Dolores Luber

Addicted to streaming

Michael Douglas stars as Sandy Kominsky in The Kominsky Method on Netflix. (photo by Anne Marie Fox / Netflix)

I admit to watching movies and television series on Netflix, kanopy.com, Amazon Prime, TIFF, VJFF and any other website that offers movies and TV shows. I watch Netflix and Amazon Prime on my television set and everything else on my desktop PC. I do not feel guilty nor am I ashamed!

I may never go to a movie theatre again. I like setting my own schedule, I like not having to find parking. I like not standing in line. And I love subtitles. I wear two hearing aids, so, even though I can hear, I sometimes have trouble understanding what the actors are saying, especially if they have accents (I love foreign films). I watch everything with subtitles. What a relief.

Total freedom is at hand. I can stop the show and go to the bathroom, I can prepare a meal and then sit down to eat it while watching my show, I can watch three or four episodes in a row. I am in control! I can start a series and, if I do not like it, I stop watching – too violent, too slow, whatever! I can watch the first season of a series and decide that one season is enough, or I can continue to watch. My record is nine seasons of Doc Martin. Instant gratification you say; you bet!

After one-and-a-half years of COVID-19 restrictions, I can honestly admit that I am addicted to streaming. It has been a wonderful way to be entertained, educated and inspired. I will watch movies, especially foreign films, documentaries and TV series. I now watch much less news on the television. COVID-19 and the pandemic have dominated all newscasts, Israeli politics is getting weird and, frankly, I am tired of seeing Prime Minister Justin Trudeau in need of a haircut.

Raise your hand if you also exhibit some of these symptoms! Ah, wonderful, how comforting to know that I am not alone. By the way, I still managed to create and publish four editions of Senior Line magazine for Jewish Seniors Alliance, do my four physical workouts a week, study twice a week with Hebrew teachers and walk the dog four times a day. I am not a reprobate.

Here are some of my favourite television shows (in alphabetic order):

Amazon Empire: The Rise and Reign of Jeff Bezos: A documentary about the man who changed almost everything. Love him or hate him. Always fascinating.

Blackspace: The most evil bunch of high school students you never want to meet. (one season)

Diagnosis: A documentary that highlights difficult case studies in medicine.

Halston: Elegant and wicked, love the fashion and New York City. (one season)

Jeffrey Epstein, Filthy Rich: A revealing documentary of exploitation and excess.

Lupin: Smart, witty and stylish heist/drama. (two seasons)

New Amsterdam: A medical soap opera of the finest quality. (two seasons)

Nomadland: A woman wanders in her van, grieving her loss, in search of meaningful connections. A soulful and beautiful film.

Shtisel: A warm and delightful view of the ultra-Orthodox lifestyle in Jerusalem. (three seasons)

Snowpiercer: Shocking, violent and riveting end-of-the-world scenario. (two seasons)

The Crown: Queen Elizabeth et al. Just marvelous. (four seasons)

The Kominsky Method: Geriatric best friends, their loves and lives. (three seasons)

Dolores Luber, a retired psychotherapist and psychology teacher, is editor-in-chief of Jewish Seniors Alliance’s Senior Line magazine. She works out four times a week, studies Modern Hebrew twice a week, and is constantly reading books and watching movies. Her motto is “Never underestimate an old lady who can deadlift you.”

New knife & the pepper

City Centre Urgent Primary Care Centre is one of several UPCC clinics in British Columbia. (photo by John van Bockxmeer)

It was an ordinary Wednesday morning. Up at 5:15 a.m., walk the dog, eat a piece of toast with cream cheese and honey, and hop on my stationary bike for a five-kilometre jaunt before Laina, my physical trainer, arrives for our 75-minute session in my “Super Diva” home gym. At exactly 9:30, I was preparing my “Israeli” breakfast, which includes a hard-boiled egg, mashed avocado, tomatoes, salad and a quarter segment of a green pepper filled with hummus, when it happened….

A week earlier, I had decided that my battered (at least 50-year-old) set of knives had to go. I had a coupon from Bed Bath and Beyond, which gave me a discount of 20%. I got to the store early; being in the time of COVID-19, I wished to avoid crowds. I found a saleswoman, who opened the glass case and brought out a couple of knife sets in wooden or plastic blocks. I chose one, paid at the cash, and left. One of my acquaintances, I can’t remember who, later said to me, “Be careful, new knives are very sharp.”

Back to that morning. I grabbed one of the new knives, held the green pepper in my right hand and sliced down to divide it in two with my left hand (I am ambidextrous). The knife went right through the green pepper and into the fleshy tip of my middle finger. It happened in a flash. I took one look and knew that I was in trouble.

