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<rss xmlns:ns0="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" version="2.0"><channel><title>Vignettes — The Ripple Project</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes</link><description>Vignettes from The Ripple Project</description><item><title>Itzhak and Herman - First Hand</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/itzhak-herman</link><pubDate>Tue, 04 Apr 2023 17:46:40 +0000</pubDate><description>Herman and Itzhak were best friends late in life. I clearly remember my 
grandfather (Itzhak Ginzburg) telling Herman Taube stories and anecdotes of 
the present but, more importantly, the past, a past he was reluctant to 
share with family.</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:642c4c9d91a7f40083705a15</guid><category>Blog Post</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/f7bc1e05b78eac543f13.jpg" alt=""&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Itzhak Ginzburg, illustration &amp;amp; Herman Taube, MD. 2005&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Herman and Itzhak were best friends late in life. I clearly remember my grandfather (Itzhak Ginzburg) telling Herman Taube stories and anecdotes of the present but, more importantly, the past, a past he was reluctant to share with family. Herman was a professional writer who dedicated his life to commemorating, interviewing, and remembering others&amp;#x27; stories of survival; he had a genuine friendship with my grandfather. They would &amp;quot;giggle like teenage girls,&amp;quot; my grandmother would complain as they chatted on the phone for sometimes hours. When I started The Ripple Project, I made a short film called Binding of Isaac, using my grandfather&amp;#x27;s words over images of the last days of an elderly WWII survivor Jewish man in middle suburban America. While asking Herman to &amp;quot;act&amp;quot; for the film, I would play him old recordings of his close friend Itzhak, who had died a few years before. While I was naive at the time to understand what I was asking Herman to do, today, I see what it must have meant and how painful it must have been for Herman to hear his friend&amp;#x27;s breaking voice. Beyond triggering Herman&amp;#x27;s traumatic past, these words have traveled from Itzhak to Herman; at that point, Itzhak&amp;#x27;s experience also became Herman&amp;#x27;s. This is what &amp;quot;The Ripple Project&amp;quot; is about; when we absorb and listen to others, we also take ownership of their story. That is truly a sobering and heavy weight to bear.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/646db04144fe9474f3d4.jpg" alt=""&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Itzhak on left and Herman on right&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;In preparation for a public event for the Holocaust, called First Hand, hosted by Dalit Shalom and Marc Dennis  found this footage of Herman (on the right) listening to his friend&amp;#x27;s audio, the hand gestures, the laughter, and the tears. Thank you both so much...  Love - Liron&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/814668792?h=5055093897&amp;amp;app_id=122963" width="426" height="240" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen title="&amp;quot;First Hand&amp;quot; - Itzhak Ginzburg and Herman Taube"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>Lida Ginzburg - Eternal Flame</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/lida-ginzburg-eternal-flame</link><pubDate>Fri, 04 Dec 2020 06:38:23 +0000</pubDate><description>- Lida has passed today. -

