Content 07

Running on Empty M E M O I R S Abraham S. David Running on Empty 1

To

Life, Living and Loving

Running on Empty 5

Running on Empty MEMOIRS

Abraham S. David

Running on Empty 7

Content Preface

4

Beirut, My Birthplace

8

My Family

28

My Married Lives

63

• Ronalie , 1958-1979

65

• Laurie , 1980-1984

199

• Rapee , 1997-1999

244

• Joanne , 2000-2004

270

• Rapee (again) , 2005-present

276

My Nepal-based Professional Life’s Journeys

318

• Nepal, 1984-1987

321

• Nepal, 1980-1991

332

• Nepal, 1991 -2000

342

My Move to Israel, 2004

355

What Next ?

382

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Preface “There is something wonderfully bold and liberating about saying yes to our entire imperfect and messy life. With even a glimmer of that possibility, joy rushes in.” Tara Brach , Radical Acceptance (2004)

I was being driven to the airport by my son-in-law when my grand son, who was in the back seat, called out: -“Dad, you are running on empty. There are no gas stations between here and the airport, nor on the way back home. How will we get home dad?”

-“Don’t worry son”, replied his dad, “there is a small reserve tank that kicks in when the big tank goes on empty. We will be able to get back home and make it to your music class”.

That was the day I had decided to travel to Israel and check the place out before committing to making Aliyah to Israel (Aliyah is the Jewish word for return or immigration. When the State of Israel was created in 1948, one of the first things they adopted in 1950.was the enactment of Law of Return, where every Jew in the world had the right to immigrate to and become a full fledged citizen of Israel).

I would have loved to go back to my birth place, Beirut Lebanon, if not to live but at least to renew my connections with the place and my friends, even though I was NEVER given a Lebanese citizenship. If I could not get back to Beirut physically, why not then take a head and heart trip by having my memories real back and forth as I walk the streets of my past? I

Did I live through moments when I felt that I was running on empty? Hell yes on many occasions and at many points in my life, but I also had many mountain top experiences lived and shared with loved ones and friends. How to relate my experiences, and

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how do I structure my checkered life? I had lived and worked, both long-term and short term, in over twenty seven countries spanning five regions of the world. Born in Lebanon, I left for the United States for studies and ended up marrying, having a child and a doctorate in Agriculture Economics, before moving my young family to St Louis then leaving on a four year professional assignment with the Ford Foundation, in Nepal. I ended up spending the greatest number of years of my life in Nepal; a total of twenty seven years.

I seem to have been fated to live at various places and countries in cycles of four years.

No one is immune to pain, neither hurt nor suffering. How often did you, like me, feel that you were running on empty and wondered where you’ll be stuck and lost, but then continued and found a refilling station to refill and go on? I have been there several times but I am still alive to share some of my happenings. I count myself ever so fortunate to be alive and have love in my life. Do I control, in the final analysis, decisions I made or is it fate that had and continue to drive my life?

I have always wanted to write. During my professional career, I did write many proposals and project reports. My writings were more from the head and very subject-specific and at times very boring: food production and consumption, population change, optimum population and health and nutrition. I also wrote about policy debates, advocacy, etc, ad nausea. Now I am attempting to write from the heart not the head. If I can clothe my ideas with words nearly as beautiful as those of many of the great and not so great writers, I would soar above myself and even my world.

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What I have done here is to honestly reflect on my past and present by revealing, I hope, a man’s living memories tucked away in a loving caring heart. I wrote letters that informed as well as moved emotions within hearts of sender and recipients alike; some of which I included in these pages while others are too sensitive, and maybe hurtful, to include. I have decided not to record my happenings in chronological sequence for I did not want to produce a diary. Incidents happened in my life at different times. That is why I decided to record them as I recalled them. This process turned out to be extremely exciting, and I sure hope the reader will find it equally interesting and a bit challenging,

My very special thanks go to Sharon Doubiago for her patience, professional advice and encouragement during ‘our’ editing re-write period. I also thank my beloved sister Nina for reading and commenting on my draft and for my many friends who kept encouraging me to finish it even when I got, at times, tired of my revisions. Special thanks to Somsack Lakleam for working with me in getting my final version printed, and for my very good Nepali artist- friend, Kiran Manandhar, for creating the original painting for my Memoirs’ cover page. Surendra Tuladhar, my faithful Nepali friend and typist, helped type two drafts. To them and my beloved family and friends, I owe a great dose of gratitude.

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Beirut Lebanon: My Birth Place “One’s task is to build of stones that he digs from old ruins of something that was also, in the past, built out of stones from some past ruins”. Amos Oz in Tale of Love and Darkness (2005)

Beirut’s famous landmark, the ‘Ro’acha’ where many are said to have jumped off its shoreline cliffs to their deaths

I loved Beirut. I grew up in a rather wealthy middle class home. My father was a merchant who imported rice and dates plus other food items from his birthplace, Baghdad Iraq, and sold wholesale to local retailers. He then shifted to importing and selling men and women clothing materials for both the local as well as the export markets of the Middle East. I went to the primary and high school of the prestigious American University of Beirut. My mother loved to socialize as she spent endless hours at the Jewish local club playing cards, while my sisters took care of Running on Empty 14

house- work and the boys, in addition to their attending the local French school. That is why we spoke also French at home.

Beirut offered the Middle East a playing ground for the rich and mighty. Restaurants were top class, so were the night clubs, the movie houses and winter skiing in nearby mountains and spring and summer swimming in the clear blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. We lived in the upper middle class section of town. I used to play soccer with my friends on the street using a tennis ball for football, as we didn’t have a football ball nor a field to play in. I took the tram to school and to town. I loved to stroll down the night club district just to get a glimpse of the blond blue eyed foreign dancers.

Riding my bike was my passion. I rode my bike every chance I had.

Will Beirut be what I remembered it to be even after sixteen years of bloody civil war where brother killed brother and families lost loved ones and property? Will some of my friends still be around, and will they remember me? So many questions to answers and so many memories rekindled!

I as I read Thomas Friedman’s riveting coverage of Beirut massacres and civil war, I was shocked by the cruelty where one brother turned against another; where blood ran knee-deep and buildings reduced to rubbles. I recorded what my wondering mind kept asking; Where did hatred and cruelty come from?

How could one be blind to one’s reality?

While his eyes were wide open to human sufferings?

Could pain and suffering be central to existence?

People, the afflicted ones, cry out in vain Running on Empty 15

Where is the GOD of love and justice?

Why me now?

What did my dead child do to deserve a deadly bullet?

It snuffed his life like a flower trampled by a drunkard crazy man.�

And on and on as they run for cover From one demolished building to another.

Where to sleep and what to eat And how could one eat or sleep then???

Oh God, where are you now?

Why not take my life instead of my only three year old son, cried the grieving mother Surely it is not YOU; It must be the making of evil men and women disguised as nationalist Or religious fanatics teaming up together for their own personal gain: Ego, power, control or?�

But what justifications could console the broken hearted mother Who saw her whole family blown out in front of her By shrapnel fired from an unknown source Towards another unknown target?

How was a poor newly wed bride, Married only two weeks before Walk behind the casket of her husband Find solace as she recalled words of love And eternal commitment shared Running on Empty 16

On the dance floor???

I just couldn’t accept the fact that I was denied Lebanese citizenship just because I was born into an Iraqi Jewish home!!! I remembered how in high school social studies, I learned of the division of power in Lebanon according to religious creed: the Maronite Christians, who were in the majority during the last census taken , had the executive presidency; while the Sunni Moslems, the second largest group then , held the prime ministerial post; and the Shiite Moslems had the speaker of the house. As long as such crazy notion of power sharing prevailed, I thought then and there that a day may come when disputes, and even war, might break out between the groups over control of power. Civil war did indeed break out which lasted for fifteen years. Friedman chronicled the events and also summarized Lebanon’s historical antecedents as he penned them down: “- 1916 the Sykes –Picot agreement is forged by Britain, France and Russia, carving up the Ottoman Empire after its defeat in WWI. As part of the agreement, Britain wins effective control over the area of Palestine and France over the area that is now Lebanon and Syria.

-1920 France decrees the formation of the state of Greater Lebanon, knit ting together MT Lebanon with the regions of Beirut, Tripoli, Sidon, Tyre, Aakka and the Bbekaa valley.

-1943 Lebanon’s Christians and Moslem leaders agree on a” National Pact” for power sharing and balancing Lebanon’s western and Arab ori entation, enabling their country to become a sate independent from France.

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-1958 the first Lebanese civil war erupts and some 15000 American troops are sent to Beirut to help stabilize the situation -1975 civil war breaks out again in Lebanon.

-1982 June to September, Israel invades Lebanon. The Phalengists militia leader Bashir Gemeyal is assassinated after his election as Lebanon’s president. Phalengists militiamen massacre hundreds of Palestinians in Sabra and Shatila refuge camps in Beirut, while the camps are sur rounded

by Israeli forces., US marines arrive in Beirut as part of a multinational peace keeping force.

-1983 the US Embassy and US marines HGT in Beirut are blown up by suicide car bombers.

-1984 Feb. the Lebanese government president Amin Gemeyal abandons government after Shiite Muslims and Druze in West Beirut launch a re volt against the Lebanese army. President Regan abandons hope of re building Lebanon and orders the Marines home.

-1990 Iraq invades Kuwait -1991 Jan. the American led anti- Iraq coalition launches air war to evict Iraq out of Kuwait.

-1991 Jan. the first Iraqi scud missile hits Tel Aviv.

-1991 Feb. American led coalition launches ground war to evict Iraq form Kuwait” Then he concluded; “The real source of Lebanon’s troubles was the fact the two LebaneseChristian and Muslims- frequently were at odds with each other, going back to the early foundation of their state when they were literally thrown together….. The only time Lebanon was relatively peaceful and stable was when there was a balance between the Muslims and the Christians…

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no victor and no vanquished; as the Lebanese themselves like to say- so that neither community felt the need to whistle up assistance from abroad.”

Thomas Friedman, From Beirut to Jerusalem, 1995 pg 13

I was born into a large family. My mother and father were married in Baghdad when, according to my mother, she was only thirteen years old while my father was thirty three.

I know almost nothing about my father’s background. All I know were fragments of remembrances of my youthful years when he used to take me to a side-walk tea house for his evening ritual of cup of tea and his narghila, the water pipe for smoking “damp” flavored tobacco. I was told that my father was born in Baghdad. at the tender age of thirteen, decided to leave his home and travel to far-away India, to work for another Iraqi Jew in a stable tending horses in one of the dark corners of Calcutta. He grew up there and worked hard for other Jews who had left Baghdad to seek their fortunes in India. My father seemed to have succeeded in doing some trading business, in addition to his duties, which helped him harness a small fortune, after which time he decided to return to Baghdad, settle down, marry and raise a family.

When I returned to Beirut with my first wife Ronalie in 1963, eight years after our marriage, I walked the old familiar streets of my youth with utter shock and sadness.

Where did it all go, and where did all of my pain come from? I would sit by the beach that was studded, as I recalled, by small Running on Empty 19

chalets frequented by the rich and beautiful. I would allow my mind to real back the movie of my life. I recalled the words of Jeremiah, the prophet who said that one need not weep for the dead, but weep sore for him that goes away and return no more to see his native country. Khalil Gibran echoed the same throughout his life in the US crying out for his return to his small village by the Cedars of Lebanon. I remembered once reading his words where he wished he was a goat tied at the trunk of a tree in his village. Could I feel that way about Lebanon, my country of birth, when they did not accept me as one of them? I continued to answer when asked where are you from that I was born in Beirut Lebanon. Will I be able to continue to live with joy as I navigate through the stormy ocean of my memories?

How does one get back one’s identity? Fight with a weapon or words? If the latter, who would listen? And if one did listen, what could one do? Take up arms and kill? But revenge would surely follow! So when would the bloodshed stop? Look at Lebanon; look at present day Iraq’s Sunnis versus Shia? When would it end? Ireland; Catholics against Protestants; the crusaders who fought the ‘infidels’; Jews fighting Moslems, and even now Moslem radicals fighting moderates, irrespective of color creed or nationality. Where and when would it end? Orthodox Christians say that these are signs of the end of time. Peace, lasting peace, will come only when the Messiah comes, says the Christians and even orthodox Jews.

But what would the Moslems and Buddhists and Hindu say?

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Do they accept that? It is not a matter of choosing to accept or not accept. What would be would be!

A movie I once saw of an Afro-American teacher in South Carolina during segregation asks his students if they had birth certificates. None did. He then asked: “How does it feel to not be recorded?” No one answered. Since I did not have a birth certificate nor was accepted as a citizen of the country of my birth, if you asked me that question, I would say: I feel shitty, wouldn’t you? I am fighting with my past demons. I really had a love-hate relationship with my birthplace, Beirut Lebanon. My youngest sister, Nina in Tel Aviv, sent me recently a modern day slide presentation of Beirut. It was so beautiful and I almost cried as I longed to get back to my ‘street’; to sit at a bench by the American University of Beirut’s main library and watch the Mediterranean Sea below; to walk through the narrow lanes of Souk el Burge where I used to accompany my father for his Friday morning shopping; to ride my bike through the hills of Bahamdoun as I used to do during the summers of my youth; or to visit the cafes of Zahle in the Beekaa valley, as we used to do with my family during our summer weekend picnics; and on and on did my mind travel and with it my heart and soul. Yet Beirut and Lebanon, during my most important teen years, turned into hell for me and my family. The main reason was that I felt totally rejected: rejected as a citizen; rejected because I was treated as an outcast for being born a Jew; rejected by my own Jewish relatives when they heard of my conversion to Christianity through the inRunning on Empty 21

fluence of the American missionary couple who had come to Beirut to ‘save the Jews’ through the acceptance of Jesus Christ as the Messiah; rejected by my fellow students in high school for having come from a rich family when in fact my father had lost all of his wealth by the time I entered my senior year. All in all, I developed very negative feelings about myself and my origin. I wanted change but did not know where and how to do that, so I lived within my own shell feeling shitty as hell.

Yes, Vikram Seth said it well when he wrote in Two Lives, 2005 “Happy is he who forgets what no longer can be changed”.

I was still in high school of the American University of Beirut (AUB) when seven Arab nations marched against the newly declared State of Israel. With the Arab Israeli war, the first wave of Palestinian refugees came to Lebanon and Beirut.

During those times, the student body of the American University of Beirut used to take to streets demonstrations, almost daily; at times peaceful and at times confrontational.

Whan I was finally granted a U.S. student visa, I packed my suitcase with what little I had and headed to the airport with my mother, younger brother Miro, and youngest sister Nina. My father had already gone in 1951 illegally to Israel and died there. I cleared airport formalities with great deal of anxiety and joy: I was anxious that the Lebanese authorities would find last minute excuse for not letting me get out of my ‘natural prison’; I was happy for at last I would be set free. I boarded the Royal Dutch Airline plane to Paris without even once glancing back, while my mother wept as she waved her good-byes. Oh Running on Empty 22

what great relief to be finally airborne as I uttered my thanks for having finally left Beirut.

I left Beirut for America in 1955. A young man in my late teens leaving my birth place, Beirut-Lebanon, for America, ‘the land of freedom and hope’. When I was growing up, I was told that I was the only son to have a middle name that was neither my grand nor great grandfather’s given names. I was given the middle-name Sion because it meant life beyond death. According to my eldest sister Habiba when I asked her why I was called Sion, she told me that I had an elder brother who developed pneumonia at the age of two and died for lack of antibiotics then. I, the second son, was to be protected from the grave by carrying the unique and very Jewish name, Abraham Sion David. How can one ever mistake the religious identity of a person called Sion?

My father, Eliahou, didn’t have much formal education, though he knew how to read and write and, of course, keep records of trade transactions and money made! Upon his return from India to Baghdad, he let the word out that he was looking for a wife and that he did have good money plus a small stash of jewelry and fine India linen. That was music to the ears of local match makers who saw a fat commission coming their way. Houses of eligible young girls were canvassed in search of a proper light skin young girl. The Zilkhas had seven daughters, so why not approach the family for a match for Eliahou?

The second to the youngest daughter of Saleh Zilkha, a bankermoney lender, would make a perfect match for Eliahou. GourRunning on Empty 23

gia, the Iraqi name for beautiful woman, was just a kid when her parents consented to having her wed my father. My father and mother had nothing in common besides their being both single: he was thirty two years old while she was only thirteen; he was tall at five ten while she was only five one; he was dark while she was fair with light hair too, though not blond by any means!! My mother was informed of the arrangement few days before the actual ceremony when she began to receive one present after another from her husband-to-be, She loved the presents, especially the sweets; she loved the fact that her mother, and oldest unmarried sister, would taken her to buy new material for dresses and some new shoes. They were all to be hers for her wedding. She had no idea what a wedding really implied except that she was to leave her parental home and move in with her husband. After all, she was just a ‘kid’!

My parents settled with my father’s family for few years. A year after they were wed, my mother had her first son Ezra, better known as Jouri. Living with my father’s parents did not work out and so they moved in with my mother’s parents. That arrangement did not work either, so they rented a small house and moved out. By that time, they had already had two other babies--both girls: Habiba, or Habbou, and Albertine. My mother had three children while still in her teens!

My father’s business world was going well. He was making money all right and spoiling his young bride. There was nothing that my mother wanted that she didn’t get. He even bought her time and energy by having maids serve her Running on Empty 24

needs and look after the children. She didn’t mind the maids looking after the girls but no one was good enough to look after her first born son, my eldest brother Ezra She poured the love that was ebbing within her growing youthful body towards him. My brother remained her only love throughout her child bearing and rearing years. All of us children knew that.

Were we jealous but couldn’t say or do anything about that? I don’t really know!

One of my more pleasant memories of Beirut was when I accompanied my father for his Friday shopping at ‘Souk el Burge’. As soon as we entered the market, two or three porters would come running to help us carry the Sabbath shopping. My father would hire two, as he always loved to buy much fruits and vegetables. He also bought a live chicken or two for me to take back to the shokhet, an authorized trained Jewish male who performs the kosher ritual slaughter of animals. He used to check for broken bones or diseased parts for the presence of any deformity would make the animal nonkosher. Yes, we had to make sure it was kosher dressed as my father and mother were ‘religious’ but not very orthodox. I remember how my parents would not allow us to turn the light switches on or off during the Sabbath hours but had a nonJewish neighbor do it! My mother and sisters would clean and prepare the chicken for the Sabbath meal, while I went to my classes at the primary school of the American University of Beirut. I remember so well how my father used to come home from his office and bring in his daily cash earnings, most of Running on Empty 25

which were in gold coins because my mother used loved going into the dining room with father, close the door and flip the coins so as to hear their sweet jingle. I used to hide behind the door and listen too for I loved the coins’ sound.

I vividly remember how we prepared and observed Yum Kippur, the Day of Atonement. The Shokhet would come to our house, take a cock for every male and a chicken for every female, wave each ‘bird’ in a circular fashion seven times above each of our heads while saying: “This cock is your substitute; this is your exchange; this is your expiation; it shall go to its death and you shall enter into a good long life and into peace”.

He would then sever the head of the cock and throw its bleeding body on the ground as it flutter for few moments to make sure all its blood had been drained. After that, my sisters, mother and our maid would pluck the birds and prepare them for the seven meals that we were supposed to eat prior to the beginning of Yum Kippur.

I was born and raised in the same house in Beirut with my four sisters and two brothers. We lived in an upper middle class neighborhood that bordered the night club district of Beirut. The house had three bedrooms, one kitchen with an attic plus a dining room and a living room. Our toilet and shower were in the same space as was our wood heated water heater. I remember that when we took our weekly bath on Friday, we brought a kerosene stove into the bathroom, placed a twenty liters kerosene tank on top, half fill it with water and waited for the water to get hot before going in shivering to sit Running on Empty 26

on a stool and dip a small beaker into the hot water then mix it with cold water from a tap and take a quick bath. With seven siblings, we had to queue for the weekly Shabbat bath. In retrospect, when I look back at my home in Beirut, I wander how such a small space could house our family of nine plus accommodate our entertainments!

Because I was born after my parents had lost their fifth child from pneumonia, a son; my mother was scared that the same fate would befall me. I was told that my mother and I never left my mother’s bed room for almost two years. During the cold winter months, my mother would hang carpets all over the walls and windows to help prevent cold air from coming in and make me sick. My mother was scared shitless about my catching a cold. Habiba took care of me then. When I got to be five and beyond, Habiba left for Baghdad in 1944 to get married and so my other sisters looked after my physical needs: Nazli used to do the cooking and serving while Nina did most of the errands and evening shopping. Albertine refused to do any house work because she did after school tutoring to earn her own keep.

I remember, with joy, my school years as being fun and full of new discoveries. I loved to study and top my class, especially in math and French. High school Arabic literature was beautiful as I loved the poetry and listening to my teacher, Mr. Khoury, recite and explain the writers’ approaches. Mr. Khouri was a short man who loved his drinks and going out in the evenings. He told us he was a student of law, taking law as an Running on Empty 27

independent student at the French Licee. Rumor had it that he had failed his qualifying exams twice and had only one more chance to get through. If he did not make it his third round, then he would be dropped from the Licee. As some students used to relate, he would carry his books even to restaurants.

One evening, it was told, the restaurant was too crowded so he put his hefty stack of books on his chair and sat on them.

His observant companion remarked: “Khoury, if you can’t get the subject matter through one hole, you might as well get it through another!” Of course no one dared ask him about that.

I used to sit with my friends on a particular bench next to the main library overlooking the football field below and the Mediterranean Sea beyond. One day, as we sat and chatted, the University president stopped at our bench and said: “You are so right, young men, to be taking a break and enjoying this very beautiful site. Education is not mere book learning and classroom attendance and homework. It must include cultivation of one’s ability to enjoy beauty, nature, friends and family.

Life has so much to offer, so keep your minds open to all of that and remember that as you run back to your books in the library or class”. I used the same argument with my two sons and the young people who came through the walls of Lincoln School in Katmandu, Nepal when I served as chairman of the school board for seven years.

My family size in Beirut dwindled to four then eventually all of us moved to different countries. My father went to Israel in 1951, while my eldest brother Ezra had settled in Paris Running on Empty 28

doing business. My two older sisters, Albertine and Nazli, had also gone to Israel in 1952/’53, having been smuggled from Beirut in small boats at night. My mother, my younger brother Miro and youngest sister Nina and I remained behind. I left to America the very first opportunity I had, followed a year later by my younger brother. Finally my mother and youngest sister were able to legally leave Beirut to Israel via Turkey.

My departure from Lebanon was by no means easy.

Since I had no birth certificate I couldn’t get a passport. My good friend Zouzou told me that his Maronite–Catholic priest could get me one if I was to nominally go through a ‘baptism in his church’ and pay him five hundred Lebanese pounds. Although we were living on the money my mother got from selling her jewelries and Persian carpets, she was willing to pay that amount just to help me get out of Beirut. As luck would have it, the priest died before he was able to get me the passport. My mother later found an Iraqi friend in Beirut who told her that he could get me an Iraqi passport, as my parents were still considered Iraqis. That did happen, and I did get an Iraqi passport valid for one year.

After getting and submitting all my documents to the U.S Embossy for getting a student visa, I was given a date for an interview at the American consulate. I was sure then that i would leave Beirut for the States and continue my studies.

When the interview finally was to happen, I was full of excitement and joy. I was to get my visa at last. But that did not happen. I was told, when I reported at the Embassy, that my Running on Empty 29

application was rejected and that I will not be having any interview. No explanation was given just that my application was rejected. Wow, I almost broke down with tears. I left immediately for our home and told my mother and my missionary friends who had helped me get the American sponsor in support of my US student visa. The missionaries said they will call on the American Embassy and put in a word for me, while my mother said: -“Son don’t worry. We’ll talk to Aunt Marie and see what she can do. Now you try to eat something and go out and meet your friends”.

My mother contacted ‘Aunt Marie’ our Armenian neighbor, who had strong connections all over. She entertained members of Parliament and many VIPs. My mother believed that if anyone could unlock the mystery of why my visa application was rejected, Aunt Marie could. And sure enough she did it.

The way she did it was to contact the leading Lebanese officer at the US consulate and ask him to check my file and see why I was denied visa. Of course of a fee. My mother said she would pay whatever it took to get me out of my apparent depression.

Where she was to get the money was a mystery to me, but she said she would do it for sure.

Two days after our meeting with Aunt Marie, she was informed by her ‘contact’ that my rejection was based on a negative note from one of my professors, plus a copy of a newspaper cutting of a picture where my face was supposedly identified and circled. The note said I was a member of the Running on Empty 30

communist party of Lebanon and the picture was taken while a group of demonstrators were in front of the US Embassy chanting anti- American slogans. ‘The contact’ told her that if I were to get a letter of good behavior and character reference from the American principal of the Prep School of the Aub where I attended, he could have my case reopened. My mother went straight to Mr. Levitt, the principal and told him the whole story then took his hand and kissed it as she said: -“You had seen my three sons come though your doors and they all did well. Please now help my Sion to get to America and study.”

He assured her that I was a good student and that he will be happy to write the letter that very day.

I collected the letter the following day and went straight to the US Embassy to meet the ‘the contact’ who was helping us. He read the letter and smiled. He took the letter to the counselor who came out and called me back to his office.

He told me then that he had reopened my file and based on the letter he received, he was confident that I was not a communist. He would grant me my student visa which I collected three days later. That did it! I was so happy that I almost literally wet myself. I went straight to my missionary friends to share the good news and then ran to my mother who was so happy for me. Mother and I went, the very same day, to Aunt Marie, hugged and kissed her for helping me get my visa. My mother took her then into the room to pay her the amount that was to be given to ‘the contact’ for his help.

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Did I think that I would really see that day come to pass? Hell no. Even as I write about that incident now, I wonder how on earth ‘the contact’, the Lebanese gentleman, was able to reopen my case and how the consular accepted to reconsider my application and then approve it? What baffled me most was the fact that no Lebanese political party would accept a Jew as a full-fledged member. So how could I be a communist member, I don’t know. All that mattered then was that I got my visa and I had a sponsor in the States who would help me get started with my college education. I went ahead with buying my ticket to Paris with money that my brother Ezra had sent me to get to Paris but from Paris to New York, I was to wait for my sponsor to send the cost to my brother in Paris.

Everything fell into place, and I sure did survive a major personal setback for which I was very thankful.

My experience of getting out of Lebanon was one of my lowest points in my young life. I thought the world was closing in on me. Where to run and how to survive the psychological suffering I felt just because I was born a Jew, even though I did ‘convert’ to Christianity, in an Arab world, and growing up at a time when Israel was declared a state? It zapped my total mental energies. I found myself digging in to find any shred of hope that will keep me going. I sure felt like running on empty, with no reserves whatsoever to keep going. I was very depressed; I did not want to go out with my friends, I did not go see movies, I just stayed home and brooded! I must admit, however, that my mother never gave up. She was determined to get me out of my depression by getting me out of the country. And that she did.

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My Family

My Family in Beirut, Lebanon (1946) Front raw from left to right: mother, Nina, dad, Albertine, and Miro Back raw from left to right: Me, Nazli, Ezra, Habiba and Akram (Habiba’s Husband)

Fast forwarding to August 23rd, 2009, I found myself at the funeral of my beloved sister Habiba. I never thought that the day will ever come when I, along with many family and friends, would gather to say our last goodbyes to my beloved Habiba; but it did! Sunday the 23rd of August 2009, we all gathered at a private cemetery that Kibbutz Horashim had established. The chief mourners, along with Habiba’s siblings, sat in front of the black draped coffin. I sat to Akram’s, her husband, left while Wili, her only son, sat to his father’s right. My sisters, Nazli and Nina, sat behind us.

The rabbi started the service by reading the 23rd Psalm, of course in Hebrew. Akram followed with his eulogy Running on Empty 33

that ended with the only word I knew: “slikha”, Hebrew for sorry, he said to Habiba. Wili shared his love for his mother who had given all to see him become the successful lawyer that he was. He focused on her forthrightness and selfless love she so willingly and lovingly shared with him, his children, the family and even friends. I then shared the few words I had written the day before: “Today, Sunday the 23rd of August, beloved family and friends, we are gathered to say our goodbyes to my beloved sister Habiba. But we, in effect, are saying good bye to her body and not her for she is alive as she lives in the hearts and minds of each one of us. I remember reading Gail Sheehy writing that husbands come and go and children eventually also go. Friends grow up and move away,but the one thing that’s never lost is one’s sister.

“Those who knew my sister would agree that we are living in a world of clichés; one which says that each one of us is unique in his or her own way. My beloved sister Habiba was not nor will ever be a cliché because she was and will always be one of a kind; when she loved she loved with all her heart; when she gave , she held nothing back; she loved to travel and have new adventures; she loved to prepare food and see her loved ones and guest eat and eat some more. Her table was always full, not only with food but with family as well as guest. She laughed a lot and kept her sense of humor to the very end. And on and on can be the words that try to describe her but they fail miserably for she was and will always be one of a kind, and what a one ,wow !

“If I start down the memory lane and list what I do remember, then where will I stop? Her trip to Katmandu with Etoile, my sister in law, or her trip to Tashkent with Orit,…, but no more going down that path now. I do believe that she lived every day at a time and every experience fully. For me, she Running on Empty 34

reflected what she used to share so often with me: LIVE THE NOW FULLY. Why am I sharing this now with you all? To celebrate her life; to reaffirm that for me she lives on though physically she does not; and am sure for you too if you knew and loved her!

“Many had written what it means to have a sister. For me Christine Rossetti said it well when she wrote (poem written about mid 1800): “For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather To cheer one on the tedious way To fetch one if one goes astray To lift one if one totters down To strengthen whilst he stand” “She was my ever loving sister and so she will always be.

“May her soul rest in peace now and may you beloved family and friends say your goodbyes with love in your hearts and a determination to carry what Habiba left with you. God bless you all for I love you”.

My beloved sister Habiba died in Tel Aviv Saturday August 22, 2009. Two days before, I had landed from Tashkent in Tel Aviv praying that I would be able to see and say my goodbyes to my dying beloved sister Habiba. Nina, my youngest sister had called to tell me that Habiba was hospitalized and that if I wanted to see her before she passed away I should get there as fast as I could. I replied: - “Habiba will wait for me, am sure, but am coming as fast as I can get airline connection”. And Habiba did wait!

Nina met my flight and we drove direct to where Running on Empty 35

my beloved sister was. I walked into a large room and saw a shriveled Habiba wrapped in a light blanket with eyes shut and a dangling head. Nina whispered in her ear that I was there.

She opened her eyes and reached out for my hand. I asked Nina to let me spend few moments alone with Habiba, and she did. I spoke about death and dying and she shook her head.

She was ready. She was tired of her constant struggles with pain, radiation therapy, her spreading skin lesions on her skin and chest, with doctors and professors; in short, with living.

She was in full command of her mental faculties but her body was wasting away fast. My heart was torn yet my soul sang praises for her eminent final release.

After going to Nina’s house to freshen up some, we drove back to the hospital where the immediate family, save for Akram, were there talking about their lives with Habiba and her many virtues. We reminisced about the many dinners she loved to serve, specially her Shabbat dinners for the family. We also talked about her many travels and her love for adventure and meeting with people in parties. Before leaving, I told Rachel, Wili’s wife, that Habiba will pass away early in the morning but not later than 0800 o’clock. We were called in the morning and told that she passed away about eight that Shabbat morning. The funeral would have then to be on Sunday, the August 23, 2010 One year later, I returned to Tel Aviv to be with my family as they observed Habiba’s one year anniversary of her death.

God how fast the year had gone! When I woke up that mornRunning on Empty 36

ing, I said to myself: ‘I slept and now am awake; is my beloved sister asleep or have never slept since last year?’ ---a theological question but for me she is ever alive as she lives in my heart and mind for sure.

Her sickness wanted to take away from her the joy of living, yet she maintained a very positive attitude to life and living to the very last. In 1998 she had her breast removed after they discovered a malignant lump. She told me that she felt incomplete and wondered what and how it might affect her living. It did not take long for her to rise above that situation even after having had some radiation therapy. For six years her cancer was in remission only to surface again. The recurrence called for another operation and more radiation, but she knew then that her war against cancer would not be won! She took all that was given to her: chemotherapy, more radiation, new experimental drugs, etc. None helped the spread of the cancerous legions invaded other live organs including all of her chest’s skin. She that lost her hair, wore a wig and kept going but her energies waned and her spirit sunk. She went out as much as she could but eventually was forced to stay in at her little room sitting and sleeping on her reclining chair watching he favorite Arabic movies.

March 25, 2009 was the turning point in my belief that my Habiba will be able to maintain her positive spirits and do her cooking and serving. As I entered her apartment, I saw her wrapped with a scarf to hide her falling hair, she looked old and shriveled. We ate and then sat for a few moments in her Running on Empty 37

room. She looked up at my late father’s picture and said: -“Please, I tell him, take me home. I am ready to die. I am not afraid. I am 85 years old now and have lived a full life, seen much and travelled much, worked much and now I don’t want to suffer. Let me go without any further suffering and living as I do now”.

Then she looked at me with tears and continued to talk to me.

-“It was twelve years when I first discovered I had cancer. They told me that if I can be in remission for six years then I will be good for life. It reappeared after six and a half years and look at me now. Why do I want to live anymore Sion, why?”

My heart sank as I tried to make her laugh but I failed.

My train ride back to my place in Caesarea was overshadowed by the image of her wilting state, like a flower that had no water for many a day; its leaves wilt and sag but the stem hangs on for a time. How long will she last now? Only God knows!

My mind drifted back to her eighty fourth birthday, October 10, 2008. Her spirits were still positive and vibrant.

She continued to live with her skin and chest lesions but had not given up. Only when I was in Phuket and talked to her daily on the phone, she confessed at time, that she was trying to “navigate” though some rough waters. She was given new medications but she couldn’t handle their side effects, so she occasionally cried and expressed despair while expressing her wish to “die and get it over”. But then her mood would change as her new radiation therapy seemed to be working. When I was in Caesarea, we met one day to go pay respect to my father Running on Empty 38

at his grave, after which the four of us, my three sisters and I, went for a birthday lunch. Small things seemed to make her happy and thankful.

I did not know Habiba that well before I moved to Israel in 2004. Sure, I had been at her home ever since my first visit to Israel with my late wife Ronalie in 1963 and my various subsequent visits to Israel. Later in 1981, when I went to Israel with my second wife Laurie, we spent some time talking about her life in Iraq and later about her move and life in Israel. Yes, she did visit us in America and also Nepal and even Tashkent, yet still I did not really know her as I did after 2004. After her struggles with breast cancer, I used to visit her often, sit and chat, take her out for her favorite fried grouper steak or bring her some falafel from my favorite vendor at Karkur, near my house in Caesarea. I maintained my close connection with her even after I remarried Rapee and moved to Phuket by calling her every night and sharing a story or two just to make her laugh. The more I got to relate to her, the more I got to know her and love her. She was so special. Every time I traveled, no matter where to, I would call her when I landed at my destination, or reached home, just to set her mind at ease and tell her that I loved her.

Of my family of nine: father, mother and seven living children, we have been reduced by death to only three: I, my younger brother Miro and Nina my youngest sister. Albertine died in 1985; Mother died, 1987 followed by my eldest brother Ezra who died of a heart attack a year later, 1988; Habiba died, Running on Empty 39

2009 and just few months later, March 18, 2010, Nazli left this world. When Nazli passed away, I was in Tashkent on my way to Israel. Nina had called Rapee, my wife in Phuket, and asked her to get in touch with me and inform me of Nazli’s death. I had just landed in Tashkent, checked into the hotel and was on my way for some food when Rapee called and informed me of Nazli’s death. I was able to see Habiba just two days before she died but I could not make the funeral for Nazli as I was unable to get a flight in time to make it to her funeral. I wanted to be with her children who adored her. At the given time of her funeral, 14:00 Tel Aviv time, 17:00 hrs Tashkent time, I sat down, prayed for her soul and for the children

I loved my sisters. It was Nazli that I first loved as she used to sit up in the evening at either the balcony or hangout at our living room window overlooking the street. I used to come and stand by her hugging her as tight as she would let me. My mother used to say, not Nazli though, that Nazli did not like to go to school but wanted to do the house work including cooking. She let her. When Nazli was smuggled to Israel in 1952, I felt lone some and sad she went to Israel, in the darkens of the night on a small boat that carried her through the invisible boundary that separated Lebanon and Israel along the Lebanese southern sea shore.

I gravitated towards Albertine after Nazli’s departure.

We shared the same bed room then and I used to wait for her to come home late, get into the room, take off her clothes and put on her night gown. As I pretended to be asleep, I would Running on Empty 40

open my eyes and gaze at the sight of her full naked breasts, which I loved to see! I did not feel guilty doing that for after all I was just discovering my puberty in a land and a time where open dating was not accepted and young adolescents either sought their elder relatives, or prostitute.

Nina, in the meantime, took over the chores of getting Miro and me our light dinner, cleaning our shoes and getting us whatever we needed. That seemed to be the patriarchic way things were in the Middle East: men worked outside the house, earned the money for the family, while the women stayed home and looked after the males. I didn’t know any better then, so I ‘loved being taken care of ’!

When I grew up and moved away, I never turned my back on my family nor heritage. I will never forget my mother’s admonition that we must always preserve the sanctity of the family by staying in touch. What I remembered of them and my interactions with them were consistent with what they shared with Ronalie and me in 1967 when we were on our way back from Nepal to the US. They did share some alright, but they seemed scared to open their ‘old books’, or were they their wounds? Nonetheless, they did share, at some level, their stories. The most interesting one was my mother’s account of her marriage, child bearing and her life with my dad. Her recounting of how we all left Lebanon was great as it reflected on her tremendous gumption, strength of character and survival instincts even though she had so little formal education. That is why I decided to detail some of her encounters and dealings Running on Empty 41

even when she seemed to skip over most of the painful truth of her stubborn commitments to her eldest son, my brother Ezra, at the expense of the whole family! I must admit here that my mother had remained, to the very end. very supportive of my brother in spite of his gambling ‘sickness’ that ‘destroyed’ him while inflicting a lasting impact on the whole family.

My mother was a tough cookie. She seemed to have run the life of every member of our family, including my dad.

She protected my brother whenever he needed protection, especially during his early gambling days and dealings with my father; she influenced my eldest sister to marry her own cousin , Akram; she decided when it was time to send my unmarried sisters to Israel to find suitable husbands and settle down; she was the one who got me the passport and visa and got me going to America in spite of what seemed to me then as an insurmountable hurdle; she was the one who got the permits to get to Israel with my youngest sister when all of the family had already moved on; and on and on were the actions and decisions that reflected so vividly on her character. One incident I will never forget was when she lost her teeth and refused to get a set of teeth but kept on chewing, even steaks, with her gums.

When she finally got a set, she refused to wear them because she claimed the they made her nauseated. She would take and place them in a glass of water by her bed just to show that she had indeed gotten a set of teeth! She laughed easily and when she was with us in Chapel Hill for few months, I would ask her to sit on my lap and start tickling her. She would laugh so Running on Empty 42

hard that she literally used to wet her pants! Her last couple of years before she passed away from a heart attack, she sadly became a kleptomaniac. According to my sister Nina, my mother used to go to the neighborhood supermarket and ‘pinch’ food items or some toiletries. The store manager knew Nina and so he called and told her of what our mother had been doing. Nina pleaded with him not to confront mother but keep a count of what she ‘pinched’ and tell her at the end of every week and Nina would pay for them. Nina knew, and so did the store manager, that my mother had the ‘disease’ and needed to be socially protected from embarrassment at her age! That was sad for sure for her to end her last years with such a socially embarrassing disease!

When my mother narrated her story of how she got out of Lebanon and how she handled the smuggling of my father and sisters from Beirut to Israel, she relived the moments as she went through one detail after another.

She also explained how my two sisters, Nazli then Albertine left for Israel and within a very short period of time, got married to husbands they hardly knew, but Habiba knew them well and that they were Iraqis. Another of my mother’s antics was when she got to Israel from Turkey; the Israeli custom officer wanted to levy taxes on the goods she had brought with her. She barked at him: -“The Arabs did not charge me duties, now you want to do that after I had given my children, plus many other young Jews, as presents to Israel?” He let her go!

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My mother’s story about my dad’s leaving for Israel focused more on the how he got there and not why. My recollection of why my dad left for Israel were due to two reasons: one he had lost all his money through his dealings with my brother’s gambling losses; and second was his great disappointment with my mother’s business relatives’ handling of a business deal he had helped his friend do with my mom’s relatives. He had high blood pressure and one day when he finally realized that he had lost all of his money, I guess he could not accept that and so had a stroke. The stroke left his left side paralyzed and his mouth drooped sideways. He lost a lot of weight but did not buy new clothes so he looked shabby in his old baggy suits. Apparently he could not handle that and so decided to leave all of his Beirut history behind and go to Israel to start anew.

How can I ever forget the first trip Ronalie and took to Israel, in 1963? We had moved to St Louis from Raleigh when I first started my first professional job at Ralston Purina Company at their St Louis headquarters. We decided to take a trip to Europe in April of that year, as we both felt we needed a break from all of past tensions and the move. We left Gwen our body daughter with Ronalie’s mother and started our journey through Europe with the hope of getting to Lebanon and then Israel. Ronalie had never met my family save for Miro who was my best man at our wedding.

Beirut was great. I was happy yet sad: happy to show Ronalie the places where I was born and raised. That was Running on Empty 44

Ronalie’s first exposure to Beirut for she was born and raised in Dayton Ohio and all her travels before our marriage were within the States and some to Mexico City. We stayed at the hotel next to the house I grew up in. We met up with my dear friend Joseph and his family and also Maurice Andrea’s twin sister and her family. Though we were warmly received by my friends, I continued to feel the resentment I harbored about being given an exit visa with no return the first time I left Beirut. I was sad because I couldn’t get over the fact that although I was born and raised in Beirut, I could not call that ‘home’ or our return as ‘home-coming’. I was very happy to be in Beirut walking the old streets sharing with Ronalie some of my memories of my youth and family. But I was also impatient to get to Israel to meet my mother and sisters and their families.

My family was anxiously waiting for our arrival in Tel Aviv with flowers and candies. After the hugs and kisses plus some crying, we left the airport and headed to my mother’s tiny one bedroom apartment in Bat Yam, a suburb of Tel Aviv.

My mother offered to give us the only bedroom she had but we refused and insisted on bedding all of us on the floor of the living cum dining room.

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Bat Yam, the town where my family first lived in, Israel, c. 1963

The Israel experience was very hard on us. Ronalie had problems with her digestive system as she could not handle the food or water. She also was very stressed and depressed emotionally as she could not understand what was being said when we spoke Iraqi Jewish, nor the extent of lack of ‘basic amenities’ that my mother and sisters were facing. She could not understand how my mother or sisters could do the ironing on the floor with no ironing board, or how my mother went about in the cold weather with no overcoat? We went out shopping for my mother, but how much could we buy when the needs were so great?

My family took Ronalie fully into their hearts. They waited on her hand and foot and tried to anticipate her needs with great love and affection. After all, she was my wife and I Running on Empty 46

was their ‘special brother and son’! I did not believe that I was as favored by my sisters as they all claimed. For the first time I seemed to have realized some of the differences that separated me from my family and my ethnic brothers and sisters. I had great difficulty identifying with both. I was accepting of them all. I did not fully share with Ronalie my real feelings toward my eldest brother Ezra.

One day over lunch, Ronalie asked my mother about my birthday. I had told Ronalie that according to my passport, my mother when asked about my birthday, said January 15, 1933. Since I did not have a birth certificate, my mother guessed my date of birth by associating with a winter holiday in which she had had the Kurdish washing lady carry our clothes and furniture covers up to the roof to hang dry. She selected 1933 because she thought I was born the same year as the late king of Iraq, King Faisal. When my mother explained her reason for choosing that date, my eldest sister Habiba said: -“Oh no mother, he was born the same year as King Faisal’s cousin, King Hussein of Jordan. That was 1935, not 1933. As to the month, yes it was a winter month but I’m not sure if it was January”.

Ronalie then suggested that I must not be a January child because matching the horoscope and my character, I did not fit the January child but I fit more the December, Sagittarian, one.

-“Look at him how outgoing and how comfortable he is with all kinds of people. He is an extrovert par excellence, and very gregarious. So he must be a Sagittarian, but what day in DeRunning on Empty 47

cember I am not sure yet. But I think it must be between 14 and 18”, said Ronalie.

Habiba thought that made sense because my character was more like that of King Hussein, who was a Sagittarian, and sometime she thought I looked like him too.

-“Yes, I too think David has many of the characteristics that King Hussein is said to have. I think that the date must be also about the days you suggested for usually the Jewish feast of Hanukah comes in December, though the exact dates vary because of the Jews follow the lunar calendar and not the Christian or Western Gregorian one. I am inclined to say he is a December 14 child and not any other day. From now on I will have his birthday celebrated on that date, ok?” can concluded Ronalie

I wanted to know why my brother was kicked out of France. I had heard earlier that he had served a year in a French prison on charges of aiding the Algerian rebels against the French Government through the running of illegal money transactions between France and Algeria. According to Nina’s story, the moneys were moving from Algeria for the sole purpose of arm purchases by the rebels. My brother had gotten involved in the black money movement business with a couple of Lebanese Jews who operated out of Paris. He was used as the medium for transfers since he was known as a big gambler and so if he were to be caught with big sums, he would say he won them gambling. But one day he was caught red handed by the secret service, who had been tailing him, while he cashed Running on Empty 48

a big transfer. When asked where the transfer had come from, it became obvious that since the originating point was Algeria, he could not use his gamble alibi. They took the money and locked him up for a year. According to Janine, his French lady friend I briefly met during my few days in Paris while waiting to get to the States, he was handsomely compensated by the Lebanese money people for not signaling them in the affair.

But true to his habits, he could not shed his gambling ‘sickness’ for he gambled all of the money he had made by betting on games and horses even while in prison! When he landed in Israel after being deported, he had nothing to show for except his ‘humble’ self.

That evening when Ronalie and I had few moments alone, I shared with her two vivid memories about my brother; one was when I was young in Beirut and he was in his senior year at the AUB, and the other when I met him in Paris on my way to the States. During my teen years, I remember my brother as a very tall, slim, well dressed man who played tennis, possessed a great collection of stamps and was much sought after by young beautiful single Jewish girls in Beirut.

He socialized a lot and he was among the very first to own and drive a car. He was popular, smart and very well to do handsome bachelor attending the best university in the Middle East. What more did he want huh?

When I got to Paris and met him with his lady friend Janine, I stayed at a nearby hotel but spent some time with him and one weekend with Janine and her daughter at her mother’s Running on Empty 49

country home. What struck me most was the first morning I met him, he suggested we go for a walk. Janine had a small dog and all of a sudden, I saw my brother reach down for the dog, put a chain around his neck and take him for ‘the dog’s morning walk’. Was this really my ‘sophisticated’ brother walking a dog for his early ‘shores’, guiding and waiting for the dog ‘to do his thing’? It sure was, and I sure was very surprised but said nothing. I also saw him pick the dog up, hug and kiss him!

Wow, that was very odd for me; for at home we never had a house dog nor any of my siblings cared for keeping a pet or caring for one; but here was my eldest brother doing the ‘unheard of ’, as far as I was concerned, but then why not?

When it comes to remembering my experiences with my two brothers, Ezra and Miro, I come out with very little.

Weird or funny but true that all I remember are but few experiences, and some impressions or reactions to what either of them had done, or how they impacted me directly or indirectly through other members of our family. Ezra, for one, was in his final years at the American University of Beirut when I was just starting my high school. I remember him as a tall slim handsome young man with jet black hairs that he parted to the right. He was a good dresser and a good sport for he played both soccer and tennis. He was reputed to be a good tennis player as well as ping pong player. I remember seeing a couple of small trophies that he won playing tennis.

He also was an avid stamp collector for I used to take some of his stamps to give to my friends when he left for France Running on Empty 50

and left his collection behind. He had many girl friends but I don’t know if he was in love with any. I remember one night when his friends brought him home drunk and smelling like a skunk. My parents quickly shoed me and my sisters off as they helped my brother to his room. I don’t remember any discussion of that incident except once when I overheard my father tell my mother that he did not approve of the company my brother kept for they were reputed to drink a lot and gamble on horses and card games. My mother’s reaction then, so clear in my memory, was not to make a fuss over that for after all he was a grown young man in his senior year at the University and would soon join my dad in his work.

I never saw my brother Ezra drunk after that incident but I sure do remember my parents arguing about his gambling. Just before his final senior year exams, he apparently stayed late that night playing poker and lost a great deal of money. How did my father know of that loss, I never figured out, but he sure did confront my brother then. I heard him shout, slap and order my brother out of the house then. What happened after that, no one told me. But I did know that my brother failed his exams the next day and had to either drop out completely or repeat his final year. My father, I was later told, did not want him to repeat for he thought that he deserved the humiliation of having to leave the University without getting his degree, but my mother insisted that he be allowed to repeat his class and get his degree. She prevailed as usual and my brother did repeat his year and did finally graduate with a Running on Empty 51

business degree. He agreed to join my father in his business but convinced him, again with my mother’s influence over my dad, to support his travel to Paris where he was to start buying and exporting to my dad men and women clothing materials for the local or export markets of the Middle East.

Habiba, on the other hand, seemed to be what I had been told she was: honest, straightforward and very hard working. I had not known her much as she left for Baghdad to get married. I only remember that my father used to claim that whenever he needed to find the truth about any household matter, he would ask Habiba and she would tell the truth even when it was against her. I was also told of how she had once returned to Beirut from Baghdad after her engagement to Akram bragging that Akram’s shoes cost more than her old pursuer’s, Dr. Haddad, total salary.