I do not know my own strength. This is not the first time that I have exerted too much force – in cleaning the inside of the oven door, I pressed too hard and broke the glass. The repairman asked me, “How did you do it?” He had never heard of a woman breaking the glass as I had. Once, I pressed down so hard on a plastic broom handle that the shaft split and went straight into my finger, another catastrophe.

But I digress. I looked at the wound, it was deep. This would require stitches (within four hours)! After raising four sons, nine grandchildren and many dogs, you learn a few things. I wrapped it tight. Then I called my family doctor, who owns the Una Medical Clinic, which is located one block from my house. The receptionist heard my story but said they were completely booked and I should go to a clinic on Homer Street I had never heard of. Frustrated and disappointed, I ate my breakfast then called the clinic back. I said all that was required was a 20-minute procedure to put in a couple of stitches and she relented. I had an appointment at 11:10 a.m. Yeah! By noon, after three painful shots to freeze the finger, I was stitched up and ready to resume my life.

On the wall of the Una Clinic was a poster advertising the City Centre Urgent Primary Care Centre. If you live in my neighbourhood, this is the place to go when you are unable to see your family physician or healthcare provider and do not need to go to the emergency department of a hospital. The City Centre clinic is at 1290 Hornby St., and they are open seven days a week, 365 days a year, Monday to Saturday from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m., and Sunday from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. I took photos of this poster with my iPhone and, when I got home, I added the clinic to my contact list. Somehow, I know that I will be needing their services in the future! And so might you. The list of urgent and primary care centres in British Columbia can be found at healthlinkbc.ca/services-and-resources/upcc. When something happens, there is a place to go. The poster for the City Centre clinic says, “Patients will be seen according to urgency.” That is reassuring. Have a nice day and be careful with knives.

Dementia in film, the sequel

Lance Henriksen, left, and Viggo Mortensen in Falling. (photo from indiewire.com)

In February 2016, the Jewish Independent published my column “Dementia, cinema’s darling,” in which I reviewed seven films about people struggling with dementia. Well, here we go again! This pandemic year has seen the release of four extraordinary films that feature people struggling with the symptoms of dementia, those with the illness and those who are close to them.

These films opened my eyes not only to the symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease, but also how the affected persons perceive what is happening around them and how that altered reality affects loved ones and family members. After having watched these four unique films, I feel like I have taken a course in how dementia evolves, and how it feels to suffer through the gradual deterioration of the self. I have been shocked, educated and enriched by these moving works of art.

Falling (2021): Viggo Mortensen writes, directs and stars in this lacerating drama about a son dealing with his father’s mental decline. Lance Henriksen plays the father Willis, a foul-tempered, bigoted man, filled with intolerance and invective. His meanness is hard to watch. The flashbacks inform us of the subdued menace of Willis, they scrape your senses like sandpaper. John, the son (Mortensen), must call on all his reserves of patience, understanding and love to withstand the onslaught. (I watched it on TIFF Bell Lightbox, but do a Google search to see where it is streaming now.)

The Father (2021): French writer and first-time director Florian Zeller presents a frightening new angle with this movie, which aims to mirror the confusion and discomfort of encroaching dementia. Anthony Hopkins, 83 years old, takes us from the realm of sympathy to empathy. It is disturbing and brilliant. Hopkins, as the father, nails the way in which people learn to cover for their mental mistakes. The supporting cast is excellent, and Hopkins won the best-actor Oscar for his depiction of a mind in decline. (It is on TIFF, but do a Google search.)

Supernova (2020): Stanley Tucci and Colin Firth dazzle as a couple facing their fears. Tusker and Sam have been together for decades. The careers of both have been put on hold because Tusker has been diagnosed with early-onset dementia. They set out on a road trip. Harry Macqueen, the director, has created a drama about love and mortality. The northern English scenery is stunning, as are the performances of these two people stoically accepting mortality. (It is on TIFF and is also accessible on Apple TV+ and perhaps elsewhere.)

image - Martine Chevallier, left, and Barbara Sukowa in Two of Us — Martine Chevallier, left, and Barbara Sukowa in Two of Us. *(photo from Magnolia Pictures)*

Two of Us (2021): An older lesbian couple is met with unexpected devastation in the aching romantic drama by Filippo Meneghetti. Nina (German actress Barbara Sukowa) and Madeleine (Martine Chevallier) have waited decades to love one another freely. They are preparing to leave France for new beginnings in Rome. First, Madeleine must come out to her children before realizing her dream, but tragedy strikes before she can speak her truth. Sukowa is ferociously great as a woman whose devotion is as fierce as her determination to drag her lover into a more honest life. This is a film of profound intimacy between two people. In French with English subtitles. (It is available at TIFF Bell Lightbox.)