At the age of 15 I followed my maternal grandparents from Israel to the 
United States to live with their son (my uncle) and his family. I was so 
close to my grandparents that ripping away from my immediate and loving 
family felt like a predestinated decision following my their departure..</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4fc106f1934da462d6c</guid><category>Blog Post</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/761f841181dbca9b74bc.jpg" alt="Lida - Ramat Aviv, Israel"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Lida - Ramat Aviv, Israel&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;There is a magical scene from a kids beloved film &lt;em&gt;My Neighbor Totoro&lt;/em&gt;, by Hayao Miyazaki. Two young heroines, Satsuki and baby sister Mei, are standing in the pouring rain, much too late at night, at a bus stop in the middle of the forest. They are waiting for their father to arrive home from visiting their sick mother in the hospital. A sad moment. Next to them stands a larger than life gray, furry and cuddly creature, called Totoro; the guardian of the forest. The pouring rain soaks the helpless Totoro, yet it remains to protect the girls. In a wondrous exchange, Satsuki, gives it her dad&amp;#x27;s umbrella, which the Totoro uses to its amazement and delight stay dry. Watching this sweet scene with my kids fills me with pleasant sadness. Of all modern life riches available to them, they mostly rely on their parents for help and assurance. They will probably never know the unconditional comfort and confidence given by an angelic presence outside of Sarit and I; this is the curse of being kids of immigrants. I, on the other hand, was privileged to be enveloped in this magic, time and time again, my Totoro was my grandmother, Lida Ginzburg.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;- Lida has passed today. -&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/b162e37fcf13d9a5a1a5.jpg" alt="Lida - Jerusalem, Israel"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Lida - Jerusalem, Israel&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;At the age of 15 I followed my maternal grandparents from Israel to the United States to live with their son (my uncle) and his family. I was so close to my grandparents that ripping away from my immediate and loving family felt like a predestinated decision following my their departure. I recall the first day of American high-school, armed with remedial English, I was set to face the consequences of leaving the familiarity of home. I woke up extra early in an un-Israeli rainy, cold and dark morning. I headed towards the intersection without a hint of what to expect of my first day. The streets were empty and foreign, the smells nascent, the houses large and strange, the color of the early morning unfamiliar as I marched towards that bus stop. I stood there, alone, awaiting for that mythical yellow bus, which I&amp;#x27;ve only seen before in movies and TV. It began to rain. As an Israeli teen, I was, naturally, ill prepared for any weather but “nice.” I was about to get soaked on my first day of school. A few seconds later a murky figure appeared out of the dark fog, it was Lida. She, very quietly, followed me to the bus stop to make sure I arrived, and by chance she had an umbrella with her.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/5d4761fd9168ff65b35c.jpg" alt="Lida and Liron - Maryland, USA"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Lida and Liron - Maryland, USA&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;That first American winter brought on many lonely and friendless nights, that would end with a late hour knock my door asking if I want to go the local diner for a milkshake. Marching through the snow with Lida felt like a warm walk on the sand. Stories of life pre, during and post-war made me feel unique, brave, special and not alone. Her presence has been there throughout my whole time there, and rewarded me with strength and daily courage.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Some of you know about my grandfather, Itzhak, and my personal and professional admiration for him. Yet for some reason, it’s the memories I shared with my grandmother which are most personal and cherished.  &lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/e675198b16cc9c9291f4.jpg" alt="Lida and Bella - Bat-Yam, Israel"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Lida and Bella - Bat-Yam, Israel&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;As a young child, I would profess to having enjoyed staying at my grandparents&amp;#x27; more than at my own home. It was a place to escape, a place of quiet, wisdom and pecan ice-cream. I remember long nights of laying in bed by Lida as I try not to sleep, counting moving cars headlights filtering through window shades while listening to Polish and Russian folklore tales, again and again. I still, today, stubbornly practice this routine of caressing and story-telling to my tween daughter. Trying to pass on some of the what I felt laying on that bed.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/b83756b4172478464784.jpg" alt="Lida - New York, USA"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Lida - New York, USA&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Besides the fables, Lida was truly a heroic, infinitely energetic and powerful matriarch; when her son, eight years old, fell to a rushing, freezing river only to be saved by a mother&amp;#x27;s super strength, as she dove in to pull him to safety. In another time, Lida, rushing through a kids&amp;#x27; summer camp in Poland, looking for her twin daughters after being notified that a typhoid outbreak has broken out. Not giving up until she broke through and saw them safe, with her own eyes. Years before that, Lida was told she is having twins, at a time where her and my grandfather could barely afford to feed their one growing boy. She fought and resisted calls to abort the pregnancy by her own husband and doctor. A fight that was so bad, as it&amp;#x27;s told, had my grandfather leave the house for a few days, only to return with a new dinning room table and five chairs for a growing family. After the birth of the twin girls, taking the three kids and moving with my grandfather to his homeland, Poland. Without a word of Polish, money and work trying to outlast a winter in an apartment with three standing walls, which survived the war. Later arriving in Israel, following an idealistic Zionist husband, not speaking a word of Hebrew. She soon became the main supporter of the family, while my highly educated grandfather unwilling to &amp;quot;just take any job&amp;quot; stayed home. She worked long hours at a textile factory that left her physically exhausted and hospitalized. She followed my grandfather again, this time to the United States, no language, no friends. Only to rebuild life once more. When Itzhak passed, Lida, again moved. She returned to Israel searching for a new adventure. In her mid 70&amp;#x27;s she followed a new love, moving a to a kibbutz, ironically fulfilling her late husband&amp;#x27;s childhood dream. She concluded her life peacefully, basking in the endless Tel Aviv sun. &lt;strong&gt;With this strength and presence in your bloodline, you can’t help but feel invincible.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/728125a3870152c4d37e.jpg" alt="Lida - New York, USA"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Lida - New York, USA&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;My work with&lt;em&gt; The Ripple Project&lt;/em&gt; has shown me first-hand the psychological, physical and social post effects of trauma, even when the trauma is not your own. Around twenty years ago, I drove Lida, my mom and my wife from Washington DC to NYC, to stay with us for a bit. During the drive, in an uncharacteristic personal fashion, Lida told me how difficult it was for her to leave Israel for the US. She shared the tension the move created between her and my grandfather. They ended up moving as Lida became worried for Itzhak’s health. She was right, his physical well-being and post war trauma was taking a toll on him. She described in detail, a personal murky memory, a fight they both had around that time. I was a child, sitting in their living room watching her walk out of the apartment I loved so much, as my grandfather stated he is selling it. This was probably the first time I ever saw my grandparents quarrel so intensely. I remember the physical pain I felt. I was afraid of them leaving. Around that same year (I was around 8 or so), I began to suffer from uncontrollable episodes of shortness of breath. They were so severe that I was hospitalized for a bit which, must have, stressed my parents to no end. After a few weeks, the episodes disappeared as they appeared, over night. My parents joke that I was cured thanks to a doctor that yelled at me to go to school. This painful, confusing and sometimes shameful memory lingered in me for another two decades. On that drive I realized the bond between my grandmother and I was just as physical as it was emotional. This connection never faded.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Today I say goodbye to Lida’s body, but not her light, story, strength and love. Thank you for the umbrella סבתא (grandmother).&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/fe78665538df50858a4e.jpg" alt="Lida and Zoe - Tel Aviv, Israel"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Lida and Zoe - Tel Aviv, Israel&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Here is a poem written for Lida by my grandfather, Itzhak, for her 70th birthday (in Hebrew)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;אשת חיל מי ימצא&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;אני מודה ליוצר האביב&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;שבימי בראשית&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;היה אלי מאד נדיב&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;והעניק לי אישית&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;מתנה לכל חיי&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;רעיה עצם מגופי&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;אם שלושת ילדיי&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;כולם תפארת דרכי&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;נולדו בן טלה ודג&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;נהדרים, נדיבי לב&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;החבורה יחדיו זה חג&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;אהבתהם משכיך כאב&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;ומעל הכל וכולם&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;אם סגולה&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;אם לב מסור וחם&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;לה שייכת את כל התהילה&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;אני מודה לאלוהיי&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;שבזכותו אני קיים&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;אבל בזכותה אני חי&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;אני כאן ולא שם&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;גיל 70 זה חג וטירחה&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;זה עצוב ונעים מגישים לך עוגה&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;נרות שנותייך דלוקים&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;כל שמחה וכל רינה&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;כולם מסובים וחבוקים&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;סימנים פריחה המופיעים בגינה&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;ברוך סימני סתיו&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;אתה מאיט את צעדיך&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;עלה שנושר הוא לא מזהב&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;רוב חייך מאחוריך&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;אנה רעייתי משוש ליבי&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;נצעד למרחקים ללא פחד&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;אני איתך ואת איתי&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;יד ביד תמיד ביחד&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;באהבה מסורה&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;בחיוך חם ונדיב&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;נרחיק מרה שחורה&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;בסתיו יונתי&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;!יהיה לנו אביב&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;ה-21 למרץ 1991&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>Herd Immunity</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/herd-immunity</link><pubDate>Sun, 28 Jun 2020 02:37:26 +0000</pubDate><description>When COVID took hold of our lives confusion reigned supreme. Uncertainty 
became the norm and fear the standard. COVID was categorized as a “war” 
against an “invisible enemy.” We were told that in order to “stay safe,” we 
must follow simple hygiene guidelines and keep a distance from fellow human 
beings. The message is clear: you are safer alone…</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4fb106f1934da462d47</guid><category>Blog Post</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/27624e76444bc05dddfb.jpg" alt="Brooklyn BLM 2020 protest"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Brooklyn BLM 2020 protest&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;When COVID took hold of our lives confusion reigned supreme. Uncertainty became the norm and fear the standard. COVID was categorized as a “war” against an “invisible enemy.” We were told that in order to “stay safe,” we must follow simple hygiene guidelines and keep a distance from fellow human beings. The message is clear: you are safer alone.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And indeed, as countries began to open up and air got warmer we started stepping out. I thought I began to feel safe again. Then a clear-as-glass video surfaced, a collage of images of the inconceivable modern-day execution of George Floyd. I am not going to expand on social/racial/economic injustice, many sharper, smarter and more coherent words are being written and said. Who am I to talk anyway? After all, I am protected, and safe, no? I am white and part of a cushy middle class. I enjoy life&amp;#x27;s comforts and safety. Being Jewish in modern America is a confusing reality, after all Israel is an ally and the president’s son in-law is jewish. Does that make my family and I safer? From the noise and news clips of rising anti-Semitic sentiments like graffiti and a synagog shootings, moments of my own personal experience began to resurface. A slight ding in time that might have deemed insignificant, stubbornly stayed with me. &lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/4078001dc0b9694beb35.jpg" alt="4th of July parade, Upstate NY 2018"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;4th of July parade, Upstate NY 2018&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;A couple of years ago on an oppressively hot Catskills day, I took my mother and family to a small town upstate New York to a local 4th of July parade. It was a happy day, one of these days that feel as if all of life’s decisions were coming together, in the best possible way. My kids were running back and forth picking up candy from the street, I was a speaking loudly (as is unfortunately my custom) in Hebrew, all while trying to find my mother a shaded spot. We felt safe. At a certain point, I was approached by a burly, surly man who complained about my general rudeness, since I allowed my mother to share a space in a shaded spot that was “taken” by his family. He crudely explained that this was the custom of the place, where a family comes early to catch a shaded store front for the parade. I professed to not knowing that and apologized, while asking if my mother can stay shaded. The question was met with a look that is scorched in my memory, the man said: “I don’t know what language you are speaking, or where you are from, but you cannot be here.” As a dozen scenarios raced me like a familiar storm, I looked at my kids, mother and wife who were oblivious to the situation, we left. I did not feel safe.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/71494a76a1dbff65c617.jpg" alt="4th of July parade, Upstate NY 2018"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;4th of July parade, Upstate NY 2018&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;This seemingly mundane story is by no means a parallel to the tragedy of Mr. Floyd or the many others. But when I watch these body cams and phone videos my instinctive familiarity with the horrors rises to the surface as my trauma damaged epigenetic DNA is reminding me of another time and place. The image of a helpless man pleading for life and the deathly silence of the officers keep replaying in my mind as if I’ve personally seen this before. The gruesome images and infuriating helplessness begin to shift in geography, colors and language when replayed from memory. I know this story! My bloodline senses and recognizes the oppression of a militarized police combined with the helplessness of the victim. This was the story of my family also, one I have heard many times growing up.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/5b9fa87c220bbc6d518c.jpg" alt="&amp;nbsp;Still from Itzhak Ginzburg interview (1995)"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt; Still from Itzhak Ginzburg interview (1995)&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;My grandfather’s youngest sister, at the age of 19, was executed by a policeman for an act of teenage public disobedience. After my grandfather’s parents refusal to leave Warsaw (1939 Poland), the young and brave sister went to personally ask them to join her and the other siblings in Bialystok (Poland), which was under “safe” Russian control. She believed that asking them in person would sway their minds. But before she even got to make the request face-to-face, she was executed without trial, without a jury, without a thought - all for not wearing a notorious jewish yellow star. She claimed not knowing of this law, but with hindsight of what she did next I believe she refused to wear a profiling badge. One that identified her as part of a single group and different from some of the peers she grew up with. She refused to carry a label of being an “other” in a place she once called home. It’s a human instinct to expect safety when we are home and in our neighborhoods and to some extent even our domicile. But that was no longer the case for Jews in Europe. This seemingly singular death is not a self contained incident. This murder and silence around it began a ripple effect that destroyed a (my) whole family. Who was the police protecting? Who was the Gendarm (military police) helping by profiling this teenage girl whose only crime was being born on the wrong side of the human genome? Did it make others feel safer? Did anyone speak out?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The parents she meant to bring with her ended up staying behind in Warsaw.  The other siblings followed suit and left the safety of Bialystok to join their elderly parents, as it seemed to be the right thing to do. A decision that doomed the bloodline.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/dad9af500e730abd6454.jpg" alt="Walking to Brooklyn BLM 2020 protest"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Walking to Brooklyn BLM 2020 protest&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;But there is a silver lining here. I do see hope. Until recently, when I closed my eyes and saw my great aunt laying dead in that train station I could not help but hear the silence around her. There were no voices and marches for the ones crying silently. But not anymore, people are no longer quiet nor blind. The horror stories that were once buried in books and oral history are now replaced with camera phones and live streaming. A shameful silence of the majority of that era is now replaced with a proud young generation of marchers worldwide. We cannot let the ones that were left chanceless, powerless and voiceless, whether then and now, disappear in silence. As young proud brooklynite protestor sign read: &amp;quot;White silence is violence,” together our scream will pierce the skies. We are immune as a herd.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/936f12f3fc27fc37bd93.jpg" alt="Brooklyn BLM 2020 protest"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Brooklyn BLM 2020 protest&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/432326231?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="320" height="240" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="The Young Sister"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>Memory of (be)Longing</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/memory-of-belonging</link><pubDate>Sat, 16 May 2020 03:58:48 +0000</pubDate><description>A few nights ago, on what seems like another meal, in another day, in a 
life that loops rather than move in a straight line, I looked at my wife 
and kids and thought: What would be the memory of these days of forced 
isolation?</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4fa106f1934da462d40</guid><category>Blog Post</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/14b3eba70a21606d1a28.jpg" alt="View from a bus – Suburban MD. USA"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;View from a bus – Suburban MD. USA&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;A few nights ago, on what seems like another meal, in another day, in a life that loops rather than move in a straight line, I looked at my wife and kids and thought: What would be the memory of these days of forced isolation? What type of memory would I, Sarit and the kids take from this time? After all, we are lucky with food and health, for the time being, and this might seem like a blip or an adventure when this is all over. Would this time be remembered as a happy one? I guess much of it depends how it all ends. Is this the calm before the storm? Are we about to face more adversity?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;These ordinary thoughts feel no more than annoying mosquito bites. Besides scratching, not much can be done about them. These meandering thoughts started connecting to another part to Itzhak’s (my grandfather’s) story, the story of &lt;em&gt;Shabbat&lt;/em&gt; (Jewish day of rest).&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/435d91954561e672798e.jpg" alt="View from a bus – Suburban MD. USA"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;View from a bus – Suburban MD. USA&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;I always catalogued this particular story under: “sentimental.&amp;quot; It&amp;#x27;s a personal memory of childhood and a long lost family. At the relatively young age I conducted the interview I didn&amp;#x27;t find it very relatable. But now, even though Sarit and I are secular, non-traditional, relative to my upbringing, this story carries great weight. The significance of the story is magnified by the fact that we are immigrants in the United-States, have a young family, almost no close (by proximity) extended family and no local “history.” Most of what we are doing now, is new to us, with very little past experience to go-by.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;There are several elements that feel current and applicable to me. The first one is of historical significance, one before a catastrophic change. Modern society is experiencing a major shift, due to this virus. Our resolve and our ability as a society to keep our way of life is being tested. Humanity has been through changes many times before and it’s usually the a cycle; a sudden pain, resolve, survival and continuity. Itzhak story is pre Wold War II. These were the last few years Jews had any stability or a sense of security before it all fell apart. Even though, he describes a violent incident of anti-semitism with this father, that would have left me quite traumatized, it is a prelude to his seemingly joyful story of Shabbat. I believe his account of, what seems like, trivial violence compared to the latter atrocities they all suffered, is still meaningful as it was a stark reminder to the family that they were not part of the world they lived in. This makes the rest of the story, of tradition and ancestry, more powerful as the listener begins to understand the security powered by unity of a blood-line, heritage and traditional ceremony. My imagination soars as I see my great-great-grandparents, aunts and uncles sitting together, laughing, conversing and dining week after week finding comfort in each other. It fills me with strength and serenity, not loss. It warms my heart to think that my grandfather experienced these moments, a time he remembered as pure joy. Just as I hope we will remember these days.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/eaa983fc722c8e9cb60f.jpg" alt="View from a bus – Suburban MD. USA"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;View from a bus – Suburban MD. USA&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Some troubling questions arise when I listen closer. Are his memories of the past so sweet because he has lost so much? Was reminiscing about these days a painful experience rather than a positive one? I’m frustrated that I will never know.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I wonder why he told me this story in the first place? It’s not a Shoah survival story or a heroic war escapade. After all, that is what I was after when I asked him, all those years ago: “Tell me how you survived?” I like to think he told this story for my sake. I was in my teens living away from home, my parents and my siblings. Maybe he hoped that these shared moments of his past happiness would give me solace, a sense of belonging. &lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/14a9182d25de1f07d44b.jpg" alt="View from a bus – Suburban MD. USA"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;View from a bus – Suburban MD. USA&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Living away from my family for so many years, I’ve gotten used to seeing my parents very seldom, or accepted the fact that my kids won’t have a relationship with their grandparents or cousins that I enjoyed. As years go by, I sure miss it. I find myself doing the very thing Itzhak did with me, telling them stories of the past. I off course don’t have the dark gap that he had but still, stories of distant relatives, personal tales of grade school humiliations, sleep-over at my cousins house and other experiences from another era. They love to hear about the strength of their grandfather when he was a “famous” butcher, their grandmother driving a young me, my siblings and cousins across Florida to look for Disney World. I think it makes them feel as if they are not isolated, insulated and alone. What is now my longing, for them is a belonging.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/5ffe9860356880d42495.jpg" alt="A Mall – Suburban MD. USA"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;A Mall – Suburban MD. USA&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Just a quick note about the song Itzhak is referring to. “Got fun Avraham” (God of Abraham), is an Ashkenazy prayer spoken at the end of Shabbat (day of rest). It symbolizes the start of the week. Shabbat, technically ends when the first three stars appear in the sky. The song describes a child who begs his grandmother not to look for the stars quite yet as he (she) does not want Shabbat to end and the pressure of the new week to begin. As Itzhak reminds us that he was just three or four at the time of the story, I see him as the child looking at his mother. In this case, begging for time to stand still, as if some foresight of awful things to come. It&amp;#x27;s a complete contrast to the grandfather I saw riding a local bus to a suburban American mall. I imagine him quietly looking out the window, staring at endless strip malls, remembering these moments&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The original prayer was written by Rebbe Levi Yitzchak (circa 1800) which shares the same name as my grandfather, which I am sure has added a greater meaning for him.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/6c04775b85a0bbe0dc66.jpg" alt="Itzhak Ginzburg, VHS video. Maryland USA, 1995"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Itzhak Ginzburg, VHS video. Maryland USA, 1995&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/419087809?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="320" height="240" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="Shabbat and Got Fun Avrum"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>Saved by a joke</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/saved-by-a-joke</link><pubDate>Sat, 02 May 2020 03:25:32 +0000</pubDate><description>“Why am I here?” “What is my value?” These banal questions are just a 
sample of a daily brain storm during my personal COVID middle-class 
existential crisis…</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4fa106f1934da462d38</guid><category>Blog Post</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;h3&gt;A life close to a sorrowful end, marches on with laughter.&lt;/h3&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/241f091557811593cd41.jpg" alt="Late Night"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Late Night&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;“Why am I here?”  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“What is my value?” &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;These banal questions are just a sample of a daily brain storm during my personal COVID middle-class existential crisis. At this point my family and I are the lucky ones; not hungry, ill, or in dire-straights. Just stuck at home with no routine, less work, less bicycle, air, sun, friends and privacy. I am left, in my basement editing room to look within. This forced-upon-us new reality has given me much early anxiety. I am not a person who likes the unknown, or an un-calculated adventure, and this sure feels like one. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I always lived with the idea that I have some control over my life. “Do some home budget spreadsheets, save for retirement, stay in shape, eat well and try to live a long life.” Seems like a good plan.  I’m aware things can happen, but all within calculated risk. This COVID crisis, is a start of a new unknown reality and future. It came as a storm, with not much one can do to prepare. When the world began to shut down slowly, I felt that my breathing got uncomfortably quicker. Are we gonna stay healthy? Will I work? What will be of my kids’ education? &lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/82261540015653fceed3.jpg" alt="Viewing Itzhak Ginzburg interview (1995) , Brooklyn, NY. 2020"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Viewing Itzhak Ginzburg interview (1995) , Brooklyn, NY. 2020&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;A few nights ago, I had a hard time falling asleep, thoughts of the next morning, week, or month keeping me up. As the night grew longer and darker I found myself drawn to a particular story my grandfather told me. It’s how he survived the coal mine labor camp in Kazakhstan, in 1942. I couldn’t really put my finger on why this memory has reawakened in mind on a sleepless night. I recalled this as a sad story of near death experience and famine. That same night I sat down for a re-listen. Itzhak’s raspy voice was retelling a story I knew, but the impression was different than what I recall from when I first heard it. It’s actually a story of embracing the lack of control over one’s life. Itzhak, who believed his war injury would help him avoid further Russian front line placement and send him some relief has instead been handed a cruel card. He was sent to a notorious labor camp that many don’t survive, yet he did, but not in an obligatory  manner of heroism. &lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/84571c6f8ba6213660be.jpg" alt="Viewing Itzhak Ginzburg interview (1995), Brooklyn, NY. 2020"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Viewing Itzhak Ginzburg interview (1995), Brooklyn, NY. 2020&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Where one would expect a grand escape or a moment of breathtaking twist and turn, actually lies a story of surrendering to the elements and relying on ones past, upbringing and instincts. It either took tremendous courage or just a complete surrender for Itzhak to refuse taking that elevator to the belly of the coal mine. I can’t even begin to imagine the stress and pressure of that moment. “What would I do?” “Would I even be able to think? Or just follow?” Life has served Itzhak another drastic T-junction, one he could not have prepared for and he acted instinctively. Itzhak allowed his upbringing and culture memory to take over. He was not a laborer by trade, but a scholar. His instinctual decision to take death over going down the mine, ultimately led to his survival. A memory of an idolized grandfather provided him with last gasp of inhuman energy, reminded him of his true talent in life, and an instinctual gesture of humor did the rest. &lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/15d205cc9023f314401c.jpg" alt="Viewing Itzhak Ginzburg interview (1995), Brooklyn, NY. 2020"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Viewing Itzhak Ginzburg interview (1995), Brooklyn, NY. 2020&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;The reason I love this story is the reminder that sometimes life is not about control, or about calculation. Sometimes its about instinct and some luck. Just like Itzhak staring at a broken mirror in a large room somewhere in a coal mine camp in Kazakhstan, present time of social isolation is our chance to look within. Time to reflect, analyze and find our internal strength, so we can nurture and follow it. &lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/a75f902734b3c8ca91e4.jpg" alt="Viewing Itzhak Ginzburg interview (1995), Brooklyn, NY. 2020"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Viewing Itzhak Ginzburg interview (1995), Brooklyn, NY. 2020&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;This is the magic in this small story, plus the joke at the end is hilarious.  Stay healthy. Stay safe. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;The following is the segment of the 1995 interview I’m referring to..&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/414120921?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="320" height="240" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="Saved by a joke"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>Itzhak. A Soliloquy.</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/itzhak-a-soliloquy</link><pubDate>Thu, 23 Apr 2020 20:35:52 +0000</pubDate><description>Through my filmic journey with The Ripple Project, I've met extraordinary 
