes a classic.
Anonymously Submitted
Dear Friends,
Please click on the link below to view and purchase copies of
SnapshotsInMemoryOfBen and note the link to a you-tube video
featuring yours truly.
Many thanks,
Alan
Please click on the link below to view and purchase copies of
SnapshotsInMemoryOfBen and note the link to a you-tube video
featuring yours truly.
Many thanks,
Alan
Sunday, January 06, 2008
The Morning 'Benji' Made Minyan
The "tsenter", the tenth man required to complete a minyan is much sought after, who enjoys an almost enviable position. It is he, after all, who makes it all come together, as it were. Without him, certain prayers, which require a minyan, a religious quorem of ten adult men, may not be said. Imagine holding in one's hands the power to prevent nine other Jews from hearing the Borechu, the repetition of the Shmoney Esrei, the Kedusha and all of the Kaddishim! That's quite a lot of prayer deprivation! And what is it that some cynics say about the inability of one person to make a difference?
To be the tenth man is, indeed, a weighty honor. At least nine other men await him eagerly. They welcome him to a degree unlike that accorded themselves. It's such an odd thing, in part because it represents a complete inversion of our usual cultural standard that takes a rather dim view of tardiness. Whereelse would you expect to find the accolades and adoration showered upon anyone else but the tsenter, a man who, by definition, is not only "last" but, in many instances, late?
Probably no where else but in an orthodox shul.
There are probably no more diametrically opposed character types within the world of orthodox minyonim than the "schlichim" and the "tsenter". As unfortunate as it may seem to say this, it has been my vastly limited experience that the typical schliach is a borderline nudnik; in most cases, he is a seemingly perfectly able man who-clutching his green plastic laminated cards-arrives at the shul in some instances driving very new and expensive cars, rentals I presume. He walks about the beis medrash during the recitation of morning prayers soliciting from each and every man contributions of tzedakah to his favorite cause-himself.
Often traveling in groups, outfitted in black caftans and a variety of styles of black hats, most of these schlichim are men who "learn", I imagine, in yeshiva-the majority of which I'd venture to say are in Eretz Yisroel, judging from the few words they utter-few seem to be American-born. It's an ancient Jewish custom to financially assist talmidei chachomim, the origin of which is with the commercially successful Tribe of Zebulun who supported the scholarly Tribe of Issachar. Not everyone is cut out to be a talmid chochem; it is nothing more than a simple fact of life. However, that fact alone obligates those of us who are not to support those who are. And I can deal with that. I guess it's their presumption of entitlement that annoys me. Perhaps if they brought in a dozen donuts or donated a bottle of good schnappes to the shul once in a while, I might warm up to them. Or even the radical idea of davening with the minyan on occasion might well benefit them.
Far fewer are those who arrive in shul looking somewhat disheveled, downcast and genuinely needy although there is one young man, named "Benji" who shows up every now and then who certainly is in need of assistance from his fellow Jews-not to sit and learn, but clearly to make ends meet. He is a young man who is probably in his mid-twenties and clearly showing the signs of emotional disability.
With a look of mental disorderliness about him that may be due to a failure to adhere to his medication regimen, he unmistakingly is a genuinely needy soul. One needs only glance at such a person to come away thankful for all of life's blessings. Indeed it is a fortunate fact of Jewish communal life that there is such a strong institutionalized tradition of tzedaka in place-that a fellow such as Benji can come to shul in the morning, when there are typically more worshippers, and leave with at least a few extra dollars in pocket.
This is the way it is and most probably, will always be.
But just last Friday, when for reasons unknown, the count of the morning minyan had stopped at nine plus "Benji" who-on any other given morning-might well have left after his collections-given a plentitude of men comprising the minyan, but this last Friday morning was "schvach"-slow indeed. The redeeming element here was the fact that young Benji-not unmindful of the fact that had he left just then, the minyan, of which he was the un-official tzenter, would have been reduced to nine, unable to move forward.
"Should I stick around to help make the minyan?" Benji asked of the quiet gentleman next to whom he was standing, a Kohein as a matter of fact, who not only knew Benji but referred to him as his friend whom- he made it known-the members of the minyan should help out.
"Yes, that would be good," he advised. "Did you bring your t'filin?" he asked, smilingly, but only half jokingly because Benji was not inclined, perhaps even unable to "don" tefilin. Mind you, his friend, the Kohein, knew this of course but only sought to make Benji feel like one of "the guys", who just so happened to have "forgotten" his t'philin that morning. And so Benji stayed long enough in any case for the first two kaddishim to be pronounced, after which two additional men arrived.
I studied carefully the expression on Benji's face as the kaddishim were being read, and I espied a clearly discernible look of great self-satisfaction. He was, at least, for the while an exceedingly important man! With the arrival of the two additional men, Benji was, as it were, released. Should he have left then, there still would have been a minyan plus one. So he did, he left, but before he stepped outside the beis medrash, Benji stopped to count, just to make sure that ten there would at least be upon his leaving. He left, with some much needed money in pocket and, I hope, the satisfaction that on this morning, he was able to give back as well as receive.
