Category Archives: Authors I-Q

ADR Authors by last name I-Q

Freedom and Feudalism in the U.S. – by Debasish Majumdar

I just love the U.S. I have no desire to visit there, but I am thrilled by their homeland history where feudalism was eclipsed by the  American struggle for independence, where from slavery there was an elevation, to a capitalist economy which paved the way to become an epitome of Justice, Liberty and Fraternity.

But, of late, the essence of feudal vices being emanated from their very core of social life is a grave concern for all who love freedom and liberty. I am worried that it may lose their pristine essence of the land of liberty, for which many aspire to embark upon.

Continue reading Freedom and Feudalism in the U.S. – by Debasish Majumdar

Find your “where”: where they care about diversity – by Rose Opengart

Chart your own professional future. Because where you work can make all the difference in the world in your job satisfaction. Why not? Now is the right time. Unemployment is low and there is a labor shortage, so you have choices in jobs!

This means that you should act with purpose in choosing where you work. Figure out what is important to you and then, while interviewing, ask questions that help you learn about the company and if it is a place where your needs and values will be met. If diversity is a critical value for you, it should be as well for the organization at which you work. How can you determine how important diversity is to an organization just from an interview? You will want a sense of this before deciding whether or not to accept an offer of employment. You can acquire this information during an interview by asking questions like the following, observing, and listening.

Continue reading Find your “where”: where they care about diversity – by Rose Opengart

A Christmas Drama: Four Contemporaneous Scenes – by John C. Mannone

          I. The Inn

Torchlights singe the late night air and the kicked-up dust glows on the path to the inn. A man in a brown robe leads the donkey, each step measured. His wife, wrapped in a wool shawl, stays the autumn chill. For a moment, she must stop, grips the nape of the donkey’s neck, and winces, as before, bracing for the next contraction. He steadies her, wonders if Mary’s okay. She relaxes her hold and smiles, but the harvest moon glinting off her eyes belies her calm assurance. As sure as ebb and flow, the next wave of pain cannot be quelled—her hands pressing her belly as if to stem the tide. Joseph’s feet, no longer downtrodden by fatigue, rush him to the inn. He raps on the oaken door as if his fists were made of brass. But his own would have him not. Go Away! A gruff voice rumbles through the wood. There are no more rooms. Those words echo in the desperate air with Mary’s cries. Yet, there is a shuffle of shoes. A clenched-jaw voice on the other side of the door seeps through, Jacob. Let them in! The innkeeper’s eyes wedge, Yes, Eliana. She stokes the fire, pots clacking on the coals. Water boils. He shows them to the straw-crib behind the house, where the sheep lay.

          II: The Temple

Palm straw, mimosa boughs and Jerusalem pines—cut and blessed for the great harvest. Chants usher from inside the holy place to the outside air thick with sense of sacredness. The high priest raises a knife and slays the perfect lamb. Blood pools in a stone cup. With a hyssop branch, he splatters blood on the scapegoat laden with the sins of the world. It is sent out into the wilderness, and forgotten. The sky cracks with a blinding light as if a great deluge was about to burst. But there is no rain, only whispers in the air and the crackle of shimmering light. The moon smiles through high cirrus tinted carmine, ribbon’d green, flashed with gold from the sun nestled deep below the horizon. And there is peace in the silent air.

          III: The Palace

Herod paces the marble floor, stepping on signs of the sky—an ancient zodiac inked into the tiles—with the animals and many serpents. He stops on the head of the lion; his robe flows, swishing stars painted there. Rage burns in his eyes. He demands his court astrologers to explain the bright flash that diamonds the sky and the veil of colors that drape the town of Bethlehem to the south. But Sire, surely a favorable sign from the gods, for Augustus Caesar… for you! Herod’s face relaxes, taught muscles ease; his eyes, glassy in the torchlight. Behind him hangs a tapestry of hammered gold. It catches the light. As if snake-charmed, each flicker writhes as a worm. Herod simply gloats.

          IV: The Fields

Jerusalem grass shines purple under the twilight moon, and the sheep’s gray shapes melt into the dark. A shepherd deftly moves his fingers over holes of an olivewood flute, and a psalm wisps heavenward. God approves and opens the curtained sky exposing all its stars. A singular light flashes brighter than the moon. Sheer rainbows silk the night. Celestial choirs trumpet, ethereal voices swirl with the stars and sing. The baby boy crowns. Cries ring among the hills; whisper in the hearts of men. And the shepherds run to him with hope.

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Previously published in The Hellroaring Review, 2012
Image credit: aurora (stock) and nativity scene (pngtree).

Seeing Beyond the Label: Patriarchy – by Sharon Riegie Maynard

What we are facing in the United States, and really throughout the world, is a crisis in consciousness, a clash of value systems. Values are that which one believes. Values are the impetus for thoughts, attitudes, and actions and yet we seldom have conversations about the underlying reasons for the actions and cultures. It was over 20 years ago that Paul H. Ray created a platform to gather information as to the values held by the citizens within the U.S. This research study, which has been repeated several times, hold some key information to conversations around the problems being seen.