Depression insidious

The author with her dog, Kesem. (photo from Dolores Luber)

It was mid-March. All I had been hearing and seeing on the news were the words and images related to contagion, epidemic, China’s wet markets, people enjoying the delicacy of cooked bats, pandemic and COVID-19. It was getting louder and closer, somehow it traveled from China across the Pacific to Vancouver. We were now dealing with the pandemic in Vancouver, we were in lockdown, even if the government never called it that.

In a flash, my household emptied out. My housemate, a University of British Columbia student, went back home; all her courses were now online. My boarder, a psychiatric nurse, scared of catching the virus and infecting me and her immune-compromised partner, took a six-month leave of absence from her work and joined him on a sailboat off the coast of Vancouver Island. I cleaned and organized and then it hit me – I was alone in the house with my Standard Poodle puppy Kesem. His name means “magic” in Hebrew and he truly is a wonderful companion, but….

Lockdown, what was that? We all had to create our own version. I maintained my Hebrew classes by means of Zoom, I continued working out with two personal trainers in my home gym. We did not touch each other. I went to the off-leash dog park every afternoon. We practised social distancing.

Then, a classmate of mine became hospitalized with the virus – I had not seen her for 10 days. I isolated myself for an additional week, not one of our group became ill. She is the only one I know who has contracted the virus. I was feeling proud of myself, I was managing well. As the editor-in-chief, I had produced the July edition of Senior Line magazine for Jewish Seniors Alliance on schedule. It was a labour of love, responding to the pandemic and the issues of the times. Everything was under control.

July 22 is my birthday. At the beginning of July, I began to feel very lonely. I had not seen any of my four sons, daughters-in-law or nine grandchildren for a long time. The planned family reunion in Oakville, Ont., was an event I had been looking forward to. My children had grown up in Beaconsfield, Que., and my youngest son had organized a fabulous get-together of all his friends who lived in the neighbourhood during his childhood. Photographs were collected, videos created, all plans had been made before the lockdown.

We gradually began to understand that the situation was not going to end soon; we were in it for the long haul. The reunion was canceled. I always see my children on my birthday, but, this time, I received FaceTime calls, beautiful cards, splendid flowers, but no hugs, no kisses, no warmth, no human touches. My thoughts were becoming very negative and gloomy; worst-case scenarios played in my head. I thought of moving back to Ontario to be with my youngest son; I researched buying a house in Oakville. I was experiencing symptoms of depression.

As a retired psychotherapist, I recognized the symptoms – among them, exaggerated feelings of sadness and loneliness. I made an effort to study more and read more Hebrew. I pushed harder in my workouts with my trainers. I developed and implemented a plan for the fall Senior Line magazine. By the end of July, I was thinking in a more balanced fashion. I had gotten through the rough spot and was well again.

Depression can be insidious, it can creep up on you. It is important to do a reality check with friends or family members from time to time. Isolation warps the processes of the brain. The chemicals in our brains can become unbalanced. Usually increased physical activity and enhanced social interaction can counteract the symptoms of mild depression. Beware!

Dolores Luber, a retired psychotherapist and psychology teacher, is editor of Jewish Seniors Alliance’s Senior Line magazine and website (jsalliance.org). She blogs for yossilinks.com and writes movie reviews for the Isaac Waldman Jewish Public Library website.

Making death a friend

I used to wake up each morning wondering if I had Alzheimer’s yet. I dreaded the thought. Who wouldn’t? I used to imagine the torment of dealing with cancer; the diagnosis, the surgery, the chemotherapy, the radiation, losing my hair! I no longer think that way. I am no longer holding my breath waiting for the diagnosis that will lead me to my imminent death. What happened? I am now a cancer survivor; that is, after two years, my gynaecologist told me that I can now come in for a checkup once a year, rather than every six months.

Let me backtrack. I was diagnosed with endometrial cancer in October 2017. After denying the symptoms for three months, I finally went to my family doctor, then to the gynaecologist, then for an ultrasound examination, then a biopsy. The diagnosis: endometrial cancer, stage 2. I asked the medical students who board with me while doing their electives at Vancouver General Hospital about the cancer, the treatment and the prognosis. The most encouraging of their comments was, “Well, if you have to have cancer, that is the best kind to have.” Really?

My son came from Ontario to be with me for the surgery, a hysterectomy. My gynaecologist was excellent. I experienced one bad night in the hospital. I wanted to get out of the hospital so badly that my blood pressure went sky high (white-coat syndrome). I had to sign several waivers in order to march out of the hospital – against their advice. I never looked back.

That was on a Wednesday. On Thursday morning, a friend picked me up and we attended the advanced Hebrew class at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver, as usual. On Saturday, I drove to the supermarket. On the way to the cashier, I bumped into my gynaecologist, Nancy Mitenko. She had a surprised look on her face, so I said, “Hi, it’s Dolores, your patient.” “Oh,” she said, “I know who you are, what are you doing here?” We both laughed. I felt great.