When Habiba arrived in Israel with her baby son in 1951, Akram had gotten a government job. She felt that she had to work too. She landed a minimum paying job at a garment factory where she supervised seamstresses. Her boss liked her a lot and used her honest nature to keep the factory moving. She worked long hours but earned little. Akram, in addition to his government job, decided to study law at a night college. Their only son, William, idolized by his mother, was in high school then. Habiba, apparently, worked only to make sure that her William would get the best opportunities that life could offer. She kept saying that she wanted him to grow up like me!

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Habiba recounted how one day she came in from work to her one room apartment and was told by a friend of her husband’s that a great surprise was awaiting her. Apparently, the friend had ran into our father in one of the Iraqi gatherings and over heard the father ask about the whereabouts of his daughter Habiba and her husband Akram. When Akram’s friends came forward and informed our father that be indeed knew Akram, the father started crying saying “thank God, I have found them. Now I can go home”. So, having heard from the father that Habiba did not know of his coming, and that she had not seen him for several years, the friend decided to break, gently, the news to Habiba, took my father to her house, but asked him to wait outside as he proceeded to prepare Habiba for the event.

Habiba received my father with great jubilations. She was so surprised yet so happy to see him. He proceeded to tell her of his last two years in Beirut and now he finally escaped to Israel to start a new life. Habiba, in turn, told him of her trials and tribulations in Iraq. She related to him how the government had confiscated their properties and allowed them to take only a suitcase of cloths when they left Baghdad for Israel.

She also told him of how, after having had William, Akram began to run around with other women. She knew all that, yet she kept mum as she wanted to maintain her family’s integrity.

Apparently, they talked for a couple of hours, and then Habiba left the room to prepare a cup of tea for him. The last she heard him say was “you had all that trouble and did not tell us, why?”

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She returned to the room only to find him humped over their only couch. She thought him at first asleep, but them as she noticed the paleness of his face, she felt that he might have fainted. She approached him, shook him but had no response.

She ran to her neighbor begging her to come see her father. As the neighbor approached him, she immediately realized that he was dead. He must have succumbed to a massive stroke and died instantly. Habiba and Akram had to make the burial arrangements and go through the mourning procedures prescribed by the Jewish religion: seven days of sitting Shiva and one year of wearing black.

As Habiba related our father’s last encounter, we embraced, cried and reassured each other of our love for each other. When I started to say something to her about our brother’s ‘doings’, she reached out and placed her index finger on my mouth saying: - “We must live with it now and learn to forgive. We can’t hold it against him no matter how many mistakes he had committed. Our father did not blame him, so why should we? Besides, what would this blame get us but more heartache? I am sure my father would not have wanted us to do that; was truly a noble and good hearted man. You will grow up to be like him”.

Ronalie and I visited Albertine and Nazli’s houses too.

Both were married and had children. I wanted to know about their lives and their struggles in Israel but they were very reluctant to talk. Albertine, giggling nervously, said that the past was gone and that her husband Haim was very good to her, and Running on Empty 54

that her Abboudi, her only son and apple of her eye, looked so much like me. Nazli too would not talk except to say: -“Remember Beirut and Bahamdoun? They were really beautiful. It is a sin and shame we left”.

But Nina tried to quench our curiosity by relating Albertine’s and Nazli’s stories. Nina told us that Nazli married Meir, her husband, through an arrangement worked out by Habiba. Nazli kept her spirits up, accepted her lot, produced four children, and tended the house as she smoked her life away. The family’s reactions to her life reflected their fatalistic acceptance of events by saying ‘it is fate!’

I remember how much Nazli loved to dance. She loved Latin music and dances. She also loved French songs, especially love songs. Her cooking was ‘tops’ and her house management was ‘first class’. When I was with her in Tel Aviv in 2004, I was surprised to see her smoke so much. I didn’t remember her smoking in Beirut. I knew that she had cervical cancer and had to be operated followed by radiation and chemotherapy.

She lost her hair but she went into remission and she did get her hair back. When her husband Meir got a massive stroke that rendered him completely paralyzed and confined to bed or wheel chair, Nazli did not shrink from caring for him or the children. She did that until she could no more carry him off and on from bed or gives him a bath. She got him a full time home based care taker, but she continued to fully meet all of his needs and the children. She loved having her youngest son Danny have his daily lunch with her. He would also pick her Running on Empty 55

up sometimes when she went shopping at the main ‘shook’.

Habiba did arrange Nazli’s wedding to Meir. She explained her decision to help Nazli marry Meir by saying that my father had met the Iraqi engineer, Meir, during his search for her, and thought that he might be good for Nazli. Habiba took that as my father’s dyeing wish and proceeded to aggressively match Meir to Nazli.

-“They dated for few weeks and poor Nazli, every time she came back from a date, she had black and blue marks on her arms from Meir’s pinching; apparently that was how he expressed his excitement to Nazli!” related Habiba.

I couldn’t help but relate to Ronalie that Naqli was not as outspoken as Albertine but she did keep her ground when confronted by my mother or Albertine. She did not mince words and she sure kept that stance over the rest of her life.

-“You see Ronalie, Nazli did not go to school as she stayed home and took care of cooking and housekeeping. Her dating was limited. My mother, after my father’s departure from Lebanon, insisted that Nazli should go to Israel and get married as she was very unlikely to find a ‘good husband’ in Beirut.

Mother believed that the girls should get married young lest their dowry increase to a point where the parents would not be able to afford it. Since she could not rule Albertine’s life, she sure ruled Nazli’s and directed her towards Israel”, I concluded

Albertine, on the other hand, was very outspoken and ‘hard headed’ in what she wanted, specially what she would or would not do at home. She was shorter but plumper than Running on Empty 56

Nazli. When she walked down our street in Beirut, the young men would turn their heads and whistle as she wiggled her hips. She looked like she was dancing as she walked! She had curly short hair and an infectious broad smile. She too loved to dance and socialize, but avoided house work. She didn’t take any money from my mom for her personal expenses because she earned her own money by tutoring students privately. She loved to wear nice clothes and shoes which she financed from her own earnings. The one thing I can never forget was the intensity of her love for Hassi, an Iraqi Jewish medical student at the American University of Beirut. When Hassi left for the US and did not take her, she was visibly disturbed and sad. When she later got a ‘dear Albertine’ letter from him telling her that they better socially date for he was not sure about his future plans nor about marriage. That did her in for sure; so she decided to leave for Israel; marry the first person that would propose to her. Habiba again arranged for her to meet Haim who was also an Iraqi Jew working for the Government as a social worker. She married him and settled in Bat-Yam, then a rather poor suburb of Tel-Aviv, and proceeded to raise a family by having a son. She poured all of her pent-up love on him. She also had a very lovable daughter She did not want to ever talk about Hassi except to say that it was finished; yet it was obvious that she carried much pain!

-“How did she ever get into that position?” asked Ronalie -“Well her story is really sad. She really loved Hassi and was certain that he would one day marry her. She dated him heavRunning on Empty 57

ily for almost four years while he was a medical student at the American University of Beirut. You see, my father and mother wanted her to date other men as she was getting up in years.

My father insisted that she stop seeing him as he maintained that Hassi did not come from a high principled family, as his father was an atheist and not a very honest businessman. My father argued that Hassi, the son, couldn’t be better than his dad and so mistrusted him. My father was sure that when Hassi got what he wanted, he would jilt my sister. As a matter of fact, he did exactly that!

“I too loved Hassi very much” I continued. “While I was growing up, he was my surrogate older-brother-protector. He would take me some times to movies, treat my ailments and even write false medical excuses for me whenever I needed to mend my school absenteeism’s fences. He would spend endless hours with Albertine at home socializing. Albertine thought him to be the greatest man, in spite of what our father said, and even her best friend Elaine’s poor opinion of him were!

Albertine cooked for him and nursed him whenever he got sick and defended him to our mother and others alike as she knew that he would stand by his word and marry her when he finished medical school.

“After finishing medical school, Hassi applied for medical internship at US hospitals. He got accepted in few, as he was a good student. Albertine thought for sure that she would travel with him as his bride, only to learn later that he did not intend to marry then but rather planed to travel alone and then send Running on Empty 58

for her. So he approached our mother for a loan t help pay for his passage from Beirut to Knoxville, Tennessee where he had accepted to intern. My mother refused saying that she was not going to loan him the funds that could enable him escape his responsibilities towards Albertine. It was through my, yes my own insistence, that my mother finally gave in and loaned Hassi the money. Oh how well I do remember the day she did that! She called Hassi in and asked him to at least get officially engaged to Albertine before he left so that her reputation will be upheld; but he refused to do that on the grounds that he did not believe in engagement!

“Hassi left for the US with his first cousin Ike, a graduate in engineering. They traveled by ship to Europe and then on to the US. The first letter Albertine got related his meeting US president Truman’s daughter, and played ping-pong with her! That annoyed Albertine some as she began to show some doubts about Hassi’s intentions. Not long after that, I came home one day to find Albertine sobbing in her room. She showed me the letter she got from Hassi telling her that he felt it best that they both dated as he really did not see himself married soon. It was then that Albertine determined to leave Beirut, go to Israel, get married and forget that son of a bitch. After all, our father was proven right!” I concluded as Ronalie kept shaking her head in disbelief.

My youngest sister Nina grew up during my family’s hard days in Beirut. She took over the domestic chores from Nazli after Nazli left for Israel. Unlike Nazli, Nina stayed in Running on Empty 59

school but worked her duties looking after my needs, Miro’s and my mother. I remember, ever so well, how she used to shop, cook and even clean Miro and my shoes! (Another reflection of the way the Middle East men were ‘served’ by their females: wives, daughters or sisters! It was natural for me to accept such service then but oh how I hate to even think that such sexist behavior continues to thrive in some parts of the world!) She was very skinny and always on the go. When Ronalie and I met her in Israel, she hadn’t really changed! She was still the energetic young girl who was ever ready to serve her family and friends.

Nina wanted to complete at least her high school education in Israel. She worked as a secretary in an office during the day and took classes in the evening. She seemed happy in her set-up then as she continued to project tremendous amounts of energy, self confidence and drive. Nina became to the family the only mover in getting things done in Israel. She had all answers to their “problems” and so everyone would say, “Ask Nina”. Her seeming continued readiness or need to serve others intrigued me. One day when I was in Israel during the month of September 1998, we went to beach side café for coffee and I asked her about her continuous ‘serving’ others, be it family or friends. She looked me straight in the eyes and said: -“I always wanted to be accepted by my class mates in Beirut who had more than me of everything a young girl desired: dresses, nice shoes and even pocket money to buy snacks. I Running on Empty 60

worked hard at school to top my class, but that made them jealous and made me feel more alone. So when our dad received the ‘fake’ jewelries from our bother Ezra, he rejected then and threw them under his bed. I used to take some every day to give to my classmates. They loved that and started to wait to see what the next ‘presents from Nina’ would be. I started then to feel accepted. From that day on, I seem to have developed some kind of complex that drove me to volunteer to do things for others and feel accepted. Maybe this is the main reason why now I cannot say no to any request that comes my way; from my children to my sisters and even my close and so close friends. You may call that an inferiority complex or whatever, but that set the pattern for my behavior that you see now. I am happy doing that but you may say that I am convincing myself that I am happy in doing what I do. Ok, do it but I can’t change nor do I want to change now”.

-“Do you ever feel that you are being taken advantage of by others: the children, family or close friends?” I asked.

-“Of course not”, she replied. “For me now it makes me very happy to do things for others, specially my children and our siblings. Don’t look so surprised David. It is true. I really enjoy being asked to help a close friend or a family member. I get tired sometimes, especially now that I have this lymphoma, but I take a half hour nap and then get up feeling great. You know David; I love to arrange cultural outings for friends plus an occasional dinner or lunch here and there. My husband Running on Empty 61

Ezra, goes along and always says ‘ask Nina’ or ‘Nina will be happy to do it’. Does that reflect his pride in me or dependence on me? Maybe both, but I really don’t care. I do it because I want to now,” she replied.

I accepted her position and wished her continued good health and stamina to do what she loves to do. In some ways, I felt that I too was like her. Was that all because of our upbringing in Beirut, both at home and the way we were treated at school?

Nina continues to be the most knowledgeable and “helpful” person of the family. She exhibited boundless energy and loved to share news, whether personal or national, with family and friends. That is why I used to lovingly refer to her as the ‘minister of culture and information’. She is so pro Israel and apparently was that way ever since she landed in Israel.

I vividly remember how she traveled with her daughter and her new born grandson to America and Canada in pursuit of medical help for Gila’s first born son and how she ran back from her much needed vacation she had taken to Cyprus when she got word that her husband fainted and needed a heart pace maker. When she recently traveled to the US to be with her son’s family, who had accepted a one year visiting faculty invitation at Yale, her eldest daughter found out that she had breast cancer and needed a mastectomy. Nina did not know that then, but as soon as she returned home, she started her running from her house to her daughter’s to accompany her Running on Empty 62

to one hospital or one doctor to another in search of needed tests or treatment. She does all of that while still never missing making a special birthday dinner to celebrate a grandchild or one of her children’s birthdays, or even a close friend like her beloved neighbors Tzivika or Sera. Nina will never change and I pray daily that she be given the needed strength and health to keep doing what she does best: give of herself to others

Nazli, Me, Habiba and Nina (2004)

When I was with my sisters and saw them act and work as they did, I wondered why they did this that or the other, or say what they said? Why Habiba maintained a positive loving attitude, in spite of the difficult life she had I recalled then how they related their early years in Israel; how difficult life was and how they missed our lives in Beirut. I also remember how some were more forthcoming than others, especially Habiba and Nina.

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My youngest brother Miro lives in the US. He is a retired education administrator from Indiana’s school system.

He married, June 1960, a lovely young lady whom he met at Marion College in Indiana (USA). They have three children; a daughter whom Miro seems to idolize, and two sons, all of whom are presently married. Lisa, his oldest daughter, is a very successful cranial plastic surgeon and professor of surgery at Wake Forrest University, North Carolina, while his eldest son Douglas is a family physician practicing in Indiana. His youngest son is a high school teacher working in Indiana too.

I don’t know much about Miro. I have very few memories of our days in Beirut. I remember that my dad pampered him a lot especially when it came to eating food, for he was a fussy eater! My dad would seat Miro next to him at lunch and coax him to eat by offering him some money. I used to get jealous, for sure, of both the attention and money he got!

In general I don’t have many memories, good or bad. He also converted to Christianity through the same Pentecostal missionaries, the Meyers, and he remains a devout Christian to this date while I maintain my Jewish roots.

Miro was my best man when I married Ronalie and I was his when he married mable. He also came to be with me during my seven days mourning period, as per Jewish traditions, for Ronalie, which I did appreciate a lot. These days, Miro and I maintain a cordial relationship. He and Nina are very close, for that I am happy for them. When my sisters, Habiba and later Nazli died, he called the family but could not, Running on Empty 64

for medical reasons, make the trip from North Carolina to Israel. The last time we physically met was when he came alone to be with my sisters. He stayed with Nina and we occasionally met at either Habiba or Nina’s house for dinner or lunch.

I continue to find him a bit distant. I would love for us to be more communicative and emotionally supportive. I truly feel bad about that for I remember my mother’s admonition that we should always stick together for we are one family. I will do better as time allows.

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My Married ‘Lives’

Personal Note: I married five times but to four women for I married my

third wife a second time after my divorce from my fourth wife. I loved all my four wives, though differently, for each wife brought so much to my life during our years together. Some of my friends tell me that I had become an ‘expert’ when it comes to understanding, living and loving ‘women’. I laugh and say of course not. Then I share with them the story that a friend had shared with me in Israel. The story was about an Israel married man, Shlomo and his wife. It went like this:

“Shlomo, a very good man, a religious man who cared about his fellow

humans and shared with the needy whatever he had. One night, Shlomo was awakened in the middle of the night by a strong light that fell straight on his eyes. As he pulled himself out of his covers, he saw a white figure standing at the foot of his bed.

He was frightened but the figure immediately allayed his fears by talking to him.

-“Shlomo, don’t be afraid. This is God talking to you. I have been watching your life and your dealings with your fellow humans. You are a good man so I came to grant any wish you want, one wish only”, said God. -“Thank you God” responded Shlomo. “I have, as you know, only one son who now lives in Los Angeles. As you know, I have not seen for the last three years. He wants me to visit him but I can’t fly. I am very scared of being on a plane and for such a long distance. Can you please God build a bridge between here, Tel Aviv, and Los Angeles so I can drive there? I don’t mind driving dear God”, replied Shlomo.

God took two seconds before answering Shlomo then asked him; - “Shlomo, do you have any other request I can give you?”

- “Well God, I do”, replied Shlomo. “I have been married to my Sarah for over forty years and still I can’t understand her. Can you please help me understand her?” asked Shlomo.

Without a moment of hesitation, God answered; -“Shlomo, do you want a one way or two way bridge?”

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If God couldn’t understand a woman, how then can a mortal man like me understand the women I met and married? This was the same admonition that Amos Oz’s father shared with his son Amos after he had grown up and was ready to move on with his life. The father told his son that he could never figure out the heart or mind of a woman.”

Ronalie was my first love and wife. We were married for twenty one years. She was, and continues to be, my first and only true love….. I then married Laurie for less than two years, though we had lived together for over a year before that. I remained single after Laurie for two decades before marrying Rapeepan Wangchungtong (Rapee), a Chinese-Thai physician who lived and worked in Bangkok, Thailand. After our marriage, she continued to live and work in Thailand while I lived and worked in Katmandu. We visited each other during long weekends but we really didn’t have a life together. We ended up amicably divorcing after less than two years. I returned then to my celibate life before marrying my fourth wife, Joanne, for four years. When Joanne divorced me, for reasons that I never was given, I remained single for a year before re-marrying Rapee. Now I and Rapee continue to live in Phuket in the house we started building during our first married year. Rapee continues to practice internal medicine while I continue to support and dabble in start-up businesses in Uzbekistan and Israel. In what follows I share my life as a husband and an in between marriages as a bachelor.

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Ronalie, my first wife (1958-1979)

“You shall be together even in the silent whisper of God. But let there be spaces in your togetherness. And let the winds of heavens dance between you”. Khalil Gibran the Prophet (1923), “It is impossible to let go of love you had for a lover and more so for a wife” I said to my friend Robert, Phuket-Thailand 2012

Ronalie in Dayton, Ohio, 1955

She ran out of her mother’s car and grabbed her waiting brother and sister. After getting inside the house, she saw me standing by the dining room door.

-“You must be David, and I am Ronalie. I am sure you already know my sister Sharolyn and my brother Brent,” she said.

Well, I finally got to meet ‘The” Ronalie that her mother and sibling had spoken of so often and so highly! They, specially the mother, had gone on and on about Ronalie did this and Ronalie did that! She had come home for Thanksgiving Running on Empty 68

from her first year college, Houghton College in New York, while I came for my first Thanksgiving weekend in America, 1955, from Marion College, Indiana. I had gone to Dayton Ohio to be with my ‘American adopted family, Nate and Marry Scharff, and their three children: Ronalie, the eldest; Sharolyn who was still in high school, and the only son Brent, also in high school.’ I had met Sharolyn and Brent the first day I landed at their home and we seemed to have hit it off alright. They had lovingly welcomed me into their family, and that made me feel safe and accepted. Ronalie, when I first laid eyes on her, was wearing red knitted suit and seemed on the ‘plump’ side.

She was of medium height, short hair but big beautiful brown eyes and a ‘good size nose’, like her father Nate

The next morning, she saw me sitting at the dining room and laughed.

-“I am sorry I didn’t talk with you last evening. My mother, sister and brother had me up late talking about college and the friends I made. Anyway, let me now take a good look at you” she said as she entered the dining room. “You need to be eating my pancakes every morning so by the time you get back to Marion College, you will have some more meat on your frame.

I promise to fix you three pancakes with butter and syrup” she concluded.

-“I don’t know if I can eat that much every day”, I replied and felt my face on fire. I was not sure of my ‘footing’ then or how to relate to Ronalie. Her big eyes radiated genuine concern and self assurance.

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-“You will see. I am sure you can. Another thing please, don’t call me sister and I will not call you Abraham or Abe. I am Ronalie and if it is ok with you, I will call you David”, she informed me, not asked me!

-“But David is my family name not my given name,” I responded.

-‘‘I know that, but to me your first name does not seem to fit you. You don’t look like our president Lincoln nor I think you are as ‘honest’ as he was!” she replied while laughing. Then she quickly added: “I hope you don’t mind my joking with you about the ‘honest’ bit, ok? Please accept my saying that without jumping into some quick conclusion, please”, she pleaded.

-“No problem Ronalie. I accept what you said and I will do what you asked. You can call me David and I will call you by your name,” I replied.

My God, overnight I was told that I was going to be ‘fattened’ and I got my name changed! I didn’t object then and for the balance of my life I have been called David and several years later, after getting my PhD, I was referred to as Dr. David.

Only two persons used to call me Abe: one the young secretary of the ministry of planning in Nepal and the other, my Indian professor colleague at the University of North Carolina.

When I met Ronalie and got to talking and being around her some, she looked much more like her father than the mother. She was about five feet six inches, a brunet with dark brown hair and brown eyes, while her mother was short, blue eyed blond and of Christian Swiss-Dutch back ground.

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The father, on the other hand, was about five eight, dark skin, big brown eyes and dark hair. He was brought up by his Jewish parents who had immigrated to the US from Russia. Ronalie certainly took her looks from the father.

Ronalie was very articulate and very smart, loving and very sensitive. She loved to help with housework, cooking and tiedy things. Her apple pies were out of this world! While growing up, she was her father’s pet as he bought her, during her high school final two years, a new Chevy every year and dressed her in cashmeres and the best that money could buy.

She was also very close to her mother Mary. Mary seemed to use her as her confidant.

When we first met, I knew from both her mother and sister that Ronalie was very much in love with her long time boy friend, Jimmy Mc Queston. I had met Jimmy, who used to come often to spend time with Marry talking. I was told

by Sharolyn that he spent a lot of time with her mom helping her with running errands and fixing some minor items around the house. Jimmy was very handsome. He was tall, slim, good facial features, hair that he combed with a ‘Tony Curtis’, curl.

He had a white sport Jaguar which he kept shining like mad.

When Ronalie was around, they often went out together to be with friends or visit Ronalie’s grandparents. Ronalie loved her grandparents and spent a lot of time looking after their needs. I didn’t feel any jealousy then nor did I see anything wrong in Ronalie spending most of her free time with Jimmy.

But whenever we were at home, she would tell me about her Running on Empty 71

college work and I will talk some about my background, my family and my becoming a Christian plus some about Marion College. I liked that and was content to be around her and her treating me as a member of the family.

I saw Ronalie again during the Christmas holidays.

She had gotten home from college for two weeks as I did from mine. The whole family showered me with so many presents then that I felt so ‘lucky’ and happy to be a member of the Scharff family. That was my first Christmas ever as we certainly did not celebrate Christmas in my Jewish home, though I sometimes accompanied my Christian friend Joseph to his church’s midnight mass. The whole experience then ‘blew me off ’. The amount of presents bought and placed under the big beautifully decorated Christmas tree was too much for me to see. So much affluence but at the same time so much caring for the ‘less fortunate, as Marry had Ronalie and I deliver so many boxes of food and other items to members of their church plus others Nate and Marry had known.

One morning when I came down to help Ronalie clean up the breakfast dishes; I noticed her wearing a small diamond ring. She noticed me looking at it so she flashed it in front of my eyes as she said that she and Jimmy got engaged the night before. Jimmy had proposed and she accepted so he gave her the ring. They are to get married after she finished her college.

I congratulated her and told her that I wanted the very best for her life.

When we returned to our respective colleges, we startRunning on Empty 72

ed to correspond. She wrote about the difficulties of chemistry classes and I wrote about events that were going on at Marion.

I specially wrote about my weekend outings with my three companions where we were invited to conduct the Sunday services at community churches around the Marion counties. My three friends were students with me but possessed different talents: one South Korean ex boxer had a good voice and so did the North Korean ex pastor. Our guitarist was from Chicago and I was from Beirut. We would sing together a hymn in English and when it came to the chorus, we would take turn in singing it in our own mother tongue. Then I would do a brief ‘sermon/talk’ based on my understanding of the Old and New Testaments. Having gone through the first semester at Marion and had taken homiletics, the art of preaching, plus some theology courses, the College Church decided to grant me a ‘lay preacher certificate’. Given my being a Jew convert to Christianity and given the fact that I was a relatively good public speaker, our ‘quartet’ was in good demand. The morning Church offering was given to us to help with our studies.

We enjoyed both the service as well as the pocket money we got from such outings.

The next time Ronalie and I met was over Easter vacation, again at her home in Dayton Ohio. By then I felt that I was beginning to think of her more as a very attractive young lady and not just my ‘sister in the Lord’. I didn’t know how to handle my feelings then or how to share them with her. Though I kept mum and went along with the sister-brother thing, I felt that Running on Empty 73

an opportunity will come my way where I can and will tell her how I felt about her.

One day, while being at home spending time with Sharolyn and Marry, Ronalie walked in with a girl friend of hers named Rosie. She introduced us and proceeded to tell me that Rosie will join her and Jimmy to do some ice skating. She suggested I join them and try the sport. I accepted and the four of us went in Ronalie’s car, with Jimmy doing the driving and Ronalie sitting beside him while Rosie and I occupied the back seat. On the way, Rosie got closer to me and kissed me on the lips. I was shoked then but I welcomed it for sure. I returned her kiss as passionately as I could. Ronalie saw that and said that we seem to have hit it off ‘fast’. Should we not take it easy since that was our first date? We both said ok but in fact continued to kiss and hug as tight as we could.

We got to the skating ring, did some skating, with me spending more time on my ass than my feet. On the way back, Rosie and I resumed our kissing and when we came to a stop light, Rosie held my hand where I had my name ring on and said: “David, this is so cute. Can I try it on and you try my class ring on?” I took out my ring, handed it to her and said: “Sure, try it on”. She did and asked if we could exchange them for a while. I didn’t mind for how could I reject the wish of such a beauty?

As soon as we got home and inside the door, Rosie showed Sharolyn and Marry my ring she was wearing and told them that we exchanged rings. Sharolyn laughed outloud and Running on Empty 74

asked me if I knew what that meant. I smiled as she proceeded to dance around singing: David and Rosie are going steady… …I said nothing for I didn’t know why she was saying that and what did it all mean! To me it was a simple act of not refusing the request of a beautiful young blond who kissed me so warmly and aroused me so much. So I let it go, but Rosie apparently knew what Sharolyn was saying as she went ahead and told other church going friends I had met. When I finally got the courage to ask Ronalie about that incident, she explained that in America, when young people exchange rings, that meant they are going steady, and that going steady meant that neither will date other persons and if in time they get closer to each other, going steady will actually lead to official engagement to wed. Going steady, I was told meant ‘engaged to be engaged’.

Wow, I was floored for I sure got myself in some hot soup and my Mideast ‘manly pride’ did not allow me to declare my true ignorance and ask for my ring again. I let it go for then and hoped that once I got back to college, this ‘business’ will take care of itself. I did see Rosie a few more times before I had to return to college. We continued to kiss and fondle each other but did not go beyond that. I dealt with my sexual frustration by ‘taking matters into my right hand’ as men say!

When I finally said goodbye and returned to college, I felt a great sense of relief. Rosie called sometime to my rooming house and we made small talk. One day she called to tell me that she and Sharolyn were driving down to Marion for the weekend and that she could hardly wait for us to be toRunning on Empty 75

gether again. Sharolyn had booked a room at a hotel for them so we could be ‘alone then’. I did not fully understand what she meant by being ‘alone then’, but I could not ask my more ‘seasoned’ friends what she might have meant nor what I should best do to get out of my ‘ring – going steady predicament’. So I lost some sleep and waited for the weekend to come, and it sure came alright!

Sharolyn and Rosie came with lots of fancy clothes in two suitcases. They checked into their hotel then came all ‘decked out’ to my rooming house for us to go out for the night. I had asked my roommate to join us to keep Sharolyn company. I had also booked a table at a fancy, (fancy for my limited budget and pocket book), restaurant for dinner. When I met them they seemed very high and edgy. I thought maybe that was from the trip or their excited anticipation of spending the weekend with me. I did flatter myself then for it became very clear that the two of them were looking for a ‘wild evening away from home and their church going friends’. They did not like my roommate and started to make some jokes about us, which turned me off completely. I told them that and Rosie said then: -“If this the way you treat me, then I want my ring back and I give you yours. I don’t want to go steady with you anymore”. She took off my ring, threw it at the table in front of me, and waited for me to hand her hers. When I did that, she and Sharolyn got up, walked out of the restaurant and drove away leaving my roommate and I stranded about three miles away from our room with no transport of our own! As Running on Empty 76

we walked back to our room, I felt so relieved. I was finally free of Rosie and my ‘going steady’ business. I told my roommate that that was one of the best lessons I learned: never to be too proud to ask for explanation, and never to say yes without knowing what exactly that yes entailed! Wow, what an experience that was!

As time went by, Ronalie and I got closer through our frequent correspondence. One day when we both were at her house for few days from college, she went to the kitchen to prepare dinner for the family. While helping her, we got to talking about the day she and Jimmy would get married. I asked her straight forward; -“I hope you don’t mind if I say something about your plans to marry Jimmy next year, do you?”

-“Of course not David”, she replied.

-“Are you sure you will be happy marrying Jimmy? He doesn’t have much education, and to me he seems only focused on his Jaguar and his hair. When together, do you carry deep conversations with him? I have watched the two of you together and somehow I got to thinking about your future. Of course I can’t dare speculate about that, but I only wish that you give this issue some more serious thought. You have been good friends for so many years, I am told. I am sure you know best what to do, Ronalie, and I pray that whatever you decide, it will be the best for you. I also want you to know that you can always count on me to help in any way I can”, I replied.

-“Thank you, David”, she said as she reached out and hugged me.

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After finishing preparing dinner, Ronalie went up to her room, changed and came down to wait for Jimmy’s arrival.

They were going to go bowling and a drive-in for some hot dogs and her favorite root beer soda. Nothing was said about our conversation of that evening. For three days after that conversation, I felt shitty for I thought I might have overstepped my limits; but she didn’t stop me or say anything negative about what I said! Couple of days before I was to return to college, Ronalie came home from seeing Jimmy with a big smile on her beautiful face. She was quick to show me her empty ring figure and told me that she gave back the ring to Jimmy and told him that they better remain friends and not think about getting married. Apparently he did not put a big fuss about that as he accepted the ring back.

Few weeks after my return to college, I wrote Ronalie a personal letter declaring my love for her and my wish to become boy-girl friends and not the ‘brother-sister’ thing anymore. I did not get a quick reply or a quick rebuff from her. I went to my dorm’s mail box daily hoping to hear from her, but nothing came. That got me very disturbed and confused. I lost focus on my studies for I feared her rejection now that I had declared my true feelings toward her. I finally got a letter from her saying that she was shocked and flattered at the same time to get my letter for she thought I had great courage in doing so then. She didn’t accept or directly reject my ‘offer’ to become her boy friend then but said that we should continue our friendship now and see how it evolves over time. I was relieved Running on Empty 78

then, for at least she did not say no.

We continued in that mode for over two years, but then decided to be girl-boy friend. I was extremely happy for I didn’t think deep down that she would be my girl friend, but she did. When we were together, we spent time alone and even once tried to make love when we thought no one was home.

Just as we started, we heard her mother come in. We quickly put on our clothes and were talking when her mother walked into Ronalie’s room. We never had another opportunity to be alone at home. We necked alright but did not try a repeat of our failed love making. I loved our long talks about life and living, church, Christianity, Judaism, my family, my early years in Beirut and life in general growing up in Beirut. I often used to accompany her to her grandparents. I saw her great love for them. She and her grandfather used to tease each other a lot.

She loved that and I loved seeing her so happy then.

She became my girl friend when I had already moved to Purdue University in Lafayette Indiana. After completing my year at Marion and she hers at Houghton, I moved to West Lafayette Indiana and enrolled at Purdue University in Poultry Science as I had planned. Ronalie also changed college as she went to Asbury College to be nearer her family. My professor at the American University of Beirut was a graduate of Purdue and had highly recommended me to the Department Head of Poultry Science. I was accepted but not given a scholarship the first semester but promised to have my application reviewed based on my performance. For the second semester, I got a Running on Empty 79

foreign student scholarship, for I excelled in courses I had taken.

Ronalie and I used to meet at her home during the holidays. We spent some good times together. Both family and friends got to know that we were boy-girl friends. We went to drive-ins alone and sometime with her friends. Seeing Jimmy at Ronalie’s home visiting Marry seemed to be very ok with Ronalie and Jimmy. I was very happy to see them remain good friends. During the spring of that year, my dormitory hosted its annual Spring Dance and I asked Ronalie to join me, which she did. She drove to Purdue for the weekend and stayed at the Purdue’s Union where I booked a room for her. She was very beautiful and I was so proud and happy to introduce her to my friends as my girlfriend.

During the evening of the dance, she told me that she had started to get severe back pains. She had been to many doctors and even chiropractics but no definite diagnosis was given. She was thinking that if the pain persisted for some months, she might have to drop school and stay at home taking care of her back. I didn’t know what to make of that. I went and got us a couple of cocktails then asked her to dance. She looked at me with sorrowful eyes and said: -“David, I am sorry for spoiling the evening and your plans, but I can’t take alcohol nor can dance because. I am on pain medications for my back.

Sorry sweetheart for spoiling your plans and weekend”. I was shocked to hear that her back problem was as severe as her actions reflected, I looked at her, cupped her hands in mine and told her that she need NOT be sorry at all. Having her with Running on Empty 80

me then, and having her drive all the way from Dayton with back pain was more than anyone could expect from his love.

What she did was truly an act of love. If she did not love me, she would not be with me now.

“Please sweetheart, don’t worry. If you need to get back to your room and rest for the night, I will be happy to accompany you to your room and let you rest. We will meet for breakfast, if you are up to it, ok?”

She held my hands then hugged me as she started crying and kept on crying as I walked her to her room, kissed her goodnight and went back to my dorm.

While in my own room, all I could think about was how to help my Ronalie, and would she be ok for the night and what about her drive back home alone? My mind swam in the turbulent waters of my troubled heart and mind. I hated to see her in pain and crying, but what could do? I didn’t know why she had back pains. What was the prognosis then, she did not know for her doctor couldn’t be specific in his diagnosis or prognosis. Pain killers, and sometimes hospital admission for traction therapy, were recommended. She shared that with me the following morning as we nibbled at our breakfasts.

Her need of being in bed with a heating pad most of the time added more questions and confusion to my already turbulent mind and heart. I told her that no matter what, I was here for her and was ready to do anything I could to remain loyal and committed to our budding love. Ronalie left that afternoon and as soon as she entered her house, she called to reassure me Running on Empty 81

that she got in safely and that she loved me.

Ronalie’s back pain persisted. She was in and out of hospitals where she sepent few days at a time in traction. That used to give her some temporary relief, but not cure. She was sent a few months later to Colorado to a ‘reputed’ clinic for back therapy. It combined chiropractic treatment with hot spring baths. That gave her some temporary relief. Couple of days after she got back home, she called and sobbed as she told me that her parents had been hinting that all the pain she was experiencing was psychological, all in her head. That hurt her more than the actual physical pain. No matter how hard I tried to console her, she couldn’t stop her sobbing. Before hanging up, she asked if I thought her pain was all in ‘her head’. -“My sweetheart”, I cried out, “how can you ever think that? I love you and I am sure that one day you’ll find out that you were right and everyone else wrong when they finally find out the real physical cause of your back problem. I am sure of that, so please don’t listen to anyone’s crap for no one knows yet the true cause. No matter what, I do and will always love you”. Did she believe my words? Did I believe what I said to her? I sure did for somehow I felt confident that her pain was real and that one day she will be totally healed.

Three months after that conversation, her mother called to tell me that Ronalie’s childhood love had returned from his air force service and was going to their house and spending time with Ronalie alone every morning. That hit me real hard. I had seen pictures of Eddie in Ronalie’s album. He Running on Empty 82

was handsome; tall and slim with well fit in his smart air force uniform. When Friday rolled in, I told my friend that I had to hitch-hike to Dayton for the weekend and see my girl friend.

-“Are you ok David? You look so pale. Do you want me to come with you?” asked Fred.

-“I am ok, no problem. I will be alright for I had done this hitch-hiking bit before and it was very ok. Don’t worry; I will be back Sunday evening. I have an endocrinology test Monday morning so I have to get back to go over my notes Sunday evening”.

When I got to Dayton and showed up at Ronalie’s home, Eddie was leaving. I said hi as our paths crossed but he stared at me, turned his head and walked out. He was not happy to see me then nor I, for that matter. I went straight to Ronalie’s room where she was lying down. She was surprised to see me but smiled as she reached out and kissed me. We talked about school then and I told her that I felt I had to see her for I had missed her a lot.

-“David I know you. You look upset. What’s the matter sweetheart?” she asked.

-“I heard from your mom, when I called to check on you three days ago, that Eddie had completed his air force service and was spending quite a bit of time with you”, I answered.

-“Oh David, nothing is going on there. Yes, Eddie had been coming in the morning to see me and for me to help him in preparing for his real estate license test. He is a good friend that is all. No need for you to worry or be jealous sweetheart.

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You are the one I love not Eddie. So stop worrying and stop missing school for such silly things”, she pleaded.

-“Ok, I am sorry. But how do you want me to react sweetheart when I am miles away from you and this young man keeps coming to be alone with you every day?” I asked.

-“Believe me David, you have nothing to worry about there, nothing”, she emphatically replied.

We spent a quiet evening then and, I guess, she called Eddie and told him not to show up for ‘his lesson’ during the weekend. I didn’t see him then but I didn’t think that he was gone for good. I worried, off and on, the whole two days with her. I packed my small case and headed back to Purdue and my studies. By the time I got to my dorm and opened my endocrinology notes, my mind was floating in my own jealous juices. Will I lose Ronalie to Eddie now after I won her from Jimmy? Eddie was more handsome than me for sure, but what else did he have to offer? And on and on my mind reeled and reeled while my eyes caressed the words on of page in front of me. I tried to concentrate but my mind kept drifting back to Eddie’s look when our paths crossed at Ronalie’s door! The next day I took the test ‘cold’ and was sure that I failed it miserably, which I did!

Ronalie had finally gone to Mayo Clinic in Rochester Minnesota to check her back. They discovered that she had a split disc and wanted to operate on her soon for they argued that no one would tolerate the kind of pain she must have been experiencing. Ronalie was elated to hear that and insisted on Running on Empty 84

getting operated as soon as possible. She and her mom drove up from Dayton and stopped for a night at Lafayette to see me.

I was so happy to see them and spend an evening with them.

Ronalie happily shared the news of her diagnosis saying: -“You see you and I were right. It was not in my head. It was physical and now they will take it out and we’ll be ok”.

“Thank God sweetheart. I am now sure that whatever operation they perform, it will be successful. I know it will”, I replied, as I reached out and gave her a tender hug for fear of hurting her back! They flew out the next morning and Marry left her Lincoln with me for her to pick up on her way back from Mayo.

I decided to visit Ronalie at Mayo but did not have the funds to buy my ticket or pay for hotel and other expenses. I shared that with Nate her dad when I was in Dayton for the weekend. He told me why not buy a ring and go propose to her if I really loved her. Wow, that was something to ponder for sure, but I didn’t have the time for I needed to get back to start my summer school as a first year graduate student at Purdue’s Agriculture Economics Department. I had decided to take up economics for I did not think I could work on a poultry farm.

I had taken poultry science only because my Professor at the AUB in Beirut had recommended me to his alma mater and I did graduate with honors, but with only text book knowledge!

I accepted Nate’s suggestion and offer to loan me the needed funds for my travels to Mayo and also help me get a ring from his business friend on ‘conditional loan’, that is, if Ronalie acRunning on Empty 85

cepted my proposal then I will pay for the ring, otherwise the jeweler will take it back. That was all to take place during the Memorial weekend.

Nate’s office got me the ticket and I went back to Purdue before flying the next day to Rochester. I bought Ronalie a box of her favorite ‘turtles’ chocolate. I did not tell her of my plans but surprised her as I appeared at her hospital floor.

-“My God, David; what are you doing here?” she cried out as she was being helped in her room to get up for her walk. -“I came to see you and see how you are coming along,” I replied.

-“But you didn’t call nor do anything after my operation”, she said. -“I called sweetheart and was told you were in recovery room and the operation was very successful. I also sent you a dozen of roses which they were to place in your room,” I replied.

-“I saw nothing from you nor anyone told me you called. Only Eddie sent me flowers”, she concluded as she asked me to help her take her few steps outside her room. We walked out silently heading to the waiting room where she could sit and rest some.

It was Memorial Day, 1958, when I proposed to her and she accepted. It all happened in the waiting room of the hallway at Mayo Clinic’s floor. Ronalie was recovering from back surgery where they removed one ruptured disc that had been giving her all the pain and suffering for over two years.

That marked the official day of our engagement. I sent a letter to my university, Purdue, the very next day asking them to Running on Empty 86

withdraw my registration for summer school. I did that after reconfirming with Ronalie her decision of the evening before as being ‘real’. Although I seemed convinced that Ronalie had indeed accepted my proposal, I was not certain for two reasons: one, my knowledge of her cancellation of Jimmy’s engagement when I appeared on the scene, and now Eddie’s option was still very much alive; and two, my noticing that Ronalie had worn the engagement ring on her left finger, while according to my cultural custom the engagement ring was to be worn on the right hand then the left, only during the wedding ceremony!

I spent that night tossing and wondering about what had really transpired that day and what might transpire in the days to come. One good thing did actually happen: Ronalie called home and told her mother that I was with her then and that I had given her a ring and she accepted it. That sealed our engagement of the previous evening!

Three days after our engagement, Ronalie was discharged from Mayo. She joined me in my hotel for that evening as our flight was scheduled for early the next morning. The three days prior to her discharge, we spent discussing future plans and what it would mean to be married couple at Purdue.

We also talked over our marriage plans with Ronalie’s physician who did not see any reason for us not to marry in September, if Ronalie’s healing continued to satisfactoly progress, and if both Ronalie and I were aware of her physical limitations when it came to sex and carrying on with household responsibilities. Ronalie’s surgeon was to refer her convalescence Running on Empty 87

monitoring to a colleague in Dayton.

Ronalie did not discuss Eddie with me until the eve of our departure for Dayton. She asked me then to trust her handling of it as Eddie would be too upset. Besides, he had gone through much suffering at the hands of his estranged parents.

Also, Eddie did not like me that much and so she was sure that they could not talk it over in my presence. She proceeded to tell me that she had talked to Eddie about her return and about my visit, but did not mention our engagement. Eddie would be at the airport to receive her and would drive her home. This would be hard on me, she knew, but then I must give her that kind of support, understanding, and space!!

I didn’t fully understand Ronalie’s position, nor did I fully know what to do about it. I felt hurt and mad at Eddie for having to put Ronalie in such a fix. Yet, I was scared that if I were to take a different stance, Ronalie might not be able to withstand the anticipated pressure and would break our engagement or postpone our wedding. So, I went along and hoped for the best!

Mary, Nate and Eddie were waiting to receive Ronalie at the airport. I sure felt damn awkward as I tagged along behind Ronalie and Eddie. I felt even worse when I noticed an annoyed look on her father’s face when Ronalie pulled away from them all and joined Eddie in his car. Nate, the father, was visibly upset, but then Mary, his wife, tried to calm him while I tried to explain Ronalie’s position, which I said was acceptable to me!!!

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Nate drove us home. We arrived a few minutes before Ronalie drove up with Eddie. She walked up the stairs very slowly and proceeded straight to her room. Eddie went in with her and stayed with her for some time. I remained in the living room feeling shitty, not just awkward. I shared my decision not to continue with summer school but work for the summer and get married in September. Nate offered me full time job at their men’s clothing store and told me I could live with them at no extra cost. Also, maybe I could work for his brother selling frozen food plans in the evening. That way, Nate argued, I may be able to augment my income some. Mary concurred with all of what was said except for the wedding date. She couldn’t understand why we couldn’t wait till Christmas and then get married. To that, I was very much against. Luckily, Nate sided with me. I later explained to Nate the reason behind my push for a September wedding: I was very afraid to leave Ronalie alone with Mary who had not wanted her daughter to marry then, let alone someone like me who might end up taking her “darling daughter” to a far away land like Israel. She seemed so capable of playing one person against the other, and end up having Ronalie not marry! Nate supported my position and promised to help make sure the wedding did materialize in September.

The whole summer of our engagement in 1958 was tense and full of hassles. The Eddie affair became too sticky to handle. He was at Ronalie’s bed side every morning crying his heart out for her not to marry me. His mother came to see Running on Empty 89

Ronalie to plead his case too. The only exchanges Eddie and I had were hostile looks in the hall way as Eddie left after my arrival. I was mad, yet very sad for having to put Ronalie in such an awkward position. She was in the middle, for sure. But I couldn’t fully understand nor know why Ronalie was in that mess. She seemed very warm toward me and excited about our wedding plans, yet she also seemed genuinely sorry for Eddie.

This melodramatic state suited Mary very well.

Mary would egg me on about Eddie while I was at work. Every time she thought Eddie was with Ronalie at the house, she would run and tell me. She seemed to relish the fact that I was getting mad. To me, the Mary scene appeared to be one of a jealous lover herself: was she fighting not to lose Ronalie or maybe, in a small way? I, on the other hand, seemed determined to withstand May’s bombardments and avoid venting my frustrations with the Eddie - Ronalie scene by opening up to Mary.

I remember the day I erupted at Mary at the basement of their newly acquired store on Dayton’s West Third Street.

Mary came down to tell me about Eddie’s visit to Ronalie while I was in the midst of arranging the stocks. I was tired and depressed with the whole affair. I wished so much the summer would end and Ronalie and I would leave that “sick” place and move on to making our own nest and lives together. It was but natural for me to swing back, pull the mirror off the wall and throw it at the feet of Mary while screaming: -“Look Mary, I am fed up. I am tired of your games and meddling in Ronalie Running on Empty 90

and my affairs. I know what you are trying to do and I swear I will not let you succeed. If Ronalie and I break up or end up not marrying in September, I will never forgive you for messing it up. It will be your fault as I will pour my worst Iraqi Jewish venom and curses on you for the rest of your life. So you better leave us alone and don’t ever come down to tell me about Ronalie and Eddie. I know what Ronalie is doing and that is OK by me. So you stay out of it, you hear?!”

Mary did not know what to do. She had never seen me in that state. She started crying as she explained that all she had wanted was to see us happy. No, she never objected to my marrying Ronalie but her only concern was the timing of the wedding. Why couldn’t we wait till Christmas? Why did we have to do it in September?

-“I told you why Marry. How much of this kind of anguish you want me and Ronalie to go through? How trusting can I be of the situation where I am stuck at Purdue and Ronalie is here with Eddie coming in crying every day? How much of this can Ronalie really take? As for her health, I promise you that I will look after her. She will be OK. Besides, she had an appointment for mid August for her back. If the doctor then says that she should not marry, we will postpone it. You know real well that neither Ronalie nor I are children anymore. Give us the benefit of the doubt in this case and rest assured that we will not jeopardize our health or our long term relationship on this count. So, do put your weight behind Ronalie, help her enjoy these moments of preparation and move on to get the wedding Running on Empty 91

done by September 6, as she wants it to be�, I concluded.

That talk at the store must have sunk in with Mary. It was so evident that her whole outlook and behavior towards Ronalie and me, plus our wedding, took a beautiful turn positive. She threw herself behind selecting wedding dresses, bride maid’s outfits and wedding invitations. She helped Ronalie register her crystal, china and silver selections at the leading department stores in Dayton. She even helped organize wedding showers for Ronalie.

I went on working and saving my moneys. I took on the evening door to door sale of frozen food deals. Ronalie used to accompany me to such sales whenever her back felt ok.

The Eddie matter began to die down, seemingly after the realization that Ronalie had indeed committed herself to me and was actually going ahead with marriage plans. As such, he and his mother decided to take a long vacation to the West Coast.

Life began to seem more exciting and upbeat for both of us.

The family picked up the tempo and the whole scene took on a merry making as the doctor cleared Ronalie in mid August to go ahead with her wedding plans. Her doctor advised her not to get pregnant, at any cost, soon. That could really stress her back and jeopardize her whole health. I heard that message, loud and clear.

Wedding plans were in full swing. Ronalie was being hosted here and there by friends and relatives. They all seemed to have accepted me into their circles as they saw how accepting and happy Ronalie was. Mary was into the arrangements Running on Empty 92

too. Eddie was out in the West Coast and apparently finally convinced that he had indeed lost Ronalie to me. He stopped his fight and stopped calling Ronalie from California. I continued my work and got into the wedding arrangements too.

Ronalie had decided to marry at the medieval styled Dayton Methodist Church. She wanted her uncle Franklin, the Presbyterian minister, to marry us. I suggested that my best friend the Reverend Howard assist in officiating at the ceremony. Mark, (Miro), my younger brother, was to be the best man and my friends Morris from Lebanon and Jean Chung Park from South Korea plus Brent and Sharolyn’s boy friend Roni were to be the ushers. Ronalie, on the other hand, had her sister, Sharolyn, be her maid of honor assisted by four intimate friends from Dayton.

As the wedding day, September 6, 1958, approached, my anxieties mounted by leaps and bounds. I wanted the marriage but I was not sure that I could become a good husband. I was also very anxious that Eddie, who had since returned from the West Coast, would surface and cause additional problems.

I was also partially worried about the finances of our honeymoon plus the initial expenses of settling in at Purdue’s married student apartment. After all, I had only hundred and forty dollars to count on as a steady income from my graduate assistantship. Surely, Ronalie could not work then; besides, she wanted to take some courses at Purdue as she intended to complete her college education.