people with ever more remarkable stories. Many sad, heartbreaking, but 
always strangely uplifting and motivating: "if they can survive the 
holocaust, I can survive anything…”</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f9106f1934da462d2f</guid><category>Blog Post</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;p&gt;I know this post is a few days after Holocaust Remembrance Day (Yom HaShoah), but it&amp;#x27;s not too late.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/afca3c7f55c39af5038a.jpg" alt="Itzhak Ginzburg, VHS video.  Maryland USA, 1995"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Itzhak Ginzburg, VHS video.  Maryland USA, 1995&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Through my filmic journey with &lt;em&gt;The Ripple Project, &lt;/em&gt;I&amp;#x27;ve met extraordinary people with ever more remarkable stories. Many sad, heartbreaking, but always strangely uplifting and motivating: &amp;quot;if they can survive the holocaust, I can survive anything.” I selfishly think to myself, after most interviews I conduct. I don’t really know if this a defense mechanism to justify my need/want/effort to chase these stories or that true-to-life survival tales are therapeutic. Just as a surgeon has a clinical appreciation and respect for the functionality of the human body, without getting distracted by sight of blood or organs. A therapist can listen to hours of traumatic stories of patients all the while staying calm and helpful. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;25 years ago, I don’t particularly recall the reason, I decided to interview my grandfather, Itzhak. I was very close to him, in fact, I would say that my emotional proximity to my grandparents has influenced most of my life altering decisions. I moved to the United States, left a warm home in Israel as a teen, to be close to them. I found my grandfather’s infinitely wise words and my grandmothers warmth to be the most comfortable bed in the universe. &lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/e45daf71a9332dc7795d.jpg" alt="Itzhak Ginzburg, VHS video.  Maryland USA, 1995"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Itzhak Ginzburg, VHS video.  Maryland USA, 1995&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;I remember setting up for this interview as if it was yesterday. I can’t tell if I was more excited with the notion of hearing stories of the past or just the opportunity to mess around with a video camera and a “clip-on” mic. After the initial excitement wore-off, this multi day interview wore me down. I felt guilty as I sometimes began to doze off as my grandfather was talking about labor camps and lost relatives.  At the time, the stories were sad to hear, but not sad enough to “feel”. I  kept judging my grandfather’s life through the lens of our mutual present. At that point in his (our) lives we lived with my well-to-do uncle (Itzhak’s son), an accomplished artist, who’s rewarded us with a life greater and more generous than either us ever imagined. Living together in an affluent suburb of DC, surrounded by all that makes America alluring to a young Israeli and holocaust survivor immigrant, or so I thought…&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/ad58fb2fa16bc1802e0c.jpg" alt="Telling a funny story – Itzhak Ginzburg, VHS video.  Maryland USA, 1995"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Telling a funny story – Itzhak Ginzburg, VHS video.  Maryland USA, 1995&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Years have passed since that interview, Itzhak passed and I moved away to build my “adult” life in New York. After the birth of my daughter, I became haunted by familiar dreams and memories, but not my own. I initially attributed them to stress or lack of sleep, attributed to “new-baby-zombie” mode.I soon began to realize that they were fragments of stories, scratchy soundbites from that long buried, long forgotten interview. Itzhak’s poetic personal idioms of a horrid past, are now my present.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I’ve decided to dig up the tapes and view them, they felt different than my memory of them. I felt what I could not feel before, I saw in him a sadness of the present as much as a sadness of the past, it frightened me. My grandfather’s trauma and loss did not lessen with time, quite the contrary, they seemed amplified. I decided to share them with my grandfather’s dearest friend, writer &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/herman-taube/"&gt;Herman Taube&lt;/a&gt;. For years, I would sit and listen to the two converse, using their oral and written words to keep memories alive. Always amazed at their ability to communicate a deep traumatic experience to someone who’s never been there, stories that felt more fantasy than reality. Herman reminded me that the twilight years were not kind to Itzhak, as depression took over, and night-terrors and tears for loved one lost became a regular occurrence. Seeing the tapes, experiencing his sadness for the first time, I wanted to decipher the chasm between his deep hidden memory vs. his common visible memory, the one we thought we remembered. What lied between a shrouded terrible past and apparent docile years in a quiet picturesque suburb? Itzhak’s past horrors, fears, and sadness were now in me.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/253685872685ca86f86a.jpg" alt="Reading poetry – Itzhak Ginzburg, VHS video.  Maryland USA, 1995"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Reading poetry – Itzhak Ginzburg, VHS video.  Maryland USA, 1995&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;I was mostly frustrated when I would sit and listen to Herman speak of my grandfather’s past and last days. Herman had an optimistic and happy demeanor, one that felt very contrary to Itzhak, who’s wise jokes and side splitting funny stories in public were always under the shadow of grief, when he was alone. There was always a duality there. A pain reflected in his writing. “Why can’t he be as happy as Herman?” I remember asking my grandmother. After all they both lost so much during the Holocaust and both ended up in very similar geographical and socio-economic places in their latter years. I did hypothesize on this issue many times, and besides a generic “different personalities” answer, I think it also had to do with how they dealt with the trauma. As was my grandfather, Herman was a writer and poet as well, but he was one of documentation. He interviewed, translated, edited hundreds if not thousands of hours of other survivors stories. Just like that surgeon I discussed earlier, Herman allowed himself to see the organs of humanity, he looked inside and saw how its function, maybe that was the tool that gave him the strength to look outside of his own loss and traumatic past.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/309e292aa307f912bc69.jpg" alt="Itzhak Ginzburg and Liron (reflection), VHS video.  Maryland USA, 1995"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Itzhak Ginzburg and Liron (reflection), VHS video.  Maryland USA, 1995&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;This revelation began a decade-long physical, emotional and creative journey for me. One, which innocently began with grainy video, family-stories and poorly recorded sound bites. Leading me to reflect upon my own trauma and place in the world&lt;strong&gt;.&lt;/strong&gt; I found myself drawn to storytellers who communicate and deal with their own personal pain via creativity. This is still a journey I am partaking in and I still learn something new everyday about trauma and its elusive post effect.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Itzhak’s haunting words still echo through my life. They keep resurfacing every few years or so in the editing room and in my mind, but they mean something else everytime. Especially, these days of COVID isolation, unknown future and consuming present, they lift me when I’m down, they strengthen me when I feel powerless. His story, his adventure his survival is now ours as well.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Like a stone thrown in a pond, trauma, violently shattering the surface of a calm life. What emanates from one spot, infinitely ripples, to end in the most unexpected of places..&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The following is a short segment of the 1995 interview conducted by Liron with his grandfather, Itzhak.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/410734114?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="320" height="240" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="Itzhak. A Soliloquy"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>"The Show Will Go On" Starring Ela Weissberger</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/the-show-will-go-on-starring-ela-weissberger</link><pubDate>Thu, 09 Aug 2018 21:00:09 +0000</pubDate><description>It's hard to describe what it felt like walking into Ela’s house that 
sweltering summer of 2010. Accompanied by a motley documentary film crew, 
we were still in the early stages of researching the Terezín concentration 
camp and had little knowledge of the children's opera Brundibar.</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f8106f1934da462d0d</guid><category>Blog Post</category><category>Interview with Holocau...</category><category>The Ripple Project Ser...</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/2c37d7bea1dcb73a98ce.jpg" alt="Ela-7-1024x576.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;It&amp;#x27;s hard to describe what it felt like walking into Ela’s house that sweltering summer of 2010. Accompanied by a motley documentary film crew, we were still in the early stages of researching the Terezín concentration camp and had little knowledge of the children&amp;#x27;s opera Brundibar. My intern found Ela on a google search and was ecstatic when he realized she was in the tri-state area. I made a couple of phone calls, and that same day(!) we packed the car with equipment and crew we were on our way to interview Ela in Tapan, New York. The length of the drive from Brooklyn was basically our research and prep time. The team was comprised of my close friend and partner on the project, my brother who was shooting this interview as a last minute favor, and an assistant, who was only there as a favor for my partner. Ela was the second “official” interview we did for The Ripple Project, and at this point, I wasn’t sure what we wanted to accomplish, we just knew that it was going to be “sad.” I could not have anticipated what was waiting for me when we arrived at a picturesque, modest suburban house.I knocked, the door opened, and a hesitant, slightly suspicions smile greeted us. Ela was a known personality and considered by some to be a “celebrity” within a dwindling community of Holocaust survivors. She had been interviewed, filmed, recorded, talked about, written about, and flown around the globe to share her tale of survival and lessons on life. We were newcomers to the Shoah commemoration world, but Ela agreed to meet us nonetheless. I kinda schmoozed my way to get this interview with her based on promises of things to come. Her disappointment was to be expected.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/23fabbea75caaeea078f.jpg" alt="MG_1517-1024x683.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;I jotted down a few fundamental questions while in the car, I was woefully underprepared. Ela was as charming as could be, offered us water and cookies while we set up the room for the interview. Since I didn&amp;#x27;t know Ela yet and was still unclear about my vision, I figured we would do this one “research” sit-down interview, not my film style of choice, but at least we get to know each other. After a few awkward moments of clumsy back and forth I had a sinking feeling that Ela might be on to us, she would know that we are just a few Shoah &amp;quot;rookies&amp;quot; trying to get our feet wet. I was worried that the interview was going nowhere. I felt a bit discouraged as I sat back and apologetically raising my eyes to look at her, but Ela&amp;#x27;s demeanor was not what I anticipated.Her voice, tone, and pitch were unphased, as she revealed stories of her travels, adventures, and survival. Ela’s personal story is mostly based in Terezín (Theresienstadt) concentration camp, which is in today’s Czech Republic. She is known as the child who played the cat in all 55 performances of the children&amp;#x27;s opera Brundibár by Jewish Czech composer Hans Krása. An opera the Nazis allowed to be performed, as the Red Cross visited Terezín which the Nazis set up as a model camp. It’s a complicated story filled with contradictions, a place where children attended art classes while the elders starved to death. It was a camp where music was allowed while the Nazis prepared transits to death camps. These are facts, and the stories surrounding them bring on feelings of sadness, anger, and loss when I think of them. But during my interview with Ela, I felt as if I was not able to access any of these predetermined emotions. I was about to conclude this very brief encounter, but Ela did not react as I expected, knowing her past and having grown up in a family of Holocaust survivors.Ela was happy, Ela was joyous, Ela was filled with life, Ela was proud to tell her story, Ela was performing and we were the audience. This was not what I was programmed to capture; I grew up on Lanzmann’s Shoah, on my grandfather’s guilt-ridden heartbreaking poetry of family lost, on Maus… this was not supposed to be like this. I thought to myself, “she’s a survivor, stories of her past must flood her with sad emotions and sink her into despair.” But this was not to be. Ela was something different, and when I realized that, a calmness settled in. From this point on the interview changed, the room changed, the team around me changed, we were no longer a last-minute put together crew confused about what we are doing but rather a captivated audience listening to a live-play dramatic story.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/11e3d166c7099c014234.jpg" alt="MG_1489-1024x576.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Ela had a gift. Ela&amp;#x27;s light shone bright, she energized the room and told stories of art, love, teenage confusion and friendship under the worst of circumstances. Ela humanized a time that was, and an experience that she made clear &amp;quot;beyond imagination&amp;quot;. She told us little tales of holding hands with a boy, she told us about a how a gesture of make-up, to draw cat whiskers, before the play allowed the imagination of a child to run free, she told us of the connection and bond the kids formed, which made the death of her childhood friends even more devastating, she told us about the ultimate sacrifices of her teachers. Even though Ela’s story of survival might seem by some as less “horrific” than others due to her staying in Terezín, her loss of friends, relatives, and childhood are real.For Ela the show never ended, the stage was endless, and the lights were always on, only the audience changed. After the interview concluded we stayed at Ela’s for a few more hours, we got a tour of family photos, memorabilia, saw and held her Jewish yellow star and more and more stories. A friendship was formed between us, one of the gossipy calls, to receiving a hand-knit sweater as my second child was born. As I struggled to come to terms with the vision telling Shoah stories and the harsh reality of documentary financing, I could always rely on Ela telling me about her recent travels, the interest of certain book writers, movie directors, and TV producers. In Ela’s world, we were all a captivated audience, listening and watching the retelling of the story of this little show called Brundibár and its doomed child stars. It makes me happy to know she dedicated her life to giving voice to those young voices who could no longer speak.And I find peace in knowing there were so many audiences that handed Ela the microphone so a few more lucky people could hear and feel a story of the human spirit’s triumph over unimaginable evil.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/b073d0b5c075aab55e2f.jpg" alt="MG_1516-1024x683.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;I never ended up working with Ela on the film we wanted to complete, we never shot another frame, but that is OK. As for me and my journey, Ela has given more than I could have imagined. Her memory and words have given me enough strength to tell the story of many others. Ela would be happy to know that the show will go on.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/82458e86a8d2aa926915.jpg" alt="MG_0365-1024x712.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Ela Weissberger June 30, 1930 – March 30, 2018 Here is are parts of that interview we conducted with Ela in her house&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/17061796?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="480" height="272" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="Interview with Holocaust Survivor Ela Stein Weissberger"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>A Lesson in Civility: Courtesy of Frederick Terna</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/a-lesson-in-civility</link><pubDate>Thu, 12 Jan 2017 20:10:17 +0000</pubDate><description>Last week I was fortunate enough to be invited to an art opening of one of 
the most talented, absurdly under-recognized, smartest and kindest person I 
know, Fred Terna…</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f7106f1934da462cd0</guid><category>Blog Post</category><category>Daniel Terna</category><category>Fred Terna</category><category>The Ripple Project Ser...</category><category>The Ripple Project: One</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/32972d2d1766ac44d021.jpg" alt="red-flames-with-fred-1024x914.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Last week I was fortunate enough to be invited to an art opening of one of the most talented, absurdly under-recognized, smartest and kindest person I know, Fred Terna. (&lt;a href="http://bombmagazine.org/article/4521613/frederick-terna"&gt;Recent BOMB article on Fred&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;On it’s own, this is already an exciting enough event. The fact that Fred’s important, and rarely seen in public, work being exhibited in a formal space is a great gift. Add to that, the chance to see and hear Fred in person and you get a night to remember. Speaking to Fred, one always faces an opportunity to hear words of enlightenment. Which, just like his art, are filled with secret textures, meanings and colors that are not immediately apparent, it’s an effect that is both illuminating and sometimes confusing. This is a feeling I&amp;#x27;m very familiar with, one I felt multiple times while working on the film I made about Fred (Shared Memory)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;). I started The Ripple Project with a pre-conceived notion of how to portray the social scar caused by trauma, particularly the Holocaust. As the project progressed I realized that in fact, it’s not a scar but rather an open wound.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/eabde269c382e9249f48.jpg" alt="shared-memory-detail-1024x914.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;This idea started to crystallize after spending a few days with Fred. As, so many times with him, you learn that things are not always as they appear. Fred’s words and art gave rise to the idea of fluidity of memory and acceptance of inevitability. He proudly, shows me two, seemingly, completely different paintings. He explained to me that the two are of the same horrifying event he witnessed during the Holocaust. The abstract paintings were painted in different eras, nearly thirty years apart, and their stark difference of color, brush stokes and composition reflects the way the “feeling” towards the memory has changed. The most recent of the two paintings is poignantly labeled: “Shared Memory.”&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/2c668730374633ed2535.jpg" alt="shared-memeory-1024x914.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;An idea, that might have been instinctively present in my subconscious has been put on display in front of my eye so clearly. A memory of an event, as horrific now as it was then, but the artist’s attitude towards the memory of the event has drastically changed. Memory is fluid; constantly shifting and moving.The other revelation I had while working with Fred, was an acceptance of the inevitable. On the last day of the shoot, Fred dropped a verbal “bombshell;” He proclaimed, with pride, that had he been given the opportunity, he would not have chosen a more “ordinary” life. According to Fred, had his life been an “ordinary” one, he would have ended up as a: “Crotchety old university professor for historical geography or geographical history.” Fred has no anger, no remorse, no regrets, life has a forward momentum that needs to be lived and experienced with all its twists and turns. My first instinct was one of disbelief, why would someone “choose” to go through the pain, suffering and loss that Fred experienced? My skepticism turned to understanding, when I later heard this idea echo through the words of another grand personality I interviewed (Itzhak Arad)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It’s the journey taken which creates the rich tapestry of life which makes it all worth while. This is a profoundly human and humane idea.  It’s these conversations with Fred which helped me see and deal with the trauma of loss from the Holocaust, in a different way, including lessons applicable to my own life.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/9cff36b59a2a48efe0c1.jpg" alt="shared-memory-installed-1024x915.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;So when I saw Fred last week, I was hesitant about asking any questions, concerned this is not the time or place to search for “pearls of wisdom” which would again add a whole new dimension to my take on the Holocaust. But, thinking and doing are two different matters and considering these opportunities are far apart the moment just begs for a question to be asked. This was a special evening for Fred. He was outside of his studio, surrounded by his work lovingly hung for people to enjoy (rare) and smartly curated by his son Daniel, who’s an accomplished artist in his own right (&lt;a href="http://www.danielterna.com/"&gt;http://www.danielterna.com&lt;/a&gt;). The place was full of friends, loved ones and admirers, just begging for another chance to see and speak to Fred, who was in top form, but visibly tired. After we embraced and chatted about mutual work, out of the blue, I asked a simple, even banal question: “What do you think about the election...?” I don’t know why I asked him this question or what I was expecting the answer to be. I just really wanted to know what Fred thought. The election left people on both sides of the aisle confused, angry, bitter, frightened and suspicious of each other. It exposed the sharp divide in American society and revealed the thin wires which hold it together. As a person who tells stories of genocide it left me scared that once again, irrational fear and anger can shatter a fragile society. Fred smiled at me, the kind of smile that says “you asked for it kid...”&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/caf6af0e738e03e5df9c.jpg" alt="painting-install-1024x914.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;He closed his eyes for second, as he often does before he begins to speak, as if to enhance the drama. Tilting his head right and with a wry smile said: “I’m disappointed, confused, and surprised but not worried. Dictators don’t last, it’s against human nature. We just need to keep our civility.” I looked at Fred with puzzled eyes, where was the anger? The fire? So I followed up with another question: “Civility? At this time? Who cares about that? People are angry now.”Fred responded in a deeper tone, the smile was gone: “When we were in the camps, facing death, humiliation, starvation, anger, not knowing if we will live another 10 minutes… we still kept our civility. We always knew the Nazis wouldn’t last, it’s against human nature. It doesn’t matter what the Nazis did to us, how much they screamed and yelled at us. When we were alone in the room, at night, we were civilized. We knew that our civility is the key to survival, our humanity and civility will outlast the Nazis. It might take a month, a year or ten, but it will outlast them.”&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/bac4918f84df93457afa.jpg" alt="flames-installed-1024x914.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Fred did it again, in three sentences he was able to refine, and perhaps redefine my perception of civilization and humanity in a time of crisis. It allowed me to put my fear, anger and confusion in check. It’s not just about the survival of the body, but one of soul, this is a lesson that transcends something larger than our imagination, as the Holocaust, but is also valid in our everyday struggles.That night I went home, hugged sarit, the kids and found some serenity.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/57a4729cdbe8f4333f07.jpg" alt="liron-and-fred-1024x915.jpg"&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>Floating with Walter</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/floating-with-walter</link><pubDate>Wed, 20 Jul 2016 15:32:58 +0000</pubDate><description>The Ripple Project has been, to put it mildly, a war of attrition on my 
soul. During my 5 years with the project I have seen with my eyes, heard 
with my ears and felt in my chest the pain and loss so many have suffered…</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f6106f1934da462cc2</guid><category>Blog Post</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/e4a76825287203b68844.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/d16ee8c4a185f49d016b.jpg" alt="In memory of&amp;nbsp;Walter Schaffir&amp;nbsp;1921-2016"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;In memory of Walter Schaffir 1921-2016&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;The Ripple Project has been, to put it mildly, a war of attrition on my soul. During my 5 years with the project I have seen with my eyes, heard with my ears and felt in my chest the pain and loss so many have suffered. Yet, I did not start this venture because I specifically wanted to learn about pain and its’ direct effect, I wanted to explore the after-effect of the trauma. The “ripple” of trauma is what has constantly catches me off guard, I have seen it pass through time, generations, cultures and even dimensions.&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/b3310123b624d58e26dc.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/7f39b0fa43a8ac13a705.jpg" alt="Walter Schaffir"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Walter Schaffir&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/2563c7bd2859a52aaef4.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/e7468023aede95d6ab19.jpg" alt="Walter Schaffir"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Walter Schaffir&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;In the course of my journey, exploring the creativity of my subjects as a tool to deal with pain, I met one Nancy Gershman, a third generation painter. What’s unique about Nancy, is her artistic work in relation to personal memory, a subject I visit often. Nancy is described as a “memory artist.” Her skill helps her create specific memories for the ones who wish they had them, memories which never existed. These created memories are meant to help fill gaps in her subject’s life, a gap that due to trauma will never be otherwise filled. When I sat down with Nancy, my immediate suspicion materialized, she is a daughter of a parent exposed to a great ordeal, she is a daughter of a holocaust survivor.Nancy is one of these “memory detectives” i&amp;#x27;ve been meeting more and more of. “Memory detectives” are people who try to solve gaps of memory in their own mind or in others, by any means. A memory gap in a loved one is especially frustrating, because their memories are sometimes collectively ours, and when they have gaps, so do we. &lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/b06165f0442d95c02273.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/b87af0626fda7284024e.jpg" alt="Walter Schaffir and Liron"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Walter Schaffir and Liron&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Here is where Walter comes in. After finding out Nancy was a daughter of a survivor, we both agreed that there is a special story to be told here. I saw Nancy’s monumental efforts in solving people’s memory gaps in parallel to the pursuit of finding the details of her father’s life.I wanted to meet Walter and was kindly introduced by Nancy to him. I asked to shoot a video interview with him as a prep for a film about Nancy and he kindly agreed. I thought he didn&amp;#x27;t know that my ultimate goal was to create a film that would cross reference his life with his daughter’s. But Walter was always a step ahead of me. When I spoke to him I was immediacy struck by his positive descriptions and attitude about his future, present and most surprisingly his past. only in the editing room, after hours of listening again and again I began to “feel” what Walter has seen or experienced. I can only imagine the trials and tribulation he went through at a young age, ones that I hope none of us know in a lifetime. To my constant surprise, Walter attributed that period in life as one of adventure and nostalgia. Walter had an unavoidable strength, he was speaking to me from a stage, performing an orchestrated theatrical retelling of a life. Between his numerous paintings, drawings, sculptures, writings and a meticulous soldier collection sits a man who has a story bigger than any ordinary life. Yet, he carefully chooses how to share it. He is always in control of the situation. He did share memories, drawings of his past, and even wrote a memoir; the bricks of life were seemingly there, but the mortar was magically missing. &lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/c4752f2ebabff749a0af.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/6dcac3ccc2b6ffa29a46.jpg" alt="Walter Schaffir playing piano"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Walter Schaffir playing piano&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;That excitement and frustration I felt was only magnified once I started thinking about Nancy growing up trying to get to know her dad. Walter took my brother (the cameraman) and I on an amazing journey of stories and music during our time with him, he left us asking for more. The further I listened to his interview the more I wanted to spend more time with him and re-ask my questions, re-shape my attempt to connect with him. I wanted to know the memory that’s in between the words. By the time I met Walter he had lost his sight, but I know he could see me, he knew what I was after and he controlled the situation from start to finish. When the day was over I realized&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;I&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;witness a performance, it had truth, it had drama, but before I could look for the plot holes I found myself in a living room sofa, listening to a musical concerto played by a man who could barely see.Like in us all, the ripple of events and time passed through Walter, but unlike many, he mastered its frequency.&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/683b678c5fa72410e5d0.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/4df39c49ca34e42c3347.jpg" alt="Walter Schaffir collected figurines"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Walter Schaffir collected figurines&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/39b8ed1c730b01265310.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/e734230d335e47922200.jpg" alt="Painted by Walter Schaffir"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Painted by Walter Schaffir&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;This is where what I do is most cruel, it takes time, it takes money and the two don&amp;#x27;t always play well together. I missed my chance to tell the story I wanted about Walter and Nancy through the eyes of a father and daughter, but I gained the pleasure of again floating helplessly on the not so lucid river of life. &lt;/p&gt;