My physical trainers and my family knew of my situation but I did not tell my friends and associates about the diagnosis, the surgery or the radiation until it was almost over. I discovered that the reactions of most people to the situation is fear, for themselves, as they empathize with me. I read the look on their faces as panic and dread. It made me want to comfort them. At that point, I did not have the patience to tend to their anxiety. I knew exactly what they were feeling because I used to experience that dread when I thought about cancer.

Several months later, February 2018, I began radiation therapy at the cancer centre at VGH – 25 sessions, convenient parking in the building, pleasant technicians who, generally, were on time with their appointments; the hardest part was drinking the four glasses of water before the procedure. The treatments were painless, but, they did cause some side-effects, which were manageable. This month, at my two-year checkup, Dr. Mitenko told me that I am clear. “See you next year,” she said.

I have been on an intense learning curve, researching cancer treatments, analyzing my feelings about what had happened, dissecting my behaviours and my capacity to proceed under duress and, especially, I have given much thought to dying and death. The idea of dying does not frighten me anymore. We all will die, it is just a matter of when and how we will approach the process. I now assume that cancer may eventually reappear in my body, why not? The denial I experienced has been banished. I accept my death as inevitable – but I have taken control of the process.

I have given instructions to my sons to donate my body to the University of British Columbia Medical School’s body donation program, having completed all the forms necessary for that to happen. I have joined the organization Death With Dignity, which has a chapter here in Vancouver. I attended a meeting of DWD and was informed of the MAiD program, Medical Assistance in Dying. I have read about the requirements of the MAiD program and now know of several doctors who participate in it. I made an appointment with my lawyer in order to update my will and the various documents related to my requests for treatment and care if I should become incapacitated. My four sons have been advised of all these procedures and have the most up-to-date documents.

I am not in the least bit sad, or anxious or depressed. Rather, I am proceeding to do exactly what I wish to do with my life. I have a plan. I feel that I now have some control of my life and my dying and my ultimate death. This is empowering.

I recently celebrated my 80th birthday with a large, extended-weekend celebration including dinners, a party and a brunch. Three of my four sons were there, as well as my daughters-in-law, and five of my nine grandchildren. The most important element of that weekend for me was to watch the relationships between them deepen and become more meaningful. I am grateful to have lived this long. Anything more will be a bonus. I have accepted my mortality, I do not feel greedy, I do not ask for more. I am happy to welcome each day, to contribute to my family, to volunteer for the causes that I feel are important, to make a difference wherever and whenever I can. Death is my friend, and accepting the inevitable has freed me to be the most that I can be.

Long-enduring trauma

I approached Imprint: A Memoir of Trauma in the Third Generation (Caitlin Press, 2017) with reluctance. But Claire Sicherman’s account of her murdered family members, of her grandparents who were the sole survivors of the Holocaust and of her own intimate life as granddaughter, woman, wife and mother is profoundly moving and tender. Her accounts of her relatives’ lives and deaths under the Nazi regime are brutal and shocking. The proximity of these emotions makes the book challenging to read but hard to put down.

Sicherman’s choice of the title Imprint helped me understand just how stubborn and long-lasting the impression of anxiety, grief and horror can be to the human psyche. My mind went to the reality of fossils. According to one source online, sometimes an animal “is buried before it is destroyed. And when that happens and conditions are just right, the remains of the animal are preserved as fossils…. Fossils are the naturally preserved remains or traces of ancient life that lived in the geologic past…. Fossils represent the remains or traces of once-living organisms.”

For Sicherman, the emotions related to the destruction of her family are permanently imprinted in her body and in her genetic makeup. She must now bring them to conscious awareness.

The juxtaposition of cold, hard accounts of death – as in the chapter “My Family” at the beginning of the book – immediately followed by the first letter to her 9-year-old son Ben, signed “Love Always,” warns the reader that what follows is not for the faint-at-heart. She alternates between three essential narratives: the telling of the destruction and deaths of her relatives in Poland; the survival of her grandmother and grandfather, which leads to the intimate story of her mother and Sicherman’s youth; and the traumatic birth of her son Ben, which acts as a catalyst, breaking through lifelong barriers of ignorance, denial and grief.

In gazing at the cover of the book, the three images of caterpillar, cocoon and butterfly began to make sense. This metamorphosis becomes the symbol of Sicherman’s lifecycle; the lack of awareness of her family’s history, the birth of her son, and her desperate search for knowledge and understanding of why she suffers from chronic health conditions, anxiety and depression.