PLEASE VISIT WWW.SNAPSHOTSINMEMORYOFBEN.COM
The "tsenter", the tenth man required to complete a minyan is much sought after, who enjoys an almost enviable position. It is he, after all, who makes it all come together, as it were. Without him, certain prayers, which require a minyan, a religious quorem of ten adult men, may not be said. Imagine holding in one's hands the power to prevent nine other Jews from hearing the Borechu, the repetition of the Shmoney Esrei, the Kedusha and all of the Kaddishim! That's quite a lot of prayer deprivation! And what is it that some cynics say about the inability of one person to make a difference?
To be the tenth man is, indeed, a weighty honor. At least nine other men await him eagerly. They welcome him to a degree unlike that accorded themselves. It's such an odd thing, in part because it represents a complete inversion of our usual cultural standard that takes a rather dim view of tardiness. Whereelse would you expect to find the accolades and adoration showered upon anyone else but the tsenter, a man who, by definition, is not only "last" but, in many instances, late?
Probably no where else but in an orthodox shul.
There are probably no more diametrically opposed character types within the world of orthodox minyonim than the "schlichim" and the "tsenter". As unfortunate as it may seem to say this, it has been my vastly limited experience that the typical schliach is a borderline nudnik; in most cases, he is a seemingly perfectly able man who-clutching his green plastic laminated cards-arrives at the shul in some instances driving very new and expensive cars, rentals I presume. He walks about the beis medrash during the recitation of morning prayers soliciting from each and every man contributions of tzedakah to his favorite cause-himself.
Often traveling in groups, outfitted in black caftans and a variety of styles of black hats, most of these schlichim are men who "learn", I imagine, in yeshiva-the majority of which I'd venture to say are in Eretz Yisroel, judging from the few words they utter-few seem to be American-born. It's an ancient Jewish custom to financially assist talmidei chachomim, the origin of which is with the commercially successful Tribe of Zebulun who supported the scholarly Tribe of Issachar. Not everyone is cut out to be a talmid chochem; it is nothing more than a simple fact of life. However, that fact alone obligates those of us who are not to support those who are. And I can deal with that. I guess it's their presumption of entitlement that annoys me. Perhaps if they brought in a dozen donuts or donated a bottle of good schnappes to the shul once in a while, I might warm up to them. Or even the radical idea of davening with the minyan on occasion might well benefit them.
Far fewer are those who arrive in shul looking somewhat disheveled, downcast and genuinely needy although there is one young man, named "Benji" who shows up every now and then who certainly is in need of assistance from his fellow Jews-not to sit and learn, but clearly to make ends meet. He is a young man who is probably in his mid-twenties and clearly showing the signs of emotional disability.
With a look of mental disorderliness about him that may be due to a failure to adhere to his medication regimen, he unmistakingly is a genuinely needy soul. One needs only glance at such a person to come away thankful for all of life's blessings. Indeed it is a fortunate fact of Jewish communal life that there is such a strong institutionalized tradition of tzedaka in place-that a fellow such as Benji can come to shul in the morning, when there are typically more worshippers, and leave with at least a few extra dollars in pocket.
This is the way it is and most probably, will always be.
But just last Friday, when for reasons unknown, the count of the morning minyan had stopped at nine plus "Benji" who-on any other given morning-might well have left after his collections-given a plentitude of men comprising the minyan, but this last Friday morning was "schvach"-slow indeed. The redeeming element here was the fact that young Benji-not unmindful of the fact that had he left just then, the minyan, of which he was the un-official tzenter, would have been reduced to nine, unable to move forward.
"Should I stick around to help make the minyan?" Benji asked of the quiet gentleman next to whom he was standing, a Kohein as a matter of fact, who not only knew Benji but referred to him as his friend whom- he made it known-the members of the minyan should help out.
"Yes, that would be good," he advised. "Did you bring your t'filin?" he asked, smilingly, but only half jokingly because Benji was not inclined, perhaps even unable to "don" tefilin. Mind you, his friend, the Kohein, knew this of course but only sought to make Benji feel like one of "the guys", who just so happened to have "forgotten" his t'philin that morning. And so Benji stayed long enough in any case for the first two kaddishim to be pronounced, after which two additional men arrived.
I studied carefully the expression on Benji's face as the kaddishim were being read, and I espied a clearly discernible look of great self-satisfaction. He was, at least, for the while an exceedingly important man! With the arrival of the two additional men, Benji was, as it were, released. Should he have left then, there still would have been a minyan plus one. So he did, he left, but before he stepped outside the beis medrash, Benji stopped to count, just to make sure that ten there would at least be upon his leaving. He left, with some much needed money in pocket and, I hope, the satisfaction that on this morning, he was able to give back as well as receive.
