What’s in a name? (was Virtual)
Her full name was Karolina Levia Bee and she lived in Stupava a small Slovakian town not far from the capitol Bratislava, on 90 Hlinkova Street. She was born on April 19th 1887, or at least that what the records show on 1942 when she and her sister Ester were taken by the Germans to Poland never to be seen again. She was my mothers’ aunt and I believe I was named after her.
I did not know all that two winters ago when I started to search for my family roots. At the time I was not aware that I was embarking on a trip, but looking back I am amazed at how much ground I managed to cover. This was definitely a journey and even though I never left the comforts of my home it had all the components of a good journey in it. There was the realization that something was missing, the pressing need to find answers, the unknown terrain and the slow and at times painful progress. The frustration was there in the moments I felt lost and stuck and the deep satisfaction when another piece of the puzzle matched the rest perfectly. The journey like so many others started with a seemingly clear destination only once started gained a momentum of its own and the journey in itself, not the port on the other side, became the main thing. Every answer gained opened the road to another and every piece that fell into place widened the overall view and pointed to other possible trails not yet travelled.
But let me take one step back and offer some explanation for this trip.
It was about two years ago when I suddenly realized that I have no idea where my name came from. Initially I was somewhat amused but mostly embarrassed. It was sudden as until that moment I had a nicely rehearsed story about this name, Ariela Levia. I liked the story how I was named after my maternal grandmother and how both my first and middle name have the same meaning.
And then out of the blue a stubborn thought emerged. “Not possible” was the first stage of the process. “Your version of being named after your maternal grandmother makes no sense at all.” Jews do not name new born babies after live relatives I always knew that. I might have adopted the story my mother told of her grandmother who died when she was three, still living in Vienna before “The war”. Who knows, memory is a tricky thing. Yet I am pretty sure my grandmother was alive when I was born, and her name was Ethel Stern. I actually came across her birth certificate signed and stamped 114 years ago.
I know this is not earth shattering. A name is a name and so what if this story and many others I used to rely on became instantly dubious and imprecise. At first I was going to let this whole thing fade away, I even laughed it off and threatened to take a new name, something easier to pronounce and shorter.
Instead I set off on a trip to see if I can find something more. Both my parents were no longer alive so I had to make do with whatever little information I had. A handful of old documents, few black and white pictures and one video of my mother retelling her life during the war were the start. I have two old aunts in Israel but unfortunately they are from my father side and last my cousin Miki who turned out to be even less knowledgeable then me.
The unexpected happened, when I was searching the internet as a last resort. When I clicked the miserly information I had into different genealogical sites and felt as if I was calling for directions in a total darkness. But the information start coming in bits and pieces. It came from all corners of the globe from people I never met and probably never will. These strangers took a moment and researched old files, registries and data lists and found the information for me.
Karolina Levia Bee or Carola, I like this name. I think of her now as a real person. I wonder what she was like, what did she look like. Why she moved to the big town, why she never married? I wish I had a picture so I will have a visual image of her. Maybe a name is not just a name after all, something to treat lightly and change on a whim. A name sometimes is the only memory left of a persons’ whole life.
Her full name was Karolina Levia Bee and she lived in Stupava a small Slovakian town not far from the capitol Bratislava, on 90 Hlinkova Street. She was born on April 19th 1887, or at least that what the records show on 1942 when she and her sister Ester were taken by the Germans to Poland never to be seen again. She was my mothers’ aunt and I believe I was named after her.
ReplyDeleteI did not know all that two winters ago....
Two years ago I suddenly realized that I had no idea where my name came from. I had a nicely rehearsed story about this name, Ariela Levia. I liked the story how I was named after my maternal grandmother and how both my first and middle name have the same meaning--the Lioness of G-d.
And then out of the blue a stubborn thought emerged. “Not possible. Your version of being named after your maternal grandmother makes no sense at all.” Jews do not name new born babies after live relatives. I always knew that. I might have adopted the story my mother told of her grandmother who died when she was three, still living in Vienna before “The war”. Who knows, memory is a tricky thing. Yet I am pretty sure my grandmother was alive when I was born, and her name was Ethel Stern. I actually came across her birth certificate signed and stamped 114 years ago.
