RAIN AND MUSEUMS
5/30/2012
Last day of my museum spree on my I-AMSTERDAM card. As usual, I am up early to do my morning swim off of Clara’s pier. Today, the sky is covered with thick black clouds. It may indeed rain after all. Sure enough, when I walk out of my caravan with my swimming suit on, covered with a large Turkish beach shawl that I tie in various ways around my swimming suit, it is already drizzling. Who cares, I let myself into the gentle caress and the tender rinse of a peaceful rain as I walk down the path. The soil is wet already; I have always loved the fragrance rising from the soil recently soaked with gentle rain. And that is what is filling my nostrils at this early hour of the morning. Nobody up and around, yet, that is good. I am selfish this morning, I want the entire lake to myself.
I tuck my shawl under the picnic table on Clara’s pier. I sit on the wooden plank leading to the water and dangle my feet into the lake. I listen to the whispering lullaby the rain is singing over the surface of the water, for a while. I am fully soaked by now and the rain is getting heavier; time to get in the water. I keep my face above the water as I slowly crawl toward the shore across from Clara’s side of the waterway, I want to feel the rain dance its dance on my cheeks, on my eyes, on my lips. What a delightful dance and what a sensual experience.
This is how gray everything was, the lake and the sky the same color; despite the outwardly melancholy, there was something so serene and soothing about it, deep down.
I will recall this beautiful morning in 2 months when I have yet another first experience in my life with my daughter. The first time we decide to ride bikes together after 4 months of my learning how to ride one (!), it will start raining just as we leave the house. What the heck, we will say. It is the middle of the summer, we can use a soak. She ahead of me, we start riding back to back. In five minutes or so, the drizzle turns into heavy rain, beating our naked arms and legs from every direction. It is fun, we are giggling, heading toward downtown. My vision is not the greatest, instead of my contacts, I have glasses on; I didn’t expect this kind of rain. By now, there is not one inch on our bodies that may be dry; water dribbling, no actually running down every protrusion we have on, helmets, chins, glasses, you name it.
This is what was pouring over us at that point. No, I didn't take this photo, found it on the internet.
It is Zeynep, my daughter, who eventually comes to her senses and stops as we approach our planned turn to get out of town toward North Liberty, for a 15 mile round trip ride. “Mom, I really think we should remain in town, it will be too dangerous to be riding along with traffic in this rain.” Common sense, my dear, certainly, lead on. We take the first turn to head back home to try trails south of my house. There must always be a plan B when you play with the nature, in the nature. And we don’t know, yet, we will even need a Plan C soon. The rain not only gets heavier, but we also have thunders and lightening to go along with it now. Visibility for me is no more than 10 yards now. With every lightening, I count seconds to determine how far it is from us. The count gradually moves from two digits to singles. As if that is not enough, we have a strong wind now, slashing layers of water over us from this side one moment and the other the next. I never thought a creek could run over one’s back! My exercise top is clearly a balloon around my back: an inch thick column of water is running under it.
A mile from home, all sky breaks loose along with city sirens. OK, what now, are we talking about a tornado or a thunder storm? Wait, there is more. A huge tree branch is lying across one of the sidewalks. More across the street. They must have just fallen off the trees. What if one decides to land on one of us? There is not one living or moving creature to be seen, we can’t see much anyway. Two Turks, known to be relatively smart ones in town turn out to be the only insane creatures remaining outside, under this sky sending one big wrath from the heavens upon Iowa. I can already hear some of my friends saying “Hmmmm, I thought you were smarter than that, Resmiye.” I usually am, but today was the day, I guess. Couple blocks away from my house, a young woman crack opens the door to her house, barely sticking her head out “Do you need a plastic bag?” She is sweet. As much as I want to give her a hug for her concern, I want to crack up: My 115 lb body weight is about 125 by now with the amount of water I must have absorbed. I smile, and thank her. My daughter is waiting for me a block away. When we finally climb up the little hill leading to my house, we are one happy duo for having survived this uncalled for, unexpected storm on our very first ride together, mother and daughter.
We crack up “This will be an unforgettable piece of our history, Zeyno’cum.” She agrees, just like all the other challenges and storms, literal and metaphorical, we survived together since 1991. I look at her and feel a deep, deep love bubbling up inside of me for this wonderful woman, who has been my child, my friend, my comrade throughout my life since I was 26. I know we have a unique bond, I couldn’t wish any different neither for us, not for any mother-daughter dyad.
How could I know that would happen as I come out of one of the branches of the lake. The Sun has started playing Peek-a-boo with us mortals, few out there by now; the reward is a spectacular rainbow. I wish I had had my camera with me. The rain has slowed down, too, back to its drizzle. Refreshed, I am ready to head back to town. Today will be my Jewish History Museum day and I don’t know what else the day is holding up for me.
I get off at my usual station and walk the couple of blocks up AmsteEl River to reach the Jewish quarter. It is a unique place with a different kind of peace. Quite a bit of the Jewish History in Amsterdam is displayed in the temple. I learn with delight that cultural Judaism started in Amsterdam. Baruch Spinoza, who became an indispensable figure in western philosophy, was the first Jew that adopted Judaism in secular terms as a result of which he was expelled from the Jewish community of his time, sixteen hundreds, that is, with a very harsh language. I liked him right away, I thought we needed more of him in every religious community, ethical, with high moral standards, but not fundamentalist.
The number of Jews had risen to more than 150,000 at the onset of the world war two. Dutch obsession with data collection and record keeping cost the Jewish community big time during the Nazi occupation. Every single Jew was so well documented in public records, Nazis invaded Amsterdam and picked up every Jew with rare exceptions like Anne Frank and her family lasting longer than their poor counterparts. In 1947, the Jewish population in Amsterdam was less than 10% of what it was at the onset of the war. As I read and hear all this information, my blood starts boiling over again just as it did in the Red Light District. How in the world is humanity going to be able to clear its history at least the future one of such atrocities, such shame? My heart is aching even if I haven’t seen those days.
As I go downstairs, I will witness something created by a Jewish woman, Emmy Andreis that will leave ever lasting impressions on me related to Jewish community of Amsterdam.
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