September six finally came. I put on my rented tuxedo Running on Empty 93

as did my best man and ushers. We all stayed at Nate’s office apartment as none of the groom’s side was allowed to come in contact, before the wedding day, with the bride or her entourage. I must admit that I was very visibly nervous. Mark was to drive me in Sharolyn’s Chevy, and was subsequently to whisk us away from the bride’s home to our hide away. Ronalie and I had booked a hotel room at the downtown Baltimore since our flight to Miami, our chosen honey-moon resort, was not due until the following morning. Ronalie and I hid my old 1951 Ford on a street in downtown Dayton, at a place where no one would have suspected.

Howard received me at the Church office with tears in his eyes. He was visibly moved by the occasion and our association. He asked me to join him in a special moment of prayer before he and Uncle Franklin instructed me for the last time about the ceremonies’ sequence. The vows of marriage were to be recited by Ronalie and me as we had decided to memorize them rather than repeat them after the officiating minister.

I entered the sanctuary at hearing the prescribed marital musical march. I stood in front and beside me stood Mark, my younger brother. We faced the invitees as we waited for Ronalie to come down the aisle escorted by her father. The sanctuary was beautifully decorated with autumn floral colors.

The mother of the bride came down the aisle escorted by her Running on Empty 94

son, Brent. She looked very beautiful in her peach colored dress. After a few moments, the music struck the “here comes the bride” as Ronalie appeared at the left of her father, holding unto his arm. Nate looked nervous and a bit pale, yet very handsome in his tux. Ronalie looked frail but very beautiful in her well fitted white wedding dress and her dress’s train following her majestically. The flower girl and the ring bearer, her little niece and nephew, walked ahead of her dropping flower petals all along the isle. Her maid of honor and maids, all dressed in alternating peach and off-yellow and brown long gowns, were beautifully lined up at the altar waiting for Ronalie’s arrival.

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Sealed with a kiss; September 06, 1958

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Married at last; September 06, 1958

Mary (mother), Ronalie, Me, Nate (father) on our wedding day: September 06, 1958 Running on Empty 97

After the wedding ceremony, a reception at the church’s hall followed. Ronalie and I returned home for a quick change of clothes. Grabbing our honey moon suitcase, we were whisked by my brother Miro who drove so fast and recklessly that he almost killed us. But thank God we made it to our car and drove to the Biltmore Hotel in downtown Dayton. After taking a quick shower and eating our sandwiches which we had ordered through room service, Ronalie excused herself and went into the bathroom to change into her negligee. She was so beautiful and I was so eager to get her into bed. When we did get into bed, we passionately got started kissing and fondling each other. All of a sudden, I felt pangs of guilt as I remembered her doctor’s admonition to be careful of her back for the first few months. I couldn’t hold myself and so made love as ‘gently as I could’ by having her on top so I won’t have my weight on her back. We did it fast as we both were ‘green’ and maybe too aware of her back situation. I felt that it was too ‘mechanical’ an affair, and when I said something to her about that, she said: “Don’t worry sweetheart, we have all our lives to enjoy good sex”.

The next morning we set off to the airport where Mary and Kymie, Ronalie’s youngest adopted sister, met and saw us off. We were then told that Ronalie’s dad had taken some of his business associates to Biltmore Hotel, but since we did not go down to the restaurant, we did not run into each other…..what a relief!

The Miami based honeymoon was beautiful, though Running on Empty 98

we both seemed to struggle at times when trying to find the right thing to say or the ‘good way’ to make love. After all, we were ‘kids’ and very green about married life, sex and married responsibilities. We returned to Dayton for a few days before heading out to Purdue University’s married student housing and our one bed room furnished apartment. I resumed my graduate studies and Ronalie, after the first semester, decided to enroll and take a course or two towards her degree, which she finished at Meredith College in Raleigh North Carolina after finishing my master’s degree and moving to North Carolina State University for some work and a PhD.

The move to North Carolina brought with it a breath of fresh air into our lives. The final two months at Lafayette were very tense in our cramped apartment and monotonous clinking of the typewriter. As the final text and table of figures began to come off the typewriter, we both began to breathe easier and push harder to move on. The offer from North Carolina was good as we both felt that Ronalie could go on full time to school and I will get back into graduate study to wards a Ph.D. If I couldn’t get a medical degree, because of my inability to meet the costs of med school after my father’s death and departure to Israel, a Ph.D. was good enough , as I would still be called doctor!

We packed all of our belongings into the trailer we rented and hitched it to our blue 1951, the tanker like, Mercury car which we bought after our old Ford had given up ‘its ghost’… The move was OK and our arrival into Raleigh was Running on Empty 99

early enough the second day that we were able to locate an apartment not far from the University. We moved in that very same day, but had no furniture except for Ronalie’s piano. We brought that with us and asked Mary if she could drive down with Jimmy and bring us a trailer load of old sofas and a bed.

Two days after our arrival into Raleigh, Jimmy and Mary came down with the needed furniture.

The apartment was a spacious two bedrooms, a sitting room plus a large kitchen; all well kept. Ronalie accepted it and moved ahead with decorating it and ‘sprucing’ it up a bit.

Though flowers were brought in and decorative pieces placed at different spots, the place still looked a bit too big and empty; but our home for that time!

My association with the University began to take on professional dimension as I commenced work with Professor Henry. At that time, Professor Henry offered me work as a research associate on one of two projects: the first would be completed in six to eight months while the second could well go into a much longer time and I could use that as my research topic for the Ph.D. dissertation. Both projects dealt with the poultry industry. The first would be a straight-forward economic study while the second would be related to organization and information theory as they applied to production decision making. Professor Henry suggested that I spend about a week reading about the two projects and their relevant background then decide on which of the two projects I would spend the nine months full time assignment on. Furthermore, he sugRunning on Empty 100

gested that I enroll in one graduate class so that I can get acquainted with the graduate program of the department.

My five hundred fifty dollar monthly salary was deemed adequate, by both Ronalie and I, for Ronalie to go back to school full time. She checked with North Carolina State University about their course offerings in education and social sciences and found them less attractive than what Meredith College was offering. She applied to Meredith College, the four year Methodist undergraduate college, and was accepted.

She wanted to major in elementary education and in two years could finish all the requirements for her degree, after which time she could teach and help support us while I went on with my PhD courses. Our financial situation would become a bit tougher as I shifted from a full time job to a research assistant full-time student earning only two hundred fifty dollars per month.

I decided, after due consideration, to take up work on the second project I was offered. That meant that I could devote about eight months full time to the dissertation preparatory work and in so doing could complete my Ph.D. requirements faster than my fellow class mates. It also meant that I could move into a part of economics that was more oriented towards industry than academics, and that was more practical than theoretical. It also offered me the opportunity of working more with people than with numbers, a preference I more definitely wanted. Eight months of full time work on my research, then take up my PhD qualifying exams by the fourth Running on Empty 101

semester of my student career, and then devote the rest of the semester to my dissertation writing. That way, I could graduate in a relatively short period of time and move on to a full time professional career. Wow, what a time line did I set for myself!!! Would it really happen that way?

Our hitch in North Carolina brought many changes to our lives. By 1961 I had applied for US citizenship and subsequently was sworn in a US citizen in Nov. of 1961 at Raleigh.

Ronalie completed her studies and became primary grade certified teacher. We had moved into married student housing on campus, and thus enjoyed our married student lives much more than living in town and commuting daily to classes. We had made some good friends, mostly from amongst the foreign student communities; Israeli, Lebanese, Peruvian and Brazilian. We socialized with many on weekends, especially during the home game weekends of North Carolina football and basketball. We visited Dayton occasionally, but were well on our way to developing our own lives.

The need for further education became obvious to us, from both a survival as well as knowledge basis. From the mere survival point of view, had I been offered a half-decent job when i completed my master’s degree, I would have taken it if for nothing else than to see Ronalie--and even myself-a bit freer with money. We were both tired of skimping, although neither really seemed to blame our limited finances unto the other. So we skimped and did the best we could with our budget, but we both wished at times we could spend some Running on Empty 102

money on buying new clothes, as we had much from our pre wedding days. In addition, while I was still a non US citizen, the US immigration officer’s admonition that as long as I remained in graduate school and out of social or political problems, I could remain in the US in the gray area of “a person without a country”. So we stayed attached to the university’s “apron strings”.

From a value point of view, our pursuing higher education degrees were very much consistent with the overall Jewish mentality towards study. Jews loved to learn. Jews loved to pour their hearts out on religious learning. Often was the admonition that I used to get from my father that he couldn’t go to school when he grew up because he had to work, but I must.

Learning, to my dad, was the door to wisdom and wisdom was the key to happiness and self worth. Ronalie came from similar culture as well as parental background where neither Nate nor Mary had much formal education because of limited parental financial means. With the chance to study and be financially independent, we both threw ourselves into our academic pursuits. As long as we studied, we were happy, and so starting a family had to take secondary place in our lives!

It was during the Thanksgiving holiday of Ronalie’ first teaching year, 1960/61, that Ronalie realized that she might have become pregnant. A pregnancy test, while in Dayton for Thanksgiving, confirmed the fact for us. We both took the event positively, though deep down some anxiety about Ronalie’s ability to carry a pregnancy to full term was there. We Running on Empty 103

checked with a doctor who assured us that, barring an accident of some sort, the pregnancy should be OK and normal.

Ronalie’s “infantile” uterus seemed to have accepted the pregnancy. But she had to take care even though she was advised to continue to teach as long as her school permitted pregnant teachers in the class room. She was to eat well and watch her weight as her back might be more stressed by having to carry the fetus’ weight as well as any weights she might put on.

I became more helpful with domestic chores. I would wake up early enough to prepare a “good breakfast” for Ronalie, which consisted, strangely enough, of a lean meat cheese burger plus par boiled green beans! I also took over the laundry responsibilities. In addition, I was determined to finish the Ph.D. requirements before the birthing of our child that was calculated to be around late July - early August.

To complete my Ph.D. requirements, I had to pass prelims and complete my thesis. My course work had been completed save for one course that I was registered to take during that fall. I was scheduled to take my written prelims early in December while my orals were to be scheduled after my written were successfully completed. My thesis was well underway as I had completed my data collection that summer and had begun my first draft. Most of the analysis was completed by then too; except for further fine-tuning. I felt that I should definitely be able to complete all of my work by August; get a job and start a new chapter in our lives with a new baby. So I worked endless hours preparing for my prelims and writing Running on Empty 104

on my thesis.

Ronalie finished her full teaching year, in spite of her being pregnant. Her pregnancy did not show much as she was so fearful of gaining weight. She gave birth to a daughter, Gwen, on July 21, 1962 about a week or two before the predicted date. This was explained away by the fact that when Ronalie stumbled and fell on July 20, her water broke Gwen Lynita was the name that we had previously chosen, if the child were to be a daughter; Lynita was included as Ronalie wanted a part of her sister’s name, Sharolyn to be included in Gwen’s name; so she picked up the Lyn from Sharolyn and rounded it off to the full name.

Gwen was born weighing six pounds nine ounces. She had brown skin with a thick bundle of hair. She was the hairiest infant at Rex Hospital maternity ward! Her birthing was difficult as Ronalie’s labor pains were not intense enough even after prolonged periods of intermittent occurrences: she was admitted at about four the day she fell and her water broke, but Gwen did not come out until two thirty early the next morning , July 21 !

I was extremely anxious when Ronalie’s water broke. I rushed her home and had her call her doctor. She was told to report to Rex Hospital and have me sign her in, but not to rush as the doctor felt that her delivery might be somewhat slow. I couldn’t handle my anxiety so I had her in by four that afternoon. Her father was flying in for the evening, not expecting that Ronalie was to be in the hospital that same day. He had a Running on Empty 105

church meeting that weekend in Ashville and had decided to come through Raleigh. I was hoping that Ronalie will be well settled by the time I had to pick him from the airport. I had hoped that her father would remain at the hospital with me to experience the birthing process and support me!

I drove Nate from the airport to the hospital. He was excited about the timing of his visit. He assured me of his wish to stay with me until the delivery was over. But, true to his “norm”, he had to look after his needs first. So when he realized that the delivery was going to be slow, he prayed with Ronalie and me and then asked that he be excused because he was “too tired” and needed “to prepare” for his meetings. What could I say?! I drove him to our apartment, got some food together on the way home, gave him our bed and returned to the hospital to be with Ronalie.

The time Ronalie fell, I called my class mate Jim Peeler for advice. Peeler was older than me, married with two children. He was very concerned yet very reassuring as he advised me to go home and call the doctor. By the time Ronalie was settled at Rex, I called Jim to report on her status, but must have sound anxious enough to cause Jim to come and be with me. He wanted to stay until the birth of the child, but I pleaded with him to go home as it was past midnight... For the balance of the waiting period, midnight to two thirty in the morning, I was extremely anxious but helpless. My anxieties centered on Ronalie and not the implications of having a baby come into our lives.

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I proudly announced Gwen’s arrival by distributing special candies instead of the usual passing of the traditional cigars. I went that morning, after dropping Nate at the airport, (Nate did not have the time to stop on the way to the airport by the hospital and see his first grandchild nor daughter) to a special candy store. I wanted something special and different.

The sales lady suggested Swiss chocolates filled with roasted ants or sugar colored doll candies. I selected, of course, the doll ones to pass on to my classmates, professors and friends.

Both Ronalie and I felt that Gwen was very special.

We cared for her endlessly. Ronalie washed and re-washed her during the day and had her dressed like a doll for “her father’s arrival from office”. I had never handled a new born infant, and so was overly cautious when I held Gwen or changed her diapers. Her doctor could not fully explain why Gwen had colic but told us that she will for sure get over it in few months.

Gwen’s colic, and my protracted completion of the dissertation, drove us crazy and pretty close to separation! In my drive to complete the thesis writing by late summer or early fall, I felt the need to stay at my office and by my professor for many long hours. Gwen’s seemingly continuous crying was interpreted by Ronalie as needing to be held. To have stayed home, I would have had to hold Gwen or listen to her cry; either of which would have taken me away from my damned thesis writing. So, I ran to my office, only to return by supper time to see Ronalie so tired, yet carrying Gwen while cooking, setting the table, or even ironing. We would eat with Gwen in Running on Empty 107

either one of our arms. I would help Ronalie some, but then rush to collapse for a few hours of sleep before Gwen would wake up crying.

I took over the night shift caring for Gwen. As soon as her colic cramps would awaken her, I would jump out of bed, put a T-shirt on under my P.J, (Gwen used to reach out for my chest’s hair whenever I held her tight comforting her colic spell), grab Gwen and start walking the floor trying to get her comforted and asleep again. Ronalie would also get up but then go back to sleep in order to regain a bit of her sanity and strength to face the daily Gwen routine.

That routine continued for six months. My thesis was delayed as Professor Henry kept demanding re-writes. “But why should I re-write if neither the analyses nor the conclusions need change”? I would protest only to be told, “because we must say what we want to say as precisely as possible!” That used to drive me up the wall and get Ronalie annoyed because she couldn’t handle Gwen’s colic as she sensed the tension mount. That vicious circle continued until finally in April of 1963, Ronalie packed up her clothes and those of Gwen and informed me that she was to be driven up to her grandmother’s house where she was to stay until I finished my damned thesis!

I could not understand Ronalie’s problem. I could not really relate to her frustrations with her role as a mother, wife and “supporter”! I could not comprehend as to why, on two occasions, I woke up to find Ronalie and Gwen gone at two in Running on Empty 108

the morning! I was scared to death the first time I discovered that Ronalie had taken Gwen for a stroller ride to the housing complex Laundromat and done the laundry at two in the morning.

- “Why did you do that”, I cried when I saw Ronalie pushing Gwen back to the apartment.

-“So you can get some sleep”, replied Ronalie.

-“No, you are doing that to make me feel guilty, to put more pressure on me for not finishing the thesis; to tell me that you didn’t care for me anymore; for how could you care or love me when you bring so much anxiety to me, to add to my frustrations? Who do you think I am doing all this for? For us; you, me and Gwen”, I shouted.

Such encounters became more frequent, more heated and more hurtful. I couldn’t believe Ronalie, nor was I able to reach out to her gently. I saw her actions as very threatening and inconsistent with my Middle Eastern, or was it only Middle Eastern belief that the husband must provide and the wife must see, accept and adapt to such needs? With this kind of “crap”, how could I reach her? I never understood her then, or her need to get back to Dayton. Yet, I was somewhat relieved when she insisted, and I complied, to drive her to her grandmother’s house in Dayton. That would enable me to devote all of my time to writing and get a few hours of un-interrupted sleep. Ronalie was also helped then by the fact that she admitted her need for a supportive environment and some physical help--which her grandmother provided so lovingly, generousRunning on Empty 109

ly and gently.

The ‘separation’ lasted five months. I went up to be with Ronalie and Gwen for Gwen’s first birthday. By then, Gwen’s colic was well under control and both Ronalie and Gwen seemed much better off than being in the “Raleigh nightmare”.

I related to Ronalie lovingly then, though felt more restrained than usual. I was more afraid that Ronalie might have told her grandparents, parents, and friends about our physical separation, than what actually might have been going on between us.

I pleaded for them to return as I was “almost” finished with the thesis, (which focused on developing a model for decision making in a vertically integrated industry where production was determined by prices that are set at the end of the production center and not at each production unit. That meant that market pricing could not be effectively used to determine what, when and how much to produce at each unit in the vertical chain.)

Ronalie stood her ground: she would not return except when the final draft was submitted or in final typing stage.

That indeed happened late in October, and so did her return to Raleigh to help type the final two chapters, help pack our belongings and move to take up my new position as marketing economist at Ralston Purina Company’s headquarters in St. Louis Missouri. Three months after our move to St Louis, Ronalie and I decided to ask for leave without pay and travel to Europe then Beirut before getting to Israel and having Ronalie meet my family for the first time.

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Three months after our European tour plus few days in Beirut, my birth place, and Israel for Ronalie to meet my family, we returned to our life’s routine and the job I had accepted at Purina’. I reported to work and Ronalie looked after Gwen.

My work took an interesting turn when I was asked by the grandson of Purina’s founder and senior planner for the Chow Division, to work with him on Purina’s feed and turkey growing competitive position in California. (Ramona California was known as the ‘turkey capital of the world’). My assignment proved exceptionally challenging and rewarding. I did, what everyone acclaimed to have been, an excellent job in focusing the issues and dealing with the Company’s options. As such, I was asked to participate in Purina’s various regional sales offices’ market development strategies at headquarters or away at regional offices. It was during one of these trips to Texas when I heard from Ronalie that her grandmother was hit by a speeding car as she was crossing from her daughter’s house to her own. She was rushed to the hospital where she died on the way. Ronalie sounded devastated so I rushed back to Dayton to be with her.

Ronalie’s grief over the loss of her grandmother was great. She loved her so much and couldn’t accept her death, even though she was in her 70’s. Ronalie’s sorrow was diverted to focusing her energies on her grandfather. She knew how much he had depended on the grandmother. Ronalie worried much about his loneliness and care. It was not a great surprise to hear, therefore, a couple of months later that his ulcer had Running on Empty 111

ruptured and so was rushed to the hospital. He held out for a few days before he died of internal hemorrhaging. That too upset Ronalie a great deal.

The loss of her grandparents, coupled with her boredom with housekeeping and my long working hours, and our ‘missionary’ orientation to serving others in life, caused Ronalie to support my proposition that we consider the offer I got one day from Lindsey to join the Ford Foundation Economic Advisory team to the Government of Nepal. The offer came out of the blue. Early in June of 1963, I received a long distance call from my ex-professor, Quent Lindsey, asking me to consider joining him for work in Nepal. My immediate reaction, after getting over the shock of hearing Quent after his two plus years silence, was: “but where is Nepal?”

Quent talked briefly about Nepal and his work there.

He told me about the reasons for his need to leave Burma. He had gone from Burma to Delhi, where the Ford Foundation office asked him if he would take a position in Nepal. He had been there for a little over a year and had just landed in NY on home leave with his family. He felt that I combined the training, background and social orientation to be a good member of the team. The Foundation had then two members: Quent, as the senior person, and Kenji, a Japanese American, as the monetary and fiscal policy advisor. I couldn’t take all this in at once, nor felt free enough to discuss such an offer while at the office, so I asked Quent to call me at home that evening.

As soon as Quent hung up, I ran to Purina’s main liRunning on Empty 112

brary and searched for some literature on Nepal. I found none except for the encyclopedic entry that it as one of the Three Himalayan Kingdoms: Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan. They were all sandwiched between India and Tibet. I called Ronalie and told her that I had just heard from Quent and that I would be coming home early to discuss with her a very interesting proposition. On my way home, I stopped at a book store and purchased the only book they had on Nepal; a very thin paper back about the Himalayan Kingdom of Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan. Ronalie seemed both excited and concerned as she greeted me with “what happened, anything wrong?” set of questions.

I narrated my phone conversation with Quent. Her reaction was -“But where is Nepal? Is it in Italy?”

-“No it is not in Italy. It is a kingdom sandwiched between India and Tibet. It has the highest mountain in the world, Everest,” I replied

I proceeded to share with her the little information I read in the Encyclopedia about Nepal and showed her the map on the cover of the little book where Nepal was geographically situated. I told her that it was a Hindu country, like India, and that Mt. Everest, the highest peak in the world, was located there. It was a small country ruled by a hereditary king and that the people were really very poor, illiterate and very underdeveloped.

When Quent called me that evening, he told me more Running on Empty 113

about the nature of the work and a little more about life in Katmandu, Nepal’s capital city. He told me that the country was very much in need of all the help it could get if it were to survive the possibilities of Communist takeover, especially after the Chinese takeover of Tibet. The people needed education, health services, better food, more jobs, more income, more infrastructures; in short, more of everything that the developed world had been enjoying and may be taking for granted. The Government of Nepal was run by a good King, King Mahendra Bikram Shah. He had a small group of able civil administrators help him run the government. But, their training and experiences were limited and so they had, since the mid 1950s, asked for some assistance from friendly governments for resources and technical assistance. Many countries responded but the largest responses had come from India and China. The Nepali Government took such help gladly but most of the help seemed to center on specific projects. The Government had wanted to move more aggressively in its development through the planned route and so had set up a Ministry of Economic Planning which was being administered by a young Claremont graduate in the name of Bhek Thapa. The Ford Foundation had responded to a request from the Ministry by agreeing to send them some “advisors” and to provide some funds for local as well as international training. I would join the Ford Foundation team as an “advisor” and work in various agriculture development related activities.

-“Yes, we want to serve, but why Nepal? It is so far and it sounds Running on Empty 114

so lacking! What if I need to get back home? How can we do it?

Will you be able to afford it?” asked Ronalie.

-“Oh, Ronalie, Nepal needs young people like us. We will be able to save some money as housing and transportation is provided. I never thought that we were money minded or money driven. We will have money for you to travel if you want to, - but isn’t really the major question that of our values and life style we want for ourselves? I know that Purina will be good to me as I am sensing progress, even for as short a period that I have been with them. But, is that what we want? What am I doing except wake up early, drive 45 minutes or so overcrowded highways to get into an office where all that counts is Purina? Remember how fast we tended to become regimented in such settings by having to eat, sleep and live Purina’s checkerboard? Yes, I could see myself moving up in the organization and making much more money than what I might do outside Purina, and then one day be given the golden watch for my retirement. God, it sounds bad, but not that bad to throw away if you think that we should stay here”, I concluded.

- “What do you want me to say now, David? I too feel that this kind of life is not the one we want for us, but my only concern is whether Nepal is really the alternative for us to take now?” asked Ronalie.

-“I really don’t know sweetheart, but Quent promised to share some more about Nepal and life plus work there. So why not wait and see what he sends and then we’ll decide?” I replied.

Quent, after his return to Nepal, was relentless in ‘sellRunning on Empty 115

ing’ us on Nepal with convincing arguments of needs and service. Such arguments, plus our values and experiences in St. Louis, tipped the scale in favor of our move to Nepal. I informed Al O’Brien, the Executive Vice President who had hired me at Purina, of our dilemma and subsequent decision.

O’Brien took it very positively and assured me that we would always have well wishers among his Purina colleagues. He wanted me to write and stay in touch as they would want to know how things turn out for us in Nepal. In a way, O’Brien assured me that a life of service was what he sought too, but felt that he could do it best in the private sector as the competitive market structure forced companies to give the general consumer the best quality of services and products. In so doing, he felt that he was serving. Besides, his son was studying for the ministry and would become a pastor at some future date, and maybe do some missions work too!

I said my good-byes to friends at Purina while promising to stay in touch. I couldn’t, however, shake off my final encounter with O’Brien as I did not understand why O’Brien had to justify his work and explain about his son’s career plans!

Was he guilty for remaining behind, working in a large company, earning as much as he did while I was choosing to take my young wife and infant daughter to such a far-away godforsaken place as Nepal? Did he want to do the same but did not have the guts to let go of his life in St. Louis?

It didn’t take long for us to finalize our move out of St. Louis. I sold our Oldsmobile, packed some of our worldly beRunning on Empty 116

longings and sorted what we wanted to take to Nepal and what to store. I signed a two-year contract with the Ford Foundation, and took my family to Dayton to spend a few days with Ronalie’s family before heading out to Nepal via Israel. Ronalie wanted to have us take Kymie, her five year old adopted sister, with us. It was a difficult decision for Mary to accept but Ronalie won her over. The good-byes in Dayton were mixed with excitement and some envy. Sharolyn, Ronalie’s younger sister, was happy yet envious of our travels and expected life in the exotic lands of Mt. Everest. Mary was sad to see Ronalie leave as she seemed to really want her closer now that her marital troubles with Nate, had become more intense. Besides, she was beginning to have second thoughts about sending Kymie with us. Nate was happy to see us go as he felt it to be the calling of the Lord for our mission work, in spite of his concerns that we might not be able to deal with the ‘foreign spirits’ that inhabited that land. But Ronalie and I assured all that we would indeed be O.K.

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Nepal Oh Nepal; Here we Come (1963-1967) “Every age, every culture, every custom and tradition has its own character, its own weakness and its own strength, its beauties and ugliness; accepts certain sufferings as matter of course, puts up patiently with certain evils” Herman Hess’s, in “Stephen Wolf” (1929)

The Kot Palace, the old residence of the royal family and seat of government (1963, and as it continues to stand now as the seat of royal functions but not residence as a new palace was built along with a palace secretariat)

We flew from New York to London and spent couple of days with our friend Fred and his wife Kate then proceeded to Tel Aviv to be with my family for Ezra’s wedding. The London to Tel-Aviv flight was very pleasant as Gwen and Kymie seemed to have gotten a bit over their jet-lag. My family was waiting for us and when we finally came out of immigration and customs, they welcomed us with flowers and much joy. We proceeded to my mother’s new house Running on Empty 118

where she and my brother plus youngest sister were living.

They had moved from the first house we saw them in earlier during our first trip to Tel Aviv. It was a bigger flat and much better located in Tel Aviv, near Habiba and Nazli’s homes.

My brother Ezra was working in vegetable wholesaling. It seemed that his life in Israel was acceptable to him. He was working long hours, starting at three in the morning. I was told by Nina and Habiba about how he had immigrated to Israel from France after he was kicked out by the French Government as a ‘Non-desirable-Person’; how he moved into a Moshav and raised flowers and marketed them in Tel-Aviv. He had done well until he fell into his old habits of gambling it all away. Again, as usual, my mother and youngest sister Nina had to come to his rescue by meeting his gambling debts through the sale of whatever my mother had managed to bring with her from Lebanon, plus Nina’s contribution of the bulk of her salary. My brother promised to stop gambling, but then broke his promise time and again as he kept company with young Lebanese Jews who were poker sharks!

The preparations for the wedding were in full swing.

My sisters shared with us how my mother found a ‘proper’ wife for my brother. My mother believed and argued that to get my brother off his gambling habits, he needed to get married. Her logic made sense. By getting married, my brother would have to provide for his family and not continue and not ‘feed’ his gambling appetite. She said that he would have no choice but work hard and use his earnings to meet his wife’s needs. He Running on Empty 119

agreed to marry only if my mother were to find him a fluent French speaking young lady. So my mother used to ask women, whenever she heard them speaking French, whether they were married or not. As fate would have it, she found one in a movie hall when she overheard two ladies converse in French.

She approached them and when she was told that they were mother and daughter and that the daughter was not married, my mother asked them for a cup of coffee at her house and had them meet my brother. That did the marriage trick.

Ezra had decided to marry Etoile, the young Moroccan lady my mother had found for him. That was indeed a unique match. Their wedding was jubilant and very happy occasion for the whole family including Ronalie, Kymie and I. Poor Kymie did not know what was going on as my brother in-law, Haim, kept coming to her saying Mazaltov, (congratulations in Hebrew). After some repeated Mazaltov, she ended up calling him uncle Mazaltov. My brother, and his bride, moved in with Nina and mother after their weeklong honeymoon.

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My elder brother, Ezra, weds Etoile; Tel Aviv, 1963

We stayed with my mother for five days before saying our goodbyes and flying on to Bombay then Delhi before heading out to our final destination, Katmandu Nepal. aying good-bye to the family was as hard then as the first time; too many tears and kissing. The Israel experience seemed to have taken a heavy toll on Ronalie as she was tired and weary when we landed in Bombay’s International Airport at 5:00 AM! The suffocating heat of Bombay, even at that hour, and the demands of the Indian immigration and customs officials were way too over-bearing; that was our first encounter with the famous Indian Bureaucracy!

Ronalie and I, plus our two little ones, were exported by the airline bus from the airport to the fancy Taj Hotel where we were to remain for the day before flying onward to Delhi.

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Ronalie and Kymie were on the constant verge of tears every time the bus stopped by a hotel to let some people out and see the “distorted bodies” of babies on the arms of beggars!

That was our first exposure to real poverty and human misery; which when contrasted with the lushness of the Taj Hotel was too much to take!

The day at the Taj was supposed to be a day of rest for us. But, the heat of the day plus the pepper heat of the lunch we had, put us under! Ronalie, by the afternoon, was very tired, hot and suffering from stomach disorders. I tried to give her some space by taking the children out for a walk in the gardens, only to return to a crying Ronalie who apparently had had it with travels, suitcases, airports, unfamiliar foods and languages; the whole works!

New Delhi seemed much more acceptable to us. The Ford Foundation, having its offices at Delhi, had a well staffed and spacious guest house. A chauffeur driven air-conditioned Ford car picked us up while office personnel collected our bags and handled our airport formalities. That was much welcomed difference from the Bombay scene!

At the guest house, the rooms were air-conditioned, clean and spacious. It was more like a home than hotel. The food was tasty and more like what we had been accustomed to.

The next day, the office driver came to collect us to meet Mr. Ensminger, the Foundation’s big boss and then take us sightseeing. The driver was a handsome Seek named Dev. He wore the turban and a heavy black but well combed and greased Running on Empty 122

beard, and a stainless steel bracelet on his wrist.

-“I see you are wearing a bracelet Dev. Do all Indian men wear bracelets?” I asked.

-“No not all Indians wear bracelets. I wear one because I am Seek”, answered Dev. -“Why are you sick”, I asked -“Because my father is Seek, my mother is also Seek and all my family are Seek”, replied Dev. -“Oh, I am really sorry. What are they sick of?” I worriedly asked.

-“Oh no, I am not sick but I am a Seek. We have our community that comes from the Punjab that are all known as Seek because we practice a certain way of life”, explained the amused Dev!

I felt terrible about that incident. I not only felt and showed my ignorance, but I feared that I might have offended my fellow being by calling him sick! Dev, however, was too kind and understanding as he laughed that incident away!

Ronalie became ill the next day with severe diarrhea and some fever. A local doctor was called who prescribed some medicine. He termed her illness, the ‘Delhi Belly’! That, according to the old wise doctor, was very natural for all foreigners to get as soon as they partook of Indian food and water, even boiled and filtered water!! Thank God her illness did not last long as the medicines seemed to do their trick. After our two days of ‘protected’ sightseeing, Ronalie, Kymie, Gwen and I were driven to catch our flight to our new home, Katmandu.

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Customs and immigration formalities, experienced in Bombay were repeated, but thanks to the Foundation’s staff, it was much easier to handle. The small and dilapidated DC-3 Indian Airline plane was to take us on a two and a half hours flight beside, and not over, the Majestic Himalayas to Katmandu.....

Approach to Katmandu with Himalayan Mountain View that span Katmandu’s northern skyline

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Indian Airline DC-3 touched down on a short runway at Katmandu’s airport. The flight over India seemed drab compared to the Majestic beauty of the mountains of Nepal.

Because of the altitude, the DC-3 did not climb over 10,000 ft.

This made its approach to Katmandu valley more spectacular, though somewhat frightening. The snow caps of the Himalayas were covered with heavy rain clouds, but the hill configurations that we saw as we approached Katmandu Valley compensated some. They were awesome! I had seen terracing in the mountains of Lebanon, but God what terraces were cut into the hills of Nepal! Small clusters of orange and yellow clay houses dotted the hill tops and slopes. How could the Nepali farmers hold the soil on such steep slopes with as little forest coverage as seemed to exist?! Did they earn enough from such small plots to sustain themselves from one season to another?

How did they move about from one area to the other with no visible roads in sight; or were the villagers living in their own home made prisons with hill sides facing them as their prison’s walls?! Such were the thoughts that struck me as we made our descent into a seemingly simple airport. I did not have time to share nor discuss my thoughts with Ronalie as she appeared engrossed with the ‘new’ place to which she had committed herself to make home for at least two years!

Quent, and his wife Marge, met us at the airplane’s landing. We were whisked away by Quent to a small arrival room as the chubby Nepali young man was introduced to us, the office manager, took our passports and luggage stubs Running on Empty 125

to complete airport formalities. Ronalie shared a smile with Quent and Marge, only to try hide the apparent shock she felt by landing in such a spot! She grabbed Gwen’s hand tightly as she led her and Kymie into the arrival room, while Marge started her “explanations” about Katmandu and Nepal! We were then driven by an office jeep to Quent’s house. We were to stay with the Lindsey for a few days, to get acclimatized to Katmandu’s altitude while getting the hang of living in this mountainous kingdom.

The Lindsey lived in a huge house and seemed to have a large retinue of Nepali male help, all dressed in spotless white uniforms. A beautiful garden was well manicured and dotted with multi-colored flowers. The guest room, to which we were ushered to, was more like a small apartment with its private entrance, sitting area and bath room. Locked cupboards lined the walls of the rooms while Marge carried a ring of keys with her all the time! It became latter apparent that the Lindsey’s stocked all of their imported liquors in the guest area’s cupboards, and Marge kept tight control over their use through well structured inventory sheets plastered to each cupboard wall.

The day the Lindsey spent with us was limited to their compound, as the Lindsey felt that we needed some rest before being taken out to town! When they took off for a weekend outing the next morning, some relief descended on us as we had some time to catch our breath and unpack. We had hoped to hear something about our ‘new house’ which Ensminger reRunning on Empty 126

ferred to, but the Lindsey would not be led to focus on that issue. Though it seemed a bit strange to us, we figured that it was best that issue not be pushed hard!

When the Lindsey returned from their outing and finally consented to relate to the housing issue, it became apparent that no house was readied as we had been told.

-“Everyone must work out his arrangements his way, for it is the only way to learn! We have, however, found three houses which the office manager had lined-up for you to inspect. The Foundation would import all needed furniture from Delhi for you,” informed us Quent.

We saw the houses and decided on a two story brick and mortar house on a main thoroughfare near the heart of town. The house compound was divided into two parts: a garden and a rice field to one side, and a mirror image house set by its eastern side. The house fronted one of Katmandu’s main streets. The street, though very narrow, was not congested. Pedestrians and cyclists were seen but seldom a car passed by.

Our office provided each member of our team a jeep. We had four blue jeeps and other foreign missions had different colored jeeps. We were known as the ‘Ford Foundation ‘blue Walla’ while the US Governement mission staff were the ‘green Walla’ as they used green jeeps.

Most Nepali men wore the national dress and covered their heads with a ‘topi’ or cap, while women wore saris, like the Indians. They ate twice a day: a heavy breakfast that consisted of white steamed rice, lentils, and vegetable curries.

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They repeated the same for their evening meal and once a week, if they could afford it, they had mutton or chicken curry for their meat dish. That is why I was told that government officers worked from ten to five during the spring and summer months and ten to four in winter months. At noon they would have a cup of tea with three ingredients; tea, sugar and milk, boiled together and drank in steaming hot glasses.

We shopped at the open vegetable market where seasonal vegetables were sold. When the green beans season came all we could find were some, small carrots and small heads of cabbage. We seldom ventured into the meat market where they sold live chickens and goat meat. That is why we imported almost everything from Denmark, even toilet paper.

We learned that they used outhouses in the city and the open fields outside the city center. Their toilets were the squat type which foreign ladies found very difficult to use, but they used them anyway! Recreation was limited to socializing with other foreign residents and short trekking trips to the surrounding hills. Ronalie used to take Gwen in her stroller during late afternoons around the ‘parade grounds’ where the military staged their official functions, such as the King’s birthday or the welcoming of a foreign head of state. Since most men and women blew their noses in the open, and since tuberculosis was endemic to Nepal, no wonder then that our little Gwen got TB as her stroller was close to the ground, and so inhaled the ‘floating’ TB germs. Ronalie did not know that until our doctor explained what he thought to be the way Gwen got TB. Running on Empty 128

Gwen had to have daily antibiotic injection for six months.

Ronalie felt terrible about that but Gwen did not seem too annoyed with the daily injections at first, but did put up some objections after couple of months!

The house needed major repairs. Lighting was very dim, walls very thick, kitchen was a horror of a dungeon, and the bathrooms a wanting structure! Bath tubs were made of brick and cement mosaics, with no hot water facilities. Ronalie almost fainted when she realized that this was what she would have to call home for her family for two years! A major renovation campaign was needed and then set in motion. Carpenters, electricians, plumbers, masons and painters descended on the house daily. They wore thin cotton ‘kurta-shurwal’, the native male dress that consisted of loose fitted top shirt and baggy cotton ‘pajama like bottoms’. They looked ‘so poor’, so unhealthy, so dirty and so rough. How could they transform the thick walled three bed room house into a livable place for us? Yet Ronalie was determined to make it a home, while I took over the logistics of getting the house readied for my family. Quent was very supportive in his admonitions for me to take time to assure that the house was made conformable for my family. Yes, we had to cook with kerosene stoves, heat our water with kerosene heaters and rush our bath taking “chores” before the cement tub absorbed all the heat of the limited hot water! Yes, we had to hire “staff ” for our cooking, cleaning and gardening! Yes, we had to hide in our bed room while the painters went about painting rooms with their bare hands Running on Empty 129

and a rag, spitting and coughing a storm while blowing their noses unto the barren floors! Yes, Ronalie had to give Gwen and Kymie baths in big cooking pots that were brought to our room almost boiling hot. One time poor little Gwen sat on the rim of the pot and burned raw her tender little thighs!

The whole renovation affair was a nightmare. It lasted almost six months. The heavy looking furniture from Delhi finally arrived; uncovered! The hassles of getting materials and arranging for tailors to come to the house and cover them, added more confusion to the already confused household. No wonder Ronalie had to keep the bedroom locked whenever she and the kids sought some privacy. Sure, having “help” in the house brought with it some air of exotic living, but the reality of it brought greater burden and worries to both of us as we assumed the responsibilities and personal welfare of their families !

While I tried like hell to facilitate the adjustments for my Ronalie and the children, I felt guilt pangs about starting work. For the first six months, I had to handle all of the logistics of buying, hiring and arranging for getting the house made livable. I went to our offices for very brief intervals. I was introduced, early on, to most of the staff of the Ministry of Economic Planning as well as to its Secretary, Bhek Thapa. Although I was not tall, only 5’8”, my Nepali colleagues seemed so much shorter. Bhek reminded me of Napoleon, both in stature and his strutting across the huge court yard leading to his fourth floor offices at Singh Durbar.

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Bhek Thapa, the Secretary of the Ministry of Planning where we were assigned to, Katmandu, 1963

Singh Durbar was an old Rana Palace built as the residence and offices of the ruling Rana Prime Minister. I learned then that Nepal had been an isolated kingdom, shut-off from the outside world for almost one hundred years. Apparently, the Rana family took over power from the King through a palace revolt around 1843-45. History had it that a General named Jung Bahadur Rana, serving closely within the Shah dynasty entourage, took advantage of the continuous palace intrigues to side with the king’s younger wife by cutting down her “enemies” during one of the King and crown prince’s pilgrimage to Varanasi, India. A massacre took place at the Kot Palace in 1845 wherein many of the members of the then King’s prime minister, Pandey, lost their lives. Jung Bahadur Rana emerged as the force to contend with! What followed then was a hunRunning on Empty 131

dred years of hereditary autocratic prime minister-ship, while the royal family was kept secluded in their own palaces.

Singha Durbar, the seat of Nepal’s Government and the ‘offices’ that housed our team; Katmandu, Nepal, 1963

The Rana ruled with very tight grip on the administration of the country. They believed that the Nation belonged to them and that all they had to do was collect taxes and maintain law and order. Stories of palace intrigues and “wild” partying abounded and all that Ronalie and I heard was that the country was very poor because the Ranas kept the place isolated while they raped the land. Palaces that were built along the Versailles model dotted the valley and served, in the post 1951 “liberation”, as government offices. It was within the walls of the largest palace, Singh Durbar, that I was to spend my professional time helping what Quent argued shape the future of Running on Empty 132

Nepal as it emerged depleted and drained from such a lengthy and costly autocratic rule’!

Nepal’s march towards social and economic development began soon after the overthrow of the Ranas in 1951. The early years of the 1950’s were years of hope and optimism as the Nepalese began to feel some sense of beginning. Although the country was very poor, illiterate and plagued with diseases, the people seemed so gentle and loving. There were no signs of great expectations or drive; they drifted, worked and ate their regular twice a day meals.

Life for me, at Singh Durbar, was rather pleasant, and at times confused, but hopeful. I connected with my young boss Bhek Thapa and more so with the younger staff of the various divisions within the Secretariat. I tried to joke with the younger lower ranking staff, but didn’t get very far as the air of respect given to a foreign advisor was too heavy, more so when Quent was around. Besides, I was among the very few graduates that had earned the title Doctor! At some level, I liked that but then I felt the burdens of title and position were rather heavy for my new PhD graduate shoulders!

The working system at the Secretariat caused much confusion to my life. Procedures were sloppy and all I could see was a staff that enjoyed sitting around gossiping more than working. There was so much that needed attention, yet not many seemed to care much... or did they? Quent was running full steam and Kenji’s mouth worked non-stop, while section officers plus their undersecretaries watched and shuffled Running on Empty 133

about. Where to start, how to impart some work ethics and discipline made me go in circles working on minor concerns such as defining a manual of operation and staff functioning for the various levels of the organization, while wondering as to when would I begin to do what Quent preached about in the States, namely, define policies and strategies for development that assured improved human welfare under an enlightened system of government and rule?!

The confusion that I experienced at work was compounded by the utter frustrations, tears and depression that Ronalie seemed to be going through at the home front. She wanted to make sure her little family had the right foods and the clean orderly home she had always been accustomed to.

But everything was so different and strange. The kitchen’s set up was terrible and the need for boiling water created paranoia about anything touching one’s mouth. The house help didn’t speak English and so communicating instructions was always tedious and their understanding dubious. How the house-help could be kept clean seven to eight hours a day when they came from such unsanitary dwellings with no running water, and no daily bath? How the home environment could be kept decent when so many flies hovered over every item, food as well as non-foods?

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Hanuman Dhoka (the monkey god gate), Katmandu, as seen then and now, 1963 and 2012

Change seemed eminent as Nepal began to open up to the world and let people like us in! The change that we wanted was in things and the way humans approached life and each other. We did not insist on having our ways followed, but we really wanted to show “the natives� an alternative in the true hope that they would make a deliberate choice, and stick to it. Yet, the struggle for mere survival seemed so real and so great that rendered us ever so hopelessly guilty of having so much while seeing how little they had. Giving them what we had was not enough. Yes, it fed them better for a meal, a day, a month or even a year, but then what? If they were not to adopt improved agricultural production techniques; if they were not to be better educated; if they were not to have access to sanitaRunning on Empty 135

tion and water, food and decent rodent proof shelters,(no end to the ifs that popped up in our minds, hearts and lives!), then how could Ronalie and I really help; and if we could not really help, then why live in this ‘miserable environment’, physically beautiful as it was, and subject all of us to significant health risks?

Ronalie’s and my struggle for identity and the search for the means to find that identity while relating to Nepal and our Nepali friends were great; sometimes visible but often not! There were social and official responsibilities we had to keep, plus, of course, our parental obligations to little Gwen and Kymie. But, there were also significant personal scores to settle as we realized more and more that although differences separated us from our hosts, the similarities in basic needs were even greater. How would we relate, bridge and touch?

I didn’t dig deep into such concerns, though Ronalie seemed to want me to as she herself was moved towards that kind of a search. Communications between us were strained as I chose to stick to the externalities of things: my work, my relating to the local culture, my associations with the people, and my roles as husband and father. Ronalie, on the other hand, kept asking, looking, reading and talking with the house-help, but never finding proper avenue or mirror to see her reflection in!

She played the mother, wife and housewife roles beautifully, though visibly very shaken and alone.

Common between us was little Gwen who seemed oblivious to most of the happenings in the adult world as she Running on Empty 136

went about, protectively, exploring her limited surroundings.

I insisted that we hire an Ayah, a maid who looks after a child, for Gwen as I felt that material things and physical relief could indeed facilitate Ronalie’s transition. So, a female Ayah was added to our retinue of a cook, a bearer, two house cleaners, a gardener, a watchman and a laundry man. Managing such a cadre of house-help became a chore and a burden for Ronalie as they not only had to be instructed, watched, fed, but also listened to their needs and assisted in the maintenance of their households!

Our two year old ‘baby’ Gwen; Katmandu, Nepal, 1963

The differences in Ronalie’s cultural background and mine were eminently manifest in the ways we adapted to Nepal. My Middle Eastern mentality was at home in Nepal. I was familiar, by growing up in Lebanon, with eating with ones Running on Empty 137

hands, using water to clean after one defecates, sleeping on the floor, making noises while eating, and even subjecting the female in a household to serving the males (patriarchal dominance). Parents of the man in Nepal usually sought the help of a match-maker in locating appropriate bridal candidates for their son. When the parents settled on one or more potential candidates, they would inform their son and tell him that if his and the girls horoscope matched, they will invite the candidate for tea so the two could meet. The son can take her out for a meal or something but never alone. Always a family chaperon must accompany them. If the horoscopes match and the son agrees to marry her, they then consult the astrologer for an auspicious date for the engagement and also the wedding.

The Nepali Hindu wedding usually takes three days. The first day each family hosts their own family members and guests.

The second day the groom and his party come to the bride’s home for the groom to spend the night at the bride’s home.

They would perform some religious acts during the night and the following day, the groom and his party, accompanied by a band, take the bride to his parents’ home where the religious ceremony is done in front of the invited guests. The bride usually washes the feet of her ‘to-be husband’, after which the Hindu priest performs the marital ritual which could go on for couple of hours or more. The ritual would have to commence at a time best suited to the horoscopes of both bride and groom. (Some maybe as late as two or three in the morning, so the poor couple wait and wait until the priest says ok, Running on Empty 138

the ceremony could start)! While the couples wait, the invitees celebrate by dancing, singing and much eating and drinking! When we attended one of the official staff ’s wedding, we were told that when the bride enters the house of the groom, she would be directed to a special room where the mother of the groom would be sitting in front of a big tray of uncooked rice. A golden coin will be mixed with the heaped rice then both bride and the groom’s mother search frantically for the coin. If the groom’s mother finds it first, then the bride would be obliged to serve the family by doing all the cooking and house work, but if the bride were to find the coin first, then the groom’s mother would have to hire house help to do all house work, and a cook to do the cooking. That tradition is followed by village and city dwellers alike. Both Ronalie and I felt ‘funny’ when we learned about how the bride was treated and how her mother in law controlled her life thereafter. We were also told that the bride’s family had to provide all needed furniture for the new couple plus an undisclosed sum of money to the groom, in addition to all the golden jewelries given to their daughter. The bride’s jewelries might be sold by the couple, if and when needed.

Another very disturbing sight for both Ronalie and I was the open spitting or blowing of one’s nose on the sidewalk!

Such practices were acceptable features of life in Katmandu as were the wrote-memory learning system seen in Nepali schools. That foreigners got diarrhea problems if they were to drink unboiled and filtered water, or eat raw vegetables, were Running on Empty 139

common knowledge. Ronalie struggled with such matters while I tried to live and let live as I moved and struggled with the ‘bigger national problems’ facing Nepal’s development.

Ronalie’s hygienic, caring, background, clashed with Nepal’s culture and way of life. In order for her not to be as foreign as she seemed in contrast to me, she poured tremendous energies into learning the culture and ways of the people.

She wanted to know how they could survive at such low level of existence, while she struggled to make sure her little daughter and sister were well cared for and educationally stimulated, and her husband well supported in his work and work-related socializing! She prepared menus, did some of the cooking, trained the house help and planned for entertainment. She spent most of the time at home struggling with such matters while I was out attending office meetings and official functions. The only day off we had was Saturday, as the government worked officially six days a week. Ronalie needed to be out of the house while I wanted to be in. Picnics she planned for the family were mostly lifeless as I felt ‘put out’ while Ronalie felt guilty forcing me out! While writing this now, I say: God how cruel and insensitive I must have been then, but can I bring those moments back now? Hell no! No wonder that the friendships that we formed couldn’t fill the widening gaps within our lives!

My friends were mainly work based; l had Quent as my professor friend, Kenji Okuda as the financial whiz and Bhek Thapa, the Secretary of the Ministry of Economic PlanRunning on Empty 140

ning, as my desirable yet distant friend. Father Stiller, a Jesuit historian appeared on the scene as a compassionate individual who wanted to link up with us through our common Purdue background. Father Stiller did not attend Purdue. His sister was a professor there and his family resided at West Lafayette, Indiana. It was but natural, for the discussions I got into, to focus on development issues of Nepal... work... work... and more work.