Sicherman’s answer to the question “why” lies within the concept of epigenetics, the study of heritable changes in gene expression. Traumatic events cause changes in gene expression that can then be inherited. For Sicherman, her task is to explore, through various forms of therapy, the intergenerational transmission of trauma – the genetic imprinting of the horrors that befell her great-grandparents, her great-aunts and great-uncles and their progeny. Despite the distance of being a third-generation Holocaust survivor, her writing captures the beauty and intimacy of family affection (“My Babi,” “My Deda”). Hope of healing and surviving trauma permeate the pages of this creative book, offering acceptance and guidance to others of her – and the next – generation.

Atheism has a long history

The title of a book review in Biblical Archaeology Review caught my eye, “Ancient atheism.” I read, “A common assumption is that atheism – a lack of belief in gods and the supernatural – is a recent phenomenon, brought on by the advent of science during the Enlightenment.” I ordered the book immediately: Battling the Gods: Atheism in the Ancient World by Tim Whitmarsh (Alfred A. Knopf, 2015).

Bumbling, staggering, veering and lurching: these are the words that come to mind when I think of my path towards a Jewish identity. As the product of a secular household, my only contact with Judaism was my brother’s bar mitzvah and a yearly Passover seder at a family friend’s home. I was born in 1939, the beginning of the Second World War, yet the word “Holocaust” was never mentioned during my childhood or adolescence. The topic of God was not broached. The exception to the rule was that my brother and I were sent for seven summers to a Jewish camp in the Adirondacks, in New York state. There, we became familiar with Friday night services, which included singing Jewish songs and a few prayers in Hebrew.

Fast forward to 1970, after 12 years of marriage, the birth of four sons and a sincere attempt at keeping a kosher home (it lasted three years), creating Passover seders and Chanukah parties and the decision to prepare our sons for bar mitzvahs, my husband and I divorced.

I enrolled immediately in courses at Concordia University. English and French literature introduced me to the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament. This led to a bachelor’s in French literature, which was followed by many courses in a master’s program called The History and Philosophy of Religion.

My search was on. I was determined to find out what religiosity and devotion to God entailed. I studied Judaism (modern and medieval), Jewish mysticism, Christianity, Buddhism and Hinduism. I wrote scholarly papers on these subjects. Later, I would take up the study of Modern Hebrew at McGill University. Upon moving to Vancouver, I studied Biblical Hebrew for three years and enrolled in the Judaic studies program at the University of British Columbia. Jewish law, Jewish ethics, Proto-Hebrew, I loved it all; but I was no closer to feeling comfortable during the High Holiday services at any synagogue.

I tried Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist and Jewish Renewal congregations. I could not make that leap of faith required to pray to God. The secular humanist group had replaced Hebrew with Yiddish. I wanted my Hebrew! The result is that, every year, during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I felt uneasy, out-of-step and different.

I continued studying Modern Hebrew. I became editor of Jewish Seniors Alliance’s magazine, Senior Line. Studying, writing, volunteering and participating in the Jewish community were rewarding and gratifying activities, yet I felt like a second-class Jew. Was there something wrong with me?

Then along came Battling the Gods: Atheism in the Ancient World. As the May/June 2017 Biblical Archaeology Review notes, “In clear prose, Whitmarsh explores the history of atheism from its beginnings in ancient Greece in the eighth century BCE through the fourth century CE, when Christianity was adopted as the state religion of the Roman Empire. Whitmarsh says up-front that he is not interested in proselytizing atheism – but rather in studying its first thousand years. He argues that the history of atheism is an issue of human rights because denying the history of a tradition helps to delegitimize it and paint it as ‘faddish.’”

In reading this book, I came to understand, as Stephen Greenblatt is quoted on the back cover as saying, that “atheism is as old as belief. Skepticism did not slowly emerge from a fog of piety and credulity. It was there, fully formed and spoiling for a fight, in the bracing, combative air of ancient Athens.” And I agree with Susan Jacoby’s comments – also cited on the back cover – that it “is a pure delight to be introduced to people who questioned the supernatural long before modern science provided physical evidence to support the greatest insights of human reason.”

I devoured Battling the Gods, relishing the research and the historical insights. Homer’s epic poems of human striving, journeying and passion were ancient Greece’s only “sacred texts,” but no ancient Greek thought twice about questioning or mocking his stories of the gods. Whitmarsh states that “this book thus represents a kind of archaeology of religious skepticism.…This loss of consciousness of that classical heritage [the long history of atheism] is what has allowed the ‘modernist mythology’ to take root. It is only through profound ignorance of classical tradition that anyone ever believed that 18th-century Europeans were the first to battle the gods.”

Whitmarsh writes, “The Christianization of the Roman Empire put an end to serious philosophical atheism for over a millennium. The word itself, indeed, acquired an additional meaning, which was wholly negative: rather than the rational critique of theism as a whole, it came to mean simply the absence of belief in the Christian god.”