PLEASE VISIT WWW.SNAPSHOTSINMEMORYOFBEN.COM
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Dear Friends,
Here are reviews and reactions to my book Snapshots In Memory of Ben by several readers:
The first reviewer asked to remain anonymous:
How can one describe a book as beautiful which tells the story of a child's brief life and death as seen through the eyes and windows of the soul of a father? Yet this book is beautiful. If you have lost a child---then you understand how impoverished and pathetic my words are. I picked it up and read it, standing still, transfixed. It is a quick read---only 20 minutes.
Once, long ago, I hiked through a thick forest and stumbled upon a quiet, serene pool---its waters, crystal clear. It was hidden by trees and I somehow knew that I could never find it again in a 1,000 years of searching. The day was very hot, and I was weary. I waded in and discovered that it was far, far deeper than I had imagined for such a tiny pond. This book is like that pool: it is a slim volume----but its pages are far deeper than I would have ever imagined. The author is a religious Jew, and the spectrum of his sorrow is seen through the prism of his Judaism. But it does not matter: the loss of a child is a universal, private hell from which none of us truly ever escape.
Review 2
Here are reviews and reactions to my book Snapshots In Memory of Ben by several readers:
The first reviewer asked to remain anonymous:
How can one describe a book as beautiful which tells the story of a child's brief life and death as seen through the eyes and windows of the soul of a father? Yet this book is beautiful. If you have lost a child---then you understand how impoverished and pathetic my words are. I picked it up and read it, standing still, transfixed. It is a quick read---only 20 minutes.
Once, long ago, I hiked through a thick forest and stumbled upon a quiet, serene pool---its waters, crystal clear. It was hidden by trees and I somehow knew that I could never find it again in a 1,000 years of searching. The day was very hot, and I was weary. I waded in and discovered that it was far, far deeper than I had imagined for such a tiny pond. This book is like that pool: it is a slim volume----but its pages are far deeper than I would have ever imagined. The author is a religious Jew, and the spectrum of his sorrow is seen through the prism of his Judaism. But it does not matter: the loss of a child is a universal, private hell from which none of us truly ever escape.
Review 2
Snapshots: In Memory Of Ben
It must be one of the hardest things in the world to lose a child, and it's something that I could never begin to imagine. I learned a lot from Alan Busch's memoir......I learned what a lovely son he has, and even though Ben had health obstacles to deal with most of his life, he was a happy and upbeat young man, someone anyone would be proud to call their friend. I learned much about the Jewish faith, and Alan's quest to go through the grieving stages and to also help others deal with the loss of a loved one.
The most important thing I learned was what to say and do for a bereaved person, how it's just not right to say things such as "I know how you feel", or "he/she is in a better place". How sometimes just being there for a person and giving them a loving hug can help the slow healing process of their souls.
I truly feel that Ben would be proud of this loving tribute to his life that his father has created.
This book is a must read for anyone who has ever lost someone in their life and is having a terrible time getting over the shock of not having that person in their lives anymore. Alan Busch has written a book born from his own tragedy that is sure to help many others.
Laura W.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Dear Friends,
Please continue to buy copies of Snapshots In Memory of Ben
at www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com
Churban ...
Whether in battle or prayer, they met their end,
futile struggle, Kiddush HaShem.
Their foe, a Goliath, of thousands times size,
from whom they refused to accept the lies:
that they were weak and unworthy, unable to rise.
Never before had there been such daring
from young women and men all of whom caring
for the dignity of those for whom they fought,
such were the lessons history had taught ...
that the Jew stood alone, friendless, against foe,
counting his days, tormented by woe.
His task ... to prove though troubled by pain,
the courage of Masada had not been in vain.
For three months, the struggle did not cease,
neither side desiring peace.
For 'surrender' was an unthinkable word,
from the sewers of Warsaw could still be heard:
the cries, the anguish, the torture within
ferreting out captives the nazis whose grin
was evidence they had acted with glee
when stifling yearnings of people to be free.
Cords of 'log-bodies', stacked just the same,
secular and religious none to blame.
For there was NO such difference before the Hun,
the Jews for him were decidedly one.
Why a people whose destiny has been
to enlighten a world through darkness and din,
whose numbers are as many as they are few,
why so despised has been the Jew?
Threatened with death should he adhere to his ways,
terrorized by chimneys' billowing haze.
Searchingly hopeful ... in whose starry gaze
reflected infernos' roaring blaze.
Why did none act to stop it once known?
Enough indifference haven't we sown?
Praying to the heavens as they did every day,
that soon they'd see planes flying their way,
so bombardment, please God, should take us
ere the chambers would,
but the Allies
denied they could ... destroy the railsleading straight into Hell,
from which precious few reemerged to tell
of the horrors awaiting them,
so hard to believe,
that neither kindness nor life did the arrivals receive.