A name is just a name and so what if this story and many others I used to rely on became instantly dubious and imprecise. At first I was going to let this whole thing fade away, I even laughed it off and threatened to take a new name, something easier to pronounce and shorter.
Instead I set off on a trip to see if I could find something more. Both my parents were no longer alive so I had to make do with whatever little information I had. A handful of old documents, few black and white pictures and one video of my mother retelling her life during the war were the start. I have two old aunts in Israel but unfortunately they are from my father side and last my cousin Miki who turned out to be even less knowledgeable then me.
The unexpected happened, when I was searching the internet as a last resort. When I clicked the miserly information I had into different genealogical sites, I felt as if I was calling for directions in a total darkness. But the information started coming in bits and pieces. It came from all corners of the globe from people I never met and probably never will. These strangers took a moment and researched old files, registries and data lists and found the information for me. They found Karolina Levia Bee.
I like this name. I think of her now as a real person. I wonder what she was like, what did she look like. Why she moved to the big town, why she never married? I wish I had a picture so I will have a visual image of her.
Maybe a name is not just a name after all, something to treat lightly and change on a whim. A name sometimes is the only memory left of a persons’ whole life.
I decided to put most of my comment in the form of an edit. I've moved things around, dropped things I thought were losing focus, and added a connector word here and there, plus the results of my google research into the meaning of your names.
I imagine the hardest thing to give up, if you were to accept this version, is the idea of a journey, which after all was the assignment. But I only see it as a distraction in a piece already complex and tricky. See what you think.
Well, you said “focus—obsess” and sure enough I am obsessing. I appreciate the time you put into this and the fact that while you edited it most of it remained mine. So if you think I should just drop it I will.
ReplyDeleteI think what’s happening is what often happens to me when I am trying to force a written piece to be what it is not meant to be.
You are right, the idea of the journey kind of got lost in the final version. And actually in the original one it was the main reason I did not get into many of the details so the focus will remain on the “journey without a journey.”
The end result might be tighter content wise and grammar wise but I can’t find myself in it…whatever that means.
OK, so maybe this was just a bad choice of topic or I need to go back to the first, original version and rework it?
As far as 262 goes, you "For Better or For Worse' completely satisfied me. This piece is a lagniappe.
ReplyDeleteI like it that you can say that my version, despite its supposed merits, somehow loses ALZ. A writer should be jealous of her words and how they are touched and who touches them!
I don't think you should drop it but I do think you should sleep on it, put it away for a while and return to it fresh. I also think that part of the frustration is, as you say, trying to turn something into what it isn't.
This is never going to work as a short essay. There are a dozen places the reader wants and expects more and that 'more' will not be encompassed in a small space.
I don't know who your intended readers are, but the first place the real version of this starts is with a bit of family history. I can think of three or four likely scenarios that have you born in Israel and yet having relatives born in the old Austro-Hungarian Empire. Anyone having the slightest acquaintance with 20th Century history will have his guesses, and no doubt one or another of them will be right.
But, believe me, you don't want your readers guessing about the family history you do know. You want to fill them in! To follow your metaphor: what you do know was the start of the journey--why keep it in the dark?
That is one of the reasons I say a short essay will never contain the material that is needed to do the topic justice.
P.S.--take a close look at what I did in the edit. It is not the case that 'most' of it is yours. Except for my adding the translation of your name and adding a transition word or two to smooth where I cut, it is ALL yours. Yes, that polished, smart prose is yours. But there is a lot less of it, and that can be unbearable to see: your 'babies' discarded and disregarded.
ReplyDeleteI thought of what you said and I don’t think it’s about “lost babies”. I think this writing piece has two distinct levels. One which is about my personal journey to find my “lost” family, this part I agree is probably impossible to do in a short essay and still give the reader a decent amount of information.
ReplyDeleteThe other is the idea of the travel without the physical act of travelling. I was fascinated by the experience and thought it can be developed into a writing piece in its own merits. This I thought could be done as a short essay if I will skip the personal details or keep them to a minimum.
The end result after your initial remarks, my second version and final editing was, I felt, neither. It somehow lost what it was supposed to be but did not become the other one (personal journey). That is what I meant when I said that I cannot find myself in it.
Ah, we were working at cross purposes to some extent.
ReplyDelete"travel without the physical act of travelling"--fascinated you, but I always took to be a sidebar to the interesting stuff. I was working on one track, you were on two....