With Whitmarsh’s sentence, “The conclusion seems inevitable that the violent ‘othering’ as atheists of those who hold different religious views was overwhelmingly a Judeo-Christian creation,” my self-respect was restored. I now understand that I come from a longstanding tradition of atheists. My beliefs have history and credulity behind them. I will continue to study Hebrew, write, volunteer and participate in the Jewish community. In accepting my skepticism, I join the minds and hearts of the ancient Greek and Roman skeptics and atheists who came before me.

Celebrating Nursing Week

Left to right, Nicole Encarnacion, Rebecca Fernandez and Jennifer Belen were among those fêted at Louis Brier Home and Hospital on May 9 during Nursing Week. (photo by Dolores Luber)

“I think one’s feelings waste themselves in words; they ought all to be distilled into actions which bring results.” – Florence Nightingale

The Dr. Irving and Phyliss Snider Campus for Jewish Seniors – the Louis Brier Home and Hospital and the Weinberg Residence – held a party on May 9 to celebrate National Nursing Week.

Louis Brier chief executive officer David Keselman, at the helm for nine months now, initiated the celebration – the first time in its history that Louis Brier has marked the occasion. There are plenty of reasons to celebrate the profession daily, but National Nursing Week presents the chance to give back to these integral members of society. International Nursing Day, May 12, is the anniversary of the birth of Florence Nightingale, who is widely considered the founder of modern nursing.

photo - Chief executive officer of Louis Brier Home and Hospital David Keselman with, left to right, Leonora Calingasan, Rebecca Fernandez, Flora Hayward, Nicole Encarnacion and Jennifer Belen — Chief executive officer of Louis Brier Home and Hospital David Keselman with, left to right, Leonora Calingasan, Rebecca Fernandez, Flora Hayward, Nicole Encarnacion and Jennifer Belen. *(photo by Dolores Luber)*

In coordination with Angela Millar, executive leader, resident care services, at Louis Brier, the festivities honoured and expressed appreciation and affection for the nurses who support and care for the home’s 215 residents. The continuum of care includes assisted living and multi-level care. Louis Brier provides 24-hour nursing services for residents who require personal assistance or full nursing support, and also has a separate unit for those residents living with moderate to severe dementia.

Louis Brier’s goal is “excellence in geriatric nursing care.” As a teaching facility, Louis Brier regularly hosts students from accredited nursing schools, which helps them keep on top of current best practices.

Nicole Encarnacion, clinical care coordinator and educator, was my guide to the festivities, to the nurses, staff and residents. The Nursing Week event on May 9 had the theme of “This is Nursing: Unexpected Places, Real Impact.”

The home’s commitment to resident and family-centred care was evident throughout the facility. The entry hall was splendid with posters and banners created by residents and staff. The nurses were dressed in their formal white uniforms, with black, navy blue or green stripes on their caps. They were excited and pleased to be singled out, paid attention to and appreciated for their service. Millar gave out 30 certificates honouring their years of nursing, the longest being 39 years of service. Three nurses were given special consideration with a bouquet of flowers. In every corner, there were expressions of affection, cooperation and goodwill, hugs, smiles and group photos.

Journey of memory and loss

Yuri Dojc and Katya Krausova found classrooms, textbooks, a synagogue, prayer books, clothing and ritual ornaments, all lovingly cared for, undisturbed, unmolested and somehow cherished since the scooping up of three-quarters of the Jews in the towns of Slovakia in 1942. (photo by Yuri Dojc)

Fascination, horror, admiration, exaltation are the words that come to mind when I search to describe the emotions I felt reading Michael Posner’s book review of Last Folio: A Photographic Memory by Yuri Dojc and Katya Krausova (Indiana University Press, 2011) in Queen’s Quarterly (Winter 2016). The personal saga of Krausova, a cinematographer, and Dojc, a photographer, the horror of the Holocaust in Slovakia and the discovery of remnants of the vibrant Jewish communities stripped of their Jews, their culture and their religion, provoked my curiosity and my imagination.

Dojc and Krausova found classrooms, textbooks, a synagogue, prayer books, clothing and ritual ornaments, all lovingly cared for, undisturbed, unmolested and somehow cherished since the scooping up of three-quarters of the Jews in the towns of Slovakia in 1942.

“It was as if he were entering a time capsule, classrooms frozen at almost the precise moment that Nazi transports had taken the students to the concentration camps – and almost certain death,” writes Posner. “Except for the mould and the yellowed, tattered pages, everything was exactly as they had left it: a bowl of sugar on the shelf, books inscribed with childhood signatures, notebooks filled with essays on their aborted life ambitions.”

