lauren, that's not very heterosexual of you.

Person who focused on it in undergrad: yea I’m a bit of an expert on that field; it was my major

Person who has done at least some graduate level work on the topic: yeah I specialize in [subsubfield]

I am a Holocaust historian, I am Jewish, and I’m part of the 3G survivor community. Judaism is fascinating in terms of memory construction, because our history is deeply intertwined with our liturgy and observance. This leads to many Jewish individuals considering themselves experts on Jewish history, when actually they’re conversant in a very specific, highly curated version of Jewish memory.

As a Holocaust historian, this becomes more acute because people with survivor grandparents assume that having those bonds and receiving their relations’ memories makes them well-versed in those histories. No, it makes them well versed in receiving their grandparent’s memories.

And that’s fine. That’s important. But memories aren’t the same as history. And when we receive our descendants’ personal histories, we are receiving their MEMORIES, shaped inevitably by lack of context, time, and trauma. Or to put it differently, we are receiving their primary source documents.

And that’s important. We need primary sources; without primary sources we would be literally unable to practice history. BUT, the practice of history requires that we interrogate primary sources within all aspects of their context, not accept them at face value.

This can became really messy when you study the history of your own minority identity group. In those circumstances, the experiences of y/our ancestors become a mythology that a large portion of y/our group accepts as fact. But then, when put under the scrutiny of critical historical interrogation, a lot of those agreed upon truths can be exposed as myth, and not fact. And that’s when y/our identity group turns on you.

A notorious example of this are the multiple versions of Tosia Altman’s death. The parts everyone can agree on:

-the attic of the celluloid factory where Tosia may or may not have been hiding in caught fire, potentially because someone didn’t dispose of a cigarette correctly, or because Tosia was heating ointment to treat the wounds she’d received in the fall of Mila 18 and the fire got out of control

-she jumped from the attic

-the Gestapo showed up and cleared the scene

-she was dead

That’s where the similarities end. Some say she was already dying from smoke inhalation when she jumped. Others say she was gravely injured and close to death on account of burns, wounds sustained in the fighting, and injuries from the jump. Some say she died immediately after the jump. Some say that she was alive after the jump, and then arrested by the Gestapo, and taken to the hospital where she was either: interrogated and denied medical care until she succumbed to her wounds, or tortured to death.

Here's what my response would sound like: "I was in my seventh grade French class. We were learning how to count, when the phone rang. It was the front office saying that my mom was there to pick me up. I was excited because we hadn't talked about an early pickup. As I gathered my things, Steven B. said 'a lot of people are being picked up early today.' When I got to the front office my mom looked upset, and the office staff looked like they were trying not to look upset. In the car, she told me that two airplanes crashed into the WTC towers. I pictured two small, single-engine planes, and didn't quite get it. At home, I went up to my room and played with my dollhouse. It was all anyone really talked about for the next few months, but it took me years before I was able to fully grasp the events. In college I interned with the 9/11 Museum in Manhattan, and that experience overrode a lot of my ability to recall what I thought and felt in the months following 9/11/01."

That "testimony" is quasi-useless if you don't take into account such issues as age, maturity, parenting, and the impact of time/memory on recall. Now when I try to remember the actual day of, or week of, or month of, all I remember is what I wrote above, and a discussion in English class about how it looked like that scene from Independence Day, all interspersed with imagery of "jumpers," which I only encountered when I was 19; nearly a decade AFTER the events took place.

There is a small summer hockey league to keep us fed.

It's called Living Sisu, it takes place in Montreal and features both women and mens leagues.

The women play every Monday starting July 6th and I believe the games will be streamed on their YouTube page.

It's fast paced 3x3 hockey

I'll put a link so you can check out the full rosters but some of the players that stand out to me are

Laura Stacey

Abby Roque

Emma Maltais

Jessie Eldridge

Cath Dubois

Maureen Murphy

And so many more

And this league is all about raising money for their charity

because it’s a puzzle no one else will ever arrange the same way as you.

because there are ideas that simply won’t come to you until you write down the wrong words.

because all the bad scenes are the bones of the wonderful scenes.

because someone will love it: someone will read it once, and twice, and thrice; someone will ramble to you about the complexity of it; someone will doodle your characters out of love; someone will find it in exactly what they were looking for with or without knowing it.

because they have things to say, your characters. they’ve told you all those secrets and they have more to tell you, if you will listen.

because you love it even when you don’t; even when it drives you mad or when it accidentally turns into apathy; even when you think you’re doing it all wrong; you love it, and it loves you back.

Unserious one today lol

My first conversation about PCOS with my new endocrine/OBGYN was about weight management and how that could improve my fertility when I eventually wanted kids. It wasn't asked what my goals were for my health or if I wanted kids, just assumed.

I was a hormonal, depressed mess. I hated my body. My body dysmorphia was so bad that I cloistered myself away from so much. I wore hoodies and jeans in the 90°F, 80% humidity summers. This was considered fine. I was given metformin and birth control pills and told this was all that could be done. That PCOS wouldn't affect my life until I wanted to be pregnant. I wasn't asked if I wanted to be pregnant, just assumed.

I don't know how many PCOS groups I joined on my early 20s hoping to find community and commonality for body dysmorphia and symptom management, only to be bombarded with fertility treatments and tips and 'inspirational conception' anecdotes. They never asked if I was attempting to conceive, just assumed.