&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/93754291?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="480" height="270" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="Series ONE: Photomontage: Walter Trailer"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>Herman Taube (1918-2014)</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/herman-taube</link><pubDate>Thu, 16 Apr 2015 04:54:47 +0000</pubDate><description>I know I'm writing this entry a year too late, but last Saturday I had 
great screening of one of our Ripple films so I've decided to thank a man I 
owe much of it to...</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f6106f1934da462cbe</guid><category>Blog Post</category><category>The Ripple Project</category><category>The Ripple Project Ser...</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/847b33716a7a35e2a754.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/134076833f7fce33d3cd.jpg" alt="Herman Greets us at home for the screening"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Herman Greets us at home for the screening&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;I know I&amp;#x27;m writing this entry a year too late, but last Saturday I had great screening of one of our Ripple films so I&amp;#x27;ve decided to thank a man I owe much of it to...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;“You die twice, once when you pass away and once when you are forgotten.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Deceivingly simple words, which had a life changing and profound effect on me, these are the words of poet and writer Herman Taube. Words which echo through my mind as a reflection of a past, strength of a present and hope for a future.Herman Taube was (is) known around the jewish community in Rockville, Maryland. as the inquisitive, loving and ever curious writer and keeper of jewish stories and folklore, which one can read &lt;a href="http://www.ushmm.org/remember/office-of-survivor-affairs/survivor-volunteer/herman-taube"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;But to me the connection was more personal. My memories of Herman are through his conversations with my grandfather...&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/ae1debb5e6d47843c909.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/4e931a84bf334cba17e1.jpg" alt="The &amp;quot;Living Room&amp;quot; scene while shooting The Ripple Project ONE"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;The &amp;quot;Living Room&amp;quot; scene while shooting The Ripple Project ONE&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;My grandfather was introduced to Herman by my uncle Yankel Ginzburg. The introduction was a natural one, Herman was a well known writer in the Maryland and DC Jewish community, my uncle a famous painter and sculpture, known very well in the area for his modern and his Judaica work. My grandfather, whose just arrived from Israel with my grandmother to settle in my uncle&amp;#x27;s house for their golden years, found America to be a lonely place. Even though he was surrounded by family, the language barrier has created an almost impenetrable wall to society. He began to slowly drown in the daily routine of golden age and suburbia, accompanied by the growing pain of survivors&amp;#x27; guilt. He found solace in the typewriter and daytime TV. Smiles became less frequent. The introduction to Herman changed that...&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/9f775152f4c37a116728.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/7190519f3487d9decab0.jpg" alt="Shooting the Living Room scene  while shooting The Ripple Project ONE"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Shooting the Living Room scene  while shooting The Ripple Project ONE&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;Living at my uncle&amp;#x27;s at the same time, I can still recall the endless chatter, the laughter, the tears and giggles I would hear coming from my grandfather&amp;#x27;s room. Initially I would knock on the door expecting my grandmother to be there, but what I found was him chatting on the phone. &amp;quot;They are like teenagers,&amp;quot; My grandmother would say. He was on the phone with Herman.Herman could do what so few could, he found entries into people&amp;#x27;s soul. He&amp;#x27;s gentle smile, inquisitive nature and incredible attentiveness is a comfort impossible to explain unless one experiences it. Yet, there is a true complex story behind the soft eyes and loving embraces. Herman has seen the darkness of men, has suffered losses that are unimaginable to me, and I&amp;#x27;m sure to most who read this, yet he was there to listen, to smile and most importantly to WRITE. He wrote and wrote until his last day. Between the book publishing, the poems, the anecdotes and words of wisdom, he spent his time listening to others and recording their stories. He was able to look beyond the pain and anger of his personal loss to push forward with one most the important duties we have as a society and that is to learn and remember. I admire Herman for that and until this day, I&amp;#x27;m inspired.&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/134e0b3cb69bdcd9604e.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/ef918ab92e19b079246c.jpg" alt="The &amp;quot;Park&amp;quot; from The Ripple Project ONE"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;The &amp;quot;Park&amp;quot; from The Ripple Project ONE&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;I also had the honor to work with Herman on the first film in The Ripple Project, where I filmed him listening to his closest friend, my grandfather, recorded memoirs. What started as an experiment in cinema and story telling became a life project.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;— Thank you popsi.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/8eb80ea94943db5ded84.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/2bf793af058abc42ed82.jpg" alt="Make up for the &amp;quot;Typewriter&amp;quot; scene"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Make up for the &amp;quot;Typewriter&amp;quot; scene&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/a113e0a6418d4ae441bf.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/8361d474eea838f8adb3.jpg" alt="Shooting The &amp;quot;Morning&amp;quot; scene"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Shooting The &amp;quot;Morning&amp;quot; scene&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/e43e5d5799338b4eabfa.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/4c0e5e8959d325c223ba.jpg" alt="&amp;quot;Resting&amp;quot; after a long shoot"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;&amp;quot;Resting&amp;quot; after a long shoot&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/fd5e9052161602434bce.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/6acbc5c288d6c962e8dc.jpg" alt="&amp;quot;The Mirror&amp;quot; scene"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;&amp;quot;The Mirror&amp;quot; scene&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/d9077cdf4659d81427da.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/47daf4e47d586d3cc691.jpg" alt="The crew"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;The crew&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/96b2572953f5ba5b5d07.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/e059d6b637fe729542aa.jpg" alt="A farewell shot, after the film was completed."&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;A farewell shot, after the film was completed.&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/9cc5f920ac96c48e8186.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/e958b6d67764d0d303fa.jpg" alt="Preparing for the screening, with Susie"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Preparing for the screening, with Susie&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/df0a68948d62fceb803a.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/0ac6544998e4aa64bae4.jpg" alt="Presenting Herman with the DVD"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;Presenting Herman with the DVD&lt;/p&gt;

