Layli Maria Miron

Writer, Educator, Researcher

A Rainbow

Posted on October 2, 2014 by Layli Maria Miron

A morning rainbow

Mornings are hard. Back in my single life, I used to struggle to force myself out of bed. You would think that marriage would somehow make Sergey and me into the sort of mature, efficient people who just spring out of bed at the first ring of the alarm. Not so. If anything, it made us even lazier, as we enabled each other to snooze later and later. Finally, frustrated with my lethargy and lack of punctuality in the mornings, I told Sergey to start physically pushing me out of bed–and after much resistance (“How can I push a woman?”), he complied. Now we are more on time, but the struggle remains.

I say all that as a preface, because the struggle of the morning contrasts so intensely with the often splendid seascapes outside our windows shortly after dawn. This week, I saw one of the most beautiful–a sunrise rainbow! As rain sprinkled the Mediterranean, the rainbow shone forth. After stumbling into the kitchen to make our coffee, my groggy eyes caught sight of it, and I ran into the bedroom to tell Sergey to look.

Sometimes natural beauty is hard to appreciate. For example, I find the beauty of Israel challenging–it can be hard to find anything wild in the paved, packed city, where the hot dust settles on everything. The Bahá’í gardens are, of course, spectacular, but I crave something less manicured, something moist and verdant–basically, the leafy luster of the northern states of the US. The tender evanescence of springtime, the green opulence of summertime, the jewel tones of autumn, even the silent blankness of winter (although I don’t miss that season as much!).

Basking in my natural environment, the green world, during our honeymoon.

Spending some time on the land of the B&B where Sergey and I honeymooned reminded me that this terrain, this flora and fauna are planted in my heart. In Michael Ondaatje’s novel The English Patient, the title character enjoys the solitary barrenness of the desert; on the contrary, his lover Katharine yearns for the moisture and verdure of rainy English gardens where hedgehogs roam. I sympathize with Katharine, though I have seen hedgehogs in Israel.

But sometimes, it is patently easy to see the beauty of nature, when it stretches itself out right in front of you.

Grandpa

Posted on September 25, 2014 by Layli Maria Miron

My grandfather, Grandpa Bob, passed away on September 23, 2014. Born on the eve of the Great Depression and raised Bahá’í, he joined the US military toward the close of World War II, served for a year, then returned home. He married my grandmother, Bernita, and studied accounting through correspondence courses, which led to him starting his own accounting business, Amerson Tax Service, which is still in the family. With Grandma Bea, he raised five children, including my father, his namesake and youngest son. Grandpa was a staunch Bahá’í who served on the Local Spiritual Assembly for 40 years, using his accounting skills as treasurer. To his last days, although physically weak, he found the spiritual energy to teach the Faith.

Three generations of Amersons on pilgrimage in 2005.

I picture Grandpa standing outside his apartment at the end of the long, red-carpeted hall, waiting for my family. When we visited Grandpa and Grandma at their home in Waukesha, we would buzz up to them to unlock the front door, and then he would come out to wait, smiling at us as we approached. We would be greeted with one of Grandpa’s dependable remarks, something like, “Look who it is!” or “Hey, kiddo!” and then take turns hugging before going inside the apartment.

Well, poetry gives me a way to express my love for a man who was a constant in my life for over 23 years–and who will continue to be, only in a different realm. Reading this prayer of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá might help clarify some of the allusions. I find the evocative mystical landscapes rendered in ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s prayers for the departed comforting, as they help me to imagine the unimaginable next world, the Abhá Kingdom.

Elegy for Grandpa

For Robert B. Amerson (1929-2014)

It is strange to mourn when a loved one

takes joyous sail on the boat of eternity

bound for that sea of light.

But still I do.

What better to remind me

of my own humanity

than the throb of grief

I feel for you?

I know not what seas and rivers

lie before your prow,

through which valleys they flow,

waiting for your journeying,

so for the mystery of what’s to come

and for my constraints of time and space

I trace a map of the mystic rivers

with these rivulets down my face.

To release with grace,

to suffer a temporary separation

and trust in an immortal elation:

these lessons form your final legacy.

Remember my parting words:

“We will see each other again”—

not among the ashes and clay,

but immersed in brilliant rivers and seas

when I join you on my fated day.