Yet, for me, there was something more than photographs and meetings with Holocaust survivors that were being revealed. I rushed to buy the book. It is a work of art filled with dramatic testimony and the saga of an epic journey of chance meetings and breathtaking discoveries resulting in exquisite photographs, as well as a documentary film – labours of love and devotion by Dojc and Krausova.

After reading the text and examining the photographs – the most beautiful I have ever seen – I began to meditate on the fact that all these images were found in places abandoned in 1942; their Jewish owners and community members wiped out by the Nazis. Strange place names like Bratislava, Bardejov, Sastin, Michalovce and Kosice became familiar to me, as the tallit, tefillin, prayer books, mikvah and Torah fragments came alive in my eyes. One of the most haunting images is that of a book fragment with the Hebrew word הנשאר, “that which remains,” clearly legible on the delicate paper.

The essays that follow by Azar Nafisi and Steven Uhly commemorate and honour the murdered Slovak Jews and their collective memory. Yet, there was still something that I was missing. I reread the text by Krausova and stopped on the following lines:

“Mr. Bogol’ tells us that he is the warden of the Protestant church, that he and his wife have lived in the same block with the Simonovics for more than 40 years and that following the death of Mrs. Simonovic’s brother, he became the keeper of the keys of a building in the town…. Time stopped still in this building, which housed a Jewish school a long time ago, almost certainly in 1942, the day when Bardejov Jews vanished forever. Mr. Bogol’ proudly shows us how he and his wife have been painstakingly cleaning each bench, each light, each seat, finding – and preserving – every object, religious or otherwise.”

And, they find another building filled with books, also preserved and protected; waiting for Dojc and Krausova to discover them.

photo - Last Folio is a work of art filled with dramatic testimony and the saga of an epic journey of chance meetings and breathtaking discoveries resulting in exquisite photographs — *Last Folio* is a work of art filled with dramatic testimony and the saga of an epic journey of chance meetings and breathtaking discoveries resulting in exquisite photographs. *(photo by Yuri Dojc)*

Here was my phantom question, here was the missing link! How is it that these empty, cold, barren places were taken care of for more than 70 years? Who would do such a thing? Why would they do it? Were the guardians of these precious objects waiting for someone? Why didn’t the municipality tear down the buildings or strip them of everything and renovate them? Who paid for the maintenance and taxes on the buildings?

The guardians and the keepers of the keys took these responsibilities upon themselves, year after year, until they bumped into Dojc and Krausova, convincing the harried and exhausted researchers to take a look.

Embossed on the inside cloth cover of the book we read: “Last Folio Charts a Personal Journey in Cultural Memory / A Reflection on Universal Loss as a Part of European Remembrance.”

These unheralded, unacknowledged guardians were the protectors and defenders of the memory of the Jews of Slovakia and their Jewish community. To them, we owe enormous gratitude.

To see an extended trailer of the 81-minute documentary about Krausova and Dojc’s research and the making of the book and photo exhibition, visit youtube.com/watch?v=0vZeL63l1ok.

Dolores Luber, a retired psychotherapist and psychology teacher, is editor of Jewish Seniors Alliance’s Senior Line magazine and website (jsalliance.org). She blogs for yossilinks.com and writes movies reviews for the Isaac Waldman Jewish Public Library website.

Good news on Alzheimer’s

For the last three years, I have been researching, interviewing and writing articles for Senior Line, the magazine published three times a year by Jewish Seniors Alliance of Greater Vancouver. In that capacity, I read everything I can about dementia, especially Alzheimer’s disease, medical care for seniors and residential facilities for seniors.

A year ago, I succumbed and started paying for a digital subscription to the New York Times. Using their “alerts” system, my inbox is filled with relevant, current articles on these topics. I scour the media (Vancouver Sun, Zoomer Magazine, Jewish Independent, CBC News Network, CNN, documentary channels, movies portraying Alzheimer’s disease, and online newsletters from organizations such as CARP and COSCO) searching out information about these senior issues. I also began visiting the Louis Brier Home and Hospital regularly, interacting with people with dementia (with the assistance of Davka, my Standard Poodle).

Why was I obsessed with Alzheimer’s disease? The truth is that I was swimming in a turbulent sea of fear, dread and panic – analyzing every forgetful moment and constantly measuring my intellectual capacities, to be sure that I wasn’t “losing it.” This had been going on for the past five years.

My feelings and thought processes began to evolve as I gained knowledge and understanding of the causes, the progression of this condition and, of utmost importance, the changes in attitude towards the management of seniors residences and the programs offered to seniors with dementia. Most surprisingly, among the gloom and doom scenarios of “the grey tsunami” and “the stark demographic shift,” I began to understand that there is actually good news about dementia and Alzheimer’s disease. Yes, you heard me: good news!