    &lt;a href="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/1bd1acec4a26c433a890.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/cc6601739f3d9f7d501f.jpg" alt="binding of isaac dvd jpeg"&gt;

    &lt;/a&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;binding of isaac dvd jpeg&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;I leave you with a poem published by Herman after my grandfather&amp;#x27;s death.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;h1&gt;TEARS...&lt;/h1&gt;&lt;p&gt;I feel a dull ache this morning,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;my friend Itzhak Ginzburg died.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Unaware of it at a tender age,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;we grew up in the same city,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;lived through identical wounds of war&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;and shared the tragedy of family loss.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Thank God - we both survived.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;On polar sides of the ocean,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;we established new families,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;raised children and grandchildren.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;We were both able-minded,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;through our mutual love of words and stories,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;we formed a friendship and a formidable bond.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;We shared a past, concealed in a sad memory.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The grief of our unassailable misfortunestook a tragic and heavy toll on his health.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Stubborn nightmares and memoriesof those who perished persisted to haunt him.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He died in the arms of his Lida,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;his saviour, friend and spouse.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I feel a dull ache this morning,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;my friend Itzhak Ginzburg died.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The pain I feel this morning,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;the tears I am shedding now,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;aren&amp;#x27;t for my wonderful friend.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Let us admit it ,Yitzhak is gone,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;he is no longer exposed to pain,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;the tears are mine; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I lost a friend.I feel helpless.. I can’t stop crying...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;— Herman Taube&lt;/p&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>Daniel Terna, Brooklyn NY</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/daniel-terna-brooklyn-ny</link><pubDate>Mon, 28 Jan 2013 16:02:18 +0000</pubDate><description>I first met Daniel Terna through his father, painter and Holocaust survivor 
Fred Terna…</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f4106f1934da462c82</guid><category>Daniel Terna</category><category>Dylan Angel</category><category>NY</category><category>Ripple Project Vignettes</category><category>The Ripple Project Ser...</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/56893504?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="480" height="270" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="Vignettes Series: Daniel Terna, Brooklyn NY"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>A Mirror</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/a-mirror</link><pubDate>Tue, 22 Jan 2013 01:55:10 +0000</pubDate><description>&lt;p class=""&gt;Part of the film: &lt;em&gt;The Ripple Project: ONE&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;

















