Father Stiller tried to get me move outside my economic constructs by looking at the broader picture of development within a historical perspective. He had studied history and wanted to pursue that avenue in Nepal as well as serve his church. He was well grounded in the need to dig into historical settings of the country, a need very much consistent with Ronalie’s wonderings within the Nepal scene. They both related very well, and Father Stiller became a very dear family friend.

Ronalie liked and accepted my associates. She seemed to gravitate more towards Kenji as the father who, in the absence of a wife, needed help with his two growing children.

She would sit and listen to his unending lectures on the financial state of the Nepali economy; on his dealings with some of the upper social class; and his home front. She would encourage him to dig into his own relationships with his children as they discussed their schooling. But such encounters were frustrating as she felt that he did not really try hard enough to get in touch with himself. She also favored being around Nepali. Office staff were always welcome, especially little chubRunning on Empty 141

by Mr. Adhikari. She loved his coming in and joining us for meals. But he, like Kenji, created much frustration for Ronalie as he maintained a very superficial relationship with us. He would talk about the culture, the happenings in the country but seldom ever about himself. He did talk some about his ailing mother, with whom he seemed to be strongly bonded.

He didn’t want to get married as he had strong apprehensions, bordering on fear, towards women. His Brahman upbringing, the highest Hindu cast in both India and Nepal, required of him to be circumspect about his eating, but did not help explain his inter-personal relationships. He loved to gossip, but he held very tight control over his own personal feelings and his intimate background. Both Ronalie and I loved him greatly and respected the personal territorial boundary he drew around himself. And so, the walls that surrounded Ronalie and our lives did not come down... cracked, maybe!

Just before finishing our two years assignment, I was asked to return for another two years. My work was beginning to be challenging and our friendship circle had become important to both of us. Ronalie asked for a new house for us to make home, which we found a new one, almost completed.

She also decided to consider extending her Lincoln School contract as a first grade teacher. Her students and their parents loved her as she was an extraordinary teacher; totally committed to the kids and their learning. Catherine Cool thought Ronalie was the savior of her son’s need for stimulation and motivation for study; so did the Unsold. Catherine was marRunning on Empty 142

ried to John Cool, the USAID anthropologist. She was Australian by origin while he was from Seattle, Boeing Aircraft home base in the States. Catherine was a painter who loved to go out in nature and put on canvas some of Nepal’s natural beauty.

We bought a couple of her paintings which Ronalie liked. The Unsold on the other hand were a very mountaineering family.

Willie Unsold, the philosopher mountain climber, was one of the two American mountaineers who scaled Mount Everest through the West Ridge. He lost nine of his toes due to frost bites in that expedition. He headed the Peace Corps for three years and loved to visit ‘his volunteers’ in the villages where they were stationed for two years. Willie was a very colorful man who loved to share his mountaineering adventures with us. We enjoyed them all very much and so when we combined work with socializing and the way each of us in our respective professional positions were treated, we accepted to return for another two years. Ronalie was a bit apprehensive about our joint decision to return for she feared of her and Gwen getting sick and also the limited stimulations available for our Gwen.

We took the between contracts home leave of two months, which we spent in the US with family and friends. We also had to undergo physical exams and medical clearances.

Returning to America and shopping in department stores were very unnerving to both of us. America had so much while Nepal had so little; so where did one find balance and how would one appease one’s conscious by buying so much when all of our Nepali friends had so little!

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Our second tour in Nepal was at first good then soured as Ronalie got sick. She had intestinal problems and was losing weight rapidly. Our local doctor, as well as the US embassy doctor, could not figure out what exactly her medical problems were. The American doctor reverted to the psychic route while our local doctor focused on the biological ones, as Ronalie continued to run low grade temperatures and got weaker by the day. When we finally got her temperature under control and thankfully finished her school year and my second year of my contract, we decided that we needed to get back to the US.

Ronalie did indeed suffer from digestive problems while our little Gwen had her share of medical problems; first with her opium’s episode during our first March in our first spring in Katmandu. Gwen had gotten out on the Friday of the Easter weekend to watch me have a hair cut on the balcony. The poppies that lined the drive way were in full bloom.

They were extremely colorful and full. Gwen had gone out and picked some to play with. Nobody made a thing of that until the following morning, Easter Sunday, when Gwen wouldn’t respond to Ronalie’s morning call. Ronalie came rushing to me crying that Gwen wouldn’t wake up. We tried to get her up, but to no avail. We rushed her to the missionary hospital in Katmandu, only to catch the doctors on their way to Easter service. They checked Gwen but found nothing. She was completely out of it. It was the British nurse that was assisting the doctor then who started quizzing us about our garden and Gwen’s likes or dislikes of flowers. She pieced it together arguRunning on Empty 144

ing that Gwen must have pulled some of the poppies, broke the stem and then got her fingers with opium milk juice into her mouth. In so doing, she must have taken some of the poppies’ milk in; which was very strong opium juice which knocked her out for long. The doctor accepted that diagnosis and put her on stimulants to get her out of her ‘opium trip’! We were assured that Gwen will be ok after getting the ‘stimulant juice’ and making sure she stayed awake.

The preparations for our return to the US picked up momentum after my receiving two firm job offers: one from Washington DC, US Department of Agriculture Economic Advisory Council, and the other a strong maybe from the Ford Foundation Mid-career Fellowship. The Foundation had started what they labeled as the Mid Career Fellowship which enabled any professional to spend a year as a graduate student or do research in one’s discipline link to population change phenomena(birth, death and migration). I would take courses in public health and relate them to my original economic discipline. The Foundation’s offer was more attractive as it provided us the possibility of a return to Academia and a rather exciting new career path, plus a less rigid 8-5 job routine in a bureaucracy like the US government one. We would know of the Foundation Fellowship only after our departure date. I delayed my response to the US government offer for after our expected arrival date to the US. Our excitement heightened as our departure drew nigh.

The most beautiful going away present was handed us Running on Empty 145

by our very good friend Fr. Stiller when he came one day and said: -“I have spoken with my superior about my desire to offer mass in your home for you as a going away remembrance, and that request was granted. If you allow me to give you the best that I have, I would love to do so this coming Wednesday early in the morning here in your dining area.”

Wow, we were dumb-founded. We were neither Catholics nor very devout Christians, yet here was a Catholic Jesuit offering to say Mass in our home! How beautiful!

Fr. Stiller arrived at 6:00 A.M. the following Wednesday with his small suitcase. He “set up” at the buffet in the dining room, put on his white robe and proceeded to offer Mass.

His prayers for us were most beautiful. What he had felt for us over the years, but couldn’t verbalize came, out in his prayers.

Our financial and moral support for his implementing his Godawari Alumni Association idea and house were most appreciated. We were all touched greatly.

The day of our departure was set. I informed my old friend Col. Thapa, when he stopped by to call on us at his usual pre-evening stroll. The Col was 83 years old but still very alert and sociable. He seemed to have taken a great liking to us; so he made it a habit to stop by, daily, for a brief chat with me about world politics. He had given one day, during a tea ceremony he held for us at his old palace home across from the our home, a set of very old coins and stamps to Gwen. He really cared for us and showed that through his daily visits and Running on Empty 146

chats. When I told him about our departure date and day, he was visibly saddened. He looked up at me and said; -“Can I please ask you which way you will be traveling back East or West?”

-“West through Europe as we want to pick up the car we ordered in Austria, drive it some through Europe and then fly home via New York to check with the Ford Foundation about next year”, I replied -“Will it be very difficult for you to leave on Tuesday instead of Monday then?” he asked.

-“Not very, but why?” I asked.

-“According to our Hindu mythologies,” he said, “there are certain days that are more auspicious to do certain things than others. Traveling outside the country is one of the things that is affected by horoscope tendencies. If you want to leave and return safely to this place, and if you are bound on a Western path, then Tuesday is a much better day for such travels. Monday is safe to go on but does not auger well for your return and I hope you will return before I die so I can see you again”.

Wow again! That really touched me greatly -“Of course I will change the date. But, is there anything else we have to do to make sure we come back to see you?” I asked.

-“Yes, there is. The Monday before you leave, I will send my man to collect from you a dress shirt, a knife and a handful of rice. Then Tuesday morning, while on your way to the airport, I will meet you at the end of the driveway and give you the same items for you to carry back. That will for sure let you Running on Empty 147

return before I move on to my next life”, he concluded.

Tuesday morning, we were given a very colorful send off by our house help. Flowers garlanded our necks and shoulders. More flowers were added when Adhikari appeared on the scene, along with the new Foundation’s Office Manager, Mr. Y. C. Sharma, and my office secretary. Good old Col. Thapa waited for us with his man carrying more flowers and my shirt, knife and handful of rice. We picked the bundle up as we drove away, after due and lengthy good-byes to the Col. More flowers and friends completed our farewells at the Airport as Ronalie, Gwen and I checked through the formalities and boarded the new Royal Nepal Airline turbo-prop pressurized plane to Delhi. On its way up, we saw the Tibetan prayer flags flutter on the hill side, which I took as a good omen for our safe flight home.

When we left Nepal for the U.S, we spent some time is Salzburg, Austria. While in Salzburg, I received word that I was awarded the Ford Foundation Mid Career Fellowship. We decided to accept the Foundation award to pursue a degree in Population studies. Of the several university centers offered, Ronalie and I decided on Chapel Hill and the Carolina Population Center of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

We arrived in the U.S. excited yet bewildered by the contrasts we carried with us: so much food and food and more of everything. My first supermarket experience was nerve racking. I couldn’t decide on what brand to get of a certain Running on Empty 148

item; too many brands, and too many shelves bulging with excessive quantities of this, that and everything. My head swam and ached and so I left as fast as I could. Choices everywhere, as opulence was ever so present. I did not complain but just marveled at the evident differences that separated the have and have not; yes such contrasts are not limited to the US versus Nepal but I’m sure they exist everywhere. All that one has to do is to open one’s eyes and senses, then the eyes will see, the heart will feel and the soul will respond; very person specific! That was when I remembered what F Scott Fitzgerald in Tender Is The Night 1934 wrote: “Sometimes it is harder to deprive oneself of pain than of pleasure… for the moment, there was nothing to do but pretend”.

Living accommodations consumed the three days of our site visit to Chapel Hill and meeting with the Carolina Population Center Director and his colleagues. Ronalie went out with a realtor searching for a house to rent while checking the schooling that our little Gwen would need to go to, starting with kindergarten of course since she was only five years old then. By the end of our last day, Ronalie was taken to a residential area south of the UNC Campus where in passing she spotted two houses that had “model home” signs. One caught her eye as its lines were “beautiful”. She wanted us to have that.

I got hold of the builder, had him come to our hotel, took the family and showed us the unfinished house by candle light. It was a beautiful house so we decided to buy it. By mid night, I had signed all documents, put down the earnest money, got Running on Empty 149

to our room, told Ronalie that the deal was done, caught a few hours of sleep before leaving for the airport the following mid morning for Dayton, Ohio.

The move to our house was good. We bought furniture, hung our Nepali paintings and moved in as easily as we could pay; and pay we did. Gwen had her bed room and an extra room we designated as her play room. She loved that.

Then Ronalie decided to go check the schools for her. Gwen was placed at the Catholic private school run by the Sisters of St. Mary. The nuns were very loving and welcoming. Ronalie even volunteered to do some substitute teaching or some social volunteer work. It worked out well. Ronalie also decided to enroll at the University of North Carolina School of Education for a master’s in child behavior.

Three months into the school year, Ronalie and I began to go through some rough readjustment. I was enjoying my classes, and seemed to be getting along well with my classmates and faculty mentors, but I did not feel too comfortable with the whole US academic and social scene. Materialism was too dominant a factor of US life and the seeming indifference to what really existed outside the US got to me. I saw the same degree of frustrations in Ronalie whenever we were in a social gathering and the discussion, politely drifted to us with such openers “you must have had a tremendous experience in Nepal. Tell us all about it”, only to quickly shift to some local topic such as the school, the cost of food, or the basketball season! When the shift did not instantantly occur, both Running on Empty 150

Ronalie and I would become aghast at the standard comments made “Nepal is so beautiful and its people so nice but so poor and very wanting on many levels”. How and where would we begin to share our real feelings with our comfortable Chapel Hill residents? Besides, did we ever really sort out our own feelings about Nepal? Ronalie touched on some of that in her 1967 Christmas letter.

“Holiday greetings from Chapel Hill / 1967 “In rereading our Christmas letters of the past four years, I felt again the sequence of our emotions toward Nepal: at first stunned horror followed by a kind of numb disbelief which eventually gave way to the necessity of acceptance of facts that finally grew into understanding and an absolute love for that wanting Kingdom. Now we’re home. Would it be rank sacrilege to admit that our emotions are following a similar sequence? We have progressed more rapidly along the continuum than in Nepal, having arrived at the stage of ‘accepting facts!’

“We bought a lovely new home here in Chapel Hill. The painters finished with large brushes, not one used his hands dipped in paint. The plumbing functions; there’s already a bath tub here, decently sized, the electricity works ALL the time, we’ve not had a single fire due to kerosene heater or explosions, no kerosene in short supply; in short, we’ve not been so bored in four long years.

“Gwen is in kindergarten learning to play with American children. She hates supermarkets and department stores. They’re so big and offer so much that they confuse her. However, she’s learned about traffic signals and loves escalators.

“David is with the Population Center here. His post doctoral mid-career fellowship allows him to study, do research, lecture, think and write. He’s trying to do them all, so he’s quite busy.I’m learning to cook and clean and launder again without the aid of house help. I enjoy having the house to myself but must admit that I miss the Running on Empty 151

house help. I’m enrolled in graduate school, but am too busy to do it justice. I may become a dropout!

“Do notice our address and drop us a line to let us know where in the world you are and what in the world you’re doing.

Sincerely yours, The Davids”

Ronalie began to experience some distancing among her classmates at the School of Education. She felt alone as her experiences in Nepal set her apart. She wanted to reach out to the students, only to be frustrated by their lack of identification with what she was trying to relate. She went to classes, came back home and did the “householders” tasks until Gwen and I returned home. Some anger began to surface towards me but we did not deal with it straight forwardly. I sensed it and ran away from it on the pretext of my studies and Ronalie hid behind her “pill popping” facade while she played the mother and wife’s roles to the hilt. She also spent a great deal of energy on the house and its furnishing, only to say to all friends that ‘David really wanted to buy all of this furniture.’

Confrontation and open communication at the emotional levels were never a ‘major’ aspect of our relationship.

I did not know how to deal with such situations as I really never got in touch with myself, save for some brief encounters I wrote about while waiting for Ronalie and Gwen to return from medical leave, I never saw my mother or father deal with matters aside from family related servicing affairs: food, clothing, school, etc. The conversations I used to have with fellow students in the US at Marion, Purdue or North Carolina, centered on basic philosophical or technical and political matters.

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So how can I really know what to do with my feelings? Wasn’t I providing well for Ronalie and Gwen, and wasn’t I always at home during my days off and not out with the boys or into one of the hobbies that others had? I was, after all, born and raised in the Middle East and not in Europe or America where I think discussions could center on emotions and feelings and not on ‘mundane’ daily happenings. Looking back on it now, I can honestly say that I did not know how to deal with such matters let alone relate openly and honestly with my wife. She had ‘her domains and I mine’, so I believed and live by. How sad and how unfortunate for both of us, I honestly can say that now!

Ronalie, on the other hand, was extremely sensitive to ‘not having me get upset’. She felt that confronting me about our life style and our deep seated emotions could get me upset.

She wanted me to open up to her but she did not want to force the issue as she was so afraid that her home would turn out to be like her own family home; another Nate and Mary(her dad and mom). She ran her life as best as she knew by getting herself totally immersed into books, studies, Gwen’s needs and the house!

Ronalie’s frustrations finally burst, as her dormant ulcer erupted. Waking up early one Saturday morning, she rushed to the bathroom and started vomiting blood. Neither of us knew what was going on. Having had no need to connect with a family doctor as we continued to rely on Dr. Hassi Shina for Ronalie’s needs, I had to call Hassi at that hour and report Running on Empty 153

Ronalie’s condition. His immediate reply was that she must have had a ruptured ulcer for which he asked Ronalie to have some milk and go back to bed with the admonition to call him back within an hour to report on her condition. Ronalie could not keep the milk down nor could she stop her bleeding ulcer.

I called Hassi within a few minutes panicking. Hassi insisted then that I should get a local doctor to have Ronalie admitted to a hospital before she bled to death, as he certainly could not treat her by phone!

I turned to Dr. Bob Seymour, our Binkley Church Pastor, for help. He said that Dr. Jessie Roberts, a member of the Binkley Congregation, was a member of Duke University Medical Center as well as professor at Duke. He can call him on our behalf and then see what should be done, and how.

Of course I agreed, and when Dr. Roberts called me back instructing me to have Ronalie taken to Duke’s emergency department, I asked Jennie, our neighbor, to keep Gwen as I rushed Ronalie to Duke.

Ronalie was admitted to Duke for medical treatment.

Her ulcer stopped bleeding but Dr. Roberts strongly recommended corrective surgery. A professor of surgery was consulted, who recommended immediate surgery. If I were to agree to that, surgery could be scheduled for a week after Ronalie was admitted to Duke. Dr. Robert concurred with the recommendation as he felt that chemotherapy, though might be corrective for a time, would not take care of the problem in the long run. He also counseled to do it as soon as possible Running on Empty 154

to minimize anxieties that might be generated from such an experience. Ronalie and I discussed our case some. I wanted it done in order to have the problem resolved. I had asked Ronalie’s mother Mary to come down to help me with Gwen. She agreed to come for only a few days. Ronalie and I felt that the sooner the surgery were to be done, the better off everyone would be.

Surgery was scheduled for early Saturday morning. Dr. Roberts assured us that all will be taken care of rather speedily. Such an operation was “routine” and would not take more than 30 minutes. As I sat outside the operating room, expecting the surgeon to inform me momentarily that the operation was completed, the surgeon came out to tell me that some delays were encountered as a result of their finding that Ronalie’s kidneys were not totally functional and as such a urologist had to be consulted prior to the administration of pre-operative anesthesia. The urologist advised that Ronalie’s kidneys could withstand the operational routines and that they could go ahead. The surgeon felt that the risks were minor and recommended proceeding with the operation, to which I concurred.

The operation was successful, but while Ronalie was still in the OR, they took a biopsy of her kidneys to determine extend and nature of the malfunction. It turned out to be phenacetin induced nephritis which was brought about from taking heavy doses of APC... which Ronalie started to take regularly in Nepal for headaches and during her pre-medical paratyphoid evacuation, and later more for pep that the coRunning on Empty 155

deine in the APC provided. The implications of that discovery were horrifying: the kidney would continue to lose function overtime, with no treatment for it. Ronalie’s kidneys were damaged. I was very mad, but also felt guilty for having taken Ronalie to Nepal and for not knowing how to help her when she cried for help. We were told that the rate of functional loss was, however, dependent on how many kidney related infections she would get, plus the amount of salts, protein and medications that were metabolized through the kidneys, she took.

They assured us that the bottom line was that she would ‘continue to have a normal life’ but maybe five years shorter, and that she would have to watch both her food and her sicknesses more closely. What a bunch of ‘bull’ that proved to be!

Dr. Roberts felt that Ronalie, while still in the hospital, should start some psychotherapy in order to get more into the causes of her ulcer rather than the continued treatment of the symptoms. He felt that there might be some deep seated causes for her ulcer, though not totally psychologically induced. The organic aspects of her diet, etc., could be handled more effectively if the psychic aspects were also dealt with. He talked at length with Ronalie about this approach as he felt that the psychosomatic professor, Dr. Bresslin, would be ideally suited to help her with the psychic aspects, while he dealt with the somatic side of things.

Ronalie resisted that for a couple of days before she gave in to Dr. Roberts’s insistence. Her encounters with Dr. Breslin were good and as such decided to stay with it even after Running on Empty 156

she were to leave the hospital. The social and familial stigma of having to have psychiatric help had to be overcome and/or lived with. For the first time, she openly admitted to wanting to help herself for her own sake, and in so doing her long term healing process began.

Ronalie’s medical condition improved. Life seemed to have settled down some. Gwen was in public school now, nearer to where we lived. Ronalie kept insisting that Gwen needed a brother, but because of her medical history, she was not able to carry another pregnancy. Adopting a son was discussed. At first, I had some difficulties with this issue. My background got in my way of accepting to adopt another person’s child. We talked and I read and read, and by God, in no time I got not only into the idea, but was very excited. Ronalie and I applied to the N.C. Children’s Home Society for adoption. We were interviewed and subsequently assigned to a case worker. She went through our medical records, our personal backgrounds as well as our home setting. She even interviewed, on one to one bases, our eight year old Gwen - yes she was eight year old by then.

One day, our adoption case worker called to inform us that she found the perfect fit for us: a five weeks old son. The agency was going through its routine pre-home placement processes then and when completed, we will be informed and given the address of the agency’s home in Greensboro, where our son will be. No specific time or date was given for when we might be able to visit our new son. Neither Ronalie nor I made Running on Empty 157

any special preparations for that day for we felt that they will give us at least a few days notice to get our son’s bed purchased, room fixed and some essentials bought. Well it did not happen that way.

It was a Monday when I had gone to my office for a very important meeting with our USAID/Washington client.

It was a five million plus dollars project, and I was its director.

The client was to meet with my RTI top brass plus my professional colleagues. Ronalie and I had planned a cocktail reception for my Washington guest at our home. Both Ronalie and I did all the preparatory work for the reception as I had also invited several colleagues from the University of North Carolina. Ronalie was exhausted but very high as that was to be our first official entertainment in the U.S with no house help at all!

Would you believe it that about mid morning, Ronalie called me out of my meeting only to inform me that our son was to be “viewed” that day in Greensboro and if all went well with us, we could bring him home that same afternoon?

I almost fainted: how could I leave my important first business meeting and how could we bring our son home when we didn’t even have his bed yet, and how about the reception, and, and, and? Questions surfaced as rapidly as they could but I decided there and then that come hell or high water, I was not going to disappoint Ronalie then and I will not give any excuses: I will just share with my guest and my people the facts; beg off for the day; run over to our house; pick up Ronalie and Gwen; stop at a drug store to buy a few essentials for our son; Running on Empty 158

return home and then go to the office to do what was needed; bring my guest with me home; help Ronalie get ready for our cocktail guests and just be. By God, that was exactly what we did.

When we reached the North Carolina Children’s Society Home, we were ushered into a waiting room before taking us in to meet “our” son. Wow; he was beautiful: good size, brown hair, a bit plump, serious but not crying. Ronalie picked him, held him close for some time, cried as she handed him over to me. I did the same and asked Gwen to hold him gently as I passed our son to her. Then all of us hugged, with our son in our center. A few minutes later, the Home’s matron came in and asked to see us. In her office, she asked us if we were ready to take our son home for if we had any reason not to, then it was alright with them. They could select another child for us and have us repeat the process. Both Ronalie and I, almost instantaneously said -”Of course we want him and, sure we are ready to take him home now”.

The Matron took the outfit we brought, put it on our son, and asked if we had selected a name; which we had: Brent Thaddeus (Brent was Ronalie’s only brother’s name and Thaddeus she had selected from the Bible, but Thad was what she suggested we call him, which we did). She told us that our case worker had already shared with us the essential background of Thad and so she had nothing else to add but to wish us all happiness as a new family. She also whispered to Ronalie that we could Running on Empty 159

bring Thad back within a month if things did not work out for us. Ronalie was stunned and blurted out; -”We will never do that, would we David and Gwen?”

-“Of course not!” we replied.

Thad was introduced to our world and guests that evening, yes we hosted the reception which then had more personal than professional reason: to welcome our son home!

Our friends were so happy for us and one of our invitee, a professor at UNC, came up to Ronalie and said; -”My God, how could you come today from the hospital with your son and still be fresh to host this lovely party?”

She laughed and said; -”Oh well it is fun, no?”

We had Thad checked by our Pediatrician who gave him all thumbs up. Thad was very healthy, would grow up to be big and tall but he had a ‘tied tongue’, which he could clip if we wanted, though clipping it might be traumatic for Thad. He would out-grow it; we were assured so no need for clipping it then!

While I continued to run the USAID funded population and development program from my RTI base, I was asked to lead a two men team to Turkey to help the USAID mission there in setting up their family planning priorities for the next five years. While doing that short term assignment in Turkey, I was asked to join their population program for two years. I liked Turkey and wanted to take the offer. Ronalie also was ready to move to Ankara for two years. At the same time, UNC Running on Empty 160

had a population and development project in West Africa and were looking for a team leader to base at the University of Ghana in Accra for two years. When I was approached about this possibility, Ronalie felt that we should explore it and see which one of the two would suit Gwen’s schooling schedule while providing Ronalie with some professional involvement, beside looking after the home, entertaining and helping Gwen with her schooling. Ghana came first and so we ended up taking that instead of Turkey.

Prof. de Graft Johnson, Chairman of the Sociology Department at the University of Ghana, was visiting Chapel Hill for a few days to finalize the selection of the UNC Resident Representative for his new ‘Population Dynamics Program (PDP)’. PDP was conceived as a multidisciplinary program to be adopted by various universities across West Africa. He had wanted to get the project going, as did USA1D/Africa Bureau.

I was put up as a very suitable candidate. My meeting with Prof. de Graft Johnson came off real well and was thus given the nod. However, I wanted to check the place out first before accepting to move my family to West Africa. Besides, I was given marching orders by Ronalie that demanded that she be assured of a professional position before going to any country.

I was invited to Accra for a week of consultations. My week long stay started on a wrong footing as I arrived there without my suitcase. I was disoriented as the place was hot and humid, very British in its formalities and very black in its colors. The few white persons stuck out like sore thumbs Running on Empty 161

among the natives, and the American diction was hardly heard among the Oxford/Cambridge educated professors that greeted me. Yet, there was a charm to the place.

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My office arrangements were located near the newly established UNFPA sponsored West African Demographic Institute. I was given a private office plus an administrative office for a secretary and an accountant. My work schedule had to be adjusted as my Ghanaian colleagues were used to a long lunch period that included time out for a short nap. A great deal of business was transacted during the evening hours over some beer at one of the main halls to which faculties were assigned.

I was assigned to Legon Hall, the oldest, most prestigious and, as I later came to know, the most conservative hall.

The PDP project aimed at introducing population related studies into existing disciplinary departments through the support of teaching, research and or fellowship grants. It was also conceived as a regional program in which the same cross fertilization between population studies and traditional disciplines would take place in both Anglo and Franco-phone West African Universities. Thus, efforts were encouraged in Liberia, Sierra Leone, Nigeria and Togo, as Lome University Running on Empty 164

had some bi-lingual research capabilities. Travels were initiated by Nelson Ado, the Ghanaioan Director of PDP and me to visit such centers. Given my orientation that university based research studies must find their ways to action programs, I began to push for the initiation of working dialogues with local population/family planning operational programs. Of course, the Ghana National Family Planning Program and its Executive Director, Dr. Armar, was the first program that I touched base with.

My professional push for program relevance was politely listened to, but reluctantly supported by my colleagues.

Little did I know that the British tradition of professorship was as snobbish as it was! Working with the national family planning program director, or trying to see how more effective family planning programs could be initiated or strengthened, were looked down upon by my project’s Board. But as long as I kept reminding them that the fund’s sources were USAID, and that USAID provided funding because they had a short and long term demographically impacting objectives, did they come along!

Our professional and programmatic differences became ever so apparent during the planning of the first regional inter-disciplinary PDP sponsored seminar, in Accra.

The Board, which in effect became the organizing committee which also included the Chairman of Economic Department, wanted highly professional papers read at the Seminar. They wanted to make sure that the papers were not only of the highRunning on Empty 165

est academic standard, but of course be acceptable for publications in regional or international professional journal; while I wanted to see how best can the PDP efforts support existing, budding or to be created population and FP efforts in West Africa. I wanted Dr. Armar, director of the Ghanaian national family planning program, or his delegate, plus at least someone from the Nigerian FP effort, be represented on the working committee, or at least be very active participants in the effort through chairing of sessions or presentation of papers.

Preparations for the Seminar were very demanding as they required contacts with West African universities and professionals, as well as US based professionals. I wanted to establish myself then by playing a very active role in this effort. I did all of that and more, but was uncompromising in my response to and support of Ronalie’s emerging medical crisis. Ronalie started vomiting blood the night before everybody showedup. I rushed her to the Legon University Hospital as the senior doctor refused to treat her at home. The initial diagnosis ruled out a bleeding ulcer as she had recently had ulcer surgery in the US, plus the yellowish skin pointed to her having liver related jaundice. Ronalie’s hospitalization, at the height of the PDP seminar, was indeed traumatic. I felt very helpless and frustrated as I feared a repeat of her Nepal medical problems.

I kept asking for answers about Ronalie’s problems, while worrying about the need to keep the children well looked after.

The start of the first PDP seminar was also on my mind. Too many things to deal with, but deal with I must, and I did!

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The hospital room was spacious but very naked. The nurses were very supportive yet not much with it. The attending doctor did not really know what to make of the situation and so suggested consulting the kidney specialist from Ghana’s Medical School. Two days after Ronalie’s hospitalization, a liver specialist from the medical university found time to call at the University Hospital and check Ronalie’s case. He was an impressive professional who knew what he was looking for.

His probing into Ronalie’s case and her history led him to immediately declare that her case was a medicine induced case, an Atabrin induced jaundice! Atabrin was very effective antimalarial prophylactic used during WWII. Its side effect was liver induced jaundice. That was why it became known then as the American jaundice pill. It was later banned from use among American soldiers. Apparently, our US physician did not know of this contra-indication when they prescribed the most effective prophylactic for Ronalie while Gwen and I took chloroquin. Ronalie got the liver related jaundice plus severe deterioration of her intestinal inner wall lining. That was what caused her to vomit blood.

Ronalie stopped taking Atabrin. She was hospitalized for ten days and nurtured back to health as side effects were watched like mad. She did not have to be transfused, and so did not run the chances of blood mix up! All of our friends were relieved as she began to mend, and finally returned home.

My reactions to all of that were very negative: I realized how vulnerable Ronalie’s fragile health was to the hardships Running on Empty 167

of foreign life; I realized that the whole burden of caring for her health, the children and work were mine; and I felt somewhat confused yet very much attached to my Ronalie and my responsibilities. She was so very dependent on me, and I felt it. I also felt an increased sense of guilt for exposing her to such conditions plus not devoting as much time as she and the children required at home while continuing responding to my project needs.

Having lived through the agonizing early period of adjustments to work, home, and social aspects of being in Accra, our lives centered on our respective works and children. Gwen was adjusting rather well at the University Primary School, though Ronalie felt that the scholastic offerings were lacking.

She, nonetheless, felt that the social gains that Gwen was experiencing outweighed the scholastic losses as the latter could easily be supplemented by her working with Gwen at home.

Thad was growing up to be a sweet young boy with beautiful curly long blond hair. But his slowness in taking to walking and talking caused some concerns to Ronalie, in spite of the constant assurances of friends that he will take his time - and that was O.K - which actually proved to be O.K.

Ronalie could not break into the University structure in teaching nor research. She became frustrated with that scene as she would argue with the department heads about the University’s loss of not taking advantage of what she had to offer. She felt that somehow the University was discriminating against women and maybe foreigners by blocking her Running on Empty 168

offer to work in either the psychology or teacher training departments. Our friend the department head could not handle her confrontations as he himself was reputed as being too conservative towards use of women professionals. He was very diplomatic and kind as he offered suggestions for how to get involved at Trinity College, a missionary training institution near the Legon Campus and run by a US based Lutheran Mission... which she finally did, as a lecturer in pastoral psychology!

Ronalie’s involvements at Trinity did not consume much of her energies nor time. They asked her to teach a semester course in pastoral psychology, which she treated as adult psychology. She really enjoyed doing that and interacting with her twelve theology students. But she never felt a part of that institution intellectually or emotionally. She stayed with them for only one semester!

My work was exciting and engaging. I met faculties in almost all departments to discuss how our project could support their research programs by linking their disciplines to population change phenomena. That required the need to search for linkages between the various disciplines and population change phenomena. I met philosophers, theologians as well as geneticists, physicists and home economists. The medical professions figured in prominently as did the social sciences. I never ceased to be amazed at the breadth of my knowledge and capacity to deal with any disciplinary orientation. I was excited about such new horizons and pushed harder for Running on Empty 169

such new departures. North Carolina supported me more by leaving me alone than by encouraging me along a particular path. They did, however, respond to requests of collaborations between UG professionals and U.N.C.

My travels covered the two Ghanaian campuses at Kumasi in the North, and Cape Coast in the East. I also traveled to all West African Anglophone and Francophone Universities. I usually traveled with either the project Board Chairman or the full time director. When not traveling on business, I traveled with the family for a weekend to Lome, the French speaking capital of Togo, where we did some shopping as well as enjoy French cuisine at some of the tourist spots.

Socially, Ronalie and I were closer to the nationals, the Ghanaians, than the foreign Western Community. We got to know some westerners through the USAID regional population officer with whom I had to relate to. We were introduced to the Jewish neighbors of the USAID officer, who were with the US Embassy’s cultural wing. We also met the Israeli Tahal community where it turned out that one of my distant relative worked on a water project in western Ghana. Through him we met his wife and some of the Israeli engineers working on water supply schemes in Accra. It was through such linkages, superficial as they were, that Ronalie and I got to know the UCLA pediatrician working with a USAID funded rural health project.

In April of our last year of the UNC assignment, I was asked, and accepted, to join the head of the USAID/WashingRunning on Empty 170

ton Office of Population, John in a three weeks health planning exercise for Korea. I took leave of absence from my project and joined John in Seoul. I wrote to Ronalie during my travels while at the same time I was having a ball in Seoul, both professionally and socially. We worked hard but we also socialized with local Korean ladies, though never betraying my marital oath by having an affair with another lady.

When I returned from Korea, I felt that my two years assignment did not seem complete. The project could indeed be managed by its director and Board, but the links between the University and the working Family Planning national program were far from being established. The national program had lost its Ford Foundation Advisor. It was felt that I could be supported by Ford if I were to accept a full time position with the national program while maintaining some footing within the University setting. The members of the PDP Board were favorable to the idea. They felt that if Ford were to pick up my tab, then they could convince the University administration to keep me in my professional post, assign us a three bed room Ford Foundation house, for which Ford would pay regular rent, and then have me help the project stabilize and even expand. The whole idea was very challenging and exciting, but I did not want to pursue it whole heartedly lest I found the extension again a source of unhappiness for Ronalie. I decided not to commit unless Ronalie were to want it too.

One of the concerns that both Ronalie and I had was the medical care, especially for Ronalie’s kidney concerns.

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Having been forewarned about loss of bodily fluids and their impact on the rate of kidney functions’ loss, we were both concerned about the losses to tropical heat as well as stomach related diarrhea problems that used to emerge from time to time. Dr. Nicholas was very supportive and reassuring at times of medical need, especially by accessing diagnostic and minor treatments facilities.

To minimize future misunderstandings regarding an extension or no extension decision, Ronalie and I wanted to talk the whole matter through. To facilitate the process, I suggested we sit down together and write down all of the important factors that should be considered in such a decision and then sort it out accordingly. Gwen was to be fully and equally involved in such a decision. Once we decided on the criteria, then we will decide on how best to weight them. The criteria we distilled included ten: Cultural and social aspects of life in Accra; Educational needs of Gwen and Thad; Professional rewards derived by Ronalie from her work and I from mine; housing conditions, minimum requirements to be met were separate rooms for Gwen and Thad, and air conditioning for Ronalie; Medical facilities; Travel in the Region and elsewhere; Christmas travels outside Accra; Social and professional outreach to the Ghanaian community; Equal say among us three will be safeguarded.

Each of us was to review and ask questions about the meaning of each of the criteria but not to try to influence the other about any one. We also agreed that all criteria would Running on Empty 172

have the same weight and each one of our scores were also equally weighted in relation to the others. We set a deadline for that process and agreed to have it consummated at a picnic we planned to have at the Botanical Gardens outside Legon.

Two aspects of the above exercise were very positive: one, the idea of having to quantify the decision making process through the scoring and weighting of criteria used; and, two, the fact that we all scored all criteria in the same direction, though some with differing scores. We were able to do both and live with the outcome. The decision was to return if three conditions were to be met: one, I were to be offered the Ford contract and Ronalie the Lincoln School teaching contract; two, that the University were to assign us the bigger Ford Foundation three bed room house and allow us to aircondition it; and, three, that we would spend the home leave at places we wanted to visit in Europe and the US followed by Christmas travel vacation to Israel.

As it turned out, all of the conditions were met and we so decided to accept a two years extension through an RTI Ford Foundation contract, after enrolling Gwen in 7th grade at Lincoln and Ronalie’s signing with Lincoln to be the 1st grade teacher. Plans to move to the larger Ford Guest House on campus were also completed and home leave travel plans finalized. We all seemed very positive about the decision and accompanied moves.

Home leave was very relaxed and enjoyable. We spent some time in Florence, Venice, and Austria plus the NetherRunning on Empty 173

lands again before going out to North Carolina and Ohio to touch base with family, friends, and my institute. We were able to also spend ten days in our Florida condo before proceeding back to New York and Accra.

The return to Accra was on an up-beat note. We moved straight into our larger house. It did not take us long to get the two air-conditioning units installed. We were given a new Peugeot car for our use. I maintained my professorship position at the University while reporting to my new office at the national program. Ronalie checked into Lincoln School and plunged into her fifth grade room decoration and lesson plans; she was assigned the fifth grade as the first grade teacher had decided to stay for another year; Gwen was rather excited about her new school as she was admitted to seventh grade; and Thad was walking and talking and seemed well set into his new home situation with our new help looking after him.

My work arrangements worked out very well as I used to drop Ronalie and Gwen at School before proceeding to my office. Since officials took a lunch break, I would drive home to have lunch with the family. I picked them up at school that operated from 7:30 to 12:30 five days a week.

The second year passed rather quickly, though with great emotional stress precipitated by Ronalie’s rather frequent illnesses and our ever conscious awareness of her kidney limitations. We were so concerned that her kidneys would stop functioning, and so were ever cautious of kidney related drugs as well as fluid losses. I began to count the days when Running on Empty 174

we would return to North Carolina and be closer to Dr. Roberts of Duke. Although telephonic contacts with Dr. Roberts were rather reassuring, the fears we both experienced every time Ronalie sneezed transformed our daily routines to a ‘concentration camp’ mentality; knowing that death was drawing nigh, slowly but surely... but how and when; while wandering how to avoid or postpone it.

The anxieties that we were going through were felt

by Gwen and even Thad. I took my frustrations out on them some as I became less patient and occasionally raised my voice as I either answered their questions or asked them to do something. Their demands, coupled with that of Ronalie’s mounting fears, heightened my desire for escape to my work and my travels.

The return to the US was rather direct, even though Ronalie had been well. We wanted to get settled back into the US and re-establish our contacts with Dr. Roberts, a good medical facility, find a good school for Gwen and Thad and a decent home in Raleigh as Ronalie did not want to be left alone in the small suburban home of the college town of Chapel Hill.

The Lindseys were as loving and hospitable as ever.

They offered us their downstairs apartment, set us up with a realtor searching for a home, and got us connected with educators regarding the school system for the children. It did not take Ronalie long to find an acceptable house. The realtor was very enthused about it as it was well situated in the North Hills areas close to good public and the only private school in RaRunning on Empty 175

leigh; and the price was within our reach. After a brief visit to the place, and comparing it with three other houses in the same locality, we decided to firm up our offer to buy.

The house closing did not take long, and as such we were able to move into our new home within a month after our return to N.C. There was not much furniture buying to do as we had a houseful of it in store, also, in Raleigh. As soon as we gave the orders to the movers, our whole household effects, within three days, were delivered, unpacked and set in our new home.

Ronalie’s focus turned to the children’s schooling.

Gwen was to go into high school and Thad was to start school either in KG or class one. Two public high schools were within reach, as well as, the only private school in the city. As was the case with our return from Nepal in 1967, Ronalie felt that the public school system was not strong enough scholastically to offer what she felt the kids should have, first class education.

From the financial point of view, she felt that we should use our savings from our overseas assignment to meet the costs, and if that wasn’t enough, she would devote all of her earnings from work towards that.

Gwen was admitted into ninth grade high school, without any question. Her scholastic record at Lincoln School in Ghana was very strong, what with her graduating as valedictorian of her class! Thad was tested for Grade one since his age did not fall within the ‘before October 1st birthday’ deadline for admission into Grade One. The primary grade Running on Empty 176

counselor felt that he was ready to go into first grade, if that was what we wanted, though she advised putting him in KG for the year. Ronalie felt that if he were ready for first grade, then he should go into that grade, and if need be, she would work with him; what with her being a first grade teacher.

Both Gwen and Thad were very apprehensive about starting school. Gwen overheard adults talk about the high scholastic standards of the school; its ritzy community; and its conservative social inclinations. But if Ronalie felt that that was the best thing for her future scholastic career, then she would do it. Besides, Gwen did not want to be in a large public school any way. That feeling was somewhat got from her exposures to a year in a public school at Chapel Hill, plus some air of ‘desired snobbishness’ on her side after her Lincoln School experiences in Accra.

When meeting the school counselors and administrators, Ronalie made it known that as a certified primary grade teacher, she would be interested in assisting, if not teaching full time, as either a teacher’s sub or mother-class-aid. She could not devote much time during the first semester, as she felt that she needed to get the house organized, the kids settled into a school routine, while I fell back into my job responsibilities at my institute. But she wanted to be involved from both a personal growth point of view as well as from a social responsibility point of view.

My return to my position at RTI was easy. I got into its groove fast. When a request for a month long assignment Running on Empty 177

to Upper Volta came my way, I grabbed it. After completing the assignment successfully, and putting together an acceptable first draft report, I trarveled for three days to meet with my old friends in Accra. While I was having good time doing my ‘thing’, Ronalie was struggling with her adjustment needs in our new home at Raleigh, and at the same time, be the solid supporter for Gwen and Thad as they too struggled with their schooling.

Ronalie wrote faithfully then, pouring her heart out about the children’s adjustment needs, and in so doing had hoped to share, as usual, some of their growing up experiences with me while I was out in another country. Ronalie reflected that in her personal letters from our home in Raleigh North Carolina, to me as well as to our friends in her 1976 Christmas letter. Her letter to me of May 18, 1977 was so clear and honest, yet I could not or did not want to see it or respond to it.

Now, twenty three years later, August 2011 to be exact, when I reread it, I felt sick to the core of my total being for missing so much of the wonders of my Ronalie’s honest commitment to our lives! If I were to beat myself or cut myself will that bring her back? Hell no. I was too selfish and stupid, to say the least, for trading genuine love for professional gratification. If you ask will I ever let go of that guilt and self lacerations? NEVER, even though in the depth of my heart I know she forgave me, and I have spoken the forgiveness words to myself but my heart is not totally free and will never be free, for sure! I never told any of my subsequent wives or lovers about the load I Running on Empty 178

continued to carry, but I tried to give myself fully to the one I happened to be with but always held some back. I loved them, yes, but I couldn’t give them all of me.

“Holiday greetings from Raleigh; December 1976 As most of you know, we returned from Ghana this summer. We’re committed to the area for a while, at least Gwen, Thad and I. David has been so busy commuting between here and West and North Africa that we can’t be sure about his intentions.

He’s just returned from five weeks in Ouagadougou, Accra and Rabat to a family very happy to have him home.

The children Gwen and Thad, plus Gwen’s eight year old poodle, flew home alone in mid June. They didn’t want to miss the Bicentennial Fourth of July. David and I followed a couple of weeks later, via Israel. We were scheduled out of Tel Aviv on the Air France flight that was sky jacked to Uganda. David, born under a lucky star, had changed our flight arrangement the day before. As usual, we left Israel with family affection, attention and marvelous Oriental food.

Our dear friends the Lindsey, in Raleigh, offered us warm hospitality while we house hunted. We’d decided to locate in Raleigh instead of Chapel Hill. After two grueling weeks of searching, we found a lovely split level, livable and conveniently located house. I took the kids and left for Florida while David went back to Ghana while we waited for all the legalities to be taken care of. A month later we were together again and undertaking the massive task of yet another move-in. Actually, we’re quite efficient at it by now! We’d no soon gotten the furniture in than David was off again.

While he was gone, the children and I busied ourselves re=adjusting to the pace and convenience of American life; meeting neighbors. Adjusting to school., enjoying the democratic and ‘freedom of the press’ after four years under military government, eating thousands of potatoes and apples, freezing to death, coping with super highRunning on Empty 179

ways and missed exists, learning to use push buttons from telephones to banks and helping our youngest, our Thad, to understand he wasn’t ‘bionic’- whatever that is?? We couldn’t get enough of autumn. The brisk air, the vibrant leaves simply overwhelmed us. We still haven’t adjusted to cold after four years of the tropics. Sweaters to bed and top coats at dinner are fairly standard dress at our 5509 Newberry Drive home.

The children had American friends from Ghana days, who live in New York, down for a really lively and fun Thanksgiving. Many Ghanaians, Somalians and American friends have visited us and a dear Nepali friend passed through. These are the experiences we cherish and look forward to. The rewards of our travels are wonderful friends we’ve made everywhere who sort of make up a super family with strong ties of shared experiences.

Those of you who visited in Chapel Hill often remarked on the museum-like quality of our abode. Come see us one continent and four years later. Our artifacts enjoy the house, we have moved out on the screened porch! Once a week I rise determinedly drink six cups of coffee and DUST! I think I’ll have a yard sale; or is it called a garage sale? Whatever!

David is deeply engrossed in his work enjoys excellent health and his usual good looks. The beard has grayed, but not a silver thread adorns the ‘noble’ head. Gwen, An uncommon teenager and devotee of hearth and home had made beautiful adjustment to her school and community. She visits and cheers the neighbors and builds super fires to keep us warm. Thad, about six, has done well in first grade and is on the school swim team. He is the youngest and biggest in class, the most gorgeous also. He’s adjusted slowly. Ghana was his home and he misses it terribly.

I’ve been busy setting the house in order, helping everyone adjust, sewing, logging it with all the responsibilities whilst David was gone, doing volunteer work at school and the ‘Robert Little Theater’ ( an amateur local group theater), and doing some Running on Empty 180

substitute teaching. I’ll look for a permanent teaching job in January. We’re looking forward to Christmas holidays with family in Dayton, the first time in five years.

We wish you a happy holiday season and a healthy and prosperous 1977. It’s great to be here.

Love to you one and all, David, Ronalie, Gwen and Thad”

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Ronalie, Thad, Gwen and I; Christmas at Ronalie’s mother home, Dayton Ohio, 1976

I have decided to include here some of Ronalie’s letters to me that I couldn’t fully relate to, especially the May 18th, 22nd and 25 th letters (which I highlighted), or maybe did not want to relate to?

David

May 18, 1977

In general I have enjoyed the classes. I’m sure you would have benefited from them.

I hope you’ll read the book and attend the last 2 with me – 31st and 7th.

Sunday I took the kiddies to Duke Gardens. It was beautiful I’d been feeling very disturbed and as always the out-of- doors had a calming effect on my agitated spirit.

Five years and Thad was in stroller when we were last there and our Gwen yet a child. Thad loved it and we’ve decided to go again Sun and take a picnic lunch so we can stay longer.

I’m sorry things are in a mess there. I’m sure if they can be worked out you can make Running on Empty 182

the magic happen. I wouldn’t be willing to leave more because of Gwen and of my own job prospects. She’s so well established and has been permitted to take two advanced math next year (a RARITY!) and recommend for advanced English. She’s also “in” with the kids and it is a good all around situation. Thad is about the same except he’s in love. Her name is Lisa and she’s adorable. He alternates between being the BEST or the WORST, never just mediocre!

Me! Sometimes I’m happy, often I’m lonely. This pattern has to change or I’ll simply have to change it for myself and my own mental and social health. This year has been a difficult one. You’re been gone so much and so much of the time you’re here is spent on readjustment. I expend vast amounts of emotional energy trying to keep our marriage relations healthy in an unhealthy situation – keeping communication lines open and CLEAR is difficult when our daily experiences are SO different over extended periods. During your periods here there’s so much of that to catch up on, plus your work, plus the house and children that we’ve no time to search out new and interesting experiences, meet people- EVEN MORES! I feel like I work and then work. The difference is only in place. There are no diversions. I have no interaction with adults and I NEED it. I feel really stifled. So – if your pattern continues mine must change. I’ll enroll in classes, book clubs, folk dance groups – anything to mix with adults and if it takes evening while you’re here, well, what can I do?

I haven’t decided about D.C. What do I do with these damned dogs? Evi’s house is small for all of us. I’m so tired by the time. I finish EVERYTHING I really can’t get excited about dogs, kids, suitcases and sightseeing. I’ll see.

Gwen has not been as helpful and cooperative this time. I try not to nag. But I need some help and I always have to ask nowadays. She’s at an age where the telephone is her lifeline and what she does help with her mind isn’t on and it’s done half/half which is more infuriating. She’s as adorable as always but you know how I hate to ask for help and she’s at an age where she “doesn’t see” it! So I have to ask or do it myself. I usually prefer the latter.

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Well, time to prepare dinner then go after Thad. He’s out in the bush with Marcel.

I hope you’re thinking about what to do this summer, I am OPPRESSED by it and feel and want to RUN!! I’m tired of servicing and today at least.