The children, too, thrust into the pit,
enraged blood lust, into its infernal fit
that even the babes whose potential so great
should have felt the steel of this magnificent hate,
whose cries were heard, but listened to none,
whose heads fell limp with the snap of a gun,
whose parents, God forbid! they saw as naked as they,f
or it was like this ... they suffered that day.
There are those who challenge what we have to say,
"Does such a retelling remain relevant today?"
"That, somehow, It's past, gone. Let it be!"
"Why do you make us suffer to see:
the killings, the children, the mountains of bone,
the chambers transformed so many to stone!
who dropped like logs when the doors were thrown wide,
there simply had been ... no place to hide,
mothers whose skirts offered refuge at least
little ones uncovered ...thrown to the beast.
"Of what use" it was queried,"could they possibly be"
in a stench wherein no one was happy or free?"
Ne'er a glimmer of hope would the murderers give
to those whose sole wish ... was only to live.
Mothers from children, families asunder,
might others have withstood this fury and thunder?
Slave labor was needed to further the 'cause',
to build V-2 rockets, to sharpen the claws.
or such, 'noble' men, doctors by fame,
were employed to brutalize, murder, and maim
so that 'Science' could learn when life was so cheap,
discarded mankind onto the heap.
'Great' governments had met in order to be
as pious as possible, but deaf to the plea ...
of the wandering Jew whose torment to see
how unwelcome he was in the 'Land of the Free'.
The ship onto which so many had stormed
could not find refuge for opinion had formed
that the Jew was expendable, a nuisance, a thorn
upon whom fate had abandoned its contemptuous scorn.
They made it to America these "tired and poor"
to discover Liberty's spark shone little more
that, for them, there was not room enough to remain,
what hopes they had cherished were all now in vain!
Dejectedly they limped back to the place
which had expelled them at first for the same lack of space.
Stripped naked and paraded for the world to see
what sickness had afflicted modern Germany?
Once active and vigorous this citizenry
wandered about aimlessly.
It didn't take long for the nazis to see
that the world cared less for these Jews to be free.
A 'final solution' would quicken the pace
that guarenteed mastery to the 'Aryan' race.
No longer at issue either sufferance or claim,
onto Jewry was placed the burden and blame.
To repair the world, there must need be
a point at which we accept responsibility
for right against wrong, fiction from fact,
a basis upon which we can responsibly act,
but why even bother...so distant from then,
what more do we gain, what message we send?
For the sake of the children,
if not for our own ...
and for them whose lives ...
we
might
otherwise
have
known.
Alan D. Busch
revised 2008
See AOL's top rated recipes and easy ways to stay in shape for winter.
Please continue to buy copies of Snapshots In Memory of Ben
at www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com
Churban ...
Whether in battle or prayer, they met their end,
futile struggle, Kiddush HaShem.
Their foe, a Goliath, of thousands times size,
from whom they refused to accept the lies:
that they were weak and unworthy, unable to rise.
Never before had there been such daring
from young women and men all of whom caring
for the dignity of those for whom they fought,
such were the lessons history had taught ...
that the Jew stood alone, friendless, against foe,
counting his days, tormented by woe.
His task ... to prove though troubled by pain,
the courage of Masada had not been in vain.
For three months, the struggle did not cease,
neither side desiring peace.
For 'surrender' was an unthinkable word,
from the sewers of Warsaw could still be heard:
the cries, the anguish, the torture within
ferreting out captives the nazis whose grin
was evidence they had acted with glee
when stifling yearnings of people to be free.
Cords of 'log-bodies', stacked just the same,
secular and religious none to blame.
For there was NO such difference before the Hun,
the Jews for him were decidedly one.
Why a people whose destiny has been
to enlighten a world through darkness and din,
whose numbers are as many as they are few,
why so despised has been the Jew?
Threatened with death should he adhere to his ways,
terrorized by chimneys' billowing haze.
Searchingly hopeful ... in whose starry gaze
reflected infernos' roaring blaze.
Why did none act to stop it once known?
Enough indifference haven't we sown?
Praying to the heavens as they did every day,
that soon they'd see planes flying their way,
so bombardment, please God, should take us
ere the chambers would,
but the Allies
denied they could ... destroy the railsleading straight into Hell,
from which precious few reemerged to tell
of the horrors awaiting them,
so hard to believe,
that neither kindness nor life did the arrivals receive.
The children, too, thrust into the pit,
enraged blood lust, into its infernal fit
that even the babes whose potential so great
should have felt the steel of this magnificent hate,
whose cries were heard, but listened to none,
whose heads fell limp with the snap of a gun,
whose parents, God forbid! they saw as naked as they,f
or it was like this ... they suffered that day.
There are those who challenge what we have to say,
"Does such a retelling remain relevant today?"
"That, somehow, It's past, gone. Let it be!"