Continue reading Seeing Beyond the Label: Patriarchy – by Sharon Riegie Maynard

Reflections of a Former Big 4 Female Partner – by Jane Malecki

The #MeToo and #TimesUp movements have been inspiring.  However, outside of legal confrontations and public humiliations, little is being done to ensure this behavior will stop happening and that the glass ceiling obstacles that have been in place for the last 4 decades, are removed once and for all.

As a woman who struggled up the “ladder” while raising children, I have decided to be a catalyst for real change by serving professional women on a full-time basis as a professional business coach, trainer and speaker.  As a result, I have reflected on the role of women in today’s world and have some observations and some “Mother’s Day Resolutions” to share and ask you to share these resolutions with others.

Continue reading Reflections of a Former Big 4 Female Partner – by Jane Malecki

Baltimore 1968 – Poem by John C. Mannone

After Dudley Randall

“Oh, Mother, I’ll be fine today.
I’m just going to see my friend, Pat.
Don’t worry, I’ll be home by eight.
Please don’t forget to feed my cat.”

“Be careful, Son, a storm is coming—
clouds of black men are on the rise.
They have chains and clubs, and crying
anger from their blood-shot eyes.”

~~~~~~~

Continue reading Baltimore 1968 – Poem by John C. Mannone

For International Holocaust Remembrance Day – Poem by Marilyn Kallet

My Holocaust research started with SW Germany, where my relatives were rounded up. My great-aunt, Hedwig Schwarz, was the only Jew to escape deportation in Horb/Rexingen. She was handicapped before the Holocaust, fell off the transport car, and was rescued by a nameless person who took her to Marienhopital in Stuttgart, where the nuns cared for her. My sister, daughter and I visited the hospital to thank the current generation of sisters for taking care of Hedwig. They told us that Hedwig was the only Jew in the hospital, though there were some Resistance members; and they treated her with silence, because they thought that was the best medicine. Can you imagine!

Here’s a poem I wrote about echoes in Horb and a photo of Hedwig in her hospital bed, surrounded by photos of all the others who were taken. The poem was first published in Prism: An Interdisciplinary Journal for Holocaust Educators, and in Packing Light: New and Selected Poems, Black Widow Press. 2009.

Holocaust

Mezuzah
  In Memory, Hedwig Schwarz

In the doorpost of her house, a hollow
where the mezuzah used to hang.
I press my hand against the indentation,
my way of speaking to the past.

Touch the hollow where the mezuzah
used to hang.  In Horb, Nazis renamed her street
Hitlerstrasse.  My way of speaking to the past
is to listen, press the old men for answers.

1941, Jews were packed into Hitlerstrasse.
Now it’s a winding picture postcard road,
Jew-free, pleasant as it seemed
before Nazis pressed my family into Judenhausen.

I press my hand against the indentation.
Over Horb, a hundred doorposts echo, hollow.

I teach a poetry workshop in SW France for the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. The moment I stepped out of the car, an elderly neighbor started to talk to me about the Jews who had lived there. That part of France was a hotbed for the Jewish Resistance. Dr. Hirsch, radiologist, was taken my Mengele to work on medical experiments (he testified against Mengele at Nuremburg). His wife Berthe was taken to Auschwitz and gassed; the two children were hidden by the villagers. I met one of them, Nicole Hirsch, who is still traumatized though she’s over 80. We think we know about the Holocaust, but the individual stories still want to be told.

A New Year Journal – by Martin Kimeldorf

Across all ages or stages of life we ask different questions of a similar nature. I think the most enduring questions were penned by the FitzGerald-Khayyám Rubáiyát team when they asked, Why are we here? Where have we come from? Where are we going? At each life-stage the questions take different forms. When younger we ask Who Am I? Then at midlife we ponder: Is This All There Is? and Where Am I Going? And finally in old age as we review our journey, we ask How Have I Lived My Life? and How Do I Want To Be Remembered? Of course all these questions can all be asked repeatedly at any age.

On New Years Eve 2017 we bade adieu to one of the historically worst years of our lives. Certainly we enjoyed some good moments, but overall a darkness descended when that old suicidal devil revealed his ugly Trump face, and made appearances in Europe, the Middle and Far East, and Africa. While summing up the well-lived and terrified parts of that year, Judy asked, “I wonder if I have lived a small life?” Of course she is not asking about size, and rather if her life mattered.

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Kwaanza Quest — Poem by Vincent Ivan Phipps

After the presents have been opened and our belly’s are put to rest,

On the day after Christmas, we pay tribute to the first fruits of the harvest.

Acknowledging the tradition followed by 18 million since 1966 from East to the West,

Understanding Kwanzaa’s guidelines is part of our growing culture quest.

Continue reading Kwaanza Quest — Poem by Vincent Ivan Phipps