Hi,

(May 22, 1977)

Just now received your cable re arrival June 3. No comment, what good has it even done or will it even do? As I reread my earlier letter I recall how many times I’ve said these things and how things have never changed. You listen, you hear the words but you know words are only about 1/3 of the communication, 2/3 is the “feelings” they convey. Did you ever hear those? I think you did. I also think your own feelings and goals are so important to you that you take for granted my accepting them as superior to my own. You have a bag full of techniques you use to keep me quiet but what about the feelings inside me David? Surely you know by now you have an intelligent wife. You must know that simply because she smiles, does her duty and shuts up doesn’t mean a damn thing but TROUBLE! My greatest goal has been to achieve a shared open relationship- a unique thing. I’ve made a zillion physical and emotional sacrifices for it and I’ve LOST. I feel I’ve left you behind and that the man I married is really quite dull, status and success oriented with little or no interest in the things which excite me. I love human, I love books and drama, I love the study of people and behavior and philosophy. I’ve shared ALL your experiences, you’ve share none of mine. Oh, you are a million good things or I wouldn’t miss you so. You are kind and considerate and generous. But you’re single minded spelled BORING! What are you going to do when we retire? Are you at heart just an old fashioned Oriental like Fred – only not a businessman? You are kind and generous to a fault and I love you. I just wish that mattered-more. You’ll miss all the classes in T.A. and of course no D.C. again but so what? Those were only important to me. Of course I MUST plan to go all out and exhaust myself for “S” and tribe because that is important to Running on Empty 184

Hi,

(May 25, 1977)

I have mixed feelings about your coming home. You’re exhausted, I’m exhausted and resentful, the kids are confused- I mean, what IS all this? What’s it FOR? What kind of homecoming CAN it be? What kind of realistic expectations can we have about it? I’ll be ever so happy to have you here again, yet I dread all the hurt that goes with the readjustments and not listening and mind somewhere else etc.!!

I love you very much. Because I do I hope you’ll reread the imp., “feeling” parts of this letter and think, not defensively and making excuses. Just pretend you’re me for a change. Try for once, to see things I see them, not as your think I see them or hope I’ll see them or what you want me to see them but as I do see them. At this point I hold little or no optimism for the growth of our relationship in the present pattern.

Stagnation is not an “answer” and is only the beginning of deterioration.

I assume we’ll get your new schedule and know when to meet you.

Love, Ronalie

I really was what Ronalie described me to be. I add to what Ronalie said about me in her May 18th letter that I was extremely self-centered and a selfish SOB! Why? Because while Ronalie wrote and cried out for help, as I highlighted the words she wrote in her letters, I focused on the host of needs that demanded significant amounts of my energies: the new Office for International Programs that I created and headed at RTI; the new multi-year African based project and more so, the need to hire some staff for the office to begin developing institutional linkages within the institute and the Triangle University System. To top it all, Ronalie’s health was creating Running on Empty 185

many anxieties as her kidneys began to show some deteriorating signs. Are many men facing such issues and problems like me? I guess I got to feeling sorry for ‘me’, which, now I say what crap and bull shit that was! I was selfish and at times too taken by my sense of self importance.

I hired Jim McCullough, who was then with another center in our institute, to be my first technical assistant. We got a secretary, and I also offered Laurie a health analyst position.

Jim McCullough accepted, but Laurie showed some reluctance to come down to N.C. However, after a visit, accompanied by her parents, who were very good friends of Ronalie and I, plus the apparent slowness with which she got any encouraging interviews with USAID and other foreign agencies involved with development, made Laurie decide to accept the offer I made her. George Herbert, the president of my Institute, did not take long in sanctioning the offer as he wanted to demonstrate his total support for my new initiatives, for after all, I seemed to be winning quite a few big contracts.

I had to travel, during that pressurized period, to Rabat to help prepare for my senior technical staff ’s arrival and settling in. My Office got a two years contract to help the department of planning of the Government of Morocco develop and implement an in-house capacity to do nutrition monitoring and planning. The official language was French and I had to get two fluent speaking French professionals: one an Economist and the other a sociologist. I got that but the sociologist nutrition ‘expert’ had some commitments that would delay his Running on Empty 186

arrival at Rabat for few months. I agreed to fill in for him by spending some time in Rabat. Ronalie’s faithfulness in holding the kids together, in spite of her apparent professional, social and physical needs, continued to be reflected in her faithful letter writing.

The self questioning and ‘analysis’ that I am going through now is my attempt at confessing my ignorance in knowing how to ‘really love, and more so how to love a wonderful person as Ronalie was’. I am NOT asking for sympathy from any one. I share them only because I believe that we men DON’T REALLY KNOW HOW TO LOVE. Why? I really don’t know, but I do concur with what Pat Conroy in The Prince of Tides (1986) wrote as his words galvanized me as I read: “There is only one thing difficult about being a man Only one thing: They don’t teach us how to love.

It is a secret they keep from us.

We spend our whole lives trying to get Someone to teach us how to do it, And we never find out how”.

The French philosopher, Pierre Tailhard De Chardin (18811955), was also right when he wrote, “Someday, After we have mastered the winds, The waves, Running on Empty 187

The tides, and gravity, We shall harness the energies of love.

Then, for the second time in history of the world, Man will have discovered fire”

As for me, I felt that the main reason we men cannot love fully is because of the ego we protect all the time! At all cost. Why? Could it be because we never gave birth to a child and in so doing we never gave part of our life to another human? We buy into the societal crap that we run and rule the world, Oh my God, what a joke!

Ronalie wrote and wrote about her emotional needs and the need for us to take a hard look at what we want in life and how to live it ‘meaningfully’. But did I really understand where Ronalie was coming from? If I did understand, I surely didn’t seem to have internalized its significance as I seemed so stuck in my world and needs. Not blaming Ronalie for any of my own failures, and yes my many failures. How did Ronalie take it for so long and why did she not force the issues when facing each other in person? Were the daily routines we lived through so taxing that we had no time for serious discourse?

God, what was going on and why?!

Listen to the ‘crap’ I fed myself then. I believed, stupidly so now I say, that ‘Ronalie was doing ok’ as she focused on the children while also getting involved in meaningful community based activities. She linked up with a women program that focused on providing shelter to battered women. All of that kept her going. I said to myself that ‘she didn’t seem to mind my Running on Empty 188

travels as long as I maintained a well balanced foreign-home arrangement’. I did that as I tried to be out a maximum of three weeks to every month and a half at home. Her only objections centered on my relative lack of knowledge and involvements in the children’s schooling and social life’.

Ronalie and I made it a point to get down to our New Smyrna Beach, Florida, condo we purchased in 1968, every time the kids had a few days off. Ronalie loved the beach, the condo and the idea of having it at our disposal. She wanted to redecorate all of it, to which I agreed. I felt that somehow I needed to compensate for my travels by meeting Ronalie’s needs. My God what bull this reasoning was! This, I did, in relation to the Florida condo and later in spending the funds to dig a swimming pool in our Raleigh home so she could get some private exercise.

While in Florida at our condominium, one morning Ronalie woke up very sick and needed to be taken back to Raleigh. When we reached Raleigh airport, we took a taxi and went straight to Duke Hospital’s emergency room. Dr. Roberts was there waiting for us. After some quick questioning and tests, determined that the nephrologists, Dr Gunnels, needed to be called in to assess Ronalie after her admission to the hospital for kidney failure.

Dr Gunnels said that Ronalie needed regular dialysis.

He recommended her coming to the Duke Dialysis Center twice a week. The dialysis experience proved much more difficult than had been explained or accepted. Ronalie needed a Running on Empty 189

tremendous amount of emotional support. The kids became anxious about her state as they were much more attached to her than to me. I read the statistics that were being funneled through my institute dialyses national record keeping project. Danny Allen, at our office, emitted a constant sign of hope as he relayed how he survived the dialysis experience, got a kidney transplant and began ‘a new normal life’. Ronalie surrounded herself with as many new women friend as I did with my new found kidney statistical library. I was shaken but not sure why. Would this really cause me to lose Ronalie now?

Would I be able to face death? How about the children? How would I handle this situation now? What did Ronalie expect of me, and why couldn’t I share my fears and concerns with her or others? Did I not want help, or did I not know what I wanted?

I was confused and scared. Where would I start if I were to ask for help? My men friends did not seem able to understand where I was coming from, so all they did was talk about business and projects. Al, my boss, wanted to be supportive, but all he seemed to do was talk about how well Danny, one of our professional staff who had a kidney transplant, was doing and how the guys at the Institute got together and bought him a dialysis reclining chair. Ronalie wanted to commence doing dialysis at home, as she began to need it more frequently. She wanted me to become her partner by learning how to administer dialysis treatment to her. Of course I accepted to do that.

Running on Empty 190

Learning to administer dialysis treatment was not intellectually demanding or difficult. Ronalie’s encouragements were added incentive to hurry the learning process. Psychiatric counseling was part of the training, which tended to center mostly on the meaning of the process, the needs of the patient, and the beginning of an open discussion about death and dying. Not much, if any, help centered on my needs then.

I felt left out, but then why not, since it was Ronalie that was sick and needed me? Wasn’t I alright physically, even though I might have been going through hellish guilt and darkened confusions? Look how Ronalie’s women friend circled her with their loving support by providing daily homemade and home delivered dinners, lest she worried about that aspect or had me distracted from my dialysis partnership duties. For three months, her friends anticipated our family dinners’ needs and serviced the same; a beautiful and much appreciated act but why didn’t the RTI male friends come through for me too?

The intensity of the dialyses emotional demands, on both Ronalie and me, began to take its toll. Ronalie became weaker and weaker, thus assumed less physical responsibilities and stayed in bed longer hours. Her interactions with the children began to be directive rather than associative. They resented that, but took it upon themselves rather than airing them out openly... and if they did some of that, it was when I was gone.

I, on the other hand, began to feel depressed, pressured at work and at home, but still trying to keep an upper lip about Running on Empty 191

the whole affair by assuming more and more responsibilities while not having enough physical nor emotional strength to carry them through. I hated that state and more so coming home and seeing Ronalie again in bed; pale, turning to skin and bones in spite of the courageous front she maintained. She kept her hair and face made up, put on a new gown as she sat up in our bedroom chair waiting for her family to come home so she could go through the welcoming ritual before collapsing back into bed. I wanted to talk to her about my day and life outside the bedroom, but seldom did I find the patience to sit and talk, as I was always on the go, getting the dinner Ronalie’s friends brought readied for the kids and Ronalie.

Ronalie sensed all of the tension among us. She knew that we all were unhappy and scared, so she called us one evening after dinner to sit together in our formal living room and hear her out. She spoke of her deteriorating condition; the kid’s school needs; the dialysis experience; my work demands at RTI and Morocco; and also of her coming death. She wanted us to be strong then, pulling together as her weaknesses grew.

She did not know how long she would continue to live like that, or how would the end come; but she did know that we loved her and she loved us too. Death, she explained, was not to be hidden nor shunned, as it was inevitable. How one died and how the survivors accepted that were the important aspects of living. She wanted us to live as much as possible even as she was dying. For after all, she wanted to see that life for her would be extended by the quality of life we would all lead Running on Empty 192

after she left. She reiterated her statements about the meaning of a husband, as she had in her 19th Anniversary Message, as well as the meaning of a mother, children, family and love. We all cried, hugged each other, while reassuring each one that Ronalie was not going to die then for our love for each other would sustain her and us too, no matter what were to happen.

For our twentieth anniversary, September 06, 1978, she gave me the following card. It read: Happy Anniversary to my HUSBAND ‘WHAT IS A HUSBAND? A husband is that “special guy” That you yourself picked out …

As being nice to be around And nice to think about… … The one you wanted most of all To share your hopes and schemes…

The one you’re glad you waited for …

The answer to your dreams…

The one who has that special way Of being dear and sweet…

The one who makes your life worthwhile, Your happiness complete …

A Husband may not speak of love As often as he should …

Because he feels the love you share Is clearly understood…

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And yet, he let you know he cares In countless little ways…

And it’s his smile you count upon To brighten cloudy days…

So, all in all, a Husband is A pretty special guy…

And naturally, you love him more As every day goes by …

And even when you do not say The things you feel about him…

Or tell him just how meaningless Your life would be without him…

You think somehow he understands…

You’re proud to be wife…

And that his love will always be Your greatest joy in life’. Lucille Boesken I love you David, Ronalie “They say death does this to us once we are warned. Unconsciously, we strive not to waste time. Pettiness falls away, with all those things of little value in our lives. Could we but have known sooner, we tell ourselves, it would have been otherwise; no anger, no destruction, above everything no pride.” ​ (unknow author)

The struggle to maintain some sense of balance and individual worth in the presence of death was an ever present Running on Empty 194

one. I sought to hide behind my office work and obligations as I consciously avoided free times to think, let alone face the realities that were closing in on me. My Moroccan experience with my senior professional staff stationed there was a fiasco par excellence. The precise German technician-economist Mike, and the holistic sloppy anthropologist Jew, Joel, could not get their acts together to make a go of the national nutrition planning project my office had been contracted to help the Moroccan National Planning Secretariat set up. They played USAID against the Moroccan Government and put me squarely in the middle. To recall either one would have spelled disaster for the project, a state that I could not readily take nor face at that time. Handling the disputes that surfaced between the two by cross-continental phone calls proved very difficult indeed. Leaving Ronalie and the kids, though I might have really needed such a change, was rather impossible. So, that project too began to manifest signs of the slow death that was being felt at the home front. Death seemed to surround me from all sides; and run as I might have wanted, I just couldn’t run fast enough nor far enough! Was I running on empty, and if so how far would I be able to go on?

Ronalie did die on May 26, 1979 of kidney failure. It happened after a very trying, dehumanizing and extremely agonizing failed kidney transplant. We, especially Gwen and I, seeing how fast Ronalie’s condition was deteriorating, had signed for and pleaded for a kidney transplant. Her name and tissue typing was placed on a national computer network for Running on Empty 195

kidney transplants. A cadaver tissue and blood type match had to be found of an organ that could reach Duke Medical Center and be transplanted within 5 to 6 hours after the cadaver match was located. Given her age, sex, and family status, plus the rather short span of her being on dialysis, placed her at a rather middle level recipient priority list for a transplant.

Not knowing how and where she was placed on that list was a source of some frustration to me. I couldn’t handle my incapacitating lack of control in that matter, nor the uncertainty surrounding the date of a potential transplant.

On March 26, 1979, our non-dialysis day, I had to go up to Washington for a day of consultations with USAID. As usual, I left at five thirty early morning to catch the seven o’clock Eastern flight to Washington and then planned to return by six that same day. Little did I or Ronalie know then that that would be the day Duke Medical Centre would call her for the transplant? But they sure did! I learned of it as I was, in my frantic business hustling state, moving from one US government office to another. By mid day, my RTI office finally located me and Jim, my assistant, told me that I had to get back immediately as Duke had called that morning saying that they located a suitable organ, and that both Gwen and Laurie were with Ronalie getting her ready to be admitted to Duke.

I was able to get the afternoon flight back which reached Raleigh Airport before five. My boss, Al, met my flight and drove me direct to Duke’s emergency ward where Ronalie Running on Empty 196

had been admitted around eleven that morning... Al did not know then whether Ronalie would still be at the emergency room or not by the time I got there (The usual practice was that a transplant patient undergoes the transplant operation within five hours after being admitted, as the organ could not be kept outside the body much longer)!

I did make it to the emergency room to see Ronalie still there. She was in rather high spirits, considering the nature of the matter. Gwen and Laurie were with her. Ronalie was visibly very happy to see me then. Gwen and Laurie left us alone as they set out to have something to eat.

-“I am glad you are here,” started Ronalie. “I thought maybe you will not make it before they wheeled me to the operating room.”

-“Yes, I too thought that I will miss seeing you before the operation. Just think, we will have a new life after this. How long will you be in the hospital?” I asked.

-“I don’t know how long. It will all depend on the outcome of the operation”, replied Ronalie. “Besides, I don’t believe I will come out alive after this” -“Why are you talking like this sweetheart? Look how well Danny Allen is doing now. Why shouldn’t you come out alive?

Stop talking like that,” I pleaded.

-“Well David, listen”, said Ronalie. “After you left this morning, and after the kids left for school, who should call but Ed Stickney. After so long a time, he called to tell me how sorry he was when he heard from mother that I had been sick and on dialyRunning on Empty 197

sis. You see David,” continued Ronalie, “I had always wished that Ed would call me before I died so I could apologize for having hurt him so much by marrying you. He had been in and out of marriage four times - according to mother - and never seemed to have gotten over my leaving him for you. So, all of a sudden, and out of nowhere, he called this morning as he got back to Dayton from California. We talked for almost an hour, and after he hung up, I felt that I have completed what I needed to complete before I died. So, you see,” concluded Ronalie, “I am going to die from this ordeal, and if I do, I know that you will have to remarry as you can’t live alone. That is OK, but I want you to promise me one thing: you won’t marry a Ghanian or a young woman. Somebody like Margaret-Mary, (her ex-nun friend at school) would be very good, and especially for the children. You have to do that which is right for them, David. So promise me that much now,” pleaded Ronalie.

-“We are going to have a new life after this operation. You wait and see,” I asserted.

We did have a new life after that operation, but not the way I had intended it to be. The operation was successful when completed, and the new organ did function rather well for couple of days before the body rejected it. Anti-rejection treatments were prescribed which, according to the specialist, were very strong for a body to handle. They attacked the body’s immune system. They did not explain what all that implied, but they had to do that, and only if I were to consent. I did, of course, consent believing that they would work, which Running on Empty 198

they did not!

Ronalie’s body refused to cooperate, or maybe did not have what was needed for it to cooperate. One side effect after another began to surface which required urgent treatment.

Ronalie went into a coma from which she would come out now and again only apparently to plead with her doctor to let her live for two years only for Thad, our son’s, sake. A return to home dialysis could not avert the impending disaster.

She weakened and weakened as the Doctors fought one acute problem after another. I, Gwen, her mother Mary, and Sharolyn, her sister, along with many of her female friends were by her side. After a month of agonies for both Ronalie and us (for Ronalie to accept all the treatment, and for us to see her in the pain she was facing and the way they handled her body), both I and Gwen began to ask the doctors to have our Ronalie stop all treatment and let Ronalie die in peace. The psychiatrist concurred with our pleas, but not her nephrologists! He refused to let go of the treatments or his hope to save Ronalie.

Only two days before she died, when she had water collect around her heart’s sac, did he finally gave in and called to inform me that he would order stop treatment then but keep her on pain killers so she could be “comfortable”. How long would that process last, he did not know. By the following night, it was apparent to me, Mary, and Gwen that the end was near as Ronalie’s breathing became irregular and very slow. We felt that we were helping her by encouraging her to let go of life, only to discover that she was waiting for Thad to come to see Running on Empty 199

her. When he came, she opened her eyes and with a smile in her big brown eyes, while still having tubes running through her nose and throat, called out his name for the last time. Poor Thad, he was so scared and confused, plus he was so uncomfortable in the new cast he had gotten that day for a broken leg he suffered while running at school!

After Friday mid-night, May 26, 1979, Mary, Gwen and I had been asked to leave Ronalie’s bed side to get some rest. At three in the morning, the doctor called me saying that “Mrs. David” had passed away during the twenty minute lapse in the nurse’s call on her. We should come as soon as possible to say our good-byes before removing the body to the morgue.

I fell apart! I started calling my family in Israel, Dayton, plus Raleigh and Chapel Hill announcing the loss of my Ronalie. I even called our dear friend Governor and Carolyn Hunt and got them out to come and take me and the family to see Ronalie’s body (both Jimmy and Carolyn had insisted the day before that I inform them of her death as soon as I was informed so they could be by my side). Robert Seymour, our Southern Baptist friend and pastor, was also notified at his Deacon’s retreat, as I needed him to come do the final arrangements for the cremation of the body and the religious service that accompanied it; which he did so very well and so caringly.

The hospital wanted me to grant them the body for ‘study’. I refused as I felt that Ronalie’s body was handled enough by them all. She had to rest in peace now. The crematorium attendant came to meet me and Bob about the release Running on Empty 200

of the body. The ashes were to be returned to us on Monday, Memorial Day, which was also to be the Memorial Day service for Ronalie. Bob Seymour was to keep the service simple, no flowers but a donation in Ronalie’s name to St. Xavier Alumni Association village health and school project in Nepal, were requested. Laurie was to sing Ronalie’s wish for Gwen to be her “bridge over troubled water” that Simon and Garfunkel had so beautifully put into music. I ordered only twenty one red roses to be delivered to the Church for the service to commemorate the twenty first year anniversary of our engagement, Memorial Day of 1958! Gwen was devastated and so was Thad. I don’t think they fully accepted, let alone knew what death of our Ronalie fully meant. How it would affect us all and our lives, none of us knew then. All that we knew was that Ronalie was gone and gone for good. Yes, her love would never go but her physical being and presence was gone! Was I able to deal with that then? If I could I did not for I too was lost and confused.

I did not take part in the official memorial service but Gwen did. Gwen spoke during the service and so did Sally Collins, Ronalie’s best female friend. Gwen’s words were few but very much ‘right on’ when she shared them with us.

“My Mother “I am extremely proud to be able to speak of my mother today, as I always have been and always will be. Yet somehow it seems different today because within me there is such a heartfelt void. I cannot reach out and touch her, I cannot hear her voice, she Running on Empty 201

will not answer when I call her name.

“However I shall never really be without her because instilled in me are many of her beautiful qualities. Her vivaciousness, thoughtfulness, inspiration, optimism and selflessness can never die. I feel that all that my mother gave to each of us she gave lovingly, never wanting them to be returned to her. She left them behind so that we may pass them on to others.

“Not only was she the best mother in the world but she was my best friend. I cannot recall a single day in her life that she did not willingly sit with me to talk and relate to whatever I had on my mind. She was never too sick or too tired to spend time with me. Her family was her first love.

Yet I feel my mother’s best quality was her desire to find something beautiful in everything and everyone. She always taught me to find at least one good quality about every person I met.

“This was my mom, and your friend.

Gwen Lynita David

Chapel Hill, North Carolina; May 31, 1979”

Later when I talked about Ronalie or friends asked me about her, I would say that Ronalie to me was a very special person who loved her children and family, the theater, music and books. She was a ‘very committed’ feminist during the feminist surge in the mid seventies. She loved to laugh and at times while in bed reading she would start laughing and couldn’t stop. She used to tell me jokes and laugh but I only smiled. Then when I shared some of my jokes with her, she never saw the humor in them. That is when we both agreed that since we came from such different cultures and since jokes were basically culture specific, we were not to feel hurt if when

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one was telling a joke the other did not laugh or see the irony in it! But we sure were well connected and supportive of each other in so many ways. That is why some of our close friends used to say that ‘Ronalie and David were inseparable’! Yes, we were indeed inseparable and even after over thirty years of her death, I write her letters.

But now I say that I did NOT REALLY KNOW HOW TO LOVE MY RONALIE THE RIGHT WAY. A Poor excuse for sure!

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Laurie, my second wife (1980-1984)

- “Your father is a whore living with a young woman just after your

mom died. How could he do that? He used to say that he loved your mom very much so how could he do this now after living twenty one

years as a faithful husband and loving father? How could he do that to you two, his only children?” cried Nate as he talked to my daughter Gwen in the presence of Ronalie’s sister Sharolyn.

Gwen told me what their grandfather, my father in law and at one time my “spiritual father”, had shared with her and Brent when he heard that I was going with Laurie after Ronalie’s death. They also told me that Sharolyn was threatening to take them away from me by getting a “police order” based on her assertion that I was an “unfit father”. My God, how could they do that and poison my children against me? I had no alternative but to pursue a two pronged response: one to write a letter to Nate and his family forbidding them from contacting my children without my permission, and two, to sit down with my children and talk to them about what I was going through and why I was behaving the way I did. I did both as I wrote first to Sharolyn, her mom and dad with copies to her brother and my younger brother Miko who was then married and living in the US. I wrote: Sharolyn, Mary and Nate I am sending you three the same note so I won’t have to repeat them.

Needless to say, I am extremely disappointed in your total behavior towards me, my children and the memory of my beloved Ronalie. I just hung up from talking to Nate and I am sick with anger and disgust.

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It is amazing how much love we all seem to have had for each other. I am especially amazed at the love you all had for me and the children. Your understanding of where one person is at a particular time is beyond me – I don’t care to go on and on about this, that, or the other. Let me, however make myself very clear: I do not need anyone to be my judge nor my conscious – since you were not appointed by me nor by an authority I recognize. I do not need your help to care for or love my children. They are related to you through Ronalie and that is it! So don’t meddle into their lives or mine. This means that I do not wish for you Sharolyn nor Mary to call them in my absence – for any reason. I will live my life and love my children the way I deem it best for them – not for you. ou are all welcome to sit, talk and connive in ways that are consistent with your needs but certainly not for my children’s or my needs.

May you live to prosper in your ways / A.S. David cc: For information only to Brent Scharff and Mark David

I decided to sit with my children and tell them exactly how I felt about Laurie. I told them that she saved me from the pit of despair I was in after their mother death. Yes, I was fully aware that they see her as very different from Ronalie, and for sure she is different in many ways and because of her being different, maybe that is why I was clinging to her. She was young and full of life and for me that is what I needed to get through the state I was in. She was the opposite of Ronalie. She was a very ‘poor homemaker’ when it came to housekeeping, dress and personal attire. She was a total vegetarian who loved to laugh and sing. She played the guitar and ate with her fingers.

She was short with wild hair, but she really did know how to

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write and sing and laugh.

-“Does this mean that Laurie will not move with us now and that you will cut down on your business travel?” asked Gwen.

-“I am not going to ask Laurie to move in with us now. But I may stay with her some weekends for a night or two at her home. She might do the same here and I hope it is ok with you. You see Gwen and Thad, I have to live and I have to travel some but neither Laurie nor anybody for that matter, will ever replace Ronalie in my life. I need to get myself back on the road of life and living otherwise I will be of no use to anyone, not even you two. I really hope you can begin to accept that, even though you may not want to know all of that. You have to trust me when it comes to my love and commitment to you; hundred percent all the way.

“As to your second point Gwen about my work and travel, I will do what I can to reduce my business travels. You know that during the dialysis months or even for a couple of years, I was the dialysis partner doing it at home and then during her hospitalization and death, I stayed put. I did not travel to check on projects I am heading in Africa and elsewhere. My boss did not press me yet to get out and hustle more contracts for the Institute. I am sure they will now and I myself feel responsible to do that as head of the Office. When I travel, I will make sure that my trips are as short as possible and that I will have an adult lady or couple come stay with you while I am out. I will also ask our dear friend Sally and a couple of other good friends to check on you and help out with your urgent Running on Empty 206

needs. They and you will have my schedule and contact points.

Any time you need to talk or deal with any situation that might bother you; you can reach me, ok?

“I am not having any easier time than you in accepting Ronalie’s death, but I have responsibilities to meet, both at work and home, which I will not run away from”, I continued. “I also need to find some outlets for my emotional and physical needs, which Laurie seems to partially fill. Let there be no question that you and your needs are, and will always be, my top priorities”, I concluded.

Did I get through to them and did they see where I was coming from? I didn’t think so but at least they heard me and I heard their concerns and felt their fears. I determined then and there to never let my personal needs come ahead of my commitments to my children; but when I look back on what actually happened and how I handled things, I feel that I missed the mark many times. I heaped more guilt on top of my guilt about Ronalie upon myself, about such times and events but could I get them back and fix them? I talked and wrote about that with them at various times as I continued to ‘live’ after my Ronalie’s death.

I first met Laurie in Ghana where I had been setting up and managing the University of North Carolina PDP project for West Africa. Ronalie and I had met Laurie’s parents, who were working with the US Embassy in Accra, at a social function held by a close friend. Hang, Laurie’s father, had shared with us some vignettes of his eldest daughter, Laurie, who Running on Empty 207

apparently had been traveling in Asia and was on her way to visit them for few weeks. Her father worried about her health, mode of travel and the wasting of her talents by bumping around India and Nepal instead of moving on with her postphilosophy degree. Apparently she was a good writer and the father wanted her to pursue a professional career by going into another educational discipline at graduate level.

Laurie, the eldest of two sisters, did make it to Accra OK. She had a male traveling companion neither her lover nor boy-girl friends. My first impression of her was positive: young, smart, apparently talented for she sang and played the guitar. It was during a reception the parents hosted to introduce her to their friends that I did talk to her briefly. She sang a few folk songs for the invitee which were not that great but OK.

The next time I met Laurie was when I had to go to Togo, the French speaking country next to Ghana, for some shopping and Laurie wanted to change money. I took her with me and we chatted on the way. I did enjoy her company for she was very keen and had traveled in Nepal, the country where I was very familiar with. We talked about her possible graduate studies and I suggested then she consider taking up a degree in Public Health with family planning as a major. She did that later when she got to the States.

The search for ‘the real me’ began a month before my Ronalie died. It all started on the fateful evening when Ronalie called me one day to say that the Hunts had sent us an invitaRunning on Empty 208

tion to attend the gala performance of Ella Fitzgerald at the Coliseum. She told me then that she will not be able to go but that she wanted me to go. I said no way would I go alone and without her. She apparently had anticipated my reaction. She told me that she already called Sally Collins and Laurie and alerted them to the idea that she wanted them to accompany me to the Fitzgerald concert. I protested and by the time I got home, Laurie was already at our house all dressed up for the occasion. I ran up to our bed room and asked Ronalie what she expected me to do then.

-“ I want you to take Laurie to the concert and go. You need the change and this is a good opportunity to meet our friends the Hunts and to have a different evening from the usual ones you been having,” she replied.

On the way to the concert, Laurie kept after me to tell her how I felt about Ronalie’s illness. I didn’t want to deal with that. By the time we reached the Coliseum, the show had already started. Laurie suggested then that instead of going in late, why not we go to the Holiday Inn Hotel Bar, have a drink and talk. I accepted and drove to the hotel.

For 21 years, Ronalie tried to get me to be in touch with my inner self; my emotions. The same year that Ronalie died, I opened a small window into myself and started to look in. Ronalie was very instrumental but Laurie was the catalyst that led me on my journey into myself. Laurie’s entrance into my life after Ronalie’s death was quite a story in itself! What opened up in my relationship to Laurie was too fast for me to Running on Empty 209

fully understand.

At first I strongly resisted any ‘intrusion’ into my inner self, a space that I had never been into let alone opened up to an outsider like Laurie. Ronalie couldn’t get me to talk about that, but Laurie’s insistence broke through my defenses. After my first drink, I broke up and started to tell Laurie how scared I was that my Ronalie was going to die. I opened some, but later found myself emotionally naked as I continued to open up to Laurie about all of my emotions. I began, thereafter, my long march towards myself reassessment and search. What Bellah and his co-authors wrote in Habits of the Heart (1985) resonated well with me then as he wrote: “Finding oneself’ is not something one does alone. The quest for growth and self fulfillment is supposed to lead one into relationships with others, and most important among them are love and marriage.”

What started that evening at the Holiday Inn Bar, by Laurie helping me open up some and share some of my fears, was followed by office conversations that led me to talk more and more about my past and my feelings. It was good at some levels and scary at others. I was scared of becoming too dependent on Laurie and her emotional support. That support I later took as genuine love as I threw myself head on into Laurie’s world. I gave up eating red meat and poultry right after Ronalie’s death, not because Laurie was a total vegetarian, but because I felt repulsed by the way the hospital had handled Ronalie’s body and my dealings with blood during the two year long dialysis period. I jumped immediately into the Running on Empty 210

international travel band wagon; a move I felt was extremely called for, given my past neglect of much of my work’s responsibilities. For some time, Laurie wanted to move out of North Carolina and the Research Triangle Institute. Thad’s psychologist, at the same time, had recommended I cut down on my travels as Thad was ‘freaking out’ every time I left home for another country. The therapist told me that Thad feared that I too would abandon him as did his mother by ‘dyeing while his natural mother abandoned him by putting him up for adoption’. The only way I would be able to reduce or cut my travels out completely was to take a foreign assignment and stay put in one place for at least two years. So I accepted Laurie’s wish to relocate and began considering relocating with Laurie as she explored both work and study options abroad. I vowed to accept to relocate to new jobs and any foreign country that Laurie wanted. I only needed a perspective for my search, but could not find it then. I was totally lost in the new jungle of my inner being. I became anxious to change my environment and setting. I wanted to run away from my pain, my memories of the last few months and even years with Ronalie before she left my world. I sought out alternatives for us which ended up with my taking an assignment in Nepal.

My love for Laurie was very strong, and my loyalty to her very intense. I wanted to be with her at any cost. I was scared and kind of lost after Ronalie’s death. I knew that my children did not ‘approve’ of my being with Laurie nor having her spend weekends in our home. Her being with us at Running on Empty 211

our house was a big fiasco as both Gwen and Thad were very ‘hostile’ towards her and ignored my begging to try to be a bit, just a bit, more accepting. I refused to discuss my relationship openly with Ronalie’s friends as I sensed territorial encroachments into my personal life. But I did share, as honestly as I knew how, my feelings towards Laurie with my children. I also upheld, during that period, my promised ‘objectivity’ in my relationship with Laurie at the office. For that too, Laurie created problems for me as she felt that I, as her ‘boss’, had gotten unduly hard on her in my attempts to enforce non-discriminatory behavior towards her. I also carried my new found openness to my work which made me feel ‘lighter’ and more honest with myself and others.

Laurie and I ended up accepting the offer made by USAID/Nepal to have me join them as an Advisor to their newly created Population Commission under the office of the Prime Minister, who also chaired the National Planning Commission.

When I got to Nepal, I kept brief entries in a note book.

Some of them included my reactions and feelings toward our relationship, and some when Laurie, Thad and I took our first trek, a four days trek out of Pokhara Valley, another valley below the majestic Annapurna Himalayan Range. We moved to Pokhara by an office provided jeep and stayed at Fish Tail lodge prior to taking our first morning walk on November 17, 1980. The trek went through very beautiful hill villages parallel to the majestic Himalayas. Thad and Laurie kept their interacRunning on Empty 212

tions to a minimum, while I tried to keep s cheerful front as I navigated between Laurie’s demands and Thad’s negative reactions to her! December 10, 1980, I jotted down the following few lines in my note book: “The past few days have been very good at many levels yet difficult at others. I need to resolve my ego trip in my relationship with Laurie. I am glad for the lessons, in spite of the seemingly high price I seem to be paying. If I come out cleaner and mellower, then it would have been worth it. The work is good and we’re moving ahead well. Thad is calming down, although at times he drives me crazy. He mouths off too fast. His schooling is better and seems to be working out O.K. His relationship with Laurie, although improved, is still rough at times. He wants love so much but at times I feel so inadequate while Laurie has not let go of her refusal to be a ‘mother figure’ to Thad. I don’t know if it will ever happen!” ​

When Gwen came to spend with us her first Christmas vaca-

tion during her first year at Reed in 1980, we decided, again, to take a ten days trek into the hilly villages out of Pokhara. Laurie was to come with us but she changed her mind last minute. Gwen, Thad and I ended up going through some very beautiful villages and mountainous treks. We also spent a few days in Chitwan’s National Park in southern plains of Central Nepal. Before our departure Laurie inforned me that she missed her period and the doctor confirmed that she was pregnant.

The fact that Laurie and I are expecting a child brought much mixed feelings; yet as time passed, the joy of parenthood with Laurie has gotten to feel great. I feel that I gave in for her to carry the pregnancy to full term for loving her, yet at the same time I feel so right about it; will it increase our love or take away some? Will it bring us closer or drive us apart? I am so afraid of it! Laurie is high about it which is so beautiful. Her daily mornRunning on Empty 213

ing sickness is hard for me to take for I see her in bed and recall my fears when I used to see Ronalie sick in bed. Another aspect of her pregnancy that I seem to fear is still part of my jealousy trip as I find her wasted for me but not for her work or her office associates! All I hear is how nauseated and tired she is, yet she says she never tells them that at the office! Oh God, will I ever be over this?

Laurie’s pregnancy brought with it the marriage issue and with all this the being tied down feeling I wanted to run away from.

I said I would never remarry nor have children and now I am going to have both at the same time. I truthfully believe that both will have been very acceptable if only I felt that good about us. We are so different and, at times, so unmatched; yet when the spark ignites solemnly between us, there is no tension. I know that we can overcome all differences and merge into the oneness that is very beautiful.

Because of her pregnancy and the conservative Nepali Hindu society we were living in, plus my contract with USAID which would pay all delivery expenses if we were married, helped us decide to get married. Laurie wanted a simple Tibetan Buddhist wedding ceremony at home. That meant having a Tibetan Monk come to our home and conduct the ceremony in the presence of two Nepali witnesses and one officer from the US Embassy in Katmandu. Our Buddhist house-help arranged for a priest to come to our home, and I asked the counselor section of the Embassy to have a representative come to our home. Two of my best Nepali friends also attended.

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The ceremony was very simple. The Monk recited some Buddhists verses, blessed us with ‘holy water’ and we exchanged our rings. No wedding vows were recited nor had we to say anything except our names. He finished the ceremony by reciting a blessing, which we did not understand. Actually all we wanted was to get an official wedding acknowledged by the US Government by having the Embassy official attest to the legality of our wedding, which he did. We had asked one of my Nepali friends to bring his lady friend and join us for a ‘celebratory dinner’ at one of Katmandu’s restaurants. Just as we were about to leave the house, a tremendous storm brought a deluge of rain with it which flooded our upstairs including our bedroom. Laurie, I, and our friends had to mop the water up before proceeding to the restaurant. My Nepali friend said then that the rain was a good omen while I thought that the flooding of our bed room was a very negative omen! But I did not dwell on either then!

Laurie’s pregnancy was not an easy experience for her.

The first couple of months she had severe morning sickness, which lasted for almost whole days. Laurie was bed ridden.

I did not handle that period as lovingly as I knew I should.

Though providing for Laurie’s comforts, I did show some displeasure about her being in bed all the time. I told her repeatedly that I could not handle a ‘sick’ situation as it reminded me of Ronalie’s prolonged illnesses. An impasse developed around this issue as I was not able to change my response behavior, nor Laurie seemed to accept my stated limitations.

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It was during Laurie’s pregnancy that her friend Carole decided to visit us for support and sharing. Again I did not handle that period well at all. I was jealous of Laurie spending time with Carole when she was so tired for me, from her pregnancy and work that I ended up acting as a typical male chauvinist pig by asking Laurie to have Carole move out of our home. That was a terrible blow to both Laurie and Carole.

I had never imagined myself denying hospitality to anyone, let alone Laurie’s closest friend. Yet my fear of losing Laurie to Carole drove me to behave in some crazy ways, like a true or ‘bastard’. I had never forgiven myself that act, in spite of Laurie’s insistence to let go of it! God, how could I have really done that?

When Laurie got pregnant and we married, I wanted to socialize, to dance, to have people around, to kill time and prolong my seven p.m. sleeping time that Laurie had imposed!

Laurie wanted to accommodate that, but she resented being left alone as much as I resented her expending her little energies on her office demands. That too created impasses which aggravated our tenuous marital relationship. I began to hear Laurie complain about my lack of commitment to her and our marriage, so I began to withdraw unto myself; the pattern of the past began to reemerge and take hold of my life.

The marital turmoil that began to surface during Laurie’s pregnancy was carried on to beyond the birthing period.

Laurie traveled to Tokyo about seven weeks before her birthing date so she could have the baby in a safe and supporting Running on Empty 216

environment; as both her parents had been living in Tokyo for over a year. Laurie’s experiences with her mother during her prenatal weeks were very unpleasant. Laurie wanted a natural birthing place, while her mother pushed her into a western type: best and safest maternity home in Tokyo. This created a tug of war between mother and daughter; while her sister Carrie, who supposedly had flown to Tokyo to ‘support Laurie”, arrived with her boy friend, ignored Laurie and did her own thing with her boyfriend as tourists in the big city of the Orient. That upset Laurie very much for she had hoped to be with her sister and experience a female supporting space during her first birthing.

I arrived in Tokyo to a rather tense situation. The mother wanted me to defuse the tension that was created between her and Laurie. The sister seemed glad to see Laurie’s attention seeking needs turned towards another person; me! Laurie was glad to see me as she wanted to unload her frustrations while being reassured that she was going to be looked after! She was the independent strong female, all right, yet she seemed scared of what lay ahead. Hank, the father, seemed a bit too worried, yet did not seem to know what was going on with his daughter, while I was really happy to be at last with Laurie, even though I, again, dreaded another hospital scene!

A week after my arrival, Laurie began to experience labor pains. On December 12, she felt that the baby was coming.

Her mother and I rushed her to the maternity home, only to be told that it was a false alarm. The next day, labor pains were Running on Empty 217

real and Laurie did finally give birth, in my presence, to a very healthy son, at 12:32 P.M. Saturday, Dec. 13, 1982, weighing 7 lbs 5 oz and measuring 19.5 inches. His birth certificate read: SANNO HOSPITAL, MINATO-KU, TOKYO FULL NAME OF CHILD: SION DEVI ZIVETZ DATE OF BIRTH: Dec. 13, 1981 SEX OF CHILD: Male WEIGHT: 3330 grams FULL NAME OF FATHER: ABRAHAM SION DAVID FULL NAME OF MOTHER: LAURIE ZIVETZ RESIDENCE: Herman Zivetz US EMBASSY-I.C.A, Tokyo I hereby certify I attended the birth of this child was born alive on the above named date at the place heretofore designated, at the hour of: P.M. 0:33 Genichi Nozue, MD. , Attending Physician

The birth of a son brought so much joy to the grandparents and Laurie’s sister Carrie. I was very happy that the hospital scene was not as bad as I had feared, that Laurie was all right, and that our son was healthy and normal. Thank God, our son was born perfect and he and Laurie were in excellent health.

We named our son Sion Devi Zivetz. I had agreed to give our son Laurie’s last name, Zivetz, as she had wanted that so much; for her feminist trip as well as the fact that the Zivetz had no son that would carry the family’s name for future genRunning on Empty 218

erations. Plus, I had already had a son who carried my name and a brother who had two sons. Besides, I had conceded that the child was very important to Laurie, so why not give our son her name too? After all, I loved her so, and wanted to do all that I could to meet all her needs!

Little Sion, as my family and I called him, was a beautiful child. He did look more like me than Laurie, though he had blue eyes that turned to light brown after a few days! Little Sion was circumcised at the Jewish Synagogue by a Moher, according to Jewish tradition! I assisted in the circumcision ceremony as I was so happy about the whole experience. I was very happy with Sion as I announced that to my children and close friends. The Moher was a US military Jewish chaplain stationed with the US forces in Japan. He was very kind but seemed a bit nervous, maybe because of lack of practice, for how many Jewish mothers gave birth to sons among the US armed forces in Japan? He did give us, though, a beautiful statement that we as parents would uphold as our creed in raising our son.

A Personal Creed If a child lives with criticism, he learns to condemn.

If a child lives with hostility, he learns to fight.

If a child lives with ridicule, he learns to be shy.

If a child lives with shame, he learns to feel guilty.

If a child lives with tendernance, he learns to be patient.

If a child lives with encouragement, he learns confidence.

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If a child lives with praise, he learns to appreciate.

If a child lives with fairness, he learns justice.

If a child lives with security, he learns to have faith.

If a child lives with approval, he learns to like himself.

If a child lives with acceptance and friendship, he learns to find love in the world

Laurie’s father was so happy as were all members of her family, but all that Laurie wanted then was to get back to Katmandu. We did that on Sion’s 13th day, even though airlines regulations did not allow a new born infant to travel before the minimum age of fourteen days! Little Sion’s entry into our life brought with it heightening of the tension that surfaced earlier in our marital relationship. Laurie was determined to be the feminist mother who could keep her career needs intact while raising an infant while being a companion to me. I, on the other hand, felt left out again. Laurie’s energies were expended on her work, our son and her personal needs; while I stood by waiting for her crumbs of affection to fall my way. She was too tired to spend time with me, yet she wanted to make sure I shared with our son’s experience by waking up during his midnight feedings ahis nd diapering! I wanted a full time ayah, female child maid, to look after Sion’s physical needs while Laurie wanted to be the “real mother” by caring for him at night.

That hassle went on for a long time as both Laurie and I did not seem to be able to communicate, really communicate, our feelings about it to each other. I interpreted Laurie’s actions as Running on Empty 220

continuation of her rejection of me, while Laurie seemed to feel also rejected by my lack of acceptance of “our son” and her mothering state! Unfortunately, no outside help was sought; maybe it was not that readily available in Katmandu for I did really come to terms with my needs to open up to anyone, but to whom? I wrote for help to a psychologist friend of Laurie, Steve who lived in North Carolina, asking him if he could travel to Katmandu for ten days, with all expenses met, to help us with our struggles then; but he couldn’t due to some personal reasons. He asked me to travel to North Carolina which I did not do. He also asked we stay in touch which again I did not do! He did, nonetheless, share a wonderful thought when he wrote: “I believe, as a marital therapist and teacher, that the central fact of marriage is difference. We can’t marry ourselves, of course. We must marry someone who is different- and thus overtime we struggle intensely with annoying differences and the seemingly unshakable belief that it would be better if only one person would change. But marriage is not really about anyone’s changing: it is much more about the relationships between us and our mutual efforts to accommodate. No mat ter who we are with, the task remains the same”.

I drifted away, splashing here and there in my total frustrations to deal with the situation. I did not see my need for secure love and home, after Ronalie’s death, in the person or love of Laurie. I had some passing flirtations with some married ladies that did not really answer my needs... but then Running on Empty 221

did I know what I really wanted, and to whom to turn in meeting my needs? How could I avoid the marital wreck that I was charting? I certainly did wreck it and threw it away. Laurie did not want that, but I seemed set on that course once I stated it.

Was it my old pride coming out again and again, or my need for suffering that I attributed to my being a Jew, or to the simple fact that my fears were much greater than my love, and that I really did not know their source nor how to connect to them? I was so miserable, so afraid and so unhappy. Why did I not commit suicide there and then? Was I scared of dying or was I too attached to what I had? I felt again empty and totally drained. How could I go on? How could I get my work at the office done and be a decent father to our little innocent son?

Laurie and Sion, Katmandu, 1982

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During the summer of 1983, Laurie and I went on home leave to the States. We were to seek help in California while visiting Laurie’s friend Ed. Laurie left Nepal to Japan first and we were to meet in Hawaii. Laurie wrote me from Japan Dear David,

Tokyo; June 7, 1983

I left our phone conversation yesterday feeling kind of funny like I wish I’d been able to tune into you faster and give you more of the support you needed at the moment. A lot of what you told me was so unexpected that I was absorbing it still and as you know I always hear the clock ticking on long distance calls. I wonder if the school board thing was a wise move, just given the lack of time we seem to have already. I guess on one level I can see why you accepted and in a way why this will be an interesting challenge for you but I also feel that it may be more than you bargained for in the long run. Anyway don’t worry. It’s done and there is nothing forcing you to stay with it if you really don’t want to.

I also got mixed messages about your feelings about us. I guess I’ll just have to deal with that myself until we are together again.

In a way I wish I could set you free to resolve your “frustrations” in the moment and not feel threatened about where that might lead you. I can’t be that confident that it will all stay on the physical level; follow your heart, my love.

My mother, sister and I had a productive session with the shrink Running on Empty 223

today. I am seeing what it is that makes us react and interact and many things that are similar in us. What I saw today is that my mother sees me as strong and independent woman and will not allow me to be at all vulnerable or dependent towards her. So she can’t hear me asking for help and therefore responds from a non sympathetic place. It’s complex, though because she doesn’t seem able to decide whether she wants me to be a child or adult in relation to her and I guess I feel mostly like she’d like me to stay in the child role. I’m seeing a lot repeated in our relationships and that is helpful. I hope I can put these insights to positive use.

Sion has been calling for you since he heard your voice yesterday. I sometimes wonder what goes on in his mind, he is clearly very bright and I just hope he continues to be as emotionally balanced and cheerful as he is now. Anyway, I’m glad he heard your voice. I’m glad I did too.

I love you David. I am glad you are coming to Hawaii and that we’ll be together there. You’ve planned such a hectic trip for yourself. Cruise through it and try not to smoke too many cigarettes.

And remember, I’ll be waiting for you on the other end. ​​​​​​​​

Love, Laurie

I met Laurie and Sion in Hawaii and spent some good moments together. But I felt that I had already pulled away from her. All of our associations with her friends in Hawaii, then Laurie’s relatives in Los Angeles and Ed at Berkley, Running on Empty 224

seemed. I found myself very critical and hurtful and Laurie, in her own way, got back at me while poor Sion was in the middle wondering in his young innocent self as to why his grown up parents seemed to be so hurtful to each other? I had made up my mind to leave Laurie and go ahead with a physical separation until such time as we either were able to get some help or terminate our marriage by divorce. We ended up separating as Laurie took Sion and moved out to live with a friend before finding her own house.

While Laurie and I were struggling to find ways to get back together, Paul Kaplan entered the scene as he sought separation and divorce from his wife. For reasons that were beyond my understanding, Paul gravitated towards Laurie and her toward him. Friends of Ed from San Francisco had also come for a trek after which time they spent a few days at my house. They were very lovely people who tried to see how they could play some counseling role to get me and Laurie talking again. Paul Kaplan had also met them and arranged a trip for the four of them, plus Sion, during Thanksgiving weekend.

Though flare ups were intermittent, yet very hurtful, I still hoped we could get back together. I believed that I could handle my inadequacies and threatening jealousies.

But the Thanksgiving episode that was precipitated by Laurie’s insistence on taking Sion with her on the trip that Paul had arranged did me in. Laurie wanted to go and take Sion with her. I resented that greatly on two counts: one, she had earlier asked me to spend thanksgiving with her, which she apparRunning on Empty 225

ently put aside; and two, I did not want Sion to be around his mother with another man. As such, I pleaded with Laurie to leave Sion behind with me as she went with them Anyway, I left that scene frustrated and as such turned to my threatening tone, which implied that upon Laurie’s return, I would give her my final response regarding a final separation or working towards a reunion. Laurie felt sure I would want a separation, when in fact, I decided otherwise as reflected, once again, in the distorted misconceptions and misreading of each other’s needs and intentions. This was well reflected in her note then.