Today, reaching the age of 100 is no longer shocking. I personally know three people who have reached that age. Seniors of my generation, and the Boomers and Zoomers, are living longer. Within this large cohort, dementia is a product of the natural aging process. The longer we live, the higher the probability of dementia. Is there anyone among you who wants to die at 65 or 71 (the risk of Alzheimer’s begins to increase dramatically at the age of 65)? Wouldn’t you rather live to 86 or 94? Of course! Well then, your chances of having dementia will increase.

At 77, I am more active and more productive than I have ever been. I know that, at any time, I may begin to deteriorate. The influence of genes is crucial: one grandmother had dementia, the other did not. My aunt has Alzheimer’s and, recently, a close relative was diagnosed with the early signs of the disease. I am shocked and saddened, but now I am able to accept the possibility, putting it in the context of the result of aging well and living longer.

What have I learned? Maria Shriver, in her Feb. 25 article on WebMD “We can handle the truth: the facts on Alzheimer’s,” writes “try to put your denial impulse aside and take a hard look at the truth about Alzheimer’s. Because the fear that causes you to deny things – like our risk of getting this mind-blowing disease – can actually be the motivator you need to stop ignoring the facts….” We know the risks and the consequences, but we are in denial and unprepared to deal with it – personally, financially and as a society. It seems that by pushing through my ignorance and my fear, I have come to a place of harsh reality and hope.

The intense desire for the discovery of a cure for dementia, or a preventive strategy for Alzheimer’s disease, is universal. Exciting research is happening in labs across the globe but, until a “miracle cure” is found, let us not refuse to act because there is no cure. Denial is the enemy of hope.

How much do you want to know about your risk of getting the disease? Here is a list of ways to learn more:

Review your family history with your doctor.
Review lifestyle factors like diet and exercise with your doctor.
Review your medical history with your doctor, including questions about brain trauma.
Take a genetic test to determine whether you have genes that raise your odds of getting the disease.
Get a brain scan to spot signs of the disease.

But, if you are like 41% of the people in the survey “Insight into Alzheimer’s Attitudes and Behaviors,” you have not – or are not willing to – take any of the proposed steps, according to a Feb. 25 article by Ashley Hayes on WebMD. Another 46% say they aren’t worried about getting Alzheimer’s in the future, mainly because they take care of their health and also because they can’t do anything about it. Thirty-four percent of respondents say they’re concerned about getting the disease in the future and, of those, 69% say they’re concerned because they don’t want to become a burden to their family, with 60% concerned because there’s no cure.

Michael Smith, MD, WebMD’s chief medical editor, states, “There is great concern about the impact of this disease, but denial, fear or other unknown factors seem to be preventing us from taking the necessary steps to prepare.”

People do not seem to realize that they can lower their risk. A few suggestions are offered: stay mentally or intellectually active, eat a healthy diet, take vitamins or supplements, exercise at least three times a week and stay socially active.

There is a positive link between physical exercise and brain health. There is a relationship between the foods, drugs, alcohol and nicotine we ingest and their impact on the brain. Hopefully, more informed, more realistic children will notice when a parent’s mental capacities are diminishing (if you haven’t), and they will get us to the physician or gerontologist early, wasting no time; perhaps to participate in a clinical trial or to get a new drug that could slow its progression. Plans must be made, contingency scenarios must be worked out. The best way to break through denial is to challenge it.

The good news

Dementia rates have been plunging. It took a few reports and more than a decade before many people believed it, but data from the United States and Europe are becoming hard to wave off. The latest report finds a 20% decline in dementia incidence per decade, starting in 1977.

A recent American study, for example, reports that the incidence among people over age 60 was 3.6 per 100 in the years 1986-1991 but, by the years 2004-2008, it had fallen to 2.0 per 100 over age 60. With more older people in the population every year, there may be more cases in total, but an individual’s chance of getting dementia has gotten lower and lower, as Gina Kolata reported in a July 8 New York Times article.

The psychological definition of “denial” is an unconscious defence mechanism characterized by refusal to acknowledge painful realities, thoughts or feelings. My anxiety, fear and dread have disappeared. I have faced the dreaded monster, I have embraced the enemy. I now visit with people suffering from Alzheimer’s. I have spoken to my children frankly about my wishes if I should become incapable of handling my affairs. I have decided where I wish to live if I must move into a seniors residence to receive care. I am aware of the newer approaches to residential care and housing arrangements. I have informed myself of the resources that my community can offer me.

Now, every day is an invitation to excel, to learn and to enjoy. I have become ambitious, physically stronger and more committed than ever to appreciate my good health and sense of well-being.

Dolores Luber, a retired psychotherapist and psychology teacher, is editor of Jewish Seniors Alliance’s Senior Line magazine and website (jsalliance.org). She blogs for yossilinks.com and write movie reviews for the Isaac Waldman Jewish Public Library website.