LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

the family only to be met with responses like, “Sure, go ahead and marry him. But you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to define yourself to such a no-self !”

      Early on my father worried that perfect little Shira, so concerned with following the rules, would turn out lawless as an adolescent and young adult. So at the age of five, when I decided that the living room drapes would be far more efficient for someone of my height with a small hole cut in the center, my mother hollered at the discovery, but my father dripped relief. In his mind, through that small hole in the curtains an encouraging future came pouring in. A future packed with missteps and exploration.

      But then came adolescence and a gravitational pull to fit in. With his natural penchant for individuality, my father could not understand why I was suddenly altering my very core to blend in with the other teenage lemmings. Although I knew he was right, a date for the prom was far more crucial than my personal growth. Undeterred, he was constantly at me to define myself. At first I learned to just “talk the talk” to get him off my back, as I told my fellow lemmings — until years later I realized I was living the talk as well. I had created my own being.

      As college loomed, it came to my father’s attention that he didn’t know many of my girlfriends. Since I had few secrets from him, I openly explained that our evenings usually revolved around André pink champagne and a drinking game of “Quarters.” As he wrote in essays like “Secrets and Systems,” my father was adamant that the truth hurts less than the anxiety of not knowing. So he processed this information for about a day and then offered up our home as the new site of our gatherings — provided cabs were called when everyone had to leave. Although secretly fearful that our alcoholic consumption seemed a bit gluttonous, he never let on but maintained that nonanxious presence that became his trademark phrase.

      It was not the first time I had met with real-life application of his theories. Years earlier I experienced his use of paradox, or what he learned as “reversal” from his mentor, Murray Bowen (see “Mischief, Mystery, and Paradox”). In an effort to get more attention at home, I tried my hand at shoplifting. Although I was successful in getting caught, my father saw through my ruse and, when he came to spring me from the store, insisted I go see a lawyer friend of his. For a moment I had visions of juvenile detention, until he announced, “Shira, I want you to go see Paul. He can introduce you to some real hardened criminals, so you can learn how to steal without getting caught.” Needless to say, my father’s well-timed injection of paradox and reversal gave my new hobby less appeal.

      Essays like “The Birthday Party” illustrate that my father also practiced family of origin work at home. Cousins would often emerge out of nowhere, packing stories of other random relatives that I would later meet. Perhaps because my father was an only child, a second cousin once removed had as much clout as a niece. It was about relationships and a continuing connection from generation to generation.

      I didn’t know how important I was to my father until I first introduced him to my husband. Back in the days when you could actually greet people as they hobbled off the plane, my father emerged wearing a trench coat, a tennis sweater, his beloved New Balance running shoes, and his famous comb-over. My husband-to-be stood immobilized, trying to ascertain whether he was in the presence of Einstein or the Jewish Mafia. When I later told my father that my boyfriend had been nervous about the meeting, he replied, “Me too!” But there was more. My mother later told me that he returned to Maryland, proclaimed that he had just met his future son-in-law, and commenced to cry. After many boyfriends, thousands of miles, and twenty-seven years, no theory could fix the feeling that he was losing his little girl.

      When my father died suddenly in 1996 of a heart attack, I had no regrets and no issues to resolve — just a huge, painful void that showed up in my mitral valve as a heart murmur. Of course, if my father had known of this physiological outcome he would have said to me, “Oh, Shira. You have got to differentiate yourself. I’m just too important to you.” But in truth, I think he would have been delighted how much I miss him.

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      It is a great pleasure for me that this collection of essays has been made available by Church Publishing. My father considered these his “Best of Ed” compilation and would have been delighted to see them all together in bound form.

      Many thanks go to Ryan Masteller, Managing Editor, for turning the original antiquated copies into usable form and for creating a thoroughly seamless production process. In addition, I would like to thank Cynthia Shattuck for her editorial prowess and for her unique ability to leverage my father’s tone.

      I would also like to express my gratitude to Myrna Carpenter at The Center for Family Process for asking me to speak at the 2006 conference honoring the ten-year passing of my father. It is on that speech, “Growing Up Friedman,” that the introduction to this book is based.

      I must also thank my mother for ensuring that these essays were kept alive. And thanks to my father, whose vision, passion, and unrelenting need to express his ideas made this book possible.

       Shira Friedman Bogart

       One

      AN INTERVIEW WITH THE FIRST FAMILY COUNSELOR

      Having been involved in marriage and family therapy for almost thirty years, I thought it appropriate that I give a historical perspective by seeking out and interviewing the first creature in history to give advice to a married couple. Since all rabbis are given three outrageous wishes after ordination, and I had used up only one, I decided to cash in my second and received permission for this interview. I can’t tell you where it took place, but I can say it was over a period of several months.

      First, an etymological note. In Hebrew the word “Satan” is pronounced sah-tahn. It is not a name but the noun form of a verb that means “to entice,” or to be an “adversary.” The grammatical form sah-tahn means, literally, one whose profession is to tempt, entice, or be adversarial. In rabbinic literature the term sitra achra is often used instead, lest by calling Satan by name one might invoke him. Sitra achra means “the other side.” It has always intrigued me that the late Dr. Murray Bowen’s understanding of paradox was an effort to get on “the other side” of the madness you are confronting, which he called a “reversal.”

       I

      FRIEDMAN: Satan, let me begin by thanking you for your willingness to grant this interview.

      SATAN: It’s my pleasure, just as long as you don’t make fun of me. I can’t stand it when people don’t take me seriously.

      __________

      Originally conceived for the keynote address at the “Dialogue 94” National Conference of Pastoral Counselors, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, May 1994.

       You mean like C. S. Lewis or George Bernard Shaw?

      On the contrary; they captured my spirit completely, unlike that Job fellow. You know, he still doesn’t accept the fact that I exist.

       Why should that bother you?

      You’re right. I used to think I could throw people off course only if they believed in me; now I find it works better if they deny my existence completely.

      I’d like to start with a rather simple question. I’ve always wondered why you began with Eve. Why didn’t you go straight to Adam and give him the fruit yourself?

      That is not such a simple question. I really didn’t expect her to give it to him. That’s precisely what I was afraid she would do.

      

Скачать книгу