Sion, our son; two years old (Nepal 1983)

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Thanksgiving, Katmandu,1983

Dear David, I feel I know the contents of your letter and in my rational mind, I concur. It is the deeper me that mourns for us, that feels the tragedy of love gained and lost, the passage of time and especially all of the hurt we have given to one another. What I see is that human relations are the hardest thing for people like us. We can succeed and win in the “world” but in marriage or friendship, wherein the rules are different and the stakes somehow higher, we flounder. I mean for each of us, for our marriage, for my precious son Sion, and for your son Thad. I think we will both grow from what has transpired especially in the last few months. But also that some of the hurts will never heal. Just remember the waterfall metaphor - filling up and spilling over - you can let go of anything and it will not leave you empty. Forgiveness and love can fill all of those voids, they will.

I am touched and glad that you shared with me the intimacy you did the other night. I will treasure those moments always as some of the closest we had. Please know too that I will always love you in a very special way and that my heart and door are always open to you though you may chose to leave them without coming inside.

I feel a failure now. But doubly so because I feel I fought for our survival and I lost. Only you can manifest this– you are the actor– I am the feeling part– I guess I am monopassive on this level too.

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I will miss you David. I do still love you. Do what is best for you.

Laurie”

While Laurie and I struggled with our separation and then divorce, I continued to go to my office at The Population Commission. One day as I checked in with my director, I was informed that His Majesty King Birendra will be visiting our offices for program ‘briefing’. I was delighted to hear that as I had great respect for the King’s genuine efforts to get Nepal moving on a more accelerated development path. There was, of course, a great deal of ‘talk’ about the extent of corruption that went on within the Palace Secretariat. Talk was not followed by action then so the development funding ‘game’ was played at almost all levels of government. I heard all of that and went on arguing with anyone who was ready to listen, but listened they did and all that they said was: -“David, this is Nepal and you know how Nepali don’t really care as long as they get their daily rice and lentils meal and go to their favorite temple and do their puja (offering to the gods in return for special favors). Khe garne? (Meaning what to do?)”.

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King Bhirendra of Nepal visiting me at my office in Singh Durbar, Government offices (Katmandu, 1983)

And the King did come and chatted for few minutes.

Before leaving, he looked me in the eyes and said; -“Dr David, we are glad you are here to help with our programs. I will personally make sure we do our best to bring balance between our population and our development needs”.

That was great, I thought but will he really follow through on our discussion? Only time will tell and it did; for He made mention of the need to balance population growth with the country’s economic and social growth.

My work suffered as I continued to emotionally struggle with separation and divorce issues. Laurie had taken Sion, rented a two bed room house not far from where we were livRunning on Empty 229

ing, and moved out. She wanted some household items to take and I said, -“Sure you take whatever you need. Just tell me which day you want to do that and I will take Sion out for the day and instruct our house help to let you take whatever you wished. As to the car, I need to see if my office can provide me transportation. If they do, then you can have our car and I will pay for its maintenance plus your fuel, no problem”.

Laurie did give a date and then came with her friends and took what she needed from our kitchen. I also asked my office for a car to use as they had been informed of Laurie and my separation. All I wanted was to keep Laurie happy and ‘out of my hair, but deep inside I was living with great turmoil: I loved her but I couldn’t continue to live in our relationship as husband and wife. My letter of that moment reflected that. “ Dear Laurie,

August 14, 1983

I have always hoped to remain civil towards you during moments of frustrations and anger but unfortunately I have failed often. I really do not want to argue with you anymore. Yesterday’s incident, small as it was in itself, was another example of the major differences between us. You read and said you understood me yet I feel we are worlds apart. Thus a six month’s separation stint is not going to bridge our differences. Why prolong the agony? I have a problem and I must solve it for good.

This is why a complete break is best and divorce arrangements Running on Empty 230

worked out. This will cause you more problems in the short run for which I am really sorry. You have to deal with them and go on. I am proceeding on this line by contacting.

1. US Embassy & AID regarding acceptance of divorce proceeding from here.

2. A legal representative to work out an acceptable arrangement accep table to both of us.

I am now convinced that our lives must be lived separately. I had loved and will always love you at many levels; for this and the many other beautiful ways you manifested your love, I will be ever grateful and be so desirous of maintaining a true and loving friendship. I also hope that our scars will not be too deep or deepened!

I am truly sorry for all the hurt I caused you. They honestly were not intended to be at all. ​​​​​​​​​ As Always, ​​​​​​​​​ David. “ The preparation for the divorce was finally completed early in January of 1984. Laurie had gotten a US based female lawyer friend to draw up the legal documents. I agreed to it and gave the same to my Nepali lawyer, to use as the basis for the divorce agreement that the Nepali courts would accept. A late March court hearing was set for the day after my return trip from Hong Kong and Tokyo. But getting to finalize the divorce was real agony for me. The agony was long and very painful. I wanted to cut it as soon as I determined to follow Running on Empty 231

that path, but Laurie wanted to hang on. She loved me, yes she did, and wanted our Sion to grow up in a secure loving home.

I pressed for a local Nepali court divorce as I felt I could get it through the courts faster there than in the US.

The divorce degree, in the Nepali local court at Dilli Bazaar, was consummated after our brief appearance before the presiding judge and saying ‘we do’. The degree was issued in Nepali Script, on Nepali rice-paper which was then legally translated by the Ministry of Justice. Communication between us, after the divorce, continued; but centered mainly on Sion’s upkeep, visitations and Laurie’s pre-occupation with finances.

I tried to support Laurie as much as I could. I responded to her professional needs as well as baby sitting ones. We seldom met socially as each drifted toward our separate friends.

After the divorce degree was issued and Laurie got custody of Sion, we both wanted to remain friends. I, for one, wanted so much to maintain a link to her and more so to Sion for two main reasons: one, I loved her and, two, I knew deep down inside that Sion and I were linked in some very special way, how? I did not know then but I believed that time would reveal that to both of us.

After my divorce, I stayed single for over ten years but not celibate for I had lady friends who ‘loved’ and wanted me to commit. I never could commit then. One of them was a wonderful well educated Nepali beauty. She had long hair and beautiful body. We used to meet and go for a drive outside the valley where we talked and sometimes she sang. I loved her Running on Empty 232

singing and later on our love making. We made love the first time at her small one room apartment. I will not forget how frightened I was when, after our love making, while taking a quick shower, I felt something creeping on my feet and when I looked down it was a mouse. I came out screaming naked only to see my lady friend doubled over with laughter. After that incident, we met at my house and made love there.

When she stayed overnight with me, we would go for an early run before she went to her work and I went to my office. One morning, I came back from my run and there she was.

-“Are you ok?” I asked.

-“We need to talk, but I don’t have much time”, she said.

-“Ok. Will you want some coffee?” I asked.

-“No thanks; I really don’t have that much time”, she answered.

As we moved to the living room, she told me that her father had come from the village with a marriage proposal for her.

Apparently he had found out that she was going out with me, which he did not approve of. He wanted her to marry a Nepali and raise a Nepali family. She told me that he threatened to disown her if she did not accept the marriage proposal he brought.

-“Wow, that is pretty heavy stuff ”, I said. “I know what you are saying and I know what you want me to say. Honestly, I can’t commit now just after my divorce with Laurie. Please wait for few months and we’ll see how things develop,” I pleaded.

-“I see. Can you now please take me home?” she asked.

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-“Sure I will, but can’t we talk about this a bit more?” I pleaded.

-“Am sorry, but I have to go now”, were her last words as she got up and walked to my parked car.

On the way to her family house, she kept silent as she stared straight out at the road. I didn’t know what to say. I saw her dilemma, but I honestly was scared to jump into another marriage then and she couldn’t accept being disowned without a definite yes from me. Two days later, I received a wedding invitation delivered by her sister. She had included Sion too. As I read it, I literally felt sick and developed fever with splitting headache. I decided to stay in bed for couple of days but asked Sion to go with my good friend Jon, who was visiting for few days from Manila, to the wedding and give her the present I had bought for her in Hong Kong, a gold pendent (I had gotten it for her when I was in Hong Kong on business but had waited to give it to her on her birthday but her wedding came first!). They went and reported that she was beautiful in her sari and her gold jewelries but she seemed sad and very somber. Her husband looked young and handsome. I cried that evening as I determined to wait for her for somehow I felt that her ‘arranged’ marriage would not last, or did I really wish that? anyway, I decided to wait and pursue her still.

I used to visit her at her work and talk some about trivia. I even drove her to her mother in law’s house where she and her husband lived. She confided once that she did not like her mother in law and that they were not getting along that well. Would that be a reason for her to leave him? I hoped as I Running on Empty 234

waited some more.

When I say I waited for her, I did not mean to imply that I closeted myself behind the walls of my office and home.

No, I did socialize some but never seriously. My heart was still full of love for her. After some months, I heard that she was still not pregnant. That too was music to my ear as I thought that since the Nepali in laws usually expected their daughter in law to get pregnant and bear a son, then maybe the mother in law would pressure her son to marry another wife thus forcing my friend to leave her husband. That did not happen for her husband stuck by her as she continued to do her professional work. Did I give up then? No I did not for one day while my niece was visiting me from Israel, I related my love story to her and asked her if she could please meet my lady friend and tell her that if she were to divorce her husband, I will marry her immediately. My niece did meet her and did convey my feelings to her. All that she did, I was told was to laugh and say ‘give David my best wishes’.

I kept up with her by getting some news from friends about her. I was told after couple of years that she did have a daughter. I sent her my best wishes then while still hoping that she would one day come back to me. That day never came

One day after Bhek’s return to Katmandu, we met for lunch get updated on our respective work and lives. Our conversation drifted to my divorce with Laurie. He was genuinely concerned about my ‘mental health’ then. I felt that his appearance on my life’s scene then was beautifully timed. I was going Running on Empty 235

through hell with Laurie’s negotiations about a divorce agreement. Bhek wanted to know, though confessing total inability to do anything about it, of my mental and emotional state. I knew, however, that Bhek’s concerns were limited to his ability to transcend his own cultural and personal needs that seemed to always get in the way of Bhek’s ability to reach out to me at my personal plane. Nonetheless, I wanted to ‘empty out’ as I knew of Bhek’s true loyalty to, and concern for, my welfare. So I did tell Bhek about my problems and frustrations with Laurie.

Bhek knew Ronalie very well. A great deal of affection, respect and concern developed after nineteen years of tried friendship and love. The bonds that were established between Bhek and Rita, his wife, with Ronalie and I grew stronger and deeper over time. My loss of Ronalie was very much shared

by Bhek and Rita. It seemed that both Bhek and Rita could not understand how Laurie and I could find enough common ground of understanding to form the basis of a lasting marital relationship. Therefore, although both Bhek and Rita accepted my decision to link up and subsequently marry Laurie, they remained somewhat skeptical of the relationship.

-“What exactly went wrong with you two?” asked Bhek.

-“The specifics, in themselves, are too petty, yet the basic problems were two: one, my sense of being rejected personally by Laurie , a similar feeling to my being rejected in Lebanon for being a Jew in an Arab world. The fear I seem to have created within me that Laurie may leave me as Ronalie did, engenRunning on Empty 236

dered the same response of wanting to terminate that situation, before I get left out and hurt, by physically separating.

The second reason was my inability to accept Laurie’s continuous taking me for granted in a relationship that should have been built on give and take, especially after twenty one years of such life with Ronalie. After our move to Nepal, I did not fully trust Laurie’s motives for staying with me. The former was precipitated by my reading in one of Laurie’s journal’s the entry that she hoped to get her act with Carol together in Nepal, while the latter was being reinforced by my fears of rejection, that I created in that relationship. The Laurie I loved in 1980 did not turn out to be the same Laurie I have been living with during these past months. Maybe I too changed and was not the same person that fell in love with Laurie. I knew that it is unfair to jacket a person into the person you wish him/her to be when in reality the person may not be able to be what you expect of him/her! I did expect Laurie to be the spiritual side of me; the great lover I longed for; the musician-singer my depressed soul wanted; and the dancer-lover-of-life that my dying self yearned for after the great loss to death of my Ronalie. My descriptions of the Laurie I loved may have been completely a figment of my imaginations. But the real Laurie that came through her beautiful letters and our early romance and dating seemed then to be so different, or was it I who had become so different? Besides, Laurie was a strong feminist and I did not know, really and truly, how to handle her feminist orientation to life. My exposures to the 1960’s feminist moveRunning on Empty 237

ment were very limited. Ronalie had shared with me what was going on then as she shared her ‘Ms. Magazine’ articles. But, we never sat down to discuss the implications of such movements on my thinking processes, let alone male-female relating and living. Laurie entered my life scene believing; from my writings, that I was “a liberated man” when in reality I was an ignorant and sheltered man. Her professional aggressiveness was also too much for me to handle and, again turned to be a cause for my running away from her. I also interpreted her need for having a child as a female desire for family. I agreed to her keeping the pregnancy we had accidentally created on the grounds that there was nothing that my love could not give” I then added, “I have all the letters she wrote and copies of mine to her. I will share some with you, if you care to take the time to read them,” I concluded.

-“You will really let me read your letters?” answered Bhek.

-“Of course I will. When is it that I ever kept something from you, Bhek?” I answered.

I retrieved the letters Laurie had written to me and some of the copies of the letters I had written to her. Most of the letters were written during our first period after Ronalie’s death. Laurie had gotten closer to me then and our correspondences during physical separations involved deep searching for meaning to life and love. Later on, when I, more than we, decided to separate, our communications were filled with anger and anguish.

Bhek took the letters and began to chronologically read Running on Empty 238

them. Aside from some of the business related paragraphs that were included in the correspondences because Laurie worked in my office and was often involved in projects I directed, the main elements of the relationship that was then shaping up between us began to emerge from the lines, words and feelings shared. He then read some of the letters that we wrote while we were married and later when we separated and finally divorced. Later notes were written during our struggles for separation that led finally to our divorce. I honestly believed that Laurie wanted our relationship to live but I couldn’t see my way clearly then. I was scared and felt rejected. I sought the easy, yet very painful, way out. Why? I really did not know then nor have a better idea now except that I was not fully in touch with myself but was running and hiding from my realities. What were they? I did not fully understand then so I ran away from myself and all that was beautiful in our lives!!!

Bhek finished reading the letters, sighed, turned to me and said with a great loving voice; -“But these are beautiful, David. How could you have gone wrong with such a loving person?”

-“Yes, I’ve been beating my head trying to answer that question. I was, and to a great extent still am, crazy about Laurie.

She was all that I wanted and looked for after my devastating loss of Ronalie. You can see my cry for life and for Laurie’s love in the series of letters I wrote to her, during the early days in January of 1980. I was so aware of death and the need to make the most of the balance of my life. I really believe that I was Running on Empty 239

struggling with a real or imaginary fear that if indeed we were to get together, will it last or will she leave me as Ronalie did?!

Here, take some more and read, Bhek”, I pressed as I handed him copies of some of the letters.

Bhek dropped the letters looked at me and said; -“You two were so beautifully in love. You seemed crazy about her. Both my wife and I had wondered as to what did in fact cause you to come together. You seemed very much in love when you both came in July of 1979. Your deep loss of Ronalie must have been devastating, but you seemed to have gotten a handle on it then. Laurie seemed so nice, yet so different from Ronalie. We tried to accept her for what she is, but couldn’t help comparing her to Ronalie. What brought you together just right after Ronalie’s death?” he asked.

-“It was really Ronalie’s illness and subsequent death that did bring us together Seeing how fast her overall physical condition was deteriorating with increased dialysis, I continued.

“I couldn’t handle the emotional pressure of every other-day need for treatments, or the possibility of losing her. At the same time, I felt that I needed to live. I needed to get out of this box; I needed to be among the living and not the dead.

When I finally opened up to Laurie, I quickly saw the opposite of Ronalie’s state in Laurie. Laurie was young, healthy, and full of laughter and song. She was life so beautifully personified.

Her response to my struggles and need for life and a living companion was all I needed. I plunged into it. The feelings and needs for Laurie intensified after Ronalie’s admission to Duke Running on Empty 240

for a kidney transplant. You see”, I continued. “Ronalie was called for a transplant March 26, 1979. That morning I had to travel to Washington on RTI business. I was tracked down by my office during one of my meetings and was informed that Ronalie was to report to Duke by 1:00 p.m. for her transplant.

Both Gwen and Laurie went and got her admitted and stayed with her then.” I then proceeded to relate the whole pre-admission scene with Ronalie to Bhek and Ronalie’s premonitions of her death her death and the beginning of my plunging head on into work and have as I sought escape from facing my realities I arranged for Laurie and I to travel together on business to East Africa and then to Nepal. It was during that trip that we became lovers and I thought her to be God-sent. Man, I was gone. I wanted her more than anything in the world. I wanted to do everything for her, even agreed to follow her to Hawaii or any other place she wanted to go. There was nothing she wanted that I couldn’t accept. I began to notice differences during our trip and intimacy. But I was certain that our love could easily bridge all differences. Little did I know how firmly she and I must have been set in our own value systems! These, I believe were the two negative forces I could not deal with that drove me to the miserable outcome I had to push for through our eventual separation and divorce; and letting go of both my love for her and her insistence to have Sion with her. You see Bhek; the whole marriage experience with Laurie was so colored by my personal state of mind after Ronalie’s death and Laurie’s long term needs. I wanted the opposite of what I had Running on Empty 241

gone through with Ronalie just to be able to get on with life she reflected: life, love, song, youth, health and sex. She wanted to get a Ph.D. and get out of Chapel Hill and RTI. I agreed. Nothing was too much for my Laurie then�, I concluded.

Laurie resurfaced in my life in 1993 when she had come to Katmandu after the death of her husband, John, in Australia, and her need to move on after completing her assignment with Care Australia in Vietnam. It started in 1992 during the time I had between assignments with USAID-Nepal. Laurie and her family were in Hanoi, Vietnam where Laurie was director of Care–Australia. Sion and his step sister Sarah were enrolled at the International School in Hanoi. I was asked by Laurie if I could accept a brief assignment to look at microfinance programs and the private sector. No matter what her office was able to pay, besides my travel and lodging costs, was more than acceptable. I could be with Sion some and also be involved in some work. So, of course, I went.

The assignment was neither too exciting nor too challenging. I got to meet some local government and business people. Vietnam was very much a closed communist state but some noise about opening up to private business were heard and even some encouraging policies enacted. For me, all of that was secondary to the fact that I got to spend some time with Sion and Sarah. Sara was so different in character and temperament from Sion. He was shy while she was outgoing; he was quiet, especially around adults and more so Laurie, John or I, but she was very outspoken in speaking her mind.

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She also had a hot temper, while Sion seemed very sedate.

I stayed at a nearby hotel but had some weekends with the children and Laurie. John was, most of the time out on work related field trips. Laurie and I did not deal much, if any at all, about our past relationship, but stayed focused on my assignment and at times listening to Laurie share her persistent frustrations with John and his jealousy. Did that sound familiar, huh?

One year later, I received word from Laurie that John, her husband, was seriously ill with skin cancer. He had been receiving some treatment at Bangkok Samitevej Hospital but the prognosis was not encouraging. Six months later, Laurie, John and the children left Vietnam for Australia where John was hospitalized. His hospitalization was difficult for the whole family. His Christian Missionary parents were not on good terms with Laurie, and vice versa. There were some tension also between John and some of his siblings, on the one hand, and between Laurie and his siblings, on the other hand.

All in all, it was apparently a hellish time for them all and as I would imagine a totally painful and confusing period for the children. The situation was further aggravated by the fact that his Christian parents would not accept John’s Buddhist beliefs or his stated wish to have his body cremated after his death.

When Laurie, the Jewish-Buddhist American wife sided with John, sparks ignited between her and John’s parents. The children apparently witnessed all of that and withdrew into themselves. No wonder then that when Sion finally came to live Running on Empty 243

with me and attend Lincoln High School in Katmandu, he was so withdrawn, silent and bashful; bordering on being scared!

John, having struggled with his melanoma for few months, died at home. A Buddhist life passage ceremony was performed by some Buddhist monks; his body cremated and some of his ashes handed over to his parents. Laurie and the children, plus an urn containing John’s ashes, left Canberra for Hanoi. A memorial alter was put together in one of their home’s room, where Laurie placed John’s ashes, his last letters to the children and some of his memorabilia. There was no question in my mind and heart that John did love Laurie and the children very much. He had wanted to legally adopt Sion as his son, but I didn’t want that and I think that Laurie and John didn’t go through with it.

Laurie left Hanoi, and she and Sarah came to Katmandu to visit friends while they stayed with me. Sion remained behind with a close family friend as he wanted to finish his school year there. On the way to Katmandu, Laurie stopped for her “regular” Pap smear test at her usual Bangkok hospital. I had by then started my long term contract with USAIDNepal for the implementation of the five years long “Economic Liberalization” project. When I called the Bangkok Hospital one week after Laurie’s arrival to check about the results of her lab test, I was informed that her slide was positive and that she was diagnosed as having cervical cancer that required urgent attention.

Laurie, upon hearing the news, ‘fell apart’. She did Running on Empty 244

not want to have surgery, let alone to have it in Nepal or even Bangkok. She had no medical insurance to cover such an operation, or travel to the US. What about the kids? She couldn’t take Sarah out of school and have her schlep with her to Bangkok just to discuss her lab result with her Ob-Gyn! What about Sion and his schooling? Of course, I offered to do whatever was needed by and for her and the children. She accepted that Sion go to Lincoln School in Katmandu and live with me until she sorted out her affairs. He ended up staying with me for the full four years of his high school. That was great, for sure!

During Sion’s second year at Lincoln, Laurie and her parents asked me to have Sion Bar mitzvah in San Diego where they lived. Laurie wanted her rabbi friend to conduct a non orthodox service, which I agreed to. Sion had already gone to be with his mother and grandparents while I followed him couple of weeks later. I was booked in a hotel but the ceremony took place at a country club. Lunch followed with many of Laurie’s relatives and friends attending. It was joyous occasion, though I felt somewhat strange, an outsider!

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I, Sion and Laurie at Sion’s Bar mitzvah in San Diego, California, 1995

When Sion and I flew back to Nepal, we came through Israel and spent some days with my family. The Friday before our return to Katmandu, my sister Habiba and her husband suggested Sion have a second Bar mitzvah at the Cotel (the wailing wall) in Jerusalem. Sion and I went ahead of the family and stayed at the King David Hotel for a night then after the brief ceremony held at the Cotel the next morning, my sisters and their husbands joined Sion and I for brunch at the King David; a joyous occasion enjoyed by all!

After several trans-oceanic calls to my Ob-Gyn daughter in America, and Laurie’s parents in California, Laurie decided, with the help of my friend Paul , the Seventh Day Adventist development project director in Nepal and his mother, for Laurie to travel to Sydney and have her operation there. I Running on Empty 246

offered to accompany her and stay with her for as long as I was needed in sorting out her medical problem at the Seventh Day Adventist, Good Samaritan Hospital in Sydney. Paul’s mother, bless her heart, made all arrangements to have us met at Sydney airport and comfortably lodged in one of the hospital’s dormitories. As fate or luck would have it, we landed in Sydney Christmas day morning. The hospital was operating with skeletal emergency staff and all specialists that Laurie needed were off with their families for the Christmas and New Year holidays.

Laurie ended up having her cervical, and as she would later call it, her whole plumbing’s, removed by one of Sydney’s most respected Ob-Gyn specialist. He operated on her early morning of New Year’s Day, before leaving Sydney later that morning to be with his holidaying family. Laurie had been transferred from the Good Samaritan Hospital compound to Prince George’s Hospital, where the operation took place.

I moved into a top floor guest room at the nurse’s dormitory and remained with Laurie until her father arrived a week later.

I returned then to my job and life in Katmandu.

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Rapee, my third and again my fifth wife (1997-1999 and 2005- present) “Without love we are birds with broken wings, said Morrie,” in Mitch Albom Tuesday with Morrie, 1997

Rapee, Phuket 1997; the day we first married

My third wife (1997-1999), and again my fifth wife (2005-present), Rapee is Chinese-Thai. Her full name is Rapeepan Wangchumtong, which is her Thai name, but her real Chinese name is Chun Wangchumtong. Her parents had independently migrated from mainland China to Thailand. The father met the mother in North Thailand where they wed, settled and raised a family.

I met Rapee by chance or was it again fate? One day, while calling on my friend Paul, a Seven Day Adventist deuelopment professional working in Nepal looked at me and asked: -“David, when was the last time you had a total physical? You Running on Empty 248

look a bit tired and unwell” -“Tired, you say? I am exhausted, both physically and emotionally. As to my last physical, I had one two years ago, and all was O.K.” I replied.

-“Why don’t you let me arrange for you to have a complete physical now at our Mission Hospital in Bangkok; I will take care of all expenses except for your air ticket. Will you let me do that for you now?” asked Paul.

I accepted Paul’s offer as I it reflected genuine concern and friendship. I made my travel plans and flew to Bangkok.

I checked into a hotel for one night before reporting the next morning to the Hospital. They had received a fax from Paul and had all arrangements taken care of. I was to be admitted into the Hospital, a private room was reserved and all tests determined.

It was a Sunday morning when my physical exam started at the emergency room. I was introduced to the attending physician. She was a Thai lady, an internal medicine specialist. I had difficulty pronouncing, let alone, remembering her name, Dr.Rapeepan Wongchantong. As I lay on the examining table, she looked at me and said: -“You have very nice eyes” -“Yes, my eyes talk and reflect my inner being. Wouldn’t you like to know what they are saying?” I answered.

She did not answer but continued with her checking, listening or asking questions about my medical history. That same evening, she called at my hospital room to tell me of my preRunning on Empty 249

liminary results and outline what additional tests I had to undergo. What started as pure doctor-patient relationship later took the form of sporadic outings for a shared meal plus sharing of events in our respective lives but nothing too intimate, or deep. She loved to talk about her work and her religious beliefs; beliefs she acquired after converting to Christianity and becoming a Seventh Day Adventist. As we talked about our respective historical backgrounds, she told me about her Chinese parents who had left China as individuals in search of food, work and a new life. After their marriage they settled North of Bangkok started a small business and raising a family. They worked extremely hard to make a living during the day and making children at night. Rapee was one of thirteen children that her mother gave birth to and raised. Apparently, the mother was a strict introvert disciplinarian while the father was a more relaxed extrovert, working hard, saving a portion of earnings while maintaining a super clean home.

Of the ten daughters and three sons, Rapee was the one who was driven to study and excel in all of her classes and exams. She ended up pursuing a science path in high school which later led her into medical school. It was during her last high school years that she ran into a Seventh Day Adventist Missionary who befriended her and later on led her to the Christian faith. I felt that she too was a convert zealot as I was when I first converted to Christianity as a high school young non-practicing Jew in Lebanon.

Our friendship, over time, did not go too deep nor too Running on Empty 250

far. She finally let down some of her religious guards and let me hug her, then moved a bit beyond that to kissing. Throughout our seven years of off-and-on courting, we usually met in Bangkok on my way in or out from Katmandu to other East Asian countries or the West Coast of America.

Rapee wanted me to commit and eventually marry. I resisted that for many reasons, the most important ones were two: one, not wanting to marry again after my loss of Ronalie then Laurie for fear that I might not find within me what it took to fully surrender or open up to another woman. The second being our glaring differences in so many areas that defined our individuality. She felt that I had set too many and too high standards for her to meet, which she couldn’t nor maybe felt she needed. So we drifted, she focusing mainly on her work and church and I on my bachelor life in Nepal. I had freedom and all the socializing and womanizing that I wanted, so why give all that up for woman I could not fully understand nor tune into her vibes and mind?

When mid July 1997 rolled by, I felt drawn finally to ask Rapee to marry me. Why then? I really could never answer that question. I just woke up one day and when I got to my office after my gym, I sat down and wrote her an email asking her to marry me. She responded immediately by accepting to marry me, she for the first time and I for the third time then!

July 21st was decided as an appropriate date for our wedding, which was to be held at her home, the house of the Hospital president, which she was. Her theology professor from SingaRunning on Empty 251

pore was to officiate and the honorary council general of the US was among the visitors. A five star hotel suite was booked for our week long honey moon.

I shared my decision with my Nepali friends, but not my children. I kept the news from them for fear that they might talk me out of it. The only thing that I was most certain of was that Rapee was a good, mature, solid and stable person.

Since that was to be her first marriage, I was genuinely concerned about her abilities to be a full time life-mate and also relate to my children, sisters and friends, in Nepal and beyond.

I shelved all concerns that surfaced within me or aired by my friends, and proceeded to arrange for my leave and travels. I wanted to travel to the US and be with my children after the honeymoon to ‘reassure them of my continued love and commitment to them and to the memory of their departed mother, my wife Ronalie’. Saturday, July nineteenth, I flew down to Bangkok and connected with a later flight to Phuket.

Rapee’s adopted son met my flight. She had written a few weeks before that she had adopted a son for she always wanted to have a son of her own. I thought that he would be in his early teens, but when she told me that her son would meet my flight, I wondered then what kind of a young person he would be. I didn’t, though, give it much thought then. A weird thing happened as soon as I landed in Phuket. I had severe diarrhea and cramps, plus my questioning mind and heart as what the hell was I about to do? And who was this son that Rapee now had? Getting married in two days, hell no I Running on Empty 252

can’t do that now! I felt like the man in Shirley Hazard’s book, The Great Fire, (2003) who when caught in a difficult situation felt that resignation might set in, and if it did, it would admit him in and then shut close behind him. But I said to myself that I must not let that happen to me. I wanted to run away and catch the first flight back to Bangkok and then return to Katmandu. I must get up and go, I must run and find my way back to life, living, loving and giving. I must save myself. In the final analysis I did not run! But I didn’t do that as I was driven by the ‘son’ to my hotel.

On the way I asked the ‘son’ about himself only to discover that he had a wife and a son and that he worked in the marketing department of the Hospital where Rapee was president. He was in his late thirties and to be adopted then seemed a bit ‘funny’ to me! But I made nothing of it as my mind was focused on the pending wedding! By the time we checked in, it was almost two in the morning. The son proceeded to tell me of the schedule and my meeting with the officiating minister the next day for lunch. On Monday I was to be picked up, driven to the hospital compound where the wedding ceremony was to be held at four. He will instruct me about the procedures and what I am supposed to do or not do. Oh my, did I get myself into an inextricable fix, or was it? I could always check out early in the morning, take the first flight back to Bangkok and then back to Katmandu. I would call Rapee and tell her I had chickened out and that the wedding was off.

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it. If she wanted us to remain ‘friends’ that would be very OK with me, but no marriage then, no thanks!

When I woke up from my fitful sleep, I called my children and told them I was getting married in two days. I shared my hesitancy with Gwen, my daughter, who proceeded to tell me in no uncertain terms that I had to go through with it; that I can’t hurt an innocent person like that. Gwen did not know Rapee but she sure did stick up for her! Thad, on the other hand was angry as he said: -“Why are you telling me now? You already decided to do it, so I don’t care what you do!”

After that kind of talk, I decided to go ahead with the wedding as planned. I would have lunch with her minister and charm the hell out of him!

The wedding ceremony was simple, yet very dignified.

Rapee looked extremely beautiful with her new hairdo, her makeup and her Thai silk dress. She had arranged for the whole affair with taste and charm. All of her hospital colleagues were present and all wanted to take their pictures with us, lined up in front of a heart shaped back drop with our names inscribed in red. After the brief reception and picture taking, Rapee and I drove to our ‘honeymoon” hideaway, only to be met by her adopted son with a stack of pictures of the wedding in hand.

As they hugged and said their good bye, we moved to our suit, showered and sat at the balcony sipping our Champaign.

Rapee kept talking about her son, how helpful and how much love was shared between them. That conversation turned me Running on Empty 254

off. I got angry at her behavior towards her son, a thirty plus year old married man and a father of a son. Jealousy bells rang within my mind and I lashed out with accusations that she was subconsciously in love with him and all she had done by marrying me now was to camouflage her love for him by having me hang around as a cover for her true feelings towards him.

Rapee and I wed, July 21, 1997 at her home in Phuket

No matter how hard she tried to explain her feelings, her motherly feelings toward him, I shrugged that off by insisting that adopting a grown man at her age was nothing more than using adoption as a cover up for her love for him. I did not accuse her of having an affair with him, but I sure kept up my insistence that she was in love with him, no mother-son love bit as she was spouting.

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-“I do not know why we had to go through with such a charade by getting married when all you wanted was an excuse to keep your young lover by your side while I went back to Nepal. Why did you did do that Rapee?” I screamed as she left the room crying while reaffirming her love for me.

Bull shit, I said to myself as I left the room and went down to the bar and away from my new bride! A honeymoon, oh, what a joke! I seemed to have succeeded in ruining everything for her and us! I hurt her deeply and I did it in a very inhumane way. My not being sure that I wanted to marry then had colored my whole vision and I struck blindly at an honest innocent soul. I later realized that all my doing was for the wrong reasons!

What started on a wrong note did not last long. Rapee maintained her residency in Phuket while I stayed working and living in Nepal. Our infrequent get together were punctuated by our moving out of step with each other. Whenever she came to Katmandu, she would spend her days at home and away from my friends who wanted to show her around.

My attempts at getting her to meet and socialize with some of my close friends, Nepali and foreign, were met with utter failures as she would sit and seldom engage in a conversation besides her polite answering of questions asked. She seemed so uncomfortable and out of place. When I wanted us to go out with some friends, she would beg me to let her stay behind at home. My wanting her to assume the “lady of the house” role was met with equal failure. She would literally cry and beg me Running on Empty 256

not to ask her assume such roles as she did not care for cooking or supervising the house help, nor going out with my lady friends. The long and short of it was that she felt and acted as a fish out of her own bowl. She hated meeting my social and marital expectations and said so on many occasions. She felt, and rightly so, that I had set too many high expectations and standards which she could not meet. With only ten days to two weeks visits, all she wanted to do was eat, sleep and catch up on her rest.

When I used to go to Phuket to be with her, I was treated as a tourist visiting her space. I guess the same feeling she must have felt when visiting me in Katmandu. I saw her at work and home where she took full control of “everything”.

I did not fully realize, let alone appreciate, the stress she was under; at work being a president answerable to a board that did not include many professionals but more so religious– missionaries. She struggled with her Board about staff needs and their religions orientation; she wanted more Thai doctors while her board wanted Seven Day Adventist; she wanted to delegate more responsibilities to her Thai associates but her board wanted her to utilize more Adventist missionaries, who cost the Hospital more than Thai professionals and were not as adapt as the Thai. Besides she felt that the missionaries, be they Australians or Philippines, tried to ‘undermine her authority I listened and felt for her but there was nothing I could do to help. I used to feel bored during such visits for I stayed home and waited for her to come back from her hospital for us to go Running on Empty 257

out to eat or go for a drive.

At the personal level, she wanted to cater to my needs while making sure I adhered to her strict meticulous and clean home. We were also restricted from going to movies or nightclubs as her church, culture and status frowned on such activities. We did have some off and on good moments, especially when we were away from her space at a hotel or on the road heading for a long weekend to some beach resort, or my space away to some nearby scenic resort. Our sex life was limited, a blah, to say the least. So what kept us together?

For me, Rapee was very good hearted and a very generous person who loved to help others. She wanted to sponsor kids’ schooling and help elderly meet their daily needs. She was a strict office manager who prided herself in running a tight and frugal ship. She introduced me to her elder sister who ran a music tapes business at her China Town home in Bangkok, and to another sister who had a shoe factory while her younger sisters sold music tapes at one of Bangkok’s busy shopping centers. She loved to work hard, save money and invest in real estate; land and condominiums. Her attire was modest and very conservative. She used to tell me that she loved me but I could never figure out what that meant beyond her readiness to look after my needs. She seemed to love my being a Jew, a member of the chosen race. For me, love had to be something more than what was going on between Rapee and me. I needed a companion who could relate to my experiences and my spiritual orientation, not one that held to dogma Running on Empty 258

that constantly judged others! I needed to broaden my spiritual and cultural horizons, not to limit them. Rapee was not and could not meet me, not even half way. She saw life in black and white consistent with Biblical teachings, while I saw it in its varied multi-colored aspects. So, it became too obvious that we were indeed an ‘odd couple’ and ending our relationship was, therefore, but natural for me. I couldn’t handle the feeling of resignation that had set in. It had opened to admit me and then shut tight behind me. That was when I said to myself that I must get up and go; I must run and find my way back to life, living, loving and giving. I must save myself and that I should do that as soon as possible. As it turned out, she told me the same and so we decided to divorce by mutual consent and register the same accordingly.

Though Rapee and I were so different, we succeeded in maintaining our distinctiveness even when our shared failure to maintain our first marriage had grown to be our common bond. When she came to visit Israel and my sisters for a couple of weeks in April of 2004. I offered her hospitality by inviting her to stay at my house in Caesarea. I had an extra room while my sisters did not, and she accepted. She had known that Joanne, my fourth wife, and I were divorcing but nothing between Rapee and I had emerged. I had accepted to travel from Katmandu to Phuket to share in the dedication of the house we both started to build together during our first marriage.

It was a good peaceful visit, no sex but a lot of talking about the whys of the past and how had I fared in that. She did exRunning on Empty 259

press her desire to remarry me and live together in our home in Phuket. She knew of my need to be with my sisters and to travel for work I was developing in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. That was very acceptable to her. Since she had not changed her surname back to her maiden name, she was still Mrs. David and still at Mission Hospital but not as its administrator, internal medical doctor on contract. I said that I will consider getting back together only after the one year ‘mourning period for my loss of Joanne’.

Rapee accepted my position, and returned to Phuket while I stayed in Israel. My sisters, especially Nina, did not like the idea of my remarrying Rapee for she said that if it didn’t work out the first time, why would it work out then? My reply was that I did not want to marry an Israeli woman as I couldn’t handle them. I needed peace and my space which Rapee offered, and that Rapee had indeed changed and so did I!

Rapee did indeed change. Her appearances had changed completely; she had cut her hair real short, she wore make up and changed her eating habits by reverting to eating all foods except pork products. She also shed off her shyness as she was more relaxed in the company of strangers and my friends. She enthusiastically assumed housewife responsibilities, as she learned how to cook and manage a home. Besides, Habiba, my eldest sister, loved her very much and thought her to be a wonderful person and companion for me at this stage of my life.

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Rapee and I outside our home in Phuket, 2010

October 2005, I traveled to Phuket and asked Rapee to marry me again. She accepted and we set the wedding registration date for December 14th, my birthday. We returned as husband and wife and now all seemed convinced, including Nina, that she was the best person for me to be with.

These days Rapee keeps an immaculate house and runs it like clock-work. She agreed for us to have a part time cook and a house cleaner plus gardener. She buys nice cloths and wants to travel more, not just work, work and more work. Simple and no fuss and ‘muss’ have been our lives since then. She continued to be very supportive of my life style and my needs as I have completely accepted her as she was, not the old hang up for her to change to suit my wishes. She continues to do her thing and I mine. We honor and respect our differences and live with them the best we know how.

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Rapee loves to watch TV; she says it helps her relax after a full day at hospital and doing her errands. Ok, but I hate TV like I hate computers and staring at the small screen that defines one’s world. Is hate a strong emotion? Sure it is but here I mean I detest it really. Why? Because it defines my total world for that moment by the surface of its screen while I feel the world is beyond the images screened and words heard.

That is the same reason why I don’t take pictures any more after I lost my last Canon camera on the way to Tokyo via Rome in 1975 and never replaced it. Why again? Well, a picture taken is always framed by the viewer’s surface area and when you see it, it is always a record of a moment past. Therefore, I decided that my view of the world should not be restricted by the frame, nor be backward looking. I observe a scene and record it in my memory bank along with the emotion felt during that moment: crazy? Well, why not? So when I explained this to Rapee, she said ok, you don’t watch, so do what you want and leave me alone …fair enough!

And so we live the now; she doing her thing which centers mainly on her work, her home, her eating and her abiding clinging to cleanliness. I, on the other hand, continue to thrive on meeting people, old and new, and exiting new ideas through what I and many of my close friends and family call “hot air production”. I have my freedom of movement through travel as well as my freedom to socialize and even flirt and share love (but no love making) and companionship. Living the now as fully as I know how continues to influence the way Running on Empty 262

I think, react, live and spend my limited time and resources.

I have, by now, discovered many things about myself that liberate me from things that used to worry the hell out of me, which, with the passage of time, never happen or when they did happen, I survived them and moved on. Maybe that is why people, up to this very moment, continue to brand me as an ‘eternal optimist’. Yeah, that I am and hope to die that way!

“Don’t get hang up on anything, let go”, I repeatedly told myself. No strong emotional attachments; a blessing or a curse? Rapee helps her sisters, brothers and their children. She looks at the world the Chinese way which focuses more on making sure one has as much money as one can make and save which in many ways fits well with the general Jewish mind set, though our spiritual orientations may differ; but differences or similarities we must live with. I tell myself that I must live life out to find out, no?

I am more dependent on Rapee when we are in Thailand, (I don’t speak Thai), for getting things done which may be interpreted as lack of ability, experience or know how on my part. So she takes over. The more she did that the stronger she got. Her opinionated self and stubborn streaks get to me some, but I try to shrug them off. Sometimes I succeed and sometimes I fail and get mad at myself and her actions. I move out of her space and let her be as long as I feel that her actions or decisions are not detrimental to our relationship. I hate daily confrontations, especially when they are insignificant. I have not, however, abdicated my right to my opinion but I disRunning on Empty 263

cuss the issue when she is calm and not busy with homework, garden or shopping; let alone her hospital and her patients.

That is why I swore never to call her while at her clinic unless it is a death life situation! In Israel, or elsewhere, she is not like that, so I wonder what makes for the difference: territory or what?

We bought a small apartment in Caesarea, Israel. We spend a month or more every year there. We love it there and it gets us closer to my sisters and their families. We have also made some good Israeli friends with whom we socialize a lot.

In March of 2006, my grandson Ariel was to have his Bar Mitzvah in their home town, Livingston New Jersey. Rapee couldn’t accompany me then as she was experiencing some bouts of vertigo. The function was beautiful and Ariel did real well. The lunch that Gwen and Eli hosted for their invited friends was done at the Synagogue and catered to ‘perfection’. I was to give the ‘breaking of the bread’ thanks in Hebrew. Both Ariel and his brother Nadav coached me in preparation for the event. I did it and felt so good about it because I didn’t mispronounce the Hebrew words, words I never use or know(I basically don’t know how to read Hebrew prayers nor speak Hebrew. When in Israel, I try to understand some but use mainly English or Iraqi Jewish with my sisters and their families).

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Ariel carrying the Torah as part of his Bar Mitzvah ceremony, Livingston, New Jersey, April 2006

Left to right: Eli, Ariel’s father, Ariel and Gwen, while Nadav is in front during the Bar mitzvah luncheon; Livingston, New Jersey, April 2006

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My Joy at Ariel’s Bar Mitzvah when I finished the Hebrew version of the blessing for the bread

When I got back to Caesarea, Rapee was doing a bit better. On our return to Thailand, we decided to check with her professor at his hospital in Bangkok before continuing to Phuket. It turned out that she had a minor blood clot. She was advised to slow down on her work responsibilities and take some blood thinning and blood pressure medication. A year later, we rechecked her condition by having a CT scan of her brain, and thank God no additional growth was detected.

Ronalie’s thirteenth death Anniversary, I was at home in Phuket. After doing my morning prayers, I lit five candles for my Ronalie then moved to my office to write her a note.

“Ronalie, my love,

Phuket, Thailand: May 26, 2009

“Yes, I continue to treasure the love you gave me, the love that nurRunning on Empty 266

tured me during my years with you. Thirty years today and here I am still alive while your memory is ever so real; embedded deep within the fabrics of my soul, mind and heart. Yes you were precious to me and continue to be. I did not know how to appreciate the depth of love and commitments you had towards me. Later, every time I ran into the students you taught in Katmandu and later in Ghana plus the many lady friends that surrounded you, especially during your last three years of your life, they spoke of your great selfless giving and your abiding commitments to what you loved and believed in .Oh how I remember and crave for a moment where I could sit at your feet and tell you all what you pleaded with me to share but did not know how nor could. I would ask you over and over again to forgive me for my lengthy absences while traveling for my work, my flirting with women and my later betrayal of my oath of fidelity. Yes I failed you miserably.

I see that now and had seen it many years after you moved on to other worlds, but had to live with my belated regrets while searching for soul cleansing. Even after thirty years, I still am searching, though now a little more secure in my emotions toward you, my present wife Rapee and committed being “here” for our children including my son with Laurie, Sion.

“Wally Lamb, in his book, The Hour I First Believed(2008), wrote that Mark Twain’s wife left him to tend to the burial of their daughter because “he(Twain)felt he couldn’t abandon his obligations and accompany his wife back to Connecticut”. I am sure that you would say to me, “but you did the same though not for such an occasion, but my sicknesses, my inability to carry on with the responsibilities demanded by two toddlers and later adolescent daughter and our adopted son.

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You always put your work ahead of family. Your needs took priority and center stage while our lives trudged on searching for peace and some joy in the midst of very trying moments, days and even months”.

To all of what you say I would say am sooooo sorry but will this bring you back, will we be given another chance, or moments to relive those I threw away? Never! I have to continue to live with myself and the consequences of my past behavior. Twain went on to write about the terrible consequences he had to endure.

“As I reflect now over Mark Twain’s written words, I see myself reflected in some of his words but more so the sentiments conveyed. For here am I now in Phuket Thailand reflecting on our twenty one years of married life, thirty years ago, yes on the thirtieth anniversary of your death. It is early morning here and dark rainy day; and you being a treasure not fully realized then, but is not here anymore!

“You know my love, please don’t snicker or roll your beautiful brown eyes when you hear me still calling you my love, you were, are and will always be my one and only true love. Yes, I did marry four times after your death; and yes I did tell my wives then and others that I loved them. Was my love for you the same? Hell no! You see my love, I remember one time in Ghana when we were out for dinner at a fancy restaurant with our Ghanaian lady friend that a human’s capacity to love was infinite in that love is not a stock or fixed quantity that one distributes among others, but rather an inexhaustible quantum that maybe shared with more than one person at a time. That is why one can love more than one person at a time for no two persons can be loved by one person the same way. Yes, I am repeating myself now just for the record, why? I don’t really know!

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“I lit five candles for you today and placed them on a plate in what Rapee and I call Gwen and Eli’s room on the second floor of our guest house. Rapee and I live in a big house built by her during our ten years of divorced life, with some financial help from me early on plus some input into the architect’s design of our “dream house” as we called it then. Now that we are back again, we decided to demolish Rapee’s old house and build a two story guest house where I have my office at the ground floor.

“The candles burned down but one wick continued to burn drawing from the melted wax of the others. I sat in front of the undying flame and allowed my mind to reel back twenty one years of married life; from the moment I met you dressed in your red knitted outfit to the time of our engagement at Mayo Clinic during your post spinal surgery, to the turbulent three months prior to our wedding, and on and on it went.

“You know that I wrote all twenty years ago when I wrote my autobiography for our children so they might know from whence they came.

Twenty years later, I find myself still alive and married for the fifth time and living both in Thailand and Israel. About two years ago, I decided to put down more fully my memoirs. I have a first draft that needs much work. I am trying to do that and hope to finish it by the end of 2013.

“Yes, it does contain a totally “honest” account of my life as lived in Beirut before going to the States in 1955 to the present. Does it contain a total account of events and encounters? Yes and no: yes it is factual and no it does not detail events or encounters that might embarrass, hurt, or offend any living friend or family or even people I lived with, Running on Empty 269

or countries I lived in. It was you who drove me, in life and through your death, to look into myself and not be afraid to reflect what I see.

You always wanted me to share my inner self or emotions, if you please, which I fought against like hell. Why? Honestly I did not know how to do that plus the fear of not liking what I saw. But now I am ready to open up totally for you, my children, my friends and the world. Thank you for making all of this possible, directly or indirectly. I am also stuck with the irony of the fact that you always read a lot and wanted me to do the same so we could discuss what we read, but I did not. Now I do that all the time and so does Gwen. Another facet of the continuity of life; sure I say that now and for that too I thank you my love.

“Love you always. ‘Rest in peace in His presence’ has been my daily prayer for your soul my love.

During 2011, I experienced very severe back and left leg pain. The pain reached a point where I could hardly take few steps without experiencing excruciating pain. I sought the help of chiropractic and also osteopathy, but no one could really provide long term relief. Since no help was in sight, I decided to consult orthopedic surgeons in Singapore. Three leading surgeon, after reviewing my MRI, I was told that I needed a lamenectomy where my lower back vertebrae will be fused. They explained that I might have some side effects plus a minimum of four to six weeks rehab treatments.

When I returned home to Phuket and shared the consultation reports with my wife, I felt that if I were to undergo a spine operation, I would want to do it in Thailand and not Singapore. When searching for the place and the surgeon to Running on Empty 270

consult in Thailand, my wife’s niece recommended the leading spine surgeon at Chaing Mai. We made contact with the surgeon and travelled to meet with him.

Professor Doctor Narit reviewed my MRI and my back history and concurred with the Singaporean surgeons that only by fusing my lower back vertebrae would i be able to get relief from my pain. He did, however, suggest that I might have to do more than four vertebrae as my upper spine was also ‘damaged’, and if I didn’t correct it, I would have to repeat the surgery in couple or so years. Right there and then, I decided that if i did go for an operation, I would want Professor Narit to do it. Rapee supported my decision and a date for the operation was set for April second. I was to report to the hospital four days before surgery to get the needed work up completed and the surgical team readied.

