Vincent Van Gogh – Feminism and Religion

Transitions by Esther Nelson

It’s been a rough couple of years. Even though thousands of miles distanced us from the first-discovered Covid-19 outbreak (late 2019) in China, the virus soon traveled the world, doing what viruses do best—infect us, spread, morph, and then infect us, spread, morph all over again. More than five million people worldwide, including close to one million Americans, have died as a result. Shutdowns affected us economically and socially, making it difficult (sometimes impossible) to stay connected with family and friends.

An effective vaccine arrived on the scene in early 2021, yet many Americans (half?) eligible for vaccination have refused the life-saving injections, citing a variety of reasons: distrust of the vaccine—“It was developed too quickly;” invincibility—“I never get sick, never even had the flu;” and individualism—“Nobody gets to tell me what to do with my body.” (Many of those “hands off my body” people, though, have no problem telling those of us who have a uterus what we can and cannot do with its contents.)

Back Home? by Esther Nelson

It’s between semesters and as I’ve done for the past three or four years, I’m back in Las Cruces, New Mexico, for the winter break. I only spend a month here at this time of year and find myself thinking about the time I’ll move here permanently if things go according to plan.

I don’t feel at home in Las Cruces—at least, not yet. I attend many of the local functions and gatherings advertised in “The Las Cruces Bulletin” such as plays, music programs, art openings at various galleries, the popular Mercado (outdoor market) every Saturday morning, and the public library’s book club.

Every time I’m out here, I plan a couple of trips to nearby attractions—White Sands National Park, The Gila Wilderness, Santa Fe, Carlsbad Caverns National Park, and the hot springs in Truth or Consequences. I’ve also explored the nearby cities of Deming and Silver City. On this visit, I drove to Columbus, New Mexico, and walked across the border to Palomas, Mexico. (This is not a busy border crossing.) Tourists can have lunch at The Pink Store and browse the shop for Mexican crafts. There are several dental clinics and optometry offices in the area where some Americans go to have dental work and eye examinations for approximately half the cost of those services in the U.S.

I also spent a couple of days in Saguaro National Park near Tucson, Arizona, walking among the cacti—an interesting experience. I learned that Saguaro cacti only grow in the Sonoran Desert—Arizona, California, and Mexico. The cacti, if they develop arms at all, don’t do so until they’re at least 75 years old. Continue reading “Back Home? by Esther Nelson”

I See the Fire by Esther Nelson

esther-nelson Ever since reading Elie Wiesel’s book, NIGHT, I’ve identified with Madame Schächter, one of eighty Jewish people corralled and hermetically sealed inside one of the cattle wagons on the rail journey to Auschwitz from a ghetto in Sighet. The text tells us, “Madame Schächter had gone out of her mind.” Initially she moaned, confused as to why she had been separated from her family. She soon grew hysterical. “Fire! I can see a fire! I can see a fire!” When her fellow prisoners looked out the window and saw no fire, they attempted to silence her. Nevertheless, she persisted with her cries. They soon tied her up, gagged, and hit her. As the train approached its destination (Birkenau, the reception center for Auschwitz), Madame Schächter screamed, “Jews, look! Look through the window! Flames! Look!” When the Jews looked through the window this time, they saw flames “gushing out of a tall chimney into the black sky.”

Madame Schächter, someone I call a prophetess, could “see” things the other Jews could not or would not acknowledge. In today’s political climate, there are people who DO see the fire and flames. We cry out. Some of our fellow citizens attempt to silence us. “Give him a chance.” “Let’s come together in unity.” “Stop being so negative—it will turn out all right in the end.” Continue reading “I See the Fire by Esther Nelson”