As promised

Posted on September 13, 2014 by Layli Maria Miron

That took a little longer than expected, but I was just trying to build some anticipation for the release of what shall no doubt be a box office hit. It helps to be married to an IT guy–thank you, Sergey, for making the groom’s cut of the wedding video (a collaboration of Dianne’s filming and Mike’s editing). Without further ado, here it is!

“Poke!”

Gettin’ hitched, part the last

Posted on September 9, 2014 by Layli Maria Miron

Let us return to a day in the distant past: August 9 in the year two thousand and fourteen. I had slept poorly due to a late night involving preparations and cake from my friends (delicious!); Sergey had slept poorly because I came to his room around midnight to give him a condolence card, waking him up. He deserved some sympathy for marrying me, after all. Despite the little sleep, I woke up fairly early thanks to my nerves and began to get ready. This entailed thorough facial depilation, which took longer than expected.

I was running late, which not surprisingly caused me to do something quite dumb: attempting to carry my weak hotel coffee out of the bathroom with a handful of other supplies to be packed up. Oh, and I was wearing my very white dress at that point. You know what happens next: the coffee sloshes and dribbles down the skirt of my dress, to my absolute horror. I ran to dab it off with napkins, and thankfully my dress had apparently been weatherproofed (and coffee-proofed) because most of it beaded on the fabric and came off. But there was still a wet stain on the slip beneath the lace. Poor Jasmine had to reassure me about ten times that it wasn’t visible before my panic was even slightly alleviated.

After a flurry of hair arrangement and last-minute packing, we were off like a herd of turtles. We met Sergey, resplendent in his suit, waiting patiently in the hotel lobby for his belated bride, and then sped away to Wilmette in our vanousine.

Once there, it was a series of hugs and greetings. Uncle Terry handed me my beautiful bouquet and I wrote out the pronunciation of the Russian vow and stuck it between the flowers. Soon enough, it was time to take our seats onstage and enjoy the program, introduced by the Petersens, with music and readings by various dear friends. And then came the vows. I think we got double-married by saying the vows in two languages–that’s how it works, right?

I could give a run-down of the rest of our day, but I’m pretty sleepy, plus this is one of those times when images say it better. I’m going to now attempt to post the beautiful video Mike put together of the photos he took. So grab a coffee, put on your white dress, and sit back and enjoy!

Gettin’ hitched, part 4

Posted on September 7, 2014 by Layli Maria Miron

So, after the flurry of preparations, we headed to the Chicago area–first Sergey, to meet his friend Vadim, and then my parents and me. Our goal upon arriving in Skokie was to get the marriage license ASAP. We found the county clerk’s office, an expansive building housing courtrooms and various offices, and after returning our electronics (apparently prohibited) to the van and de-belting for the metal detector, we went inside. We found our room and joined the line of couples waiting for licenses. Finally, it was our turn. The lady behind the counter did not seem to find her job romantic at all as she embarked on a long list of questions apparently designed to determine our capacity for trivia questions, like “Where was your mother born?” and “What is your social security number?” I guess we passed the test, because we got the license, woohoo! License to wed!

License to wed!

Soon after that, my parents left, and Sergey and Vadim went to a baseball game to marvel at its slow complexity (they managed to withstand one hour of three), and I waited in the hotel for Dianne to arrive. Actually, I fell asleep long before she came and accidentally locked her out of the room, but don’t worry, we eventually had our reunion, and then the next day were joined first by Faye and Milly, and then by Addie and Safiyyah (Sadia came a bit later). And thus began our Mount Holyoke reunion. Seven sisters, three days, one Windy City.

So what makes it onto the travel itinerary for these womyn? Let me tell you: a museum honoring social welfare activism (Jane Addams Hull House), a giant ferris wheel–and then fireworks, the Art Institute, an outdoor opera concert, a glass balcony hanging over the city, and more. As for the tastebud tour of Chicagoan cuisine, our first day together, we indulged in deep dish pizza. I think I know why this style is mostly constrained to Chicago; Faye gave it the review, “I feel like there is a giant cheese ball sitting in my stomach.” Vadim, on the other hand, started with cheesecake and moved on to the pizza. Well, some friends enjoyed the cheese ball effect, but perhaps it is no coincidence that we lunched at a vegan café the next day.

I must say, it’s pretty nifty to have friends who delight in both the swing ride at Navy Pier and in analyzing historical museum displays, who make a surprising beeline for the paperweight collection at the Art Institute and appreciate the tale of Salome as told through the music of Strauss. I guess that’s why these ladies are my friends and have been for five years.

