The Love That Binds

If We Die

You shall know, my sons, shall know

why we leave the song unsung,

the book unread, the work undone

to rest beneath the sod.

Mourn no more, my sons, no more

why the lies and smears were framed,

the tears we shed, the hurt we bore

to all shall be proclaimed.

Earth shall smile, my sons, shall smile

and green above our resting place,

the killing end, the world rejoice

in brotherhood and peace.

Work and build, my sons, and build

a monument to love and joy,

to humor, worth, to faith we kept

for you, my sons, for you.

  —Ethel Rosenberg

Ossining, N.Y

January 24, 1953

I was eight and a half years old when Julius and Ethel Rosenberg were executed by the U.S. government on June 19, 1953. I remember being at a hootenanny fundraiser sometime around that time. The visual memory is shrouded, but my emotional memory is clear, almost too clear. It was the moment my child consciousness took in that Michael and Robert, the two young Rosenberg sons had become orphans (adopted later by the Meeropol family), and that everyone in the room that day was living through a terrifying time. I felt shockingly sadder in my young self than I’d ever felt before or knew was possible.

I got an email the other day from Jennifer Meeropol, granddaughter of Ethel Rosenberg, for the Rosenberg Fund for Children. She asked for support for her father and uncle who are petitioning President Obama to exonerate their mother. I froze, couldn’t move, and couldn’t sign the petition. The sadness and horror, now over sixty years old rose up to block me. I felt incapacitated and unsafe, and too scared to put my name on their appeal to Obama.

I did sign a couple of days later, the delay no doubt caused by the nauseating undercurrent of threat that we’re living with now that triggered my traumatic reaction. More and more, the current times seem to parallel the anti-communist hysteria of the nineteen fifties, albeit with different personnel, formats and prejudices. The thugs and bullies coming into power seem a lot like the ones from prior days, as does the mean-spiritedness. It’s discouraging to say the least, but it’s also a wake up call.

How am I going to be in these new times? What can I do that will help to turn the tide in the direction of peace? I don’t have money to give, so my actions, which include signing all kinds of petitions, have to be more creative. I want to make myself available more than ever to help build “a monument to love and joy,” as Ethel Rosenberg so exquisitely and poignantly put it. I will do everything I can to strengthen and fortify my heart so that I can withstand whatever is in store for us. I pledge now to spend the rest of my life in this service, and to do it with the love that binds me to this world.