April second, 2012, I was wheeled in the afternoon to the operating theater. Rapee, being a physician, asked permission to attend the procedures as did her niece (an Ear Nose Throat surgeon). Professor Narit did not commit to doing more than four vertebrae but said that after he cuts, he would see the extent of spine damage and decide. I agreed to that as I trusted him completely and felt very much at peace with having him do what he thought best for me.

I did hit some ‘down’ moments and even days after the operation. But, thank God, they were not as bad as I experienced after my heart by-pass surgery in 2001. I am told the kind of operation I had does cause some depression because of Running on Empty 271

the pain and the need to adopt a new life style; that is more dependence on others, but should not be permanent.

My back surgery was by no means easy since I had eight vertebrae joined by screwing eight millimeters screws on each side for total of sixteen; then stabilized by a horizontal titanium rod that is twenty five to twenty eight centimeters in length on each side and a cross bar to hold the two columns in place.

I was told by my surgeon that he had to make the lower vertebrae’s inner circumference bigger to ease the pressure on the nerve that was giving me the main problem. In so doing, he had touched and cut some shoots of the nerve. This caused my left leg to lose much of its control. I did not lose my leg function completely but I lost some control that, I understand, may take some time to get back to its full function.

For the first couple of weeks after we left the hospital, I was not able to do much. I had need of full time assisted help.

My assistant did the driving and shopping plus some exercises that the physiotherapist showed him how. Now, thank God, I walk alone with a cane, wear a support belt while moving, and can drive my car. After three months, I did not need full time help as I became more independent and also began to go to the gym three times a week to do the excises there and not at home. I continued to have my three months check up with my surgeon at Chaing Mai. I do not go to the sea as I still can’t move without a cane but I can take short flights of one to two hours long. I accept the fact of having to live at a slowed down pace but not totally out yet!

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Through out my pre-surgery and post operation,Rapee continued to be my “guardian angel� During my three week long hospitallization,she lived in my hospital room and was truly incredible and even to this day, she continues to shower me with so much love and care. I daily bless,every day,the moment that God brought us back together as husband and wife.

I love her so very much and would not want to live without her. She is for sure, an amazing person, a genuine gem, my love and my wife.

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Joanne, my fourth wife (2000-2004)

I met Joanne in the spring of 2000 at a function her office had organized to welcome her as the first lady director of USAID to Nepal. USAID had been providing economic and technical assistance to the Nepali Government since the late fifties, but Joanne was the first female director to head the mission. I was introduced to her during a welcoming reception hosted by the mission staff to introduce her to Nepal’s development community. Both ex-pat technical contractors as well as Nepali professionals were invited to the reception. I usually did not attend such receptions but that day happened to coincide with my board meeting at Lincoln School, the American International School. Since the reception was about the same time and literally next door to my meeting, I decided to check out the new director by going in for few minutes. My first sight of Joanne was her back. She was slim, white peppered short hair and about five feet five inches tall. I approached her with a Nepali colleague. As she turned to face me, she extended her hand, but I said sorry I don’t shake hands with women but rather kiss them. Her response was an enthusiastic yes. After the usual introductory small talk, I excused myself as I had to chair my Lincoln School board meeting. I told her I was the chairman of the school board and hence could not miss it nor be late. She asked me to drop by for a drink, in case the meeting finished before the end of her reception. Well, I liked her vibes and her positive spirit.

What Amos OZ wrote buzzed in my ears: “I loved the color of her voice and the smell of her smile”, in his biography, Running on Empty 274

Love and Darkness. I left the reception and determined then to move the Board’s discussions as fast as I could so I could rejoin Joanne’s party before heading back home.

My fellow board members could not believe that their talkative chairman stuck to the agenda and moved the discussions without much ado. Later they came to know the why behind his strategy for that meeting. Well, I did go back to the party and still found some friends and Joanne moving about among them. As I joined the crowd, she spotted me, beamed a big smile and moved to welcome me back with a kiss on the cheek. We had some wine together and one German friend spotted us, came by and said that we seemed well suited for each other. I said, ‘but why not’, as I hugged her willing small waist.

I left the party thinking that she will be a good companion, but then she was the head of the mission that contracted for my services as a development economist. Will she be willing to go out with me? All I had to do was to ask and see. I did ask her for lunch after ten or so days. She accepted and came wearing a shocking pink suit. We walked over the lawn of my favorite hotel to the coffee shop for a quick lunch. On the way, I told her that I was attracted to her energies and would very much like to get to know her more. I also confessed to the fact that my history with women, after the death of my first wife of twenty one years, is less than honorable. I come on strong at the beginning and when I notice that the lady’s responses had gotten to the point where I had to either commit or get out of Running on Empty 275

the relationship, I almost always pulled out, leaving a very hurt and disappointed lady. That usually took about six months after our first encounter. I didn’t know what will be with her, but I did want to get to know her better and then let fate determine what next. She said she was game but will have to keep it discreet as she did not want to jeopardize nor compromise, in any way, her position as the mission head. Fair enough I thought, as we said our formal good bye in front of her waiting car and driver.

My next encounter with Joanne was when I invited her for dinner to meet the director of a regional research program that USAID was partially funding. She accepted and to my surprise, she turned out at my house few minutes before my guests’ arrival. I greeted her at the door only to be taken aback by her passionate kiss. Well, I thought that was great.

She seemed to like me, and she was hot as hell. She had also told her driver that he needed not wait for her as she will get a ride back to town with other guests. For me the whole evening centered on my thoughts of her sexuality and my desire to get her to bed as soon as I knew how.

Joanne lingered as the last guests left. I offered to drive her home, which she readily accepted. As I drove down my house’s deserted road in our village outside the capital, she leaned forward and gave me a passionate kiss. I stopped the car several times to kiss her as passionately as she did. She was just as I had expected: hot as hell. I took her home but did not take her to her bed as her guards were waiting for me to get Running on Empty 276

back to my car and out the gate. We agreed to meet again and soon.

From that stormy passionate kiss, our meetings became more frequent but always away from the public or her office staffs’ eyes. I called on her at her house to ‘check out a computer program’, only as an excuse to get us up to her study, away from her house staff. We kissed and kissed and I wanted more of that and more of everything she had to offer.

She decided one day to come out public. Hoping to meet some of her colleagues, we went out for a drink at a well located hotel where many US embassy staff usually hug out. We did not meet any one then. Nonetheless, she decided to talk to her office’s regional legal advisor about the best way to make our friendship legal and open. He told her what to do, which she did: she had to write to her Washington head office about her seeing a ‘contractor’ , as well as the head office’s ethics director, the US ambassador to Nepal and the heads of her various office divisions, including the office head in which my contract was being monitored. In short, she covered all bases and we started our official public dating.

In January of that first year of our encounter, her mother and son, along with his friend and grandson visited for Christmas. I invited them all for lunch at my house. It was a subdued affair, as I sensed her son’s discomfort in having me be with Joanne. He would talk to everyone present but avoided me even when I tried to start a professional conversation with him (he was a graduate student working on his PhD Running on Empty 277

in agriculture economics, my own discipline). Joanne and I were discreet about our affair. I asked Joanne if I could invite her and her mother only for dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town as I intended to ask her mother for her blessings on our relationship. I had not proposed to Joanne nor did we talk about marriage then. I wanted her mother to know that I respected her and that I was falling deeply in love with her daughter. The dinner went off well and the mother was very enthusiastic with her endorsement of our friendship. She was not to share that with the family as I wanted to write to them and explain my feelings directly to her three children; Jon, the eldest son, and two daughters. I also wrote to my children twice; once about their silence and once about my falling for Joanne. I wrote to my children in 2000, when I had not heard from them for ages! It reflected, once again, my frustration with their unwillingness to let go of the past.

“My precious children,

Feb. 03, 2000

“You sure are precious to me for if you were not, I wouldn’t be lacerating myself the way I have been about you and the way you reflect your pain and anger over my past and current behavior…SILENCE!!!

I do not excuse nor condone myself but I do insist that we must stick together in as supportive ways as we know how while maintaining the bottom line of love and acceptance as our basic principle. The last few days, ever since I sent you a joint email on Sunday to be exact, I Running on Empty 278

have been living in constant fear of getting a stronger than currently manifested rejection from you. So I don’t approach my home computer in the evening as I fear receiving a negative message from both of you.

The fear and the battle I seem to be going through is with me, for I create my own devils and wrestle with them alone. My insistence now about getting back closer is due to the facts that: # I do love you very much. # I am going to die someday and I want you to sort out your pain about me while I am still alive and not after I am die for then it is much harder on you (from what I have read and seen among living children of dead parents). But, you need to decide that! and, # I remember , ever so clearly, maybe you do too, how Ronalie called us in one day to the living room in Raleigh at our Newberry Drive houseshe was in her white chiffon night coat- and told us she was going to die someday and did not want to see us separate nor stop supporting each other after she is gone( my reaction then , as I remember, was total denial as I had always done when it came to accepting the reality of death, anyone’s death let alone my loved ones. I had done that same with my father after he got his first stroke!).

“Not to belabor the issue nor need prove that I WANT TO TAKE AWAY YOUR PAIN, BUT I CAN NOT.YOU HAVE TO DO THAT FOR YOUR WON SELVES BUT I WILL ALWAYS BE HERE FOR YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE, AND WILL ALWAYS BE, MY CHILDREN WHOM I LOVE SO MUCH . SO TELL WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

I followed that letter with one about Joanne.

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“My precious children,

Feb.10, 2000

“I would have loved for you to meet and know Joanne Hale in person. I pray it will be soon, but until then I decided to share , briefly, something about her ( not a resume) and a picture or two to help you put a face to the name you heard me speak of and write about.

“Joanne is 56 years old and a mother of three grown up independent, I think, children: one son married who has a son two years old, and two daughters, one married and one to be married. They live in California where the grandparents, 80 and 83 years old, live. Joanne is an American Irish born into and catholic home. She has six siblings, she being the eldest. By training she is an agriculturist and by profession is in development where she started as a peace corps volunteer then joined USAID where she has been ever since(20years). She has been divorced for about 20 years and never remarried- I guess she was looking for me!!! Most of her professional life was spent in Asia and Africa. She raised all three children alone.

“Personality wise, she loves life: good people, good play, good food, good cloths, good cooking and good humor. In short, she is truly a most loving and lovable person I have come across over the past 20 plus years. She loves her children and is real close to them in spite of the physical distance that separates them. Her 80 year old mother traveled this last Christmas with Joanne’s son family all the way from California. They stayed for a whole month –she sure was full of life too!

“Anyway, I do want so much for you to meet and know her for I sure am very happy with her now- which I am sure you would want me to be. So I enclose some pictures and had written something on the back of each.

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Much love for now/ dad”

I also wrote to Joanne’s children, explaining who I was and that I had fallen in love with their mother and wanted us to be as close as possible. I did make it clear that I did not seek anything from her except the ability to love her; and that I knew from what she had shared with me, that they all were a very close family. I did not want to disrupt those relationships nor come between them. I would be very happy if they were to accept me, as I was more than ready to acknowledge and accept them as they were. The two daughters wrote back very kind notes but the son never acknowledge my note, let alone share anything positive or even negative. I figured that he was the oldest and must have felt that maybe now his mother will not depend on him as she used to before. I did not pursue that issue then. If he wanted to talk about it, I was more than ready, but if not, so be it! That is when I flashed back on our first meeting at my house where he seemed cold and distant; but I excused that then on the grounds of him being the only son and the one whom Joanne depended on whenever she needed help.

The love affair, over time, developed and blossomed.

Joanne seemed to have developed annual outings with her son and his family in northern France’s sea shores. When the summer came, she left for a three weeks’ vacation with her son and his family. I traveled then to Europe and Israel. We decided to connect in Paris after Joanne’s vacation and before her return to post in Katmandu. I had written to my friend who was post-

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ed in Paris and asked him if we could stay with him a couple of days. He was happy to have us. So I checked in at his place the same day he arrived from the US to assume his post. He had just gotten married after having lived a bachelor life for years. We used to party together in Katmandu, as I too was a bachelor then. The day Joanne was to come, I told my friend that I will propose to her then and if she were to accept I will indeed marry her. He couldn’t believe that. Well, she came and that same afternoon I knelt and asked her if she would to accept to spend the rest of her life with me. She said yes, sure. My friend couldn’t believe that. How courageous or crazy I must be to do that! We did it but decided to keep it to ourselves until Joanne broke the news first to her office, her children, mother and siblings.

Our courtship was intense. We went out every weekend to a resort hotel outside the city. The owner was my friend and his staff treated us like royalties. We made love, walked in the villages and ate late. Our love making was great as we both seemed unable to get enough of it. It was absolutely wonderful.

The chemistry between us was almost perfect and every one that saw us marveled at the intensity of love we shared. We spent almost every free moment together at her home or mine, or going out dancing, dining or visiting with special friends.

Our best moments were when we were alone watching a video movie and making love‌on the floor, the steps, the bathtub; you name it, we did it.

We decided to marry in North Carolina where both my Running on Empty 282

children and hers could come. She had a brother who owned a horse farm in a rural setting, so we decided to have an outdoor wedding and invite only our family and very close friends. She had asked her priest brother if he were to marry us, but his Catholic bishop did not permit him as Joanne was married and divorced but did not get the proper papers or clearances.

She was raised Catholic while I was Jew. Wedding plans were set in motion and invitations were sent out. Family and friends came from as far as California all the way to almost every other state in the Union. My friend, Governor Hunt and his wife, agreed to attend our wedding. Bob, a Baptist minister and one of my best friends in Chapel Hill, agreed to conduct the marriage ceremony. Having been informed of Joanne’s brother and family’s religious positions, he conducted a very ecumenical ceremony that was absolutely too beautiful for words.

Waiting for Joanne, my fourth bride; Pittsboro, North Carolina, October 04, 2000 Running on Empty 283

Cutting our wedding cake; Pittsboro, North Carolina, October 04, 2000

Everything went off like clockwork. The guests were happy to be with us, and the setting plus music and dinner were superb. We both wrote personal vows, which we spoke from memory. The dance by the barn was a hit as the DJ selected a mix of music to suit the blend of the young and older generations.

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My children and grandchildren attended our wedding. Pittsboro, North Carolina, October 04, 2000. Left to right: Thad, Nadav, Sion, me, Ariel and Gwen

We were whisked away to our hotel suit that evening.

A brunch for the family and some close friends was organized and hosted by Joanne’s mother. A day was spent with Joanne’s family which included a movie and dinner. We were to leave the next day for the west coast for our honey moon. It sure was anything but a honey-moon; we spent our time visiting Joanne’s children! First in Seattle, then California .While in California, we spent a weeklong visit with her eldest daughter and her family. Then her son and grandson came down to get us to spend a week or more with them in their student apartment at Berkley. The visit with her son’s was disastrous.

He was his usual self, very distant and cold towards me; and Joanne was spending so much time, one on one, with him.

Finally, I told her that I had enough of that and asked if we Running on Empty 285

could go down to her cabin for a few days before returning to Katmandu. She reluctantly agreed and broke the news to her son, who apparently got so upset and unforgiving of her quick departure. I never felt as relieved as I did when we finally were on the highway heading to Joanne’s cabin among the red woods of northern California.

We returned to Katmandu after two months. It was great to be back, though we had to continue to live in the director’s rented space! It was Joanne’s space and I had to fit in. I didn’t care, for all I wanted was to be again in my Nepal. Two day affter our return, I called in her house help and told them that I knew that they might wonder as to how I would treat them and how we will get along. I assured them that I lived with my strong belief that we are all equal even though we have different roles and work to do. I told them that I will work with them to make their lives as easy as possible and our staying together as enjoyable as possible. The living arrangement worked out ok. I had to accept Joanne’s space and have her keep her closets and bathroom, while I used close in another room. The space was very closed in and small but it was ok, given the fact that all I wanted was to love her and be there for her. I was determined not to work anymore for her agency for not wanting to create any inconveniences by subjecting her to possible questioning or comments about us. I sought, therefore, work elsewhere and got some, enough to keep me somewhat out of the house while maintaining my assumption of the total management of the household. She did her thing and Running on Empty 286

I did mine, but I kept wanting and even yearning for a change in residence! Until such time as a change would materialize, I built a separate prayer room for me, as I needed that space for my daily meditations and prayers.

Life was good and we flowed together with so much love and joy. I organized a home coming for us to greet our many expatriates and Nepali friends. I had my favorite hotel staff serve and cater the affair. It was great, for so many came to share our joy and love and commented how well suited we were together.

Our Friends, The Thapas with Joanne and me at our post wedding reception; Katmandu, December, 2000

Life with Joanne was filled with good moments. They were punctuated, at times, by some tense periods, especially when she was overwrought by her work and the demands that headquarters placed on her. All of that paled when compared with the tension created by her son’s visits. He used to come Running on Empty 287

either alone, or most often with his son Gabriel. He seemed very uncomfortable when I was around while Joanne never seemed, at least to me, to want to set him straight about the fact that we were, after all, husband and wife. She catered to his needs and moods, and moody he sure was. He kept to himself except when she came around. He and Joanne used to take evening walks which became regular while I sat waiting for their return. The only private time I had with her was the few moments in bed before falling off to restless sleep. I truly felt for her for she seemed to be placed in a very awkward situation between having to meet his needs and his criticism, plus long face, and my expressions of annoyance and discomfort when he was around.

March 03, 2001, I had undergone my annual physical exam, including a tread mill test for my heart. It was to be a routine annual checkup as my previous year’s checkup was normal. After my heart stress test, I was told by my cardiologist in Katmandu, that my heart was OK though at the end of the test some irregularities were seen. He went on to inform me that I should take my blood pressure medication and if I were to have any other symptom, he would do some further tests. That sounded ok to me as I felt fit and that I had never had any problem with my heart, except for some high blood pressure for which I was taking medication and my usual aspirin as a prophylactic blood thinner. Since I was married to Joanne who worked for the US Government, I had to report the stress test findings to the Embassy’s medical unit. The atRunning on Empty 288

tending family nurse told me that he needed to get the regional medical officer opinion. When he called me couple of days later, he informed me that I needed to get another cardiologist opinion either in Bangkok or Singapore. I opted for Singapore and I booked my travel to leave the following Sunday and return on a Wednesday for I thought that I would certainly be cleared medically. As it turned out, I was dead wrong!

The U.S. Embassy Medical Unit in Singapore had made all appointments for me to see a cardiologist first thing Monday, the ninth. When Dr. Chew, my cardiologist at Mount Elizabeth Hospital, reviewed my medical history and my recent stress test, he advised I undergo an angiogram since another stress test would not shed any further light on my case. The U.S. Medical Officer concurred and so I was scheduled for an angiogram Wednesday the eleventh, the day I was scheduled to return to Katmandu. Well, I sure did not return to Katmandu then for my angiogram revealed major arterial blockages, one was ninety percent blocked while another three were fifty to seventy percent blocked. My cardiologist told me, as he pointed to the blockages screened at the TV monitor above my head, that if I had any kind of heart symptom, I would have ended in the grave for sure!

After the angiogram procedure, I checked into a hospital room, got tightly bandaged at the point where Dr. Chew had incised an artery, and laid on my back for six hours. I stopped taking my morning prophylactic aspirin the same day Dr.Chew decided to go for an angiogram. I did not fully realRunning on Empty 289

ize, nor process, the implications of the results. When Dr Chew saw my blockages, he told me I could not have an angioplasty as the main left artery was most affected and any procedure to get to the block would be extremely risky. I had no option but to have open heart surgery. And the sooner I did it, the better off I would be! Wow.

I went back to my suite at the Regent Hotel totally dazed and lost. I was alone, as wife my was in Katmandu, my family in Israel, my children in U.S. and my good friends in Nepal and elsewhere in the world. The only thing I had was Dr. Chew’s report and his recommendation to meet the next day with the cardio vascular surgeon, Dr. T.M. Tong. I had to report to the U.S. Embassy Medical Officer before I did anything else.

After a stiff drink followed by some red wine with dinner, I went up to my suite and started calling. I first called my wife, followed by my children in the U.S. and my sisters in Israel. My wife was very worried and wanted to come be with me as soon as she could get approval for travel from her Washington office and the U.S. Ambassador. Gwen, my daughter, wanted to know if I could have the operation in the U.S. and if not when would I be operated on? And on and on came the questions from all direction all that evening. Many of my friends offered to fly down and be with me, so did my youngest sister in Israel. The outpouring of concern and support was great and very reassuring.

By the time I hit my pillow and tried to sleep some, my Running on Empty 290

mind started spinning all sorts of possible outcomes. I became more concerned, not really frightened, after all the phone calls I got that evening. Maybe my situation was more serious than I had thought or wanted to think? I didn’t fear death, but I was more concerned about what and how such an operation would impact my life style? I was newly married to a very lively and loving wife. Would I be able to keep up with the pace of life we had commenced to live and plan for? What if she were to stop loving me and leave me for another ‘healthy’ man? Could I take that? No wonder I hardly slept that night, even after taking some valium!

Having decided on having heart bypass, questions were raised as to whether to have the operation in Singapore or the U.S. I wanted it done in Singapore but I had to wait for Washington’s State Department Medical Office advice on that.

Katmandu Med Unit was also informed then as I also called my wife and told her the same. Washington advised against travel to the U.S, given the risks of a heart attack on such a long flight and with such constricted arteries. Arrangements were then made for me to meet with Dr. Tong, the cardio-thoracic surgeon. I sure needed my wife’s supportive presence then.

Meeting Dr. Tong was mainly technical. He saw my angiogram video and explained what needed to be done; three to four bypasses; how the procedures are done, and the recovery period, both as inpatient and outpatient. He was willing to do the operation but had to wait for a week in order that my circulatory system rids itself of the aspirin I had been takRunning on Empty 291

ing for over thirty years. A tentative date was set for Tuesday or Wednesday, the 17th or 18th of April. Joanne and I talked to him after her arrival and decided to do it on the 18th, i.e.

I will check into Mt. Elizabeth Hospital on the 17th and have the operation on 18th morning! I was so happy and relieved when my Joanne told me she would stay with me and see me through the operation.

Saturday, 15 April 2001, 18:58 Joanne and I sent the following brief email to our families and friends Dear loved ones!

David and I are in Singapore and he goes into the hospital Wed 9AM for triple or quadruples bypass; will stay one week in the hospital and then 6 weeks in Singapore for post-operative monitoring and cardiac therapy/exercises.

We love you all very much and please remember David in your prayers. You can write to us at this address.

Much love, Joanne and David

Throughout the pre-operative exchanges with both doctors, I felt that Dr. Chew was much more ‘human’ and ‘warm’ than Dr. Tong who seemed very professional, distant and too ‘stuck up’. Since Dr. Tong was to do the operation, and he was acclaimed as a ‘top’ cardio vascular surgeon, while Dr. Chew was to manage my recovery, I felt O.K. What followed is a historical record of the operation: three hours and twenty minutes; quadruple by-pass followed by one night at ICU and two days confinement in ward bed followed by third day re-

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moval of all tubes and my beginning to take few steps. Coughing was the hardest thing as the pain was way beyond the pain killer’s medication I was given!

Joanne’s Birthday was April 24 and I was scheduled for discharge on the 25th. The day before her birthday, I happened to read about the restaurant that won top honors for its chef and wine list, ‘Le Jardin, Les Amis’. The restaurant was located inside the botanical garden. A flash of a crazy idea overcame my state of being and I got very excited. I asked one of the nurses if she could help me find the restaurant’s number. She did and I called and talked to the manager. I told him of my current hospitalization, and the very special occasion the 24th was going to be and wondered if he could help me get to their restaurant, fix me a simple lunch and have a small special birthday cake for my ‘Love’. As the restaurant was inside the Garden and a bit beyond the visitor’s center, he gave me directions and told me he will meet us at 12:30 by the taxi stand. Of course, I could hardly contain myself, after ordering the special flowers from the hospital’s florist and a very special cake from our hotel through our special friend Lewis, the food and beverage assistant manager. I informed both, my cardiologist as well as my surgeon, about my desire to take a couple of hours off from the hospital on the 24th. I felt then that both were supportive.

On the 24th, I was up, cleaned and dressed in white shirt and tie, ready to go when Dr. Chew came in. He checked me out and then said that he didn’t think it a good idea to leave the hospital for couple of hours. I pleaded with him by exRunning on Empty 293

plaining how important it was for me to do that for Joanne and that I will sign any release he might wish me to – for I wanted to live as long as I was alive. He listened to my chest again and said; -“I can’t let you go since your right lung has some scratchy sound in it and you might come down with pneumonia”.

I became so disappointed and upset, so I snapped back: -“But I am going to leave with or without pneumonia, for I might drop dead of total heart failure, then what? Miss this chance of doing this special thing for my love is not acceptable!!!”

Well, he instructed the Senior Nurse to have me sign total release paper, etc. He proceeded to tell me afterwards of the Singaporean joke that says that no AID/HIV is in Singapore because Singaporeans cover both their mouths and their asses all the time!! Ha-ha! I told him, no problem I’ll help him cover his ass!

We went, and it was great in spite of my augmented fatigue that all the excitement had brought. I came back, called Dr. Chew’s clinic to report that I was back and alive. The next day Dr. Tom asked me about the birthday lunch and seemed really happy for me to have done it. He then proceeded to share with me other good restaurants I might want to visit. He said he will give his nurse the names and that I should call her after my discharge. Dr. Chew also came and, after examining me, released me to go home as my lungs were “OK” (amazing how fast they recovered. ha!).

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Joanne had to return to her office as she was in the midst of doing her annual senior staff evaluations. She checked out early morning 9th of April while our mutual friends Jim and Molly, who had come from Jakarta to be with us for a day, stayed behind to catch their afternoon flight back to Jakarta. I had started to pen down some of my feelings then. I was going through some real “rough waters” as my emotions swung from end to end, thrashing at my mind and soul. How was I to survive then or was I? I also wanted to dig ever so deep into my inner self in search of the me in me. I took up the three volumes written by Welch, Conversation with God and reread part of his first book which I loved. Many passages spoke to me then but I loved these two: “As long as you entertain the notion that there is something or someone else out there “doing it” to you, you disempowering yourself to do anything about it. Only when you say “I did this” can you find the power to change it.

“You have a right to your joy; children or no children; spouse or no spouse.

Seek it! Find it! And you will have a joyful family… And if they aren’t joyful and they get up & leave you, then release them with love to seek their joy.

I spent many hours alone yet not alone as I read, wrote to loved ones and jotted some notes about what I was going though then April 29, 01; 07:00 A.M. REGENT HOTEL

My wife, Joanne, has checked out this morning and should be at the airport waiting for her return flight to KatRunning on Empty 295

mandu, our home, our nest and our bed. My heart aches, not from the after effects of my open-heart surgery I had undergone only eleven days ago, but from the emptiness I feel. I want to cry, I want to shout but I want to live.

Live for us, for this moment, for the dance He has given me in the here and now is good. What took place almost three weeks ago, the start of my ‘new life’ and thus ‘new journey’ is a great feat in itself–what is more important has been the ‘coping’ with my inner fluctuating mood and the taking in of the overwhelming love that has come my way. Why this now?

Should I ask or should I just accept what IS and live with it?

I DO ACCEPT and WILL INDEED LIVE WITH IT. So here goes my first determined step on this my NEW PATH. Sunday 29/01; 09:15 A.M.

Talked to Joanne and felt O.K; took a shower and for the first time since surgery, I took a REAL look at my body. I have no hairs on my chest, neither arms nor legs but some still peak through from my back for they did not shave my back prior to my operation! I seem to have lost “body tone” and my skin is much whiter than it used to be, or looked to me! But the beauty of it is that I accepted it as ‘IT IS NOW’. I welcomed my long scars, my “Zipper scar” running down my chest all the way from the base of my throat through the end of my rib cage. I also accepted my left thigh’s long and jagged scar from where an artery was removed to be crafted unto my heart’s new circulatory system. I do ACCEPT me, the “new physical” me and my new “state of being”. This is not just hot air talk, or Running on Empty 296

BS. It is the REALITY of my being in the here and now.

April 30, 2001. Starbuck’s coffee shop, 10:30 A.M. I have been awake since 03:30 this morning. I felt lucky to have been able to sleep some five hours, as yesterday was indeed hellish for me! Joanne had gone and so did Jim and his wife; and I felt LOUZY – ALL ALONE and SCARED. Went to my room but could not stand the loneliness. I thought I would go down and ask for a room change or someone to keep me company by sleeping in my suite’s outer room! I did ask to see other suites, was shown three alternate suites but decided against a move as I felt that I needed to face my ‘trials’ head on.

I decided to go to the Good Shepherd Church where Joanne, Gwen and I had been two days before my admission (two Sundays earlier) The Church was full; I sought peace and found some but I did not relate much to the service as my focus centered on my stupid/real “fear” and my loneliness. Got back in time to catch Nina’s, my youngest sister, phone call which was sooooo GREAT; she talked, she reassured me of her love and support then told me she is scheduled, May 8, for a cardiac stress test too! Wow! Read some then struggled with my sleep but I did sleep 10:30 to 1:30 then again 1:30 – 3:30, took a Valium but did me no good so decided to get up and read. This time I picked up Dean Onish’s book, Love and Survival and was glad I did that. YES, YES my heart cried as I read about the value of love, spiritual strength and community outreach/ support in the healing of heart disease. I finally realized there and then, maybe at 05:00 A.M., that indeed I have been gifted Running on Empty 297

a New Life and that I have had sooo much love from my wife, my children and friends ALL OVER. How lucky I was to be ALIVE and if I were to drop dead now, I CERTAINLY can honestly say that I lived and loved fully over my 65+ years!

So why fear, why hold back, why not move on and heal and let things fall as they might? I thought of the inter-personal relationship I have had with my cardiologist and the cardiac surgeon and how changed has been my feelings towards them before and after the operation.

My room, there were many emails that the hotel had received, printed and sent to my room. The one I loved most was from Joanne who shared with me a terrific story; a story that spoke to my soul then. After reading it several times and after looking at the mirror in my room, I said “wow this is me now, can I experience more emptiness than I had been going through? No way!”

My ex wife, Laurie Zivetz sent me a very nice email too. She wrote: “David, Isn’t it interesting how the body is what pulls us but also can be the vehicle to enlightenment; because it is what grounds us? Vipassana meditation is about watching the sensations on the body—you; what is real in this very moment if you just watch what is going on, with your breath, you hands, the pressure of your legs on the ground. You also become aware that there’s this whole huge subtle world out there that is so easy to ignore when you’re caught up in the drama of your life. I’m dealing with my physical demons too right now, and I Running on Empty 298

find it very easy to go to the place of fear and trembling. TAKE CARE, xxxL”

I answered her: “Laurie dear, Yes, I am struggling with my demons and welcoming my angels. I seem at times unable to rise above neither my crazy physical nor emotional states. So I sink only to jerk myself up again and see myself in the mirror and tell the crazy one he is alive and has been given a new life, so what is the big deal? Yes, I am writing in my journal, sometimes honestly and sometimes recording only words… so I struggle but today I seem ok it will be great for Joanne to come… the day after. Today I go to Dr and also tomorrow both cardiologist and surgeon. So let’s see what happens.

You stay well for now and know that you are very special in my life. Past, present and future!

Love and peace; David,”

My very good friend and personal doctor, Dr. Madhu Ghimeri, wrote, “My dear David, “I got a bit embarrassed by your letter last night, firstly because it seriously reminded me of my tardiness and secondly because you give me so much credit that I feel I hardly deserve. What I did on your behalf with the US medical unit officer in Katmandu, was essentially perform the basic duty in medicine. In fact you got me a bit scared when you told me about the incident with the suitcase and I wanted you to have the tests as quickly as possible.

God was perhaps quietly minding our predicaments and straightened our paths without much ado. I believe that is where He is important and plays the role to the full effect. You are indeed very kind to me by the very way you feel and Joanne too; in speaking so favorable about me that sometimes I have Running on Empty 299

no other recourse but to fluster visibly. Thank you both so very much.

“I am so glad that everything went so smoothly there to everybody’s relief.

No matter what, before a surgery of that kind one cannot but be a little apprehensive about the event. First two days, it was difficult to get the news from your end and we kept reminding ourselves that no news must be good news.

We were all very relieved that it was just that. Another really caring and resolute person must be Joanne. In such adverse situation to keep such calm without an iota of frustration and to work constantly to prop you up emotionally must be an act of bravery with the right dose of level headedness. If Cynthia, my wife, does not do that to me when I am your age I will definitely envy you then. When I spoke to Joanne last I did take the liberty to remind her that she needed to take care of herself too. Hope, she is doing that. Good to know you are going to be together again in Singapore.

“About your surgery I am fully updated by the reports Joanne sent me. I know from her that Chris has the cassette as well but he has not shared that with me. Maybe, one fine morning soon I will lose my inhibition and ask him to show it to me too. But I know pretty much what they did to you. All for the good and went so well! It must be tiring for your now and the pain of surgery -- certainly takes time to resolve. Can be a slow process; at least feels that way to you. I know you would like to be here and all of us would but I also think it prudent to remain under close watch by your cardiologist there for the first six weeks; at the very least four. And, you must be on lots of pills. I am. It is so frustrating but then they are the ones to protect your new arteries and my stint. That is the good side.

With love, Hopefully sane (so far), Madhu Ghimire”

I decided one day to write to almost all of our friends who had Running on Empty 300

sent me a special note.

“Beloved very special one(s) “You have all been soooooooooo wonderful supportive to me and my beloved Joanne during my ‘NEW JOURNEY’. I can’t begin to tell you one and all how much your love, prayers and support have meant and continue to mean to me. Every day I sense new energies surging through my arteries and I know that in no time I will be back and kicking like mad. The beauty of it all is that all of this has reconfirmed and strengthened my conviction that life must be lived fully with love and that no one should NEVER NEVER abdicate her/his right to life and love. So live life fully in the here and NOW...

I will write to each one OF YOU individually as I get stronger but this is only to let you know how much you mean to me and how grateful I am to you for your love and support... Stay tuned for you will hear from me soooooooooon!

Love and peace//crazy David” May 03, 01 I wrote: Being alone, though knowing that others Really care for my life, yet still alone.

Sickness is a very lonely affair.

I live with myself, In myself.

Thoughts fly through Yet there is great emptiness.

I am very intellectually aware of my aging and dying process, Yet I don’t seem to believe it as real.

I truly hope to drop dead And not go through the fixing process That hospitals and doctors provide or recommend.

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I want to live fully now Am I? I guess I am For fully does not mean constant partying Or traveling But rather full awareness of each moment: Feeling Reaching out Touching And just being.

Neither conquering nor attaining Just being, living And happy to be alive.

Am reminded of what George Orwell in Animal Dreams (1945) said when he wrote: “We’re all scared to be too happy about what we’ve got, For fear someone will notice and take it away”.

Can’t help but ask: What is this thing we call life, My life?

It is really nothing more Than the combined reactions I create In Responses to stimuli Those are already all around me!

I must define that for myself, And the definition unfolds Throughout The moments I have Running on Empty 302

When I register in The “book of the universe” My reactions!

Yeah!

Six weeks after my operation, I returned home to Katmandu. My life slowed down some but did not stop. It took me a few weeks before I finally got back my strength and my zest for life and living. Joanne was very supportive during that period but her work continued to occupy most of her time and energies. We resumed our socializing and entertaining, some among friends while others were related to Joanne’s official matters. We began to take some weekend outings to our ‘usual’ resorts outside Katmandu Valley. I felt good but had to watch out for my cholesterol and thus my eating habits, especially cakes and creams.

June first of the same year, 2001, Jon had decided to take a break from his graduate studies at Berkley and come spend some time with his mom. Sion, my son, and his girl friend from college, had, two days earlier, arrived to spend two weeks with us and make a short trek around Pokhara. The very next morning, June second, I was awakened at five o’clock by my friend, Mrs. Thapa who sounded very agitated as she informed me that a palace massacre had taken place the night before. She said that the King and Queen were killed and so were other members of the Royal family. My mind reeled back to the time the King and Queen had visited a showing of USAID work in Nepal at the US Ambassador’s residence and had a picture taken with them then.

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Right to left: King Birendra, Queen Ashwaria and me at the US Ambassador’s Residence, Katmandu, April 2000

Later that morning, I learned from news reports that the Crown Prince was alleged to have cold-bloodedly killed his parents and siblings plus other members of the Royal family. A total of nine members were killed plus the Crown Prince who had taken a gun to his head and later died at the Military Hospital. Funerals were hastily conducted and the King’s brother was then crowned king.

The whole country went into national alert for fear that the Maoist insurgent might take advantage of the situation and attack Katmandu. A six to five o’clock night curfew was imposed on Katmandu city and its neighboring areas. Most Nepali males and some foreigners, me included, shaved their heads in total respect and mourning for the massacred King.

Movements were restricted and a week of national mourning Running on Empty 304

was declared. Joanne stayed away from her office some. She and her son Jon spent much time together, while I spent time with Sion and his girlfriend. It was a sad and tense time for the nation and for us.

When Jon and Sion left, we began to seriously search for a new house to move into. Joanne’s office had decided to relocate most of its official staff outside the city limits for fear of Maoist attacks on Americans. We found a newly built house near where I used to live. It was very beautiful house and since the owner was a close fired of mine, he allowed us to decorate the house as per our wishes.

We celebrated our first Thanksgiving and Christmas in our new home by having a garden party where many of our local and foreign friends attended. Then for Joanne’s birthday in April, I arranged a ‘black-tie’ dinner dance at our home. I asked my favorite hotel, The Soaltee, to cater the whole dinner.

I had set the menu including Joanne’s special birthday cake.

It was a great evening. Our friends were all excited and looked great in their formal dress. The food was perfect and beautifully served. I had also contacted Joanne’s family members and told them of my plans for her birthday and asked them to share with me some memories of their interactions with Joanne. I then asked individual invitees to read some of lines I got from Joanne’s family members. That came off really beautifully well as all of our invited guests did a fantastic job in reading their lines, as Joanne laughed at some of what was shared.

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Two years after my heart surgery, I woke up the day Joanne and I were to attend the US Embassy Marine Ball that night, and could not get out of bed. My right leg ‘froze’ and I couldn’t move. What was I to do? Joanne looked so disappointed while I felt guilty for ‘creating another medical problem for her/ us’! Stupid but true. I did end up getting up, putting on my black tie and going to the ball with the help of a walking cane. I felt bad for Joanne then as she had to take me home right after the Ambassador’s speech, as I was in excruciating pain. We decided then that my right knee had to be looked at and most likely I would need to have a total knee replacement. My Nepali orthopedic surgeon checked my knee and recommended total knee replacement,

I contacted my daughter and shared with her my leg problem. She checked out medical facilities in the New York area and found that the Hospital for Specialized Surgery had the best facilities for bone problems: knees, hips, shoulders and other similar problems. I corresponded with a surgeon who agreed to take my case if I were to get to New York early in February of that year, 2003. Was this to be another close call? I hoped not as I made plans to travel mid January and take with me Praladh, my faithful Nepali house manager (he had been to the States before and had stayed with my daughter and her family for six months).

The operation itself was very ok but the rehab was absolutely very painful. While in the pre operating room, I heard the saw going on and almost fainted. When asked if I wanted Running on Empty 306

to be totally or partially sedated in order to observe the procedure, my immediate reply was “total’ sedation!.

I woke up at the recovery room and was there one night before being wheeled up to my room. It was a nice double occupancy room,and my bed was by the window that over looked into the East River that ran through Manhattan. That was nice and my roommate was a young husband who had broken his back. He was good company whenever he was awake. My hospitalization lasted one week and then I was transferred to the rehab center near my daughter’s home in New Jersey.

The rehab was very painful but it got me through.

Praladh used to accompany me and walk behind me wearing his Nepali cap. Several patients and therapists asked me who he was and why was he following me all the time. I answered them that he was a retired Nepali Colonel and that he was my body guard plus future ‘trainer’ who needed to learn how the therapist was treating me and do the same once we got back to Nepal. He was a great companion and helper. I thought then how wonderful it would have been had he been with me in Singapore during my post heart bypass surgery, but he was not. He used to massage my leg every evening and made sure that I did my exercises every morning. He was also great when we took, after three weeks, the flight back to Katmandu. He also arranged for a Nepali rehab doctor to come to our home and help me do some more exercises to speed up the healing process. You see, Praladh having been with me for over twenty years as house helper and then house manager, was really Running on Empty 307

more of a friend and ‘family’ than just a hired house manager.

The whole experience with my knee replacement was, when compared to my heart operation two years earlier, very minor. I never felt it to be life threatening and now as I continue to use it daily in my gym exercises, I say it was ‘a piece of cake’, though I would not want to have it repeated! That was why I did all I needed to do but made sure that I took the needed precautions to keep my replaced knee healthy and ‘happy’!

In the spring of 2003, Joanne decided to retire, for which I was thrilled. We planned to travel for few months in Europe then spend three months at her California cottage in the red woods near Santa Cruse. Our long term plans were to return to Nepal, move into my hill top house and spend the rest of our lives traveling, doing some short term consultancies and moving about with Nepal being our permanent base.

While in Ireland visiting some of her friends and family, she got an offer to be director of the USAID office in Tashkent Uzbekistan. At first I did not think that Uzbekistan would be a proper place for us as it was a Muslim country and the spoken language was Russian, being an ex Soviet Union country. But I felt that Joanne wanted the position very much. So I changed my mind about going to Uzbekistan. As soon as I told her I would go with her if offered the position, Joanne immediately informed the Central Asia/USAID Washington Office that she would accept the position, if offered. She did a phone interview while on our way back to Dublin. The very next day, she was informed that she got the job and should report to Tashkent ASAP. She agreed to report the first of September Running on Empty 308

We landed in Tashkent first of September 2003. We were met at the airport by USAID officials and whisked to the house already chosen for us. During our first couple of months, I felt alone as the people seemed ‘very cold, distant and non communicative’. I took over management of the house, transferring the house into a home by buying curtains, carpets, dishes and the like. We entertained newly formed ‘friends’ and contacts. We traveled to Uzbekistan’s fabled Silk Road cities of Samarkand, Bukhara and Keiva. We joined a health club where Joanne swam before going to work at their indoor heated swimming pool while I did my thing at the gym and met new people; Turkai the Turkish owner of Effendi Restaurant, Hakim who worked for the Ministry of foreign affairs and later became Ambassador to Israel, Andrea and Lily, the Uzbek–Russian young couple who later provided me with the inspiration for my first attempt at writing a ‘love story’. It did not take me long to re-orient my thinking and my reactions to Tashkent and the Uzbeks.

I found the Uzbek young women absolutely stunning; tall, well built and dressed to kill. How did they afford such cloths on their reported meager salaries? Our cook was an exteacher and tour operator, while our hired car driver-owner was a civil engineer as well as ex-officer who served two years in the Kazak based Russian atomic missile silos base. He also had headed the government department of fisheries. His wife was the travel and seminar organizer officer at the World Bank offices in Tashkent. She was his second wife and he her second Running on Empty 309

husband. They each had a child from their previous marriages, she a son and he a daughter.

Ashram, our car owner driver, became my guide and trusted friend. He spoke some English, enough to get us connected and functional. I wanted to set-up office at home but I couldn’t see myself cooped up at home day in and day out. I needed change and people. Working with our cook Tatiana in setting up meals turned out to be a great challenge, especially when I had to put up with Joanne’s constant grumbling about her cooking. I humored our cook and calmed Joanne as I continued to run the household, the shopping and household expenses, to which I was a regular contributor.

Three months into our year in Tashkent, I decided to try my hand at writing a love story. I started writing at the office I set up at home then at the office I set up in a furnished room with a bath on the seventeenth floor of Tashkent oldest hotel, ‘Uzbekistan’. Since it was mainly a government owned hotel that needed significant upgrading if it were to compete with the Sheraton or Intercom five star hotels, they decided to convert the top floors into business offices. I took one with a North facing balcony that opened to the snow glad slopes of Uzbekistan’s ‘mountains’. I made it a point to go to my office every morning after spending couple of hours at the gym.

The hotel was centrally located and just across the street was a main public garden and ‘Broadway’, the street market that was lined with art effects and artists pedaling their copy paintings and Old Russian Army medals. It was very colorful and Running on Empty 310

just next to a Turkish restaurant plus supermarket. Joanne’s office was but one block south of the restaurant. We used to meet there for a quick lunch several times a month and went to other restaurants whenever Joanne had more time to spare.

We used to do that also in Katmandu after we married and she kept her office position while I rented a whole floor in a new building, also a block or so from her office. While in Katmandu I continued to do some consultancy for the British Aid program as well as UN’s family planning regional program. In Tashkent, although I did a couple of consultancies, one with the World Bank that led to my meeting Victor, and the other with the UN Family Planning Program that led to my meeting of Nodima and later Arslan, I spent most of my time writing my ‘Novel’.

I was working as a consultant for the UN offices when her friends from California decided to visit us for ten days. I was very stressed with the assignment as it had a very tight schedule. I did all of the planning for her friends’ visit as I knew they were dear friends of her whom I had briefly met when in Berkley after our wedding visit to her son’s home.

After the departure of her friends, I had gotten home before she did and was having a gin and tonic in our garden when she walked in. She seemed uptight so I asked her if she had a rough day at her office. She did not answer that but proceeded to tell me that I was not supportive while her friends were with visiting that I did not check on the availability of soap nor toilet paper but had her do all the work plus enterRunning on Empty 311

taining, even after a grueling day at the office. She accused me of treating her like her ex-husband.

-“You told me that he abuse you Joanne.

Did I ever abuse you?” I asked.

-“Well, you need someone to look after you all the time. You need a Jewish wife not me”, she answered.

-“So what are you saying?” I asked.

-“I want a divorce”, she answered.

-“For the reasons you gave now? Bull shit! You are not my prisoner nor do I own you. You can always leave me but you have to tell me the true reason,” I said.

-“You are always using women to serve you”, she replied -“WOW, Joanne; who served all of your fucking needs these past four years; both personal and professional? And you say I always need women to serve me? As you know, I am an economist and not a book keeper, so I don’t keep records of what I did for you or what you did for me. Please let us not argue like this. Face the realities and tell me what you want and why. I don’t want us to divorce. If you do, you can, but again I repeat: you have to tell me the true reasons for your wanting to throw away all of the wonderful things we have going for us, and all the things we shared”, I said.

She seemed bent on getting a divorce, even though deep down within me, I never believed it, given the depth of our love and commitment to each other. My God, what happened to all of the support I had given her, with so much love, over the four years of our marriage? Was it really that, or was Running on Empty 312

it what I surmised to be both her son and her fear that I might dig into her secreted ‘wealth’? To have a divorce, she was entitled to as long as she was honest and straight about the reasons for wanting it. I felt that she was not honest as she continued to tell me, even after I signed all of the divorce papers with no questions asked, that she was ‘processing it’. Now she was processing it and not before she decided to throw what I and many others saw as a very loving relationship? I sought closure on the issue by repeatedly asking her to tell me her reasons for leaving me, but more importantly, the way she did it! After the passage of almost a decade after our divorced, I wonder where she is and why no one of her family had written, even when they used to tell me how happy they were I was part of their family, and that I ‘had made their mother so happy these past years!’. Oh yes, they didn’t and yes she had never written or explained. So, I let go and pray for her and her loved ones daily!

Joanne was the only woman who, by her own choice, left me. She wanted the divorce not because she had fallen in love with another man, I think, or because of basic differences between us. If we had any major differences, I firmly believe we could have worked them out. I certainly would have compromised, even in dealing with her fears of sharing her assets with me; but if it came down to ‘choosing’ between me and her son, then forget it! He came first and there was no arguing about that. The love between mother and her one and only son was too strong and at some levels hard for me to understand. I believed that she would NOT let him go for me, even Running on Empty 313

if hell were to freeze over. Then on second thought, did I not think that my own mother’s love for my older brother Ezra was somewhat similar, though there was no question of my mother divorcing my father for that?

One day, when I returned to Katmandu after Joanne and I divorced, I had lunch with my best friend Bhek, at our favorite Japanese restaurant. We talked about the political situation in Nepal when, all of a sudden, he turned to me and said: -“David, how did Joanne leave you and why? You both seemed so much in love and so well matched! What happened man?

Was it real or all a facade or fake?”

-“Wow ‘brother’, here we are again talking about my divorce, this time not to Laurie but now to Joanne! It is also funny that you asked if Joanne and I faked our love affair. One of my sisters and her husband, plus other good friends, felt that it was all ‘put on’, not real. It couldn’t be that good, they said; We were living and acting like teen agers who were experiencing their first love. To me there was NOTHING fake about it. I did love her with all my heart and did feel she honestly reciprocated that. We used to write each other whenever we were apart. Her constant use of adoring words and devoted love were so real.

Sure I loved her and, at some level, still do. As to the reasons she left me, she never told me. It all started when she told me, about two months before we left Tashkent and after she had returned from her trip to the US where she had some lip surgery to remove a cancerous spot, that I was not supportive during the weeklong visit of her friends. She also said that I treated Running on Empty 314

her like her ex-husband, and that she was not going to accept that. You see Bhek; she had shared with me some of her life with her ex-husband. I asked her if I did not do all I could to support her emotionally, physically and professionally during her stressful days at her work in Tashkent but more so in Nepal? No answer, as she seemed bent, based on her subsequent actions, to go ahead with a divorce, not even a separation or the need to seek marriage counseling. I guess what Amos Oz, an Israeli writer when writing his memoirs, Love and Darkens, wrote that his mother had told him.

“There are lots of women who are attracted to tyrannical men, like moths to a flame, and there are some women who do not need a hero or even a stormy lover but a friend. Just remember that when you grow up steer clear of tyrant lovers, and try to locate the ones who are looking for a friend, not because they feel empty themselves but because they enjoy making you full too.

And remember that friendship between a woman and a man is something much more precious and rare than love: love actually is something quite gross and even clumsy compared to friendship. Friendship includes a measure of sensitivity, attentiveness, generosity, and a finely tuned sense of moderation”.

Joanne to me was in some ways a tyrant stormy lover but also a friend,” I said.