  
  
    
  

    

    

    
      &lt;figure class="sqs-block-image-figure intrinsic"
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          &lt;img data-stretch="false" data-image="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593645610-BG3Q99VZLCIR2K2RURMB/A-mirror-comp-697x1024.jpg" data-image-dimensions="697x1024" data-image-focal-point="0.5,0.5" data-sqsp-image-classic-block-image alt="" data-licensed-asset-preview="false" data-load="false" elementtiming="system-image-block" src="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593645610-BG3Q99VZLCIR2K2RURMB/A-mirror-comp-697x1024.jpg?format=1000w" width="697" height="1024" sizes="auto, (max-width: 640px) 100vw, (max-width: 767px) 100.00vw, 100.00vw" srcset="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593645610-BG3Q99VZLCIR2K2RURMB/A-mirror-comp-697x1024.jpg?format=100w 100w, https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593645610-BG3Q99VZLCIR2K2RURMB/A-mirror-comp-697x1024.jpg?format=300w 300w, https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593645610-BG3Q99VZLCIR2K2RURMB/A-mirror-comp-697x1024.jpg?format=500w 500w, https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593645610-BG3Q99VZLCIR2K2RURMB/A-mirror-comp-697x1024.jpg?format=750w 750w, https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593645610-BG3Q99VZLCIR2K2RURMB/A-mirror-comp-697x1024.jpg?format=1000w 1000w, https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593645610-BG3Q99VZLCIR2K2RURMB/A-mirror-comp-697x1024.jpg?format=1500w 1500w, https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593645610-BG3Q99VZLCIR2K2RURMB/A-mirror-comp-697x1024.jpg?format=2500w 2500w" loading="lazy" decoding="async" data-loader="sqs" data-image-component="1.0.1"&gt;
        
      
    
        
      

      
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  &lt;p class=""&gt;An artist paces through his color filled studio, images of pop icons and hyper realistic depiction of ironic reality are scattered throughout. Marc Dennis, a New York painter, pains away at his next creation while drowning in a memory of a lost freind, Dina, a &lt;em&gt;Shoah&lt;/em&gt; survivor; which Marc interviewed before she passed away. Dina's voice swell as we begin to see a clandestine painting that Marc has been working on. &lt;/p&gt;











































  













  
    
      
    
    
      
        
      
    
    
  
    Part of The Ripple Project: ONE film. 