"Why do you make us suffer to see:
the killings, the children, the mountains of bone,
the chambers transformed so many to stone!
who dropped like logs when the doors were thrown wide,
there simply had been ... no place to hide,
mothers whose skirts offered refuge at least
little ones uncovered ...thrown to the beast.
"Of what use" it was queried,"could they possibly be"
in a stench wherein no one was happy or free?"
Ne'er a glimmer of hope would the murderers give
to those whose sole wish ... was only to live.
Mothers from children, families asunder,
might others have withstood this fury and thunder?
Slave labor was needed to further the 'cause',
to build V-2 rockets, to sharpen the claws.
or such, 'noble' men, doctors by fame,
were employed to brutalize, murder, and maim
so that 'Science' could learn when life was so cheap,
discarded mankind onto the heap.
'Great' governments had met in order to be
as pious as possible, but deaf to the plea ...
of the wandering Jew whose torment to see
how unwelcome he was in the 'Land of the Free'.
The ship onto which so many had stormed
could not find refuge for opinion had formed
that the Jew was expendable, a nuisance, a thorn
upon whom fate had abandoned its contemptuous scorn.
They made it to America these "tired and poor"
to discover Liberty's spark shone little more
that, for them, there was not room enough to remain,
what hopes they had cherished were all now in vain!
Dejectedly they limped back to the place
which had expelled them at first for the same lack of space.
Stripped naked and paraded for the world to see
what sickness had afflicted modern Germany?
Once active and vigorous this citizenry
wandered about aimlessly.
It didn't take long for the nazis to see
that the world cared less for these Jews to be free.
A 'final solution' would quicken the pace
that guarenteed mastery to the 'Aryan' race.
No longer at issue either sufferance or claim,
onto Jewry was placed the burden and blame.
To repair the world, there must need be
a point at which we accept responsibility
for right against wrong, fiction from fact,
a basis upon which we can responsibly act,
but why even bother...so distant from then,
what more do we gain, what message we send?
For the sake of the children,
if not for our own ...
and for them whose lives ...
we
might
otherwise
have
known.
Alan D. Busch
revised 2008
See AOL's top rated recipes and easy ways to stay in shape for winter.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Dear Readers,
Here is a summary of the online sites from which you can purchase copies of Snapshots In
Memory of Ben:
www.amazon.com
www.idiscountbooks.com
www.waterforestpress.com
www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com
or you may contact me directly at fitterthanudad@aol.com
Thank you,
Alan D. Busch
Here is a summary of the online sites from which you can purchase copies of Snapshots In
Memory of Ben:
www.amazon.com
www.idiscountbooks.com
www.waterforestpress.com
www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com
or you may contact me directly at fitterthanudad@aol.com
Thank you,
Alan D. Busch
Monday, December 24, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Dear Readers,
Please continue to purchase copies of Snapshots In Memory of Ben at http://www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com/.
Thank you!
Of the thirty or so chapters of my book, the chapter entitled "The Last Time" underwent the most revisions. Here is a revised ending that will appear in a literary anthology around Pesach 2008. More information forthcoming. In addition, a slight variant of my Succos article that was published in Aish.com, Stepping into the Sukkah will also appear in the same anthology.
"After I dropped Rabbi Louis off, I was drawn back to my old house where both my heart and younger son Zac were. Ben's mom was home too. I thought of her plaintive cry with all its anguish and horror. It haunted me. I circled the block repeatedly agonizing about what I'd do. I could not forget Ben's house was no longer my home and hadn't been for a year and a half. My dilemma was not over whether I should I go in, but if I could. Ben was our child, Avrum ben Avrum v' Yehudit, and while true we loved him in common, his mom and I could not share the plague of his death as we had the joy of his life.
I drove off to my apartment. .
I stood on the threshold of my door. It was there I had kissed his stubbly cheeks the previous Pesach. Funny what we remember when we remember. I began to sob. Ben, Ben … I spoke to you just hours ago but you died in silence. I'm already lonely for you, forever.
Wednesday, the eve of Thanksgiving 2000, ended quietly together with my world as I had understood it just several hours before. I dozed off a drink or two later hoping the morning might come sooner than it did."
Please continue to purchase copies of Snapshots In Memory of Ben at http://www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com/.
Thank you!
Of the thirty or so chapters of my book, the chapter entitled "The Last Time" underwent the most revisions. Here is a revised ending that will appear in a literary anthology around Pesach 2008. More information forthcoming. In addition, a slight variant of my Succos article that was published in Aish.com, Stepping into the Sukkah will also appear in the same anthology.
"After I dropped Rabbi Louis off, I was drawn back to my old house where both my heart and younger son Zac were. Ben's mom was home too. I thought of her plaintive cry with all its anguish and horror. It haunted me. I circled the block repeatedly agonizing about what I'd do. I could not forget Ben's house was no longer my home and hadn't been for a year and a half. My dilemma was not over whether I should I go in, but if I could. Ben was our child, Avrum ben Avrum v' Yehudit, and while true we loved him in common, his mom and I could not share the plague of his death as we had the joy of his life.