Reflections: our group visits Cloud Gate, better known as the Bean, in Millennium Park.

Speaking of the Art Institute, I was disappointed to leave its glowing galleries after only several hours. Before departing, Sergey and I visited the special exhibit on Magritte together. Surrealist paintings watched us from the black walls with disconnected body parts juxtaposed with strange objects and nonsensical labels. Sergey found it all quite disturbing and concluded of Magritte, “This guy was sick.” Then, I gave Sergey a desperate whirlwind tour, whisking him through all the Impressionist (“It’s nice but blurry”) and Renaissance galleries at a near jog. Then it was time for us to leave our friends to revel at the artistic treasures as we boarded the train back to Skokie. There was, apparently, a wedding to prepare for…

Gettin’ hitched, part 3

Posted on August 31, 2014 by Layli Maria Miron

One of the classic flying machines that frequents the Leonardo da Vinci airport, I assume.

After a day of travels and a stop in the da Vinci airport in Rome, where we breakfasted on the finest pizza and cappuccinos of Italy, Sergey and I arrived in America.

It was remarkable to see the Wisconsin countryside veined with creeks and rivers stretching out beneath our plane in undulating hills of green–so much green after the scrubbiness of Israel! How was this luxuriance possible? For Sergey, the landscape reminded him of Moldova. For me, the amount of space and the cleanliness took some getting used to. It wasn’t quite reverse culture shock, more like terrain shock. Why weren’t there any strays using these wide streets as litter boxes? And there are birds besides sparrows, crows, and pigeons? Was Target always so super huge?

We had a week and a half to spend with my family in Hometown U.S.A. before heading down to the Chicago area. While we had a few allocated “fun periods,” much of our time was consumed with final preparations for the wedding. There were so many important decisions to be made. For example, after our contact person for our reception location revealed that they had only black tablecloths to offer, which would have been great for a funeral-themed wedding, we had to add that to our Party City list. It took a surprising amount of effort to settle on the purple tablecloths, probably because Mommy and Sergey spent half the time convincing me that sparkly confetti was an unnecessary addition to our decor. But…but…sparkles?

Thankfully, the key aspect of our decor, the centerpieces, was decided on before we returned. I recall back in May feverishly considering various centerpiece options as I scanned records in the office. Birdcages or feathers to go with the bird theme? How about feather-coated birdcages holding live singing doves?

Luckily we decided on a more classy alternative: three-tiered stands covered with colorful cupcakes and topped with a spray of flowers, which my uncle generously arranged. After finding a cute Wilmette bakery called Lawrence Deans online during my initial investigations, I spent the next few months contemplating which flavors of their selection I wanted at the wedding (all of them). Especially the rose-pistachio ones. In the end, we ordered a mere 132 cupcakes in 11 flavors, chosen both for their deliciousness and their colors. You can see the results below.

A dream realized.

Gettin’ hitched, part 2

Posted on August 25, 2014 by Layli Maria Miron

As I settled into our new home, there was of course the war being fought. I got constant updates from my coworkers on the rockets being fired in our general direction, which did not help quell my anxiety at moving, settling, and the eventual hitching. While I don’t claim I was greatly affected by the war–as of yet, Haifa has remained unscathed–it gave me a taste of the grinding stress of living in a country constantly threatened with violence, and a greater appreciation for my life in the United States, where the majority of our citizens, perhaps unjustly, live untouched by whatever conflict we’re embroiled in.

Actually, one colleague told me that war marriages turn out the best, as she and her husband courted and wed during the conflict of 1991, also in Israel. (Since her husband was in Sergey’s department, maybe it’s the interdepartmental alliance that does the trick.)

A few days before we were scheduled to leave for the States, a rocket that landed near the Tel Aviv airport prompted first American and then European airlines to stop flying into Israel.

Of the various obstacles we had to overcome to get married, this was not one I had expected. Would we have to take a transatlantic canoe voyage to attend our own wedding? It seemed like the perfect misalignment of international events, with the rocket hit occurring a week after the Malaysian Airline tragedy, while most airlines were feeling understandable panicky about getting close to war zones.

“Maybe God is trying to save you from me,” mused Sergey.

But I’d rather think of it as God giving us plenty of opportunities to re-examine our choice, asking repeatedly, “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” And of course we did, answering yes to each question.

