Showing posts with label writer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writer. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 13, 2021

Daughter's Accusation

 

Prince Philip (RIP) was a very handsome man. Appearance is important; it opens doors and hearts.

 Another  handsome man  has recently been in the news - the late Israeli, internationally acclaimed writer Amos Oz (died in Dec. 2018).

Oz is survived by wife, and three children: two daughters and a son. One of the daughters, Galia Oz, has  lately published a book accusing her famous father of abuse (she claims he beat, cursed, humiliated her in childhood).

I am not among the fans of the father as a writer, and I'm not going to read  the daughter's book,  entitled  "Something disguised as love". I suppose she's not making things up, perhaps slightly exaggerating as she has to sell the book. 


                                                        Amos Oz  and daughter Galia

I'll say this.  In principle, I'm against this kind of family 'festival'. It serves no good purpose. Many people , have unpleasant memories of being punished and mistreated by parents, but very few feel the need to tell the world about that. They consider it a family matter. Child care practice seems to have, fortunately, changed in better over the years, and this is good news.

Anyway, whether I want it or not, events like the publishing of this book make me automatically think of my own parents. I believe death erases the flaws and leaves only the good sides of the deceased to be remembered. 

My late parents (RIP) were not angels, but human beings, and as such had their shortcomings, yet I'm unable to  recall anything bad about them. I feel only gratitude. They gave me birth, fed me, paid for my education, put up with my caprices and selfishness.

My childhood was far from smooth. My parents were Holocaust survivors. They came back from the war, broken and with health issues. (My birth, according to family gossip, was neither expected nor wanted as they felt almost 'finished' emotionally and  physically).  In addition, life under a  communist regime was not a bed of roses, to say the least.


 my late parents and brother

I miss them  and I think of them as good parents  and decent, hard- working people, with values. I 've also written things about them (not in book format),  and when visiting their graves I read  the stuff quietly but clearly. It's between them, me, and God. The bottom line is that , nowadays, there are no such fine people and parents like them.