I drove off to my apartment. .
I stood on the threshold of my door. It was there I had kissed his stubbly cheeks the previous Pesach. Funny what we remember when we remember. I began to sob. Ben, Ben … I spoke to you just hours ago but you died in silence. I'm already lonely for you, forever.
Wednesday, the eve of Thanksgiving 2000, ended quietly together with my world as I had understood it just several hours before. I dozed off a drink or two later hoping the morning might come sooner than it did."
Friday, December 21, 2007
Dear Readers,
Good News! Snapshots In Memory of Ben will be available at the Skokie Public Library. Click here. First, it must be processed and catalogued, then put on display with other new acquisitions.
Good News! Snapshots In Memory of Ben will be available at the Skokie Public Library. Click here. First, it must be processed and catalogued, then put on display with other new acquisitions.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Postscript to Snapshots In Memory of Ben
"Weeping For Loves Lost"
She said I had never grieved for Ben. Now what I think she
may have meant but did not know is my grief for my son hasn't come to
an end, and, to the extent that that is true, I cannot get
on with the rest of my life. Now there is a problem or two with
that point of view: first, let me state unequivocally there is no
end to grief. It is interminable and as much a part of a bereaved
parent's everyday life as heading off to work or tidying up the
house. Grief becomes, in effect, a constant in the equation of
one's routine.
I first mourned our loss of Ben bound by the framework of Jewish law and
custom. I moved onto grief thereafter where I remain.
Grieving for a lost child in not at all like thumbing
through old photos that you put away when you have had
enough. An interminable process, grieving becomes a presence, a part of
oneself, a companion. How each bereaved parent memorializes that presence
is entirely individualized.
I chose to write a book, something, I felt, I needed to do.
Now unless you don't already know, this business of book writing is a protracted
process and, as a matter of fact, consists mostly of
rewriting. Historian William Appleman Williams defined it as the art of applying the seat of
one's pants to the seat of one's chair and remaining there until you
have something on paper. Searching for that precise word,
that ever so elusive turn of phrase that will clinch it for the
reader. Such strivings for that illusive "perfection" take time
and unfathomable amounts of patience. The stakes were and remain high.
My happiness, future, life itself at risk. There were times when I drove myself hard to
finish a chapter, tweak a sentence, give voice to an
amorphous thought. And I know now that regrettably too often
I was driving myself too hard. It is almost as if I had made a pact with the "maloch ha maves"
promising me a reunification of his body and soul if only I could tell my son's story.
Everything and more depended on it.
We each choose a "derech," a road, a way, a path. Yes, and
one can reasonably expect there will be detours, rough
pavement and traffic snarls along the way. While living with
loss, one mustn't forsake the living to memorialize the dead.
There is, in fact, a time and place for everything. My most
difficult challenge has been to strike a balance between living my life
and recalling my son's.
We all know what happens when we lose our balance. That's right ... and
the getting up, you can be sure, is painful indeed.
http://www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com/
"Weeping For Loves Lost"
She said I had never grieved for Ben. Now what I think she
may have meant but did not know is my grief for my son hasn't come to
an end, and, to the extent that that is true, I cannot get
on with the rest of my life. Now there is a problem or two with
that point of view: first, let me state unequivocally there is no
end to grief. It is interminable and as much a part of a bereaved
parent's everyday life as heading off to work or tidying up the
house. Grief becomes, in effect, a constant in the equation of
one's routine.
I first mourned our loss of Ben bound by the framework of Jewish law and
custom. I moved onto grief thereafter where I remain.
Grieving for a lost child in not at all like thumbing
through old photos that you put away when you have had
enough. An interminable process, grieving becomes a presence, a part of
oneself, a companion. How each bereaved parent memorializes that presence
is entirely individualized.
I chose to write a book, something, I felt, I needed to do.
Now unless you don't already know, this business of book writing is a protracted
process and, as a matter of fact, consists mostly of
rewriting. Historian William Appleman Williams defined it as the art of applying the seat of
one's pants to the seat of one's chair and remaining there until you
have something on paper. Searching for that precise word,
that ever so elusive turn of phrase that will clinch it for the
reader. Such strivings for that illusive "perfection" take time
and unfathomable amounts of patience. The stakes were and remain high.
My happiness, future, life itself at risk. There were times when I drove myself hard to
finish a chapter, tweak a sentence, give voice to an
amorphous thought. And I know now that regrettably too often
I was driving myself too hard. It is almost as if I had made a pact with the "maloch ha maves"
promising me a reunification of his body and soul if only I could tell my son's story.
Everything and more depended on it.