Our flight was indeed cancelled. While this was annoying, it was fair–how could we expect to remain aloof from the conflict roiling to our south? Plus, on the positive side, it gave us some extra time to unpack our things…and then pack for the trip.

Gettin’ hitched, part one

Posted on August 18, 2014 by Layli Maria Miron

I am sorry that I have been away for so long. I really have no excuse except that little one about how I was preparing to get married. So please blame Sergey. It’s all his fault!

Let me start back in Haifa with our preparations there. One of our biggest concerns before leaving was getting a flat where we could live together upon our return. We were assigned one in French Carmel, which is on the other side of the Bahá’í gardens from Hillel, the street where we used to live.

Our old neighborhood could be called Bahá’ítown, as it seems the majority of staff reside there. You can’t walk down the street without bumping into at least a few people you know. It’s nice to have so much community around, but also disconcerting for those who are less used to the “village feel” of everyone knowing everyone. Also, if by some miracle you don’t see anyone you know, you’ll surely bump into one of the many cats that call Hillel home. Or one of the cats will bump into you, as happened to me on one of my final nights in my old flat. There was a kitten, apparently motherless, trying to find a human mommy to latch onto. I heard her meowing and then felt her butting her soft little head against my ankles. Goodness. My heart came very close to melting into a puddle.

They say that the cats were brought to Haifa to eat the rats. Then the jackals came to eat the cats, and then the boars came to eat the jackals. I wonder what will come to eat the boars….

Anyway, our new flat is number 26 in a high rise with flat numbers 1 to 26 spread across about eight stories. So, when we first came to check the flat, we logically went to the top floor. The flats ended with number 25.

“Great,” I told Sergey. “I guess we’re living on the roof.”

Luckily we do have an actual flat that is randomly on the second floor, above the grocery store beneath. We just need to hook up a rope with a bucket at the end to our window, make a hole in the roof of the grocery, and lower it to pick up our food. Yay for laziness!

Actually, we need to be upright citizens, since both of our bosses live in the building across the street!

Moving our things was anything but lazy, though. I moved in first and Sergey moved his non-essentials while continuing to live on Hillel. While I came to Israel with two suitcases, over the past year I had somehow amassed many boxes worth of belongings. Actually, most of my belongings were a dozen or so houseplants. I like houseplants. As decorations go, they are fairly cheap and bring vibrancy and life to interior space, and for apartment dwellers like me who can’t go garden in the street, they offer a special opportunity to practice my green thumb. Honestly, their only drawback is their awkwardness when a move comes around. Have you ever tried to wrangle a 10-foot long philodendron into a plastic bag? Or have you ever stuffed a dozen houseplants into the interstices of luggage in a sedan while Sergey laments, “They will die! They will die!”?

They did not die. Once unpacked and released into the new flat, they began to enjoy the new western exposure. And who wouldn’t?

Sunset over the sea, seen from our flat

In my week of living there, I found myself transfixed on a daily basis by the inimitable show of the sunset over the Mediterranean. I would reluctantly break the trance to return to my somewhat obsessive task of scouring every surface in the kitchen first with soap, then bleach, while washing every dish and pan. (But after Sergey pointed out the dead gnat adhered to the teapot, how could I do otherwise?)

Well, dishwashing seems like an appropriate way to end this episode. Stay tuned for parts two and three as I get up to speed!

Tranquility

Posted on July 11, 2014 by Layli Maria Miron

…is something I wish I had these days.

One month until the wedding, and two weeks until Sergey and I hop on a plane to the U.S. of A. Honestly, I’m not nervous about getting hitched. Wedding planning is a bit stressful, but I know everything will come together. It’s the physical trip home that concerns me most right now. I think my cortisol levels will drop off as soon as I step into the Madison airport with Sergey.

I can’t help noticing that the country where I’m living seems to be at war. Now, I’ve been a little paranoid about living in Israel since I arrived. I don’t think I’ll ever forget my friend Seyy’s farewell to me in the common room of MacGregor res hall at Mount Holyoke: “I’m so scared for you.” After coming, like many new arrivals, I was initially freaked out by the multiple explosions I heard at sunset, which turned out to be fireworks. On our “Haifa Walk” during orientation, the guide made a point of showing us the pockmarks in a building damaged by shrapnel from the attacks in 2006. Since then, I’ve been on the alert for sirens, my anxiety not helped by the fact that synagogues use ceremonial sirens to commemorate various events. Or that the sounds of my downstairs neighbor vacuuming remind me of the blare of tornado sirens back home. One Saturday morning I was so alarmed by this “air raid siren” that I bolted out of bed into the safe space of the hallway and called Sergey, who inquired what threat vacuum cleaning posed to national security.