A friend’s reflection reveals more than a looking glass.

Renowned artist and clandestine Holocaust art scholar Marc Dennis interviews survivor Dina Jacobson, whose tranquil facade betrays an incomprehensible knowledge. Set in the bucolic village of Elmira in upstate New York, Marc’s inquisitive nature and Dina’s surreptitious life are revealed and reflected upon through days of frenzied conversation and the knowing silence of friends. 

Dina is one of six survivors interviewed by Marc, each story more complex and unique than the one before...

Filmmaker Liron Unreich follows Marc, as both artist attempt to create a multi-media musuem installation based on these six interviews. A journey that will take them across the United States and the Atlantic.  As each survivor shares his or hers life and precious days, the two artists try to capture an enduring portrait of survival, spirit, strength and inspiration to be shared with generations to come.

Project Status: In early stages of production</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f4106f1934da462c8d</guid><category>The Ripple Project: One</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;p&gt;Part of the film: &lt;em&gt;The Ripple Project: ONE&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/6d4c0265c64c1b45898b.jpg" alt="A-mirror-comp-697x1024.jpg"&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;An artist paces through his color filled studio, images of pop icons and hyper realistic depiction of ironic reality are scattered throughout. Marc Dennis, a New York painter, pains away at his next creation while drowning in a memory of a lost freind, Dina, a &lt;em&gt;Shoah&lt;/em&gt; survivor; which Marc interviewed before she passed away. Dina&amp;#x27;s voice swell as we begin to see a clandestine painting that Marc has been working on. &lt;/p&gt;

&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/94724081?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="426" height="240" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="Marc &amp;amp;amp; Dina. Trailer"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>Halloween, Lower Mahattan 2012</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/halloween-lower-mahattan-2012</link><pubDate>Mon, 12 Nov 2012 14:59:52 +0000</pubDate><description>&lt;hr /&gt;
  

  
























  













  
    
      
    
    
      
        
      
    
    
  
    This short film is in no way trying to give a sense of the scale of destruction that Hurricane Sandy caused NYC- compared to Redhook, the Rockaways and other parts of the city the destruction cause to lower Manhattan was comparitively slight but residents still had to endure days without power or access to basic needs as most  businesses were closed beneath 34th street. This is simply a document of some of the things we saw while biking around 2 days after the storm and an attempt to capture the strange quiet mood that engulfed the city. 
-Dylan Angell

Directed by Dylan Angell
Camera by Daniel Terna
Edited by Joe Morgan
Music by Jeff Tobias 

Executive Producers Liron Unreich and Michael McDevitt</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f3106f1934da462c7e</guid><category>Lower Manhattan 2012</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/52982408?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="480" height="270" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="Vignettes Series: Halloween, Lower Manhattan"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>May Day</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/may-day</link><pubDate>Wed, 19 Sep 2012 18:17:40 +0000</pubDate><description>&lt;hr /&gt;
  

  
























  













  
    
      
    
    
      
        
      
    
    
  
    &lt;p class=""&gt;This week marks the one year anniversary of Occupy Wall Street. The May Day protests were one of the last major Occupy related protests to take place under the banner of the movement. After a relatively quiet winter May Day highlighted the crossroads that the movement was at, there were many questions to if the movement was growing too divided or if it could substain itself in any form and it's hard to say if any of those questions were answered on May 1st. I felt disoriented throughout the day, unsure of what to make of the events that took place. I tried to create a video that matched the feeling I had. -Dylan Angell&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class=""&gt;Directed by Dylan Angell Shot by Ryan Hunter Edited by Joe Morgan Music by Gabe Celestino Voices sampled from May Day Radio Executive Producers Liron Unreich and Michael McDevitt&lt;/p&gt;</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f2106f1934da462c71</guid><category>May Day</category><category>The Ripple Project Vig...</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/49618815?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="404" height="270" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="May Day"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>Miriam Friedman Morris</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/miriam-friedman-morris-2</link><pubDate>Mon, 30 Jul 2012 13:38:27 +0000</pubDate><description>&lt;hr /&gt;
  

  
























  













  
    
      
    
    
      
        
      
    
    
  
    David Friedman(n) [1893-1980] was a painter and graphics artist in Berlin renowned for his portraits drawn from life. His quick-sketching talents led to an additional career as a leading press artist of the 1920’s. However, almost his complete works were looted by the Gestapo in 1941. David depicted human fate as a refugee in Prague, as a prisoner in the Lodz Ghetto, in the Gleiwitz I sub-camp of Auschwitz, and as a survivor.  He survived the Lodz Ghetto by sketching portraits of officials in exchange for provisions. In Gleiwitz I, his artistic skills were recognized and his life spared by the whims of the SS. His wife and little daughter were ultimately killed despite his efforts to save them. Though David eventually remarried and built a new life first in Czechoslovakia, then Israel, Chicago, and finally in St. Louis, Missouri, he continued painting scenes from his tortured past. The responsibility of bearing witness weighed heavily on his conscience, even before his liberation. To give form to all that misery, to show it to the world - this was always his intent. Torn from his memories, he created the powerful series, Because They Were Jews!

David’s daughter Miriam from his second marriage has spent her life consumed by a drive to rescue his legacy from oblivion and ensure its rightful place in history. Knowing that his work would best survive through her own perseverance, Miriam has found herself on her own journey which has led to personal discovery unveiling lost history and prewar works.  David’s art weaves a tapestry of the joys and horrors that he experienced, witnessed and chronicled. Significant exhibitions of her father’s art resulting from her successful pursuits have created a stronger conviction to preserve the legacy of David Friedmann for future generations.</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f2106f1934da462c69</guid><category>Uncategorized</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/45334366?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="480" height="270" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="Miriam Friedman Morris"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>A Day At Zuccotti Park</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/a-day-at-zuccotti-park</link><pubDate>Thu, 08 Dec 2011 19:36:35 +0000</pubDate><description>&lt;hr /&gt;
  

  
























  













  
    
      
    
    
      
        
      
    
    
  
    &lt;p class=""&gt;I first went to Zuccotti park on day three of the occupation. I biked over mid-morning and there were maybe 200 people present who had camped out from the night before. Their purpose was unclear, but their determination was apparent and their presence raised the question: Why is there not a bigger movement taking place across the United States? Soon the movement was growing, and as it grew- it began to encompass more issues, drawing attention to more and more of the countries problems. As I spoke to people involved I realized that any one person’s opinion on these issues may clash completely with the next. I realized that OWS was serving as a platform for many, a podium for anyone and everyone to voice their frustrations with the government. There is no telling how this movement will grow and what change it will inspire- to document it seems almost to do it a disservice, to attempt to turn it into something static, to try to contain it. I decided to film what I saw and not focus on any one person’s agenda, to put politics aside and try to capture the energy of the spectacle that has inspired so many. To show the frustrations, the anger, joy, excitement, knowledge; unity that I saw on people’s faces, emotions that we all share even if our opinions ultimately differ. -Dylan Angell&lt;/p&gt;</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f2106f1934da462c62</guid><category>A Day at Zuccotti</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/33356437?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="480" height="270" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="A Day at Zuccotti"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>What is Missing</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/what-is-missing-2</link><pubDate>Tue, 25 Oct 2011 18:16:51 +0000</pubDate><description>&lt;p class=""&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class=""&gt;In this Vignette, in partnership with the Brooklyn Arts Council’s Rethinking Memorial: Ten Interactive Sites for remembering 9/11, The Ripple Project asked ordinary New Yorkers a seemingly obvious yet often overlooked question: “What is missing in the conversation surrounding 9/11?”&lt;/p&gt;











































  













  
    
      
    
    
      
        
      
    
    
    



  






  
  
  




  
  
  
  
    
  




  &lt;p class=""&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class=""&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class=""&gt;The events of September 11, 2001 have made an indelible impression on the collective psyche of the American people, in particular, those New Yorkers who bore personal witness to the calamity of the twin towers’ thunderous collapse. &amp;nbsp;And while over the span of ten years time, the widespread historical and social ramifications of this tragedy have been thoughtfully documented, synthesized and discussed, the horrific scale of 9/11 consistently overshadows the deeply personal trauma felt not only by those directly affected by the loss of loved ones, but by the multitudes who witnessed and continue to witness it’s rippling aftereffects.&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f1106f1934da462c5e</guid><category>Uncategorized</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;In this Vignette, in partnership with the Brooklyn Arts Council’s Rethinking Memorial: Ten Interactive Sites for remembering 9/11, The Ripple Project asked ordinary New Yorkers a seemingly obvious yet often overlooked question: “What is missing in the conversation surrounding 9/11?”&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/30873536?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="480" height="272" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="What is Missing"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;

  &lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The events of September 11, 2001 have made an indelible impression on the collective psyche of the American people, in particular, those New Yorkers who bore personal witness to the calamity of the twin towers’ thunderous collapse.  And while over the span of ten years time, the widespread historical and social ramifications of this tragedy have been thoughtfully documented, synthesized and discussed, the horrific scale of 9/11 consistently overshadows the deeply personal trauma felt not only by those directly affected by the loss of loved ones, but by the multitudes who witnessed and continue to witness it’s rippling aftereffects.&lt;br&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>What is Missing, Rethinking 9/11 Memorials</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/what-is-missing</link><pubDate>Tue, 13 Sep 2011 18:27:02 +0000</pubDate><description>&lt;p class=""&gt;In collaboration with the Brooklyn Arts Council Dumbo Improvement District, this past Saturday, The Ripple Project marked the tenth anniversary of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks with an interactive memorial alongside nine other stations featuring prominent artists on the streets of Dumbo. In a continuing effort to explore stories which lie behind the headlines and as part of the Brooklyn Arts Council’s Rethinking Memorial: Ten Interactive Sites for remembering 9/11, The Ripple Project sought out ordinary New Yorkers and asked a seemingly obvious yet oft overlooked question: “What is missing in the conversation surrounding 9/11?” The responses we received ran the gamut: many thoughtful and reflective, others colorful and controversial.&lt;/p&gt;

















