We each choose a "derech," a road, a way, a path. Yes, and
one can reasonably expect there will be detours, rough
pavement and traffic snarls along the way. While living with
loss, one mustn't forsake the living to memorialize the dead.
There is, in fact, a time and place for everything. My most
difficult challenge has been to strike a balance between living my life
and recalling my son's.
We all know what happens when we lose our balance. That's right ... and
the getting up, you can be sure, is painful indeed.
http://www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com/
Friday, December 14, 2007
Dear Friends,
Click here to learn about my publisher. You can also buy copies of Snapshots In Memory of Ben
by clicking on the bookcover. You'll see it. Before I forget, don't you forget to visit my other blog at www.writersstockintrade.blogspot.com
I'm contemplating my second book ... Glimpses, Portraits, Impressions.
Have you ever thought about why select persons with whom you have interacted at varying moments in your life, from fleeting to lengthy periods of time, remain by you forever?
Why this individual and not that one? It may be that The Aibishter sends these melachim to help us along life's path. Think about that. You have your own ...
I'll be posting rough drafts about my melachim ... I welcome any comments.
Lastly, remember to click on www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com to purchase a copy of my first book.
Alan Busch
Click here to learn about my publisher. You can also buy copies of Snapshots In Memory of Ben
by clicking on the bookcover. You'll see it. Before I forget, don't you forget to visit my other blog at www.writersstockintrade.blogspot.com
I'm contemplating my second book ... Glimpses, Portraits, Impressions.
Have you ever thought about why select persons with whom you have interacted at varying moments in your life, from fleeting to lengthy periods of time, remain by you forever?
Why this individual and not that one? It may be that The Aibishter sends these melachim to help us along life's path. Think about that. You have your own ...
I'll be posting rough drafts about my melachim ... I welcome any comments.
Lastly, remember to click on www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com to purchase a copy of my first book.
Alan Busch
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Dear Readers,
Please click on either of the links below, then scroll down toward the bottom of the homepage where you will see the bookcover for Snapshots In Memory of Ben. Click on the advertisement. You can pay in one of 3 ways:
1. check to author directly. Address is there.
2. credit card
3. paypal
Thank you,
Alan D. Busch
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Dear Friends,
During the weeks of 12/10 and 12/17, I will be advertising the sale of Snapshots In Memory of Ben on two Chicago radio station homepages. They are:
WLS AM, News Talk 89, http://www.wlsam.com/
&
94.7 FM, http://www.947chicago.com/
You will see an advertisement box showing the cover of Snapshots. Click and follow the prompts to make your purchase.
Thank you,
Alan D. Busch
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Dear Readers,
If you wish to order copies of my book, Snapshots In Memory of Ben, please click on > http://www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com/ or http://www.waterforestpress.com/Books/Bookstwo.html
If you wish to order copies of my book, Snapshots In Memory of Ben, please click on > http://www.snapshotsinmemoryofben.com/ or http://www.waterforestpress.com/Books/Bookstwo.html
Monday, December 03, 2007
Dear Readers,
After reading this review of my book, scroll down to the prior post for instructions about how to place your order for Snapshots In Memory of Ben.
Below find a review of my book Snapshots In Memory of Ben by Adam Donaldson Powell
http://www.adamdonaldsonpowell.com/aboutme.html
“Snapshots In Memory of Ben” is an non-fiction book based on real-life experiences, authored by Alan D. Busch, Copyright 2007, 136 pages, 5 x 8, perfect bound, softcover price: US $12.95. Published by Water Forest Press (www.waterforestpress.com), New York, USA, ISBN 10: 0-9723493-8-3, ISBN 13: 978-0-9723493-8-3.
“Snapshots In Memory of Ben” will bring tears to your eyes. Many readers will not be able to read the entire book in one sitting, and some may not finish it at all. Normally, I would reserve a so strong opening statement in a book review for a literary masterpiece which glitters with the same emotionally-affective qualities as a masterly painting that has survived countless centuries, or a Hollywood-style film whose success is measured by its ability to get the even the most hardened macho-type viewer to cry tears of happiness and sorrow.
This book is not a work of “fine literature”, nor is it a work of art or a film. However, it contains a most special quality in that it often functions as a successful hybrid of all the aforementioned. It is an honest account of the most painful life experience possible: seeing your own child die before you do. Death is a difficult issue to write about, even for a dramatic novelist, a poet or a psychologist. Death is not only about endings, but also remembrances and the fear of letting go so that new beginnings may begin to take hold. We all know that we need to let go, but the need to cling to the memories from a now-missing part of ourselves which still lives on within us is an overwhelming and indescribable process. And that is precisely what Alan D. Busch has nearly done in a perfect way: to describe that process in a way almost everyone would be able to relate to – regardless of whether they lost their parent(s), wife, husband, lover, partner, child or best friend .. to natural death, an accident or to suicide. He describes both the pain, the difficulty of acceptance, the other-worldliness of the experience, the value and the pain of memories .. and the resolution of the unresolvable (i.e. acceptance of death as a part of Life to be embraced emotionally; and not merely in terms of over-simplified aphorisms).
