The Opposite of Fear is Love

When a deep anxiety from childhood is transformed in adulthood

Bethany, Frisky the Hamster, Nan

PART I

I got invited for my first sleepover date! Bethany asked me to sleep at her house this weekend. I’m excited, but I’m scared, too. I don’t know if it’s safe for me to stay at her house because her dad, he’s German. Well, his last name is German. Germans scare me. I’m afraid to be around her family because what if they hate Jewish people? Do they know I’m Jewish? My grandmother told me all about Hitler. How he hated Jewish people so much that he tried to kill all of them (us).

But Beth’s dad is a nice guy. He’s gentle and quiet and seems very kind. He doesn’t have a German accent. I don’t think he’d hurt me, but you never know with people. Yeah, that’s what my grandmother says, “you never know with people.”

I want to be brave, and I want Bethany to be my friend. And the war’s been over for a long time. But I don’t understand why some people hate Jews. Tommy Mazolla, that kid at school who’s so mean to me, he called me a kike the other day. I know that’s a bad word to call someone. It’s a hate word. My grandmother told me that, too. It’s very mean.

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PART 2

I’m at Bethany’s. We had fun tonight. We sat around the table, the whole family, and had a yummy dinner. Her family’s very nice. They’re not as loud as mine. They’re friendly and not as bossy as my parents. They eat quietly, there’s not too much talking. That feels weird to me, I don’t know what to do with myself––should I say something? At my house we laugh and talk a lot at the dinner table. It’s my favorite time of the day with my family.  

When we were finished eating, Beth and I went to her bedroom in the back of the house. Her family doesn’t watch a lot of TV. They only have a black and white set. Beth’s only allowed to watch Channel 13, the “educational” channel. She loves Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. I only watch it when nothing else is on, because he’s kind of boring. So, instead of TV, we played with Frisky, Bethany’s hamster. Frisky is cute, but that gets a little boring, too, after a while.

When it was time to go to sleep, I lay on my mattress in the dark, and didn’t feel sleepy at all. I lay there, looking at the ceiling. What if they pretend to be nice people but they’re really Nazis? What if they have secrets? What if they’re waiting for me to fall asleep so they can kill me when I do? I lay there in bed, watching the clock, freaking out so much, that I couldn’t stand it anymore and found my way in the dark house to Beth’s parent’s room. I was scared to wake them, but I did anyway and told them I had a tummy ache and I wanted to go home. They called my dad and he came and picked me up, but I never told him what the real reason was.

My grandmother was always telling me horror stories about the Holocaust. I was 9 years old, and I lived in fear and couldn’t understand why any of the survivors would want to have a place like Israel be a home for all the Jewish people of the world. I thought that was a stupid idea. I’d learned about Hiroshima and Nagasaki in school.

Sure, take all the Jews and put them in one spot and then the people who still hate us could drop a bomb, and then, poof! We’d all be gone.

I think of how dumb the grownups were who came up with this so-called great idea. How could a little kid be smarter than a grownup? I found out, as I grew, that grownups could be very stupid about lots of things.

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PART III

My fear of Germans and my aversion to all things German; the cars, the food, the accent has been with me for most of my life. I knew, even as a little kid, that it wasn’t a rational fear, but it was there, just the same, maybe because it wasn’t completely irrational. Even a German accent scared me, which was funny, because Yiddish can sound a lot like German. My grandmother spoke Yiddish.

So, why am I telling this story, today? I’m telling this story, because at the ripe old age of 62, I was given an opportunity to transform the fear I’ve been carrying around my whole life. I learned about generational trauma and epigenetics, how trauma can affect our individual makeup and can be passed on, even if the causative factor wasn’t directly experienced. That made sense to me, especially in light of the persecution Jews have experienced through the ages. We’re terminally traumatized.

Okay, I’m getting to it…my reason for the story.

In February of this year, I completed the 12 Steps in my eating disorder recovery program, and that qualified me to become a sponsor, a role I very much wanted to have. Several people approached me to ask if I would sponsor them, but they didn’t feel like a good fit. And then, a woman who was quite new to my meeting reached out to me. Her name is Ina, and she’s––wait––you guessed it––she’s German. From Germany German. I listened to her share in the meeting, and I admired her recovery and her gentle nature. But when she texted me with her request, I choked a little. I called my sponsor and told her about my emotional block, my prejudice, and the fear that still lurked beneath my ability to be a reasonable adult.

I knew Germany was a cool country, that its citizens had their own brand of trauma and shame that many have carried in the same way I’ve let my terror have a seat in my brain and my heart. I admired Angela Merkel, and I adore sauerkraut––but only on a Hebrew National hot dog. At one point I owned a used Audi that a friend gave me in exchange for babysitting. In 2016, I bought my first Mini Cooper, turning an informed eye away from the fact that Mini was no longer a British car, because the company was bought by BMW. I chose to delude myself because the pull for that cute little car was way too strong to stand up against my principles. Magical thinking can be very helpful in a pinch. 

There I was, wanting to be of service, wanting to support a fellow traveler in pursuing their recovery by working the Steps with me. I had to sit with it, all my concerns. I knew I had to say yes, not just because she asked me to be her sponsor––I had to say yes to confront this stuck, frightened part of me.

We have things in common. We’re close in age, we’re both writers, and we share a very silly sense of humor.

We began working together in late February. I took the time to share my concerns with her in the beginning, my trepidation, my story. Ina heard me, shared what it was like, AND sometimes still is, for her as a German woman living in Europe. Not easy. She told me about the collective shame of her country. We met every Sunday until early August, when she made a very unusual request.

We were on a Zoom call when she shocked me by asking if she could come to New York to complete her 5^th step with me in person. This is the step where you admit your character defects and share everything you’ve never told anyone else about your life. You share your secrets and your shame. Historically, it was always done face-to-face. So much has changed since Covid. Everything went online. Today, there aren’t as many in-person meetings as before the pandemic. I’m grateful for that because I would never have met Ina if it weren’t for the new format. I was floored that she was willing to travel so far and spend the money it would cost for her to come be with me.

On August 23^rd, 2024, I picked her up at the airport. As she exited customs, I spotted her first and called her name. We ran into each other’s arms, and both started to cry. We spent 5 wonderful days together. Ina shared her deepest secrets and trusted me to hold them and receive them with kindness and compassion. We laughed, we ate wonderful food, and cemented what was already a very special bond. When she left, I knew that not only do I have a wonderful friend, I have a sister. And her accent? It’s lovely and musical and the most beautiful voice in the world.

Love is all that matters. Fear is the absence of love. 

I love Ina. I guess the next trip will be me on a plane to Germany!

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And now for something completely different…and very silly!

The brilliant Tracey Ullman…and her impersonation of Angela Merkel.