Well, my over-consciousness of Israel’s tense position in the Middle East seems to be reaching fruition. This morning at 3:30 A.M. I heard the real siren for the first time, and, following my vacuum cleaner emergency training, bolted out of bed suddenly wide awake, adrenaline coursing through my veins. The siren’s mournful wail didn’t last long, and by the time it ended I still hadn’t made up my mind about where exactly to hide. Fortunately, I’ll probably get more practice with this in the next few weeks.

This all makes me appreciative of the peaceful life I lived back in the States. Back there, war was always fought across oceans and seas. The closest I got to experiencing war was through historical novels. It’s not that life in the U.S. is perfectly safe. In fact, I bet statistics would show that I am in greater danger of getting shot by a homegrown terrorist from the suburbs with a legally-purchased submachine gun there than I am of getting hit by a Hamas or Hezbollah launched missile here. And I should note that life in Haifa is actually still quite tranquil. Long-time residents are, I’m sure, used to situations like this, and people just go on with their lives with a few demonstrations here and there.

Anyway, I’ve asked President Netanyahu and Hamas to hold off on getting too intense until we’re out of here…

The halfway point

Posted on June 28, 2014 by Layli Maria Miron

The first Holy Day I attended here was the Martyrdom of the Báb, which in 2013 happened in early July. Currently, it shifts each year according to the lunar calendar, so this year, it happened yesterday. It seemed to mark my first year here coming full circle as I reach the halfway point in my service.

I recall my earlier wonderment at the crowd of commemorators filling the garden in front of the Haifa Pilgrim House, my surprise at the parasols–coming from the States, I thought people used them only decoratively and to preserve particularly porcelain complexions. And the heat. My seat last year, while initially in the shade, was soon overtaken by the noonday sun, making me itch for the circumambulation when I could finally move out of its harsh gaze.

The heat was just as oppressive this year, hitting a high of 95 degrees. By now, though, I was used to the seating arrangement of rows on rows of pilgrims, visitors, and staff, and knew the wisdom of the parasols and the folding fans. And we were careful to pick a spot completely in the shade of the pillar-like palm in front of us. In this place, bits of pollen confetti sprinkled down on us from the trees overhead, burrowing into our hair.

My first year is drawing to its conclusion, and this is the season of farewells, as many of my friends are leaving. My friend Tahirih de la Republica Dominicana flew home a few days ago. Shania, who was a senior at Mount Holyoke when I was a meek firstie, is going home. And half of my orientation group–eighteen staff–depart in the coming days and weeks, including my friends Diana and Todd. They are all off to new journeys.

Due to all the departures, this has been a week of farewells. One was quiet and devotional, another was energetic and noisy, but my favorite was last night’s. It was initially supposed to be a reunion of those in my orientation group who had lived in the faraway land of Leon Blum when we first arrived, but it ended up as a game night between Sergey, Diana, Todd, and me.

First came Scrabble, where I proved the usefulness of that English major. My winning at Scrabble is how the universe achieves balance with my athletic ineptitude.

Then came Risk–and not just any Risk, but Star Wars Risk. Now, I confess I had never actually played the game before. I thought I had, but that turned out to be my vague memory of playing Axis and Allies in tenth grade history class.

We cued the dramatic Star Wars soundtrack and then proceeded into a 3.5-hour long battle to conquer the galaxy. The game works by trying to take over as many planets as possible, and Todd acted like an extraterrestrial real estate agent, describing the notable features of each planet (“Tatooine is kind of like Akka…sandy.”) I assumed I’d lose since I didn’t have any concept of strategy, but the dice was kind to Sergey and me, and our Rebel Alliance ended up ruling the universe. Ok, just the galaxy, but still.

I guess I assume I’m going to see all these friends again. If life here has taught me one thing, it’s that the Bahá’í World is very small–for instance, two youth I knew from Louhelen, where my family lived fourteen years ago by my count, are coming to serve here. The last time I saw them they were yea tall, and now they’re full-fledged young adults.

In such an oddly tight-knit community, I think it’s inevitable that our paths will cross again.