“Snapshots of My Son: in memory of Ben” is an important book, which is both painful and healing to read .. and impossible for those who do read it to do so without recalling their own personal memories and processes in connection with the passing of loved ones.
Do buy this book. Read it when you are ready to become engaged in your own processes ranging from grief/sorrow/loss to healing. It may take you a while to get through it; and you will most probably read several individual passages over, again and again. It is not easy; it is about Life.
And yes, it would make a good film or television movie.
- review by Adam Donaldson Powell (2007).
ALAN D. BUSCH is an independent writer in Skokie, IL. He has published articles and poetry in Living With Loss, Bereavement Publications, the Chicago Jewish United Fund News Magazine, Passing, An Anthology of Poems by Poetworks.com and Aish.com. Alan is married to "Kallah" and is the father of three children: Benjamin, Z'L, Kimberly and Zac.
ADAM DONALDSON POWELL (Norway) is a literary critic and a multilingual author, writing in English, Spanish, French and Norwegian; and a professional visual artist. He has published five books (including collections of poetry, short stories and literary criticism) in the USA, Norway and India, as well as several short and longer works in international literary publications on several continents. He has previously authored theatrical works performed onstage, and he has (to-date) read his poetry at venues in New York City, Oslo (Norway), Buenos Aires and Kathmandu (Nepal).
After reading this review of my book, scroll down to the prior post for instructions about how to place your order for Snapshots In Memory of Ben.
Below find a review of my book Snapshots In Memory of Ben by Adam Donaldson Powell
http://www.adamdonaldsonpowell.com/aboutme.html
“Snapshots In Memory of Ben” is an non-fiction book based on real-life experiences, authored by Alan D. Busch, Copyright 2007, 136 pages, 5 x 8, perfect bound, softcover price: US $12.95. Published by Water Forest Press (www.waterforestpress.com), New York, USA, ISBN 10: 0-9723493-8-3, ISBN 13: 978-0-9723493-8-3.
“Snapshots In Memory of Ben” will bring tears to your eyes. Many readers will not be able to read the entire book in one sitting, and some may not finish it at all. Normally, I would reserve a so strong opening statement in a book review for a literary masterpiece which glitters with the same emotionally-affective qualities as a masterly painting that has survived countless centuries, or a Hollywood-style film whose success is measured by its ability to get the even the most hardened macho-type viewer to cry tears of happiness and sorrow.
This book is not a work of “fine literature”, nor is it a work of art or a film. However, it contains a most special quality in that it often functions as a successful hybrid of all the aforementioned. It is an honest account of the most painful life experience possible: seeing your own child die before you do. Death is a difficult issue to write about, even for a dramatic novelist, a poet or a psychologist. Death is not only about endings, but also remembrances and the fear of letting go so that new beginnings may begin to take hold. We all know that we need to let go, but the need to cling to the memories from a now-missing part of ourselves which still lives on within us is an overwhelming and indescribable process. And that is precisely what Alan D. Busch has nearly done in a perfect way: to describe that process in a way almost everyone would be able to relate to – regardless of whether they lost their parent(s), wife, husband, lover, partner, child or best friend .. to natural death, an accident or to suicide. He describes both the pain, the difficulty of acceptance, the other-worldliness of the experience, the value and the pain of memories .. and the resolution of the unresolvable (i.e. acceptance of death as a part of Life to be embraced emotionally; and not merely in terms of over-simplified aphorisms).
“Snapshots of My Son: in memory of Ben” is an important book, which is both painful and healing to read .. and impossible for those who do read it to do so without recalling their own personal memories and processes in connection with the passing of loved ones.
Do buy this book. Read it when you are ready to become engaged in your own processes ranging from grief/sorrow/loss to healing. It may take you a while to get through it; and you will most probably read several individual passages over, again and again. It is not easy; it is about Life.
And yes, it would make a good film or television movie.
- review by Adam Donaldson Powell (2007).
ALAN D. BUSCH is an independent writer in Skokie, IL. He has published articles and poetry in Living With Loss, Bereavement Publications, the Chicago Jewish United Fund News Magazine, Passing, An Anthology of Poems by Poetworks.com and Aish.com. Alan is married to "Kallah" and is the father of three children: Benjamin, Z'L, Kimberly and Zac.
ADAM DONALDSON POWELL (Norway) is a literary critic and a multilingual author, writing in English, Spanish, French and Norwegian; and a professional visual artist. He has published five books (including collections of poetry, short stories and literary criticism) in the USA, Norway and India, as well as several short and longer works in international literary publications on several continents. He has previously authored theatrical works performed onstage, and he has (to-date) read his poetry at venues in New York City, Oslo (Norway), Buenos Aires and Kathmandu (Nepal).
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