  
  
    
  

    

    

    
      &lt;figure class="sqs-block-image-figure intrinsic"
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        &lt;figcaption data-sqsp-image-classic-block-caption-container class="image-caption-wrapper"
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          &lt;p class=""&gt;-3&lt;/p&gt;
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  &lt;p class=""&gt;In documenting these responses we hoped to inspire a diversity of reactions: anger, renewal, denial, indignation, apathy, conspiracy theories, paranoia, patriotism, prejudice, and sadness, all while preserving a common thread of humanity in shared experience.&lt;/p&gt;

















































  
  
    
  

    

    

    
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        &lt;figcaption data-sqsp-image-classic-block-caption-container class="image-caption-wrapper"
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          &lt;p class=""&gt;-1&lt;/p&gt;
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      &lt;/figure&gt;
    

    


  

  




  &lt;p class=""&gt;In the coming weeks we hope to edit this footage into a short, lyrical piece, which reflects our belief that the best memorial we can give to those who have passed is to continue to reflect and find new perspectives on the events of Sept.11th in the attempt to examine why the events of Sept.11th happened and what we can learn about ourselves in their aftermath. &lt;/p&gt;

















































  
  
    
  

    

    

    
      &lt;figure class="sqs-block-image-figure intrinsic"
      &gt;
        
      
        
          
      
        
          
          
          
          
          
          
          &lt;img data-stretch="false" data-image="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593616363-KNQ01UF06A6F8U2BGWK0/2.jpg" data-image-dimensions="573x323" data-image-focal-point="0.5,0.5" data-sqsp-image-classic-block-image alt="" data-licensed-asset-preview="false" data-load="false" elementtiming="system-image-block" src="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593616363-KNQ01UF06A6F8U2BGWK0/2.jpg?format=1000w" width="573" height="323" sizes="auto, (max-width: 640px) 100vw, (max-width: 767px) 100.00vw, 100.00vw" srcset="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593616363-KNQ01UF06A6F8U2BGWK0/2.jpg?format=100w 100w, https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593616363-KNQ01UF06A6F8U2BGWK0/2.jpg?format=300w 300w, https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593616363-KNQ01UF06A6F8U2BGWK0/2.jpg?format=500w 500w, https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593616363-KNQ01UF06A6F8U2BGWK0/2.jpg?format=750w 750w, https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593616363-KNQ01UF06A6F8U2BGWK0/2.jpg?format=1000w 1000w, https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593616363-KNQ01UF06A6F8U2BGWK0/2.jpg?format=1500w 1500w, https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0/1610593616363-KNQ01UF06A6F8U2BGWK0/2.jpg?format=2500w 2500w" loading="lazy" decoding="async" data-loader="sqs" data-image-component="1.0.1"&gt;
        
      
    
        
      

      
        &lt;figcaption data-sqsp-image-classic-block-caption-container class="image-caption-wrapper"
        &gt;
          &lt;p class=""&gt;-2&lt;/p&gt;
        &lt;/figcaption&gt;
      
    
      &lt;/figure&gt;</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f1106f1934da462c3e</guid><category>Dylan Angel</category><category>Vignettes/What is Miss...</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;p&gt;In collaboration with the Brooklyn Arts Council Dumbo Improvement District, this past Saturday, The Ripple Project marked the tenth anniversary of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks with an interactive memorial alongside nine other stations featuring prominent artists on the streets of Dumbo. In a continuing effort to explore stories which lie behind the headlines and as part of the Brooklyn Arts Council’s Rethinking Memorial: Ten Interactive Sites for remembering 9/11, The Ripple Project sought out ordinary New Yorkers and asked a seemingly obvious yet oft overlooked question: “What is missing in the conversation surrounding 9/11?” The responses we received ran the gamut: many thoughtful and reflective, others colorful and controversial.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/cd854bfdd9e3da77b23e.jpg" alt="-3"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;-3&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;In documenting these responses we hoped to inspire a diversity of reactions: anger, renewal, denial, indignation, apathy, conspiracy theories, paranoia, patriotism, prejudice, and sadness, all while preserving a common thread of humanity in shared experience.&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/a67e6ceab15177255fbd.jpg" alt="-1"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;-1&lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;In the coming weeks we hope to edit this footage into a short, lyrical piece, which reflects our belief that the best memorial we can give to those who have passed is to continue to reflect and find new perspectives on the events of Sept.11th in the attempt to examine why the events of Sept.11th happened and what we can learn about ourselves in their aftermath. &lt;/p&gt;

  &lt;img src="https://www.therippleproject.com/assets/imported/d96438603738d6c3b69e.jpg" alt="-2"&gt;

    &lt;p&gt;-2&lt;/p&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>Paul Angell Plainfield, VT</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/the-ripple-project-vignettes-paul-angell-plainfield-vt</link><pubDate>Thu, 16 Jun 2011 14:47:34 +0000</pubDate><description>&lt;hr /&gt;
  

  
























  













  
    
      
    
    
      
        
      
    
    
  
    Paul Angell is my uncle, he has kept Plainfield, VT as his home base since 1975 but has always come and gone to travel and work abroad.  This Vignette focuses on Paul's time in Uganda in 1986 and 1987 as AIDS first began to take it's toll on the country.

-Dylan Angell

Vignettes Director/Producer</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4f0106f1934da462c38</guid><category>Dylan Angel</category><category>Ripple Project Vignett...</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/25103918?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="480" height="270" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="Vignettes: Paul Angell, Plainfield VT"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
</ns0:encoded></item><item><title>Fred Terna in Conversation</title><link>https://www.therippleproject.com/vignettes/shared-memory-trailer</link><pubDate>Tue, 29 Mar 2011 17:37:48 +0000</pubDate><description>&lt;p class=""&gt;“This was. This is.” Brooklyn-based artist and Shoah survivor, Fred Terna, declares gesturing towards two paintings—one ominous and dark, the other lighter, with hues of hope. &amp;nbsp;“This is how the memory changed.”&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;em&gt;Shared&amp;nbsp;Memory &lt;/em&gt;is part oral history, part private gallery tour where Terna invites the viewer into his home and discusses pieces from his carefully catalogued collection spanning the history of his artwork. Together, the&amp;nbsp;paintings and Terna’s stories describe his path from the Czech Republic to Brooklyn, from surviving Theresienstadt to his taxing marriage with a fellow survivor. In&amp;nbsp;&lt;em&gt;Shared Memory&lt;/em&gt;, Terna reveals how painting is both a way&amp;nbsp;of coping with the horrors he has experienced and a means to preserve his memories.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class=""&gt;WATCH: A conversation between Fred Terna and Rwandan genocide survivor and educator &amp;nbsp;Eugenie Mukeshimana, which took place after a private screening of &lt;em&gt;Shared Memory&lt;/em&gt;. &lt;/p&gt;











































  













  
    
      
    
    
      
        
      
    
    
    



  






  
  
  




  
  
  
  
    
  




  &lt;p class=""&gt;The following letter was written to &lt;em&gt;Shared Memory&lt;/em&gt; Director and &lt;em&gt;The Ripple Project &lt;/em&gt;Cofounder, Liron Unreich, by Fred Terna.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p class=""&gt;Dear Liron,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class=""&gt;I'm awed and delighted with the film. You and your team have done a superb job, telling the story of my paintings. Other film-makers have tried to make films about art and artists during the Shoah. When they focused on me they somehow stayed on the surface, there was a distance, a gap, between my feelings and ideas and what I saw on the screen. You are telling the story with great skill and insight, and I thank you.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class=""&gt;During the Shoah we promised each other that the one who survives will tell about it. The burden is getting heavier as our numbers decrease, and you and your group are carrying this obligation with us, and for us.Please give my thanks to all who are working with you on &lt;em&gt;The Ripple Project&lt;/em&gt;. Looking forward to hearing from you before long,Fred&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;</description><guid isPermaLink="false">5ffb2c12e3802f025d88a2a0:5ffb34e5576d293b16dd7478:5fffb4ef106f1934da462c0d</guid><category>The Ripple Project: One</category><ns0:encoded>&lt;p&gt;“This was. This is.” Brooklyn-based artist and Shoah survivor, Fred Terna, declares gesturing towards two paintings—one ominous and dark, the other lighter, with hues of hope.  “This is how the memory changed.”   &lt;em&gt;Shared Memory &lt;/em&gt;is part oral history, part private gallery tour where Terna invites the viewer into his home and discusses pieces from his carefully catalogued collection spanning the history of his artwork. Together, the paintings and Terna’s stories describe his path from the Czech Republic to Brooklyn, from surviving Theresienstadt to his taxing marriage with a fellow survivor. In &lt;em&gt;Shared Memory&lt;/em&gt;, Terna reveals how painting is both a way of coping with the horrors he has experienced and a means to preserve his memories.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;WATCH: A conversation between Fred Terna and Rwandan genocide survivor and educator  Eugenie Mukeshimana, which took place after a private screening of &lt;em&gt;Shared Memory&lt;/em&gt;. &lt;/p&gt;

&lt;iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/21703458?app_id=122963&amp;amp;wmode=opaque" width="480" height="272" allow="autoplay; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" title="Fred Terna Interview Featuring Eugenie Mukeshimana"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;

  &lt;p&gt;The following letter was written to &lt;em&gt;Shared Memory&lt;/em&gt; Director and &lt;em&gt;The Ripple Project &lt;/em&gt;Cofounder, Liron Unreich, by Fred Terna.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;Dear Liron,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I&amp;#x27;m awed and delighted with the film. You and your team have done a superb job, telling the story of my paintings. Other film-makers have tried to make films about art and artists during the Shoah. When they focused on me they somehow stayed on the surface, there was a distance, a gap, between my feelings and ideas and what I saw on the screen. You are telling the story with great skill and insight, and I thank you.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;During the Shoah we promised each other that the one who survives will tell about it. The burden is getting heavier as our numbers decrease, and you and your group are carrying this obligation with us, and for us.Please give my thanks to all who are working with you on &lt;em&gt;The Ripple Project&lt;/em&gt;. Looking forward to hearing from you before long,Fred&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
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