The Time My Great-Great Grandmother Dug A Trench

Holding Rage

The Story

This photo is of my great-great-grandmother, Bessie Neidich. Look at the German solider on the right, in the foreground; now count four women to the left. That’s Bessie. During the German occupation of Pinsk in 1915, Bessie and her fellow forced laborers were digging a trench when they were told to stop and take a photo. It seems to me the height of hubris that the Germans thought this an occasion to commemorate. Yet, if this photo was never taken, I wouldn’t know what I know about Bessie. 

See her, there? She’s got one palm on the top of the shovel, one on the side, anchoring it. Her hands are spaced apart. I bet they’re calloused. Look at her broad shoulders. Notice the way her elbows brace the women on either side of her. Like she’s the strong one. 

Look at her mouth, her eyes. That’s where the rage is. Her eyes are hooded, wary and watchful. Her grip is solid. Her mouth is firm, determined. Inside her chest beats a rage-filled heart. Bessie has been made to dig a trench, and then made to commemorate it. But she’s not beaten down. She’s not broken. She’s filled with rage, and the rage makes her strong. 

We talk of anger and rage as though they’re undesirable qualities. But where would we even be, if not for the occasional burst— or slow simmer— of rage? Would we have marched for justice? Fought for freedom? Battled against oppression? Outlasted cruelty? Our collective bloodlines would have died out decades ago, if rage hadn’t fueled our ancestors. 

Yesterday was Martin Luther King day. Where would we be, if he and others like him hadn’t channeled rage against oppression? He may have preached nonviolence, but the impetus was pure, collective rage. A scream against tyranny. We could say the same for modern-day activists.

This photo is all I have of my great-great grandmother. Just a fragment, a mere moment of her life. I don’t know what happened to her before, or after. But I know her rage. Generations later, women in our family still have passion for unjust causes. We hold that rage, and use it as kindling. 

The Character Trait

Here’s where I break the mold of Good Character, because rage isn’t technically a character trait; it’s a feeling. But that feeling can be harnessed into something deeper and more productive, and that’s why I think it’s worth exploring.

Holding rage means letting the fire of anger bubble inside you, like a lit cauldron. Rage is anger combined with passion; it is anger with the expectation of eventual action.

Of course, rage is not desirable long-term. Rage can cause deep harm if it’s against an individual, or self-harm if it’s against something out of your control. But if placed appropriately and tempered with perspective, if allowed to simmer and combine with characteristics such as determination, discipline, courage and tenacity, it can be a tool we collectively use to better our society.

Let’s Do Some Stuff Together

Identify a moment in your life when you felt pure rage. What precipitated that feeling? What came of it? Were you able to channel your rage into something productive, or did it burn out on its own?

Did your rage unintentionally harm anyone?

What do you wish you’d done differently?

Want more?

If you’re a parent, allow your child to feel angry. Too often, parents say “calm down,” or “don’t cry,” or other statements that attempt to control what is, for them and for us, an uncontrollable emotion. Particularly for toddlers and hormone-laden teens! Allow the anger, acknowledge it, help them find a healthy outlet (yelling at family members isn’t acceptable; hitting a punching bag is), then talk about the issue. Exploring rage can give kids deep insights into what they care about and what they find unjust.

If you’re a teacher, use lessons from history to show how an activist might have been fueled by personal or collective rage.

If you’re a writer/creator, consider creating a scene where rage is the backdrop. Putting a character in a situation where rage arises prompts new avenues of insight into their background or temperament.

How did this work for you? Do you agree that rage is worth exploring? Leave a comment and you might be featured in next week’s newsletter!

Last Week’s Leftovers

Last week, I used an episode of Chopped and a conversation with my daughter to consider what it means to be authentic. I asked about the conditions that make you feel the most you. I thought about it, and decided that I feel most “me” when I’m out of my usual environment, away from distractions, chores and work. I’m the most myself out in the world, absorbing everything through my senses, and processing it on a level that feels both swift and deep. Travel and exploration mute the other parts of my life so that I can see myself as I truly am.

Peggy commented on Facebook about how different the world would be if all of us were more authentic, because we’d understand the impetus behind everyone’s actions. I agreed, and added that vulnerability is an important component of authenticity. I think authenticity + vulnerability would make an excellent combo to explore for a future post. Thanks, Peggy!

Stuff You Might Like To Know

If you’re interested, I wrote a flash essay on the above photo of Great-Great-Grandma Bessie and it was published in The Ekphrastic Review in November. (“Ekphrastic:” commentary on visual art.)

I’m currently reading The Centre by Ayesha Manazir Siddiqi and it is MIND-BLOWING. I can’t understand why this debut novel hasn’t gotten the hype it deserves. I just read some of the varying reviews on Goodreads and it appears very much a matter of taste; however, if you’ve liked any of my recommendations before, please give this a try. It’s not just a book; it’s a conversation with the reader.

I’m not really a sports person, but I loved watching Michigan football take the national championship last Monday! My son and husband are avid fans, and the last several games of the season were so riveting that even I got sucked in.

I’m enjoying sharing Wordle stats with my dad. We got him the NY Times Games app for Christmas, and it’s fun to share our games.

Here’s to us, in all of our imperfect, striving goodness.

Keep hoping. Keep caring. Keep trying.