For the past several months I’ve been in an Acts of Witness group with the therapeutic goal of integrating some very ancient wounds. This process has been excruciatingly difficult and has gotten me in contact with very primitive, tender parts of my psyche. I was born Miriam Beth Weisburd and at the age of 13 I change my name to Mim. I created this Hamsa or Hand of Miriam to place on my childhood Synagogue Beth Elohim as a means for integration. We lived next door and I could see the stained glass windows and listen to services in the privacy of my room. I’m grateful to my cousin Stana Weisburd who made the offering and documented it for the 52 Pickup Project. Below is a piece I wrote for my act, a small slice of my truth.
Miriam was a gentle child, soft spoken and interior, a dreamer who spent hours lost in her imaginary world. She loved the world, the people in it and the beauty that surrounded her. Miriam grew up in Park Slope, Brooklyn, a living museum with slate sidewalks and Victorian Brownstones. Everywhere she went she was greeted by Gargoyles peeking out from carved doorways. She spent her weekends at the Brooklyn Museum with Father; they would walk there passing the water fountains displaying Poseidon is all his glory and through the Arch de Triumph depicting Civil War soldiers on Easter Parkway. The Brooklyn museum was filled with ancient Egyptian treasures, period rooms from the early Americas and an entire Farmhouse from Upstate had been carved into its fourth floor. She and Father would stand in front of totem poles and masks made by the native peoples of this land and wonder aloud to one another about the rituals and ceremonies they were used in.
Park Slope was so named because it gently sloped down from the rolling hills, winding paths and covered bridges of Prospect Park. In the winters Miriam went sledding and ice skating in the park. In the summers the botanic gardens would open with a Cherry Blossom festival, Miriam loved to sit below the trees and let the pink petals fall down on her like gigantic fragrant snowflakes. The library was nestled between the gardens and the museum. Miriam, was a strong reader, with a deep soul and contemplative personality, she found great solace in the floors upon floors of books.
Mother and Father divorced when Miriam was four, Father joined a commune while Mother moved constantly. When Miriam started school she had to bring all of her possessions so she could change parents and apartments. She had two beds, two dressers and two rooms, but no one to help with her homework. Mother and Father were so busy with their jobs, their lovers and their pain that Miriam was forgotten. They forgot she was just a child, they forgot she needed love, they forgot that Miriam was their responsibility. Miriam felt their suffering and wanted to make it better, she tried to be good, she tried to be easy, she tried to be quiet and calm. Mother took up with an angry man as father moved in with a loving woman. One day, the man Mother lived with died, just like that and his mother, a Grandmother to Miriam her, died three days later. The chaos at home did not match the beauty of the world outside, this confused and confounded Miriam.
When Miriam was nine years old people started begging and sleeping on the sidewalks.Where had they come from, why didn’t anyone care for them? The beautiful streets of Park Slope became less and less safe, the chaos at home was leaking into the world, and the gargoyles she always loved seemed to mock her with their smiles. Years passed, the people in the streets grew, her parents continued to ignore her. Nothing changed. Miriam’s soft heart forged by generations of suffering hurt, Miriam’s soft heart bled, Miriam’s soft heart burst, and nobody noticed.
At the age of thirteen Miriam was still being shuffled back and forth, weekly from parent to parent. Mother lived in a one bedroom apartment and slept in the living room. She never had time to cook dinner and made Miriam walk through the increasingly dangerous neighborhood to pick up cigarettes and Chinese food. Meanwhile Father was still living with the same woman after four whole years! The summer Miriam turned thirteen she asked for a nickname from a friend at summer camp, I took my chance and arose, little did Miriam know that Mim would soon take over. The first time I spoke was to protect Miriam when Mother decided to go to Law School and continue working. This quiet, well-behaved child, this sensitive being that always made things easier for others, for the first time said “No, enough, this must stop!” I will no longer be shuffled from house to house and contribute to this chaos where my broken heart, precious mind, and sensitive soul are juggled by clowns painted up as parents.
From the hidden wounds of this tender child a women arose, born of a furry fuelled by impending adolescence and years of staggering loneliness. I decided no one was allowed to ever speak Miriam’s name. I decided to attend school in Manhattan. I decided to live with Father. I decided to be smart, I decided to be strong. I decided to be quick as a whip, strike first, and ask questions later. . I decided to hide Miriam from everyone, even myself
I took that perfect innocent being and tossed her into the ocean, into the cold deep, down and down, where darkness reigns. Drowned in this watery grave I believed nobody could find her, see her, or get to her. She was finally truly SAFE. Months passed, years passed and decades passed. Miriam moved from memory to dream, and from dream to story, and from story to legend. Even I came to believe she had died a long, long, long time ago.
What I did not know and understand is the great strength in vulnerability, the resilience of innocence and the perfection of peace. In the cold and dark she remained, alive and well, full of life and dreamy knowledge. Recording every ripple and sensing every flicker of emotion that I, Mim, experienced.
What I did not know and understand is how much she understands this life, how her ability to deeply feel and yes deeply hurt is a great gift I have denied us.
What I did not know and understand is that these years of parenting others, creating a life for myself, and carving a unique spot in this world was all in preparation for her return.
Now it is I, Mim that is broken and overwhelmed by the world. After 27 long years of fighting, struggling and keeping pain at bay, I need Miriam to heal me with her unconditional love, deep compassion, and innocence. It is time to dive into the waters, swim to the bottom of the ocean, and reunite with the deepest most knowing part of myself.