-“Did you find Joanne to be a true friend?” he asked.

-“I really thought so, but now I must admit that I don’t know. I seemed to be more there for her than she was for me; but who really knows the inner thoughts or heart of a woman? I sure Running on Empty 315

don’t brother”, I answered.

-“So tell me what you meant when you said that she ‘massacred’ your wedding at the San Francisco airport?” he asked.

I proceeded to share with him the whole episode of the way she had her lawyer send a representative to the airport to serve me with divorce papers the moment we landed in San Francisco, October 01, 2004. I shared my shitty feelings then and her subsequent sending me to a hotel and not taking me to her mom’s house as planned. When I called her mother from the hotel to tell her of what had happened, plus what Joanne’s eldest daughter told me about Joanne and her son’s ‘special’ relationship, she informed me that Jon, the son, was already at her home waiting for his mother’s arrival.

-“So what did you do then?” asked Bhek.

-“What do you want me to do? I collected my wits, called my son in law and told him briefly what had happened and asked him to get me a ticket to Newark for next day’s first flight, as I was too washed out to take a six hours flight then. He called back and said he got me a first class ticket for an early morning direct flight. I called Joanne then and told her of the cost and asked her if she could come meet me for a cup of coffee to help us part as friends, not like this. She said she couldn’t as she was busy preparing for the birthday of her grandson. I hung up and wrote her a brief note wishing her well, and enclosed all of her gifts I had on me then: a wedding ring, the second one, and a name bracelet. I gave the note to her son in law who had come back to have dinner with me. He told me that Jon was Running on Empty 316

there and that he too could not understand why she did it that way. That evening I took a couple of sleeping pills and tried to sleep but to no avail, what with the jet lag and the mental and physical experiences I had gone through that day. I did not open the envelope the lawyer rep had given me then, but when I did a week later at my daughter’s house, I noticed it was a legal divorce petition Joanne had signed a month earlier when we were still in Tashkent , but never told me about it! She had hired a lawyer and I was to answer the petition within a certain number of days or face some legal action, I forgot what exactly that was” I concluded.

-“Did she ever tell you why she did it that way?” asked Bhek.

-“No, she did not. She only told me that she will tell me after she “finished processing it”! No wonder Amos Oz’ father told him that one can never understand the heart or mind of a woman. Did I ever understand hers? I thought I had touched the surface and that was good, but deep into her heart? Never.

Was she just going through a charade I began then to think, as more of my family and friends thought so?” I replied.

-“Have you heard from her since then? And did you get over it fully now?” continued Bhek.

-“Yes, I did hear from her after the divorce degree was issued by the court. She wrote after the Tsunami hit Phuket Island. I did get over it, for sure, but I still wonder as to why she treated me that way then. She could have done it in a more civilized way. I also told her I will be her friend in need and that I did forgive. That was the last I heard from her about us. I still do Running on Empty 317

defend her to my friends and family as I DID believe, from the bottom of my heart, that she did love me, but her loyalty to her son and his needs were stronger than that. She gave, or rather, sacrificed, our love for her strong felt need to support her son. Whether I am right or wrong, I will never know nor am I interested in pressing for her explanations. She has to live with herself and eventually answer to a Higher Authority than me, to My God. I do believe in that, so all is well with me now�

I answered.

All of my friends who heard of what had happened between Joanne and I were shocked, especially about the way she did it.

I had sent them a brief note, especially to my beloved friends in Nepal, and got some wonderful supportive responses.

The response I loved most was from my very special friend, my Nepali doctor, Madhu. “Brother David, “It Is painful, and very. I can feel it in the core of your heart and I know how much love emanated from it and traveled her way. All of us who have been fortunate to share your love know its simple purity, the kind that is so rare these days. I am sorry for Joanne that she chose to ignore the depth in that simplicity. It is even now hard for me to imagine that she was not looking for a deep foundation, the kind that you were able to share with her in the relationship she herself chose to build. It is a sad, sad situation; I am simply shocked and have not shared this yet with Cynthia. I am going to call her tomorrow morning.

Only cookies crumble; the solid bread on which the whole world lives and learns to depend does not! Brother David that is what you are; the solid Running on Empty 318

bread, made of pure wheat, husk and all, no less. You are and always will be an inspiration for the likes of me. I intend to remain alive and see you in January. That is for sure. Peace be with you.

Wishing ever more to share peace and love with you, yours ever,� (signed).

Others had also written or shared similar feelings. All of whom seemed disappointed as they all thought I had finally found my true love. Well, for me, I really believed and continue to believe that she loved me alright. I must confess now, as I had been searching my heart and going over what and how things transpired or conspired against Joanne and me, that during her announcement that she wanted a divorce because I was not supportive and also that I needed a woman in my life to always take care of me, she apparently did not want to be that woman then. Fair enough, no? On the former accusation, I say she was dead wrong. I did care for her and did cater to her every need, almost ninety nine percent of the time. I used to get annoyed, however, when she used to call my name and ask me to either get her something or other without saying please or thank you. I used to call her hand on that but that was never a big issue for me. On the second point that I always seemed to need a woman to take care of me, I admit that she was over seventy five percent correct as my sisters took care of the boys’ needs at home while I was growing up, and then my wives did some also, especially Ronalie and Rapee. When married and living in foreign lands, we also had several house-help who did most of the house works while I did most of the shopping.

After our divorce, I continued to travel to Tashkent on my way in and out of Thailand or Nepal. My connection with Running on Empty 319

Arslan, I believe, was ‘fated’. It was during one of our investigations of Uzbek private research organizations that my Uzbek colleague and I were doing for the UN office, that i met him.

Arslan owned and ran a social science research center.

-“My name is Arslan. Welcome to our center”, were his first spoken words.

-“My name is David but commonly called crazy David”, I said.

-“Crazy David; very interesting, but why crazy?” he asked -“It’s a long story which I’ll be happy to share with you some evening over a good meal and some vodka”, I responded.

-“That sounds good. Now tell me how I can help you?” he asked.

My first impression of Arslan was very positive. He was short, chubby, bearded but with a strong positive energy about him. His face spoke of a rich background and varied experiences. His eyes were alive and his smile very infectious. ‘I fell in love with him at first site’ as I reached out to give him a hug when we said our goodbyes after our discussion. He reciprocated and from that day on we became very close as I really felt and treated him as a brother. His command of English was great and so no need for interpreter. When my associate and I proceeded to briefly explain our UN assignment and our need to recommend a research center that could be retained by the UN for updating the laws and regulations issued by the various Uzbek Government offices which might impact various aspects of population change phenomena, Arslan was interested and gave us his ok for recommending his center.

Sometime later, I met Arslan alone to share an idea I had Running on Empty 320

been thinking through for bringing the Uzbek Government and the private sector closer in moving the national economy forward. He showed great interest in the idea and said that if I promoted it and got some funding from the World Bank Tashkent Office, he would join hands. That I did and had the assignment contracted between Arslan’s center and the World Bank Office. Since the assignment required frequent meetings, I got closer to him and later met his lovely wife, two beautiful daughters and son. I was invited to their home on several occasions. We also went out for dinner and some dancing at restaurants and night spots around Tashkent. I truly loved being around him and his family and also Nodira, my professor associate who had teamed up with me in doing the UN short term consultancy in 2003

Arslan, and Nodira celebrating Nodira’s Birthday; Tashkent, Uzbekistan 2004

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My Nepal-based Professional Life’s Journeys Personal Note: Although I worked and lived in over twenty-four countries in four continents, the major and longest part of my professional life was in Napal.

I first went there in 1963 with my Ronalie and our baby Gwen for a two years assignment which become four years . I returned to Napal in 1980 and remained there to 2003 .

During my total twenty – seven years in Napal , I had many ups and downs, personally and professionally . Many of my personal – emotional experiences included in my marital chapters.

Now in what follows , I share the high lights of my personal life within the context of my professional life after my return to Napal in 1980 .

Three months after Ronalie’s death, I was asked by US AID to join a design team for the conservation and development of Nepal’s water shed management areas. I took with me some of Ronalie’s ashes to spread over Katmandu’s holly Bagmati River. Laurie had accompanied me then. The design work was not too taxing and as such being in Nepal again was very exciting and sad; exciting to reconnect with my old friends but sad because of my past ‘life’ with Ronalie and the aftermath of our four years in Katmandu.

One day, as I was visiting with my good friend Sainju, he asked me if I would consider returning to Nepal as an advisor to their newly formed Population Commission. I said I will do that if both Laurie and Thad would agree to the move.

When I asked them, they did agree and so Laurie and I ended up accepting the offer made by USAID/Nepal to have me join Running on Empty 322

them as an Advisor to Nepal’s Population Commission under the office of the Prime Minister, who also chaired the National Planning Commission.

The Population Commission’s mandate was to integrate opulation change phenomena into the various sectors of the national planning efforts. A national family planning program was already underway at the Ministry of Health. Periodic clashes surfaced as they both fought for territorial control. I was to assist in bridging the divide between the two. I did succeed in doing that but only to a limit. The Commission director genuinely wanted to support the national program but for reasons I could never understand, the two directors couldn’t get their collective act together. Thus I felt that our efforts were not totally wasted but marginalized.

I had covered most of the work related experiences then when dealing with my return to Nepal with Laurie, marriage and subsequent divorce. That period , 1980-84,had some good professional moments, but it was very heavily laden with personal and emotional issues. Thus not much “meaningful” professional experiences were worthy of lengthy reporting

In 1984, my work was ‘going nowhere’. So I decided to leave the development field and move into private sector.

I was convinced then that the Government could not create jobs and wealth except the employment they provided within the service sector, such as health and education and national security. At the same time, the private sector seemed unable to do much as they were rather small and ‘looked down’ at. No Running on Empty 323

wonder then that many of my friends were surprised to see me move away from government and team up with the young Marwari businessman, Binod Chaudhary.

It was also during Laurie’s birthing period in Tokyo that I was introduced to soymilk drink. After tasting it and reading about its nutritional value, I felt that it was very much needed for Nepal. I then devoted a great deal of my energies on understanding the manufacturing process and the values of putting up a soymilk industry in Nepal. That did eventually happen after I left my positions at RTI, UNC and Nepal’s Population Commission.

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Nepal: (1984-1987) As I brooded over my fate and my days after my di vorce with Laurie and my agreeing to have her raise Sion, my family in Israel kept asking me to leave Nepal and join them or return to America where my children were.

I had often told my friends and well wishers, “Yes, I will stay in Nepal until they either kick me out or…!’ Why such strong commitments when in reality I never felt the same towards my original people, the Jews and Israel; the original country of my father, Iraq; my birth place Beirut; nor my adopted country, America? Although I did not dig into my inner soul in search for the answers, I reflected at some of the socio-economic political environmental forces that presented, ever so subtly and at times vividly, the “pulls and the pushes” of my commitment to Nepal. I drew on more of the bigger picture and frustrations that both kept me and caused me to spend that big part of my life, yes a total of twenty seven years, in Nepal!

Only on two occasions I publicly stated the reasons that moved me in the direction that I had taken: One was during the ill-fated Young Presidents’ Organization meetings of September 12–16, 1986; and the second was when I participated in the Jesuits’ Godavri Alumni Association forum on “Elements of an industrial policy.” For the first, Binod and I had worked for several months with my friend Jon Green, of Pittsburg Pennsylvania and his American Young President Organization, to ignite a dialogue that might lead some of the Running on Empty 325

American Young Presidents to team up with Nepali businesses in creating joint ventures in Nepal. Jon did assemble a small group of entrepreneurs and traveled with them to Katmandu. It was a big affair and Binod played it to the ‘hilts’ for he thought then that it would definitely put him in the limelight of business development in Nepal. I was asked to share my thoughts and experiences with the group. I decided to write down my whole statement, but when it came to presenting it, as usual for me, I ignored my written text completely, became too emotional and publicly broke down crying when relating Ronalie’s death and my bringing some of her ashes to Nepal!

The reaction of all attendees to my speech was very negative, and I felt that I ‘blew it’! The second time was where, I only put down some notes while emphasizing that Nepal was an ‘indescribable phenomenon’. Yes, several books had been published on Nepal’s geography, ethnography, history, politics and development. Nepali ‘scholarly’ societies had been created from amongst professors and X-US Peace Corps and foreign donor agencies operating in Nepal. For me the facts were real and well taken, but the pull of a need, once felt and really experienced, became a tangled phenomenon of emotions that tugged at my inner being and soul. The roots of many of the emotional strings that have tugged at me, and more recently seemed to tie me up, were many. I dealt, directly and indirectly, with the need to belong as a strong motivating force in my life. The people of Nepal seemed to have accepted me, though never as one of their very own, but as a friend who cared. That Running on Empty 326

was important. Furthermore, the fact that Ronalie’s real death problems were real because, while death’s processes were ever with us, hers started with physically tractable physiological set of changes in her kidney system that happened during our four years in Nepal, at a time when the country was just beginning to literally want socio-economxic change. Even though not endemically originating in Nepal, for it might have been anywhere else, it did start with her access to huge quantities of Aspirin, Phenacitine, and Codeine, or APC, that gave her temporary relief from her persistent paratyphoid symptoms, “pepped” her up a bit as she continually struggled to cope with the tremendous emotional demands of the ever present poverty and unhygienic living conditions; conditions that produced in her constant headaches!

In my hunt for the personal and emotional reasons for my decision to spend the balance of my life in Nepal, I explored the possibility of pursuing a spiritual path through worldly abdication and material disentanglement. But that I did not do because, as the palmist astrologer put it to me when he read my palms during the Laurie/Sion separation period, my spiritual being was intertwined with the reality of my world and the problems of people, irrespective of a well defined geographic space that others called home. My ‘family’ thus included people from all over the world; people I so easily relate to and identify with while spiritually I lived within the fabric woven by the strands of all spiritual teachings and not a specific dogma. Although I believed and felt that I belonged Running on Empty 327

there and everywhere, somehow Nepal’s hold on me was too strong for me to let go. Was I shackled or was I fated to remain put until such time that I was either ‘forced’ or ‘led’ to leave? I didn’t try to answer that question, but just stayed and waited for something to happen. And happen, it did! So I left my cushioned life with RTI and my work as advisor to Nepal’s government, and embarked on my new life’s or lives’ journey in Nepal’s business world.

My transition from the advisory and RTI roles to the business world of Nepal’s private sector had its origins with my meeting Sheikh Karami of Dubai. I met the Sheikh in Dar El Salaam, Tanzania when I was on a special assignment with RTI. We hit it off then and I asked him to come visit me in Katmandu if he wanted to do any investing in Nepal. He did come and I did introduce him to some of the business leaders I knew then. After his return to Dubai, we stayed in contact as I continued to search for potential businesses for him. I was told one day that the Prime Minister, who had been my friend ever since my first incarnation in Nepal, had a brother working with the business community and that he might be a good source for finding ‘new business opportunities’ for my friend in Dubai. I met the brother who in turn took me to meet a young ‘dynamic’ business man. I met Binod at his offices at his National Panasonic radio assembly line.

I was very impressed by the energy and intelligence that Binod projected. Though I found him to be very interesting, his business proposal was not. But when I left his offices, I Running on Empty 328

said that if I were to start a business in Nepal, I would want to do it with a person like Binod. When I shared the same with a close Nepali friend, he was surprised and skeptical about my selecting a Marwari and not a ‘genuine’ Nepali. My only response then was that I found Binod to be very intelligent and aggressive and that his being a Marwari maybe a good one as he too might be ‘carrying a chip on his shoulder’, as we Jews might have been, and in so doing work doubly hard in order to succeed and prove ‘our worth’. He did not accept that argument but only wished me well and he hoped that he would be proven wrong.

I finally took the plunge, and agreed to join hands with Binod in creating new businesses while helping ‘energize’ the private sector of Nepal. I had also known his dad from my 1963 period in Nepal when Ronalie and I bought from him furniture material to cover our Ford Foundation provided furniture.

My involvements followed two paths simultaneously: one, I wanted to see the soymilk business come to life in Nepal after what I had seen and felt when Laurie first introduced me to soymilk during the birthing period of our son, Sion.

I wanted to create the soymilk industry for both the farmers and the consumers: the farmers by creating a strong commercial demand for soybean, thus strengthening the establishment of a good cash crop that is so nutritionally beneficial for the undernourished soils of villages; the consumers by giving them a healthy and nutritious alternative to the pathetic short Running on Empty 329

supply of cow milk and the emerging aggressive marketing of carbonated soft drinks like Coke and Pepsi; and two, a management industrial promotion consultancy service industry, INTERFACE, through which more joint ventures could come to Nepal as improved management systems begin to take hold within both the public and private sectors. I felt that while the soy milk industry was evolving, slowly as it would surely be, I would use INTERFACE to generate the short term cash flow I would need to keep going while beginning to see how I can bring some reform to the way private sector and government conducted their businesses in Nepal. The latter became more of an emotional basis for an all-out crusade that ended costing me greatly; financially and emotionally! But let me not run ahead of myself here, ok?

To work within the private sector in Nepal required that a licensed joint venture industry be established. I needed to be a partner promoter and not an advisor. That required finding the proper mix of businesses and partner. The soy milk industry was too big for me to handle alone with my accumulated resources as an advisor, while raising investors to support such a venture was too lengthy and time consuming. I opted for channeling my energies first towards INTERFACE.

I knew that I was very intelligent, good talker/convincer/salesman, and very well respected within the Nepali decision making community. I moved well among politicians in high places, as well as the lowest of the low in the society at large. I knew the research-cum-consultancy trade well, as I Running on Empty 330

knew how to write proposals, organize people to do work, and above all some well placed individuals among donor agencies.

Creating INTERFACE as the link between the outside world and the inner needs of Nepal’s industrial/private sector developments, as I saw them, was but a logical step for me to pursue.

To see INTERFACE come to life, I needed a strong partner; a partner who knew the business world in Nepal; a partner who had the resources to match mine; a partner who had an infrastructure that could be used to mobilize efforts in support of creating an office, a mailing point, and support staff to run about getting things and ideas chased through the governments’ corridors. In addition to all of the logistical and material pre-requisites, I needed a partner who had intelligence, courage and a good dose of commitment to private sector development of Nepal. My partner became Binod, the managing director of one of the expanding industrial and trading houses of Nepal. Binod and his brothers fit the bill very well. I approached him with the idea and he readily accepted, and so did my long journey with Binod and Nepal’s business world begin.

Binod was the oldest of a three-son business man’s Marwari family, second generation Nepal born. The Marwari were astute business people who left their birthplace, Marwar in Rajasthan, India and settled in parts of Africa and also Nepal. They created businesses in the southern parts of Nepal, bordering India to the South. The father, Lunkaran ChaudRunning on Empty 331

hary, was a mild man but apparently extremely successful in building an empire from a very lowly start as a cloth peddler who sold his merchandise by calling from house to house with special saris for the wealthy ruling families’ ladies. He then moved to the furniture and furnishing business as a partner in the flooring and furniture store that I used to shop at during my 1963-67 stint with the Ford Foundation. I remembered him well as the calm faced gentleman from India with distinct pigmented discolorations in his face and hands. He always seemed ready to smile and extend a helping hand in getting that which was not readily available in Katmandu!

Binod’s younger brothers were also part of the family business, but focused more on trade or social services. The youngest handled trading while the second was into the social services sector as he ran a monthly magazine plus an advertising and promotional company. Binod was the wheeler-dealer among them. His world was very complicated as he moved through top level ‘bought’ contacts. He ran the whole complex of industries and trading concerns while forging new ones, with his father acting as his final council as well as scape goat.

The father, though retired, used to spend his mornings at the youngest and second sons’ offices, and the latter part of the afternoon at Binod’s new offices. The father had a constant companion in the person of a retired Nepali government official.

They were inseparable as they moved from one office or one “social” call to another, while ending their day at Nepal’s holiest Hindu temple. The father made it a habit to stop at my top Running on Empty 332

floor offices for a chat and get some English practice. He often talked of his need to have me teach his three sons, but more so his second son about business. Since I wanted to learn as much as possible about the Marwari community of Nepal, I probed with the father about his past. I also quizzed Binod about his heritage as we strategize about getting businesses for INTERFACE, while moving the private sector from its low social standing to a more respectable level. The latter was extremely important for me as I breezed through making expenditure/ investment decisions by drawing on my cash and capital reserves that Ronalie and I had accumulated over our twenty years of work. As I spent, Binod showed some concern but not much protestation. He was not accustomed to being in a business that did not give him either immediate return or some definite foreseeable returns. We had a good start at INTERFACE, and had a very impressive set-up. Money did not seem to be a hindrance to me in my demands to get good and qualified staff and a good data base. Binod appeared to support me, but raised questions that required me to regularly justify. Such questioning occurred during our bi-monthly board meetings; a three member Board was formed with Binod as the Chairman, I, Managing Director, and Binod’s business comptroller as Secretary/Treasurer.

Business did not come my way easy! I wrote proposals like they were going out of style. I spent hours calling on people and starting work ups on ideas that ranged from food production to restaurant retailing; health delivery services to Running on Empty 333

inter-office mail delivery courier services. In addition, I never lost track of my drive to get more respectability for the private sector through hosting of forums while speaking at others. I lobbied for Binod’s causes, which seemed very natural since; after all, we were partners in both business and our professed commitment to Nepal’s development efforts. My working hours were long and extremely energizing as I apparently felt that I could take on Nepal’s development needs single handedly!

Binod and I were the perfect ‘odd couple’ for Nepal!

Nobody confronted me head on with my decision ‘to go to bed’ with the Choudharies, except one good friend. But many hinted at the oddity of our partnership as they kept asking me: “How come you joined the Choudharies?”, and “How were things moving in the business world?” Though I continued to receive hospitable hearings for my causes or my proposals from my Nepali Government friends, only minor work was given to Interface, and fewer invitations to formal social or professional functions came my way. The donor community seemed to have closed its doors to me. But, I never really seriously entertained the notion of splitting from Binod. After all, even though I fully realized that my world and his were so completely different, if not diametrically opposed, wasn’t I there to bring about social consciousness and improved practices in business as I pushed for reforms within the business community? And weren’t such reforms to start out through changes within the Choudhary Group? Change did not take Running on Empty 334

place that fast, but at times though, I seemed impatient but stuck it out!

What apparently was so obvious to all of my close friends did indeed happen. Binod and I could not stay together no matter how much I was willing to accommodate. his ‘orientation’. The bottom line for Binod was the balance sheet and returns on his money. My input into his organization, his world or even his social standing had little value, if any, as Binod continued to see increasing outlays with very insignificant returns. When I insisted on being remunerated for my input by charging INTERFACE a minimal salary per month, Binod wanted out, and out he did go!

I finally decided to buy Binod’s share by paying him all that he had invested in INTERFACE, while accepting to sell my minimal shares in Binod’s noodles industry; shares I had acquired by giving Binod prime land from Interface’s total land holdings at Saibu, at cost plus ten percent interest on capital per year! Binod was most willing to pay that price and take the land while ending my involvement in that lucrative industry!

The cost of my partnership was not only monetary. I gave all that I had, including a great portion of the goodwill and trust I had amassed over the years through hard work, sweat and blood! I wanted out. I was very disappointed in that whole affair and so wanted to cut it as fast and as clean as I could. But, then could I really do that? Will I ever be able to get on my feet financially to continue the support of my children’s Running on Empty 335

education, Sion’s child support and my expensive life style?

Will I ever be able to convince my friends that I did not totally sell out to the Choudharies?

NEPAL: 1987-1991

I did pull out and regroup through the acquisition of new partners for Interface in the persons of the Chairman of a leading distillery and a close personal friend. New offices were rented and Industrial Development Corporation had by then approved our Indreni Soymilk project for fifty percent of the fixed costs for a long term financing through the syndication of the loan with two other commercial banks. April 15, 1987 was set as the ‘D-Day’ for Indreni’s product market introduction. All machineries plus technical support was contracted with Alfa Laval of Sweden. An engineer from Denmark was to lead the installation of the product line and run as he trained my Nepali staff and factory hands.

The machineries were off-loaded at Calcutta’s seaport and trans-shipped to Indreni’s factory site, at the outskirts of Katmandu, over land. The factory building was ready and all was set for expeditious installation of the production line.

Fresh Soybean was procured and stored, water reservoir was readied, and electric lines installed. The machines came in wooden crates and were offloaded at the factory site with no problem. Only one large crate containing the packaging machine arrived damaged. Alfa Laval engineers from Singapore were dispatched to repair the damaged machine. They worked Running on Empty 336

and replaced damaged parts but could not realign the main part that housed the most critical part of the unit, the vacuum component part. That meant that we would not be able to deliver a long shelf life product, the heart of our industry. Other engineers were called in from France and Denmark but none could straighten the alignment of the unit. We needed a replacement.

The replacement of the packaging unit was to come from France where the original unit was procured by Alfa Laval. The whole process took a year and as such we couldn’t sustain the losses incurred from getting the industry readied for production. These costs included banks interests plus staff salaries as all the needed staff were hired, trained and kept on the payroll while we waited for the packing machine replacement. As we had to face and deal with the delays and mounting costs, other problems began to surface. Tried as hard as we did to save the collapse of the industry, in the end the bankers gave up on us and took the assets of Indreni. Indreni died the last days of 1990.

For almost two years, Indreni died and was resurrected several times. The pressure that it placed on me was, however, beginning to take its toll. I worked day and night to get the financing completed, construction started, INTERFACE going, dreams about a hotel project, and supervising the works of a UNC graduate student, all while trying to deal with the very cruel realities of my life. But through it all, Indreni to me became what Everest’s West Ridge was to Norman Davenport Running on Empty 337

when he said; “If we can pull it off, it would be the biggest possible thing still to be accomplished in Himalayan mountaineering” Foreword by David Brower in Everest: The West Ridge (1963)

While I struggled after my separation from Binod and his business world to get my two businesses going in Nepal’s extremely difficult business environment, I never lost sight of the human aspects of my drive. I read and read; and I talked and talked yet I was alone in many different ways and at many different levels. I took notes and I wrote fantastic letters to my family and friends who never stopped asking why Nepal. My answers and my writings seemed to me as difficult as what Tom Hornbein’s experienced when he was writing Everest: The West Ridge said; “In many ways the writing of this book resembles the climbing of the mountain it is about. It was a difficult, and like Everest, it remained so to the last. It evoked the same pleasurable feelings of finality as the end came near.”

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Brochure explaining Indreni’s product benefits to Nepali target population; Katmandu, 1987

I began to put down some thoughts on paper during that period of my life. In July1987, I looked at myself in the mirror and said: “You are still here and waiting?

Not really waiting but doing what you once accepted As your new mission in life, To get the private sector moving, In Nepal “I struggle daily with my frailties.

I want to let go completely, Yet I feel hurt whenever taken for granted Or abused, Or rebuffed.

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“My struggles with finances, aloneness and separation from family and children continue to test my capacities To give to the limits.

Are we really doing anything of use to anyone?

“The predictions of numbers dead From the devastating rains That hit Nepal Seem to slide over the lives of those Struggling to get few liters of petrol.

They queue for hours, and sometimes they do get it, And sometimes no; The “stock is finished for today”, cries the gas attendant.

Water droplets gliding over well oiled skin.

Ego is still central and thriving.

“The struggle of Bosnia and Somalia, And, and, and… are talked about But are they taken for granted?

News media continue to press for awakening.

For what?

Then in August I wrote: “The emptiness I felt after Sion’s departure Haunts me day and night.

I seem to have created my karmic path Of having to leave this world without My really being one with him.

Yet he is so much a part of me As I am a part of him.

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The next entry was in Sept.

“Ronalie and our 35th wedding anniversary Had she lived Sure, she is alive in me and through me Yet her absence is very real!

My thought this morning for this day: I cling to the virtues of being, And yet, I am not!

“Being alone, though knowing that others Really care for my life, yet still alone.

Sickness is a very lonely affair.

I live with myself, In myself.

Thoughts fly through Yet there is great emptiness.

I am very intellectually aware of my aging and dying process, Yet I don’t seem to believe it as real.

I truly hope to drop dead And not go through the fixing process That hospitals and doctors provide or recommend.

I want to live fully now Am I? I guess I am For fully does not mean constant partying Or traveling But rather full awareness of each moment: Feeling Reaching out Touching And just being.

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Neither conquering nor attaining “Can’t help but ask: What is this thing we call life, My life?

It is really nothing more Than the combined reactions I create In Responses to stimuli That are already all around me.

I must define that for myself, And the definition unfolds Throughout The moments I have When I register in The “book of the universe” My reactions!

Yeah!

I believed that Nepal can move on But that requires action By many but also me But why me and What can I do but talk and talk and more talk?

I feel that trying to understand The size of the task Is beyond me, As I do not seem able to penetrate the Nepali psyche!

But I still can’t be a bystander!

It is said that “The Jews have a signal when they want to speak, They interrupt”.

I interrupted and I did get lost in ‘the translation’, Not poetry as Robert Frost defined poetry Running on Empty 342

As that which ‘gets lost in the translation’.

I would go a step further by saying that Culture is what gets lost in translation.

And I, ASD, would also add that Feelings get lost in expression!

“Maybe this is the real secret for Jewish survival We’d last for ever Because there wasn’t time enough in the universe For us to finish our arguming!

Maybe Sogyal Rimpoche, the Tibetan theologian Was right when he said “….there is something, Something that is within us That transcends the impermanence of now” ‘Let that something live Let it empty its garbage and then receive So it can give, For giving is all that it is about What is the reward for giving?

The ability to give again, So did the Rabbi say!

“I marvel at the beauty of life and gifts given to me.

I know I have but a few moments, And then move on To let others take my place.

I lived, Touched lives, Received and gave, Wrote reports and produced learned arguments and plans.

All was committed to the universe.

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Will I see ‘the results’, and if I do, Are they really because of me?

Hell no!

“I rebel against the fact That our individual insecurities continue To cause us to interpret each other, Rather than just honestly asking the person the question And have him/her tell it as it is!

I will not want that for me today!

“Let me use my space to make someone Lighten her/his load today.

I am aware of the real gifts of life I have been given.

The confusion that insecurities of the ego Bring out are real.

I pray for inner strength and peace To know who I am And why I am still alive today!

If not total knowledge, At least a clear and true glimpse!

“Awake oh spirit of beauty For I have seen the sun rise And reflect the clarity of the glaciers On Himalayas’ high peaks, The Annapurna.

Beauty has been framed by the Master’s hands.

How much more can I, A mortal one, Ask for or be so freely given?

My soul and my spirit soar, Running on Empty 344

And my wings flap with joy For I am alive and free.

I shared the same with my “secret lover” in KTM. It takes so little to say so much.

Why not speak freely and genuinely oh my soul?

I will, I will!

“I came, I stayed I’ll go.

So goes the cycles of life.

The bottom line is that I am now alive, Aware of this moment and all it offers.

Thank you God. Freed from want Freed from using others to prove ones’ self, I want to let go and just be!”

Yet, as I penned my few words, I didn’t feel much pleasure rather heaviness of heart as another string of my heart broke. Will those that read these words relate to my love, my struggles and my caring for those who touched my life? What difference does it make now? My woes were compounded by the personal emotional states I experienced with my children, and my failed love affairs.

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Nepal: 1991-2000

One day, while hibernating and cut off from any telephone communication in my hilltop mansion, I was cold and alone. I fixed myself a cup of coffee and sat down hoping to get some warmth from my hot coffee when I heard a knock at my front door. Who would be calling on me this early in the morning, I wondered.

When I opened the door, two Nepali gentlemen were there.

-“Mr. David, good morning sir. We are here from the electricity department to disconnect your line,” they said.

-“Why do you want to disconnect my line?” I asked dumbfounded.

-“You have not paid your electric bills for the last three months,” they answered.

-“I didn’t know that my bills were not paid! My secretary usually takes care of my electric payments,” I answered.

-“We don’t know about that. All that we know is that you have been delinquent and we are given orders to disconnect. Please show us where your electric meter is now so we can do our work and leave,” they curtly answered.

-“You see that I am isolated here and my secretary had been on leave for two weeks. I don’t have access to my mailbox so how am I supposed to know that he did not pay the bills?” I asked.

-“Sorry sir but that is not our concern. We have to disconnect now and if you have any problem with that, you come to our office and talk with our director”, was their final answer.

I realized that no sense arguing with them as they were only following orders. I couldn’t call their office as my phone was Running on Empty 346

also disconnected. I showed them to my electric meter and they did what they had come to do: disconnect my electricity.

They said their goodbyes and left and I stayed completely cut off from the outside world; no car, no phone, no electricity and no person to talk to, let alone help, except for my faithful ‘helpless’ cook, Durba. My coffee had gotten cold and my head was swirling with questions as to what next. I felt disoriented, but not completely ‘down’ nor left out. As I fixed myself a fresh cup of coffee and tried to figure my way out, my cook showed up for work. When he saw me bundled up in my sweater and heavy coat he asked if I was alright then. I told him what had happened earlier that morning. He seemed genuinely disturbed and concerned. He knew that there was nothing he could do to get me out of my ‘state’.

-“Sir, is good and sir will be ok. No problem here, we will do without electricity and I stay with sir here tonight”, Durba said as he tried to cheer me up.

As fate would have it, something did happen for an hour after the electricity chaps left my house, the USAID director’s driver shows up at my doorsteps. He handed me a note from the Director. The Director asked if I could meet him at his office the next day. He wanted to meet me at ten and if I could make it, to inform his driver who will then come the next morning to get me from my home and drive me to his office.

-“Thank you Bahdur, (the driver’s name), for bringing the director’s note. The Director wants to meet me at his office toRunning on Empty 347

morrow at ten in the morning and he said you will come to get me if I can meet him then. Yes, I can meet and yes I will be ready at nine for you to drive me to his office, for as you see I have no transportation now”, I told Bahdur.

-“You don’t have a car now, David sir, but you have a very beautiful house. Can I please see the inside of your house David sir?” asked Bahdur.

-“Sure do come in” I replied as I lead him in and took him through my three story home explaining the interior’s layout.

My ‘Mansion’ outside Katmandu Valley, Nepal 1987

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It was, for sure, a very unique house. The three story building was built to fit into the terraced topography that surrounded it. The first floor housed the living, sitting and dining room, plus kitchen, which formed the base of the house. The second floor housed only two large bed rooms with attached walk in closets and two bathrooms, while the third floor was one large room walled by large glass windows overlooking the rice terraces to the south, and Katmandu Valley to the North plus the majestic Himalayas, including a distant glimpse of Mount Everest. It was in the third floor that I set a meditation cushion where I used to get up early in the morning and spend an hour or more in prayers, spiritual readings, and meditation.

It was very a blissful beautiful space, and I was so happy to be there to welcome the morning sun.

Stunned and befuddled as to why Kelly, the Director, wanted to see me, I woke up early the next morning, did my prayers, put on a suit, and waited for Bahdur, the Director’s driver to come get me. When I got to the Director’s office, he welcomed me into his push office, offered me coffee and then called his economist to join us. After some small talk as we sipped our coffee, Kelly proceeded to ask me if I had time to write a brief document that reflected my experiences in trying to set up a joint venture company in Nepal. He wanted me to write about how a potential investor should look at Nepal and what should she/he consider in deciding whether to invest in Nepal or not.

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I was absolutely floored, dumbfounded; you name it and that was me! Did I have time to work with USAID for a small effort’ as he asked? Hell yes, I did have the time and how!

-“Tell me which bathroom you want me to clean for I am so ready to do anything but sit alone at my hill-top house. Sure I will do it and am ready to start even today, if you so want me to!” was my immediate response, -“David, you and our contract officer work out the contract details and then get started. Our economist will fill you in on the technical details,” concluded the Director as I hugged him and ran down to meet his contract officer.

Wow, it happened. I was saved and for sure I would get some money to live on and maybe pay back some of my personal debts. Would it be great to have some money to travel down to Canberra and see my son? I just couldn’t believe how things did turn out; one day I was totally down and so desponded, the next day the ‘sun’ shone and I was alive and myself again. When the three weeks were successfully comwork on pleted, I was asked to given another assignment for three months, which later turned out to be a five year contract. I marveled at God’s ‘ways’, and the wonders of life and living.

During the interval between my submission of the proposal for the five year project and the signing of the contract, I traveled to Australia to spend three weeks with my son, Sion. I stayed with Laurie and her family then, as I thought John was very kind and accepting, but later found out that Running on Empty 350

my presence awakened much jealousy within him and caused much tension between the two of them. I took Sion out for a week then and left Laurie and John to work out their problems. Being with Sion was wonderful. He was nine years old, shy, distant and lost as to who the hell I really was! I was sure that he wondered as to why would I be visiting him, getting him all worked up about connecting with his father only to be left behind after my short sojourns? He did not share such feelings with me then, but later on in life, while writing his final paper for his senior year English literature, he did write about that time and his confusion. He shared with me his paper and when I read his lines and felt his pain, I couldn’t help but cry: tears of sadness and also of joy; Tears of sadness not because I felt sorry for myself but rather felt so bad that he had to carry such pain for so long! Yes, I also had tears of joy for I was so happy. he had finally decided, the spring of 2001, to focus his senior English paper on his story; himself and his upbringing.

He got in touch with his feelings, got them out and dealt with them. With his permission I share now some of what he wrote:

“I don’t remember my birth but I would like to be able to recall

events that far back in my life. There are no videos, no pictures, no real memories that my family has shared with me about this most auspicious of days in my life. I don’t want to see smiling faces, silly pink and blue balloons; I don’t want to see flowers and doctors and blood. I want to see my parents together, in love, and happy. Before I was three years old they had separated and I was sent from home to home week after week. I don‘t remember it much but I Running on Empty 351

think so many of my memories are jumbled because of my constant shifting.

“So the beginning of my life began with a separation and it seems to

be a trend that has not ceased to repeat itself for the last twenty years. After all these years though, I wouldn’t change a thing about my past. My life has been blessed by so many things and though l am torn between worlds, families, parents, I have found my place and am more content with my life now than I have ever been.”

“My mother doesn’t tell me a lot about her past, at least the past

since my birth; a lot of facts but not a lot of emotion. It strikes me as brutally ironic since she is the one who has been concerned for so long about my emotional silence. My father is vocal when I ask him to be. He needs to let it out and has for a long time, like I struggled with his past. I think he finally made peace with a lot that was bothering him when he finally finished a ten-year project to write a 410 page memoir for his three children, myself included. I borrow the name of his memoir for my own simply because his love story is in many ways very similar to my own

​“My stepfather raised me as his own child and I rarely saw my bio-

logical father, and when I did, I was torn between a father figure who was there all the time and a father figure I was supposed to love but didn’t really know. The day John asked me to call him “dad” was a difficult day for me. I was torn, hurt and angry that my mother had let me get in the middle of her problems. I was also very foolish at the time for blaming my mother, but as a child trying to take ownership for conflict that you didn’t think you started was a difficult thing to do. When you are torn between families and asked to decide you can’t help but wonder if the conflict is your entire fault. No matter how many people tell you that you are not to blame, when your parents are fighting, you aren’t to blame and when dad has to go back to Nepal it isn’t Running on Empty 352

your fault that he has to go. So, at 8 years old the easiest person to blame is the one who is most stable in your life. I began to wonder if she could be the root of my problems just because she was there for all of them. I was only 8 years old and couldn’t have known that this was not entirely my mother’s fault. I had become so adept to moving and adapting to new situations that I altogether assumed that John could be my father if I wanted to let him. Why not? I loved him. He taught me how to ride a bike, took me camping and in the natural social order of things I was willing to call him my father. Where was my biological father? At the moment it didn’t matter, I had a dad that snuck me cakes after we went swimming and made me promise not to tell mum. What else could an eight year old, confused kid want?

“My real problems started when the two dads were in the same place

at the same time. Whose who? Who loves me more? Who will take me to the coast for a week? Who wants to play ping-pong with me, Dad? And so I think this began for me a period in my childhood that would stand out for all of my family as a time when I would not talk to anyone about what I felt. I could have told them I was confused. I should have told them that I didn’t want to have to chose between my parents because I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, besides, how do you chose parents? But I never said these things; I never asked questions about why my parents got divorced in the first place. I never thought to be inquisitive about many things. And so I ended up living a childhood rather secluded from my immediate family.

“If we are all products of our parents, where am I supposed to be

from, nowhere? Places of hate and rejection? Why should I be placed in a situation that I don’t feel comfortable or a place that doesn’t want me? Should I have to live in exile forever, as my father did?

“My father taught me that no matter whom you are and no matter Running on Empty 353

what other people tell you to be, the only person you are going to end up as is yourself. I am from my father’s unaccepted identity, claiming direct lineage from King David and the beggar on the street. I am Iraqi Jewish American, a strange juxtaposition; especially today as Jews fight Muslims and Muslims fight Americans. I come from a place that a lot of people fear. I don’t hate you.

I don’t hate anyone. Who’s to say whom I should love and whom I should hate?

“My dad wrote me a letter on my second birthday, shortly after my

parents split up. I can only assume that he gave the note to my mom in the hopes that one day I would see it. I never did. Today, 18 years later, as I flip through my dad’s 410 page autobiography I see this letter. I wonder why mom never gave it to me. My dad knew me well even at two years old. He and I are very much alike. We come from similar backgrounds, we look alike and to this day we are still very much connected over thousands of kilometers. My dad wrote then:

“You came to the world in a far away land yet you were never a

stranger as love surrounded you warmly. Your parents were ever so proud and happy and so were your grandparents. Now you talk and walk and express in yourself the independence that a human must have. You are beautiful in more than words can describe. You are fragile yet strong; you are growing up in your world of innocence and love with questions that may never be answered. All I pray is that the love your mother and father have for you be ever sufficient to help you in your world with faith, goodwill, compassion and love towards your fellow beings. You will be OK I am sure even though clouds may hover, from time to time, over your beautiful head and self. I love you my son and I will always unconditionally love you”. Your Dad.

“A simple example of our connectedness is our birthdays. My dad’s Running on Empty 354

official date of birth was set as January 15 but he never took that to be the day on which he celebrated his existence (today he will tell that every day is his birthday). When he married his first wife, she told him once that based on her readings of horoscopes, he must be a Sagittarian and born between December 14-18. Almost ten years before I was born, she told him that his birthday must be December 14, not January 15. He took it and kept it. When I was born on December l3 he must have known that the two of us would be inseparable no matter how physically apart we would be.

The Economic Liberalization project was very exciting.

It happened during the period where many countries across the world were pushing for market led economic growth and development. Our Project’s tasks were to help strengthen the budding private sector in by working mainly with the Federation of Nepal Chambers of Commerce and Industry (FNCCI), while helping the Government develop and adopt business friendly laws and administrative policies. I channeled our Project’s part toward helping FNCCI and other private organizations, both national and regional, while the USAID economist worked mainly with the Government policy part. It was indeed a very exciting period and I sure loved every minute of it.

When changes were made at the top management of FNCCI, things began to slow down some. Divisions began to surface as business leaders vied for the top position, since it brought them in closer contact with government offices and officials and in so doing helped them individually push for policies and procedures that supported the growth of their businesses. I got very discouraged and disappointed, so when Running on Empty 355

I was asked mid way into my contract to shift to the newly created Agro Enterprise Center of FNCCI, (AEC/FNCCI), I accepted.

The AEC/ FNCCI project required much travel to various agro production centers and markets, both within Nepal and also in the bordering states of India. I used to travel with staff of the Center and that was fun and challenging. We stayed in local inns in many Indian village centers and traveled by any transport mode possible; rickshaws, buses, trains and planes. We carried our own mosquito nets when we stayed at most Indian as well as Nepali inns. Though our travels helped identify several opportunities for Nepali agro-producers, as well as needed supportive policy changes, the needed follow up lagged behind. Thus very few results were produced.

I stopped working for AEC and USAID, in general, when in year 2000, I married the USAID director, Joanne. No conflict of interest would be leveled against her. I did some short term consultancies then for other development agencies before accepting to join the US-Embassy’s Cultural Center as manager of their Civic Education Program. That assignment focused on helping local non- governmental agencies develop and implement democracy enhancing programs and educational materials. It was an ok assignment as the challenges were not as exciting as my earlier work with FNCCI. But it did provide me opportunities to interact with small but good organizations working in civil society.

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My move to ISRAEL, 2004

“You cannot escape your history For you are the product of all that has gone before you In other lives, And in your present life.” Salman Rushdi Midnight Children, 1980

Friedman titled his book From Beirut to Jerusalem, but for me my journey was from Beirut to Caesarea, Israel. I had had a life time of experiences since my early days in Beirut until my return to Israel. I decided to make this literary leap in time because my family, except for my youngest brother Miro, had all made Alliyah earlier in their lives while I was living, working, marrying, raising children and globe-trotting from one country to mother while never calling any my true home. Nepal came closest to being my home, but in the end I was always treated as a foreigner in their land! I still don’t, even though Israel is where my ancestral roots are anchored and where I now claim permanent residency, with great satisfaction bordering on pride, that I am a Jew and have permanent residency in Caesarea, Israel.

How can I ever forget my first trip to Israel with my wife Ronalie, after our settling in period in St Louis? This journey I take is full of history and personal memories. Jewish history had been well written by many Iraqi Jews as well Western Jews.

Memories accumulated over forty plus years are all based on the short visits I took with my wives but the majority had been * Hebrew for return. When the State of Israel was created, they committed to allow any Jew to immigrate and become a citizen or permanent resident, Running on Empty 357

the yearly visits that Ronalie and I used to make as we went back and forth between Katmandu and America. The last trip I took was with Joanne who had accompanied me for few days before leaving to join her Jon and his family in France. We had arrived then through Jordan and her bags were misdirected by the airlines. She got so upset and all we did then was fuss about the luggage. As luck would have it, the day she left the airlines reported that her baggage were found and would be delivered the next day. I ended up having to schlep them back to Katmandu while she was still in France.

Once I went with Sion on our way back to Katmandu in 1987, when he was just six years old. That was his second visit to Israel. My family loved him so much and one day they all decided to have a picnic at a Kibbutz and all the extended family came with their children. My brother in law, Akram, made some brief comments about how happy they all were to welcome Sion into the family. Sion turned to me and asked if he could say a few words. Sure I said and asked all to pass on the mike to Sion.

Sion stood up as he held my hand and said: -“I am so happy to meet you all. But I did not know that I had such a big family here”.

When he sat down, tears rolled down his cheeks. They literally all came to hug and kiss him. I was so happy for him and of course with him. Akram alway asked about ‘little Sion’ and used to tell me to please ask him to come back for he will give him the kind of grapes he loved (Sion loved the grapes that Akram Running on Empty 358

used to buy for him during our stay at their home and neither he nor Akram have forgotten that).

I applied for Alliyah while in New Jersey visiting with my daughter and her family in 2004 before traveling to Katmandu. The approval procedure took some time for the Israeli authorities in New York had to get approval from Israel which in turn required proof of my being a Jew! I had to provide proof that my mother was Jewish which I was able to get by providing them with a copy of my mother’s burial certificate.

When my file was ‘completed’, I was informed that I could travel and that my immigrant visa will be forwarded to an Israeli Embassy of my choice. I chose Katmandu as I had decided to travel there and retrieve my stored household and personal effects from storage and ship to Israel.

While in Katmandu, I was informed by the Israeli Embassy that my visa had arrived and I was asked to report to the Embassy for finalizing the needed formalities. When I met with counselor at the Embassy, he informed me that I was the only Jew who had made Alliyah from Nepal! During my stay in Katmandu, I arranged for my stored items, including some furniture, to be shipped to Israel.

But why Israel when I had shunned it all my life? Why now? Then why do certain things happen the way they do?

Does one decide, or does one ever know the whys of one’s own life? Do I believe in fate or destiny? I DO and how!!! In reflecting over the why, I wrote to the Jewish Agency responsible for processing Jews desiring to immigrate to Israel, in response to Running on Empty 359

their request, a few paragraphs about my background and the why of my immigrating to Israel then.

“My name is Abraham Sion David, son of the late Eliyahou Ezra

David and Gourgia Saleh Zilkha David, and I’ve just come from Nepal. Why Nepal? Because that’s where I have been living for the last 27 years of my life, the longest I’ve ever lived in one place. Yes, I’ve lived in many places, just about 27 of them. But now, I am coming home.

Having been born in Beirut Lebanon to Iraqi Jewish parents I was

the subject of ridicule and harassment at the hands of my peers. In 1948, when Israel became a sovereign nation, I was the only Jewish student at the Prep School at the American University of Beirut. Over the next seven years I was witness to a huge influx of Palestinian refugees and I personally bore the brunt of anti-Zionist sentiments that were rapidly surfacing in our liberal Christian nation. I was routinely forced, against my will, to join my classmates in demonstrations and public displays of hatred for the people of Israel.

We marched on the streets of Beirut carrying caskets fashioned to hold the symbolic remains of the newly created Jewish state. We chanted anti-Zionist slogans and I often found myself on the front line of violent clashes with the police. There I was, a lone Jew trying to keep from drowning in a sea of hatred that was constantly threatening to pull me under.

When I left Beirut for the United States of America in 1955, carry-

ing with me an Iraqi passport stamped only with an exit visa, I was asked not to return. When I left my family standing on my native soil I also left behind my tattered and torn identity. On the day that I left Lebanon I let them have what they wanted. I gave them my identity because I thought that in America I would find a new one, one that would be universally accepted Running on Empty 360

and loved, without reserve for religion or heritage. I remember the airport in Beirut on the day I left. My mother and sister came to see me off. My mother was crying rivers. As she waved goodbye I didn’t have the heart to turn back to see the broken and despondent figure of what had become my people. I couldn’t bear it, the pain was too much. I had always claimed Lebanon as my own; my birthplace, my home, my identity, but Lebanon had always turned its back on me. It was not until the day I departed that I finally turned my back on Lebanon.

I landed in America with a clean slate to engrave upon as I needed.

Through marriage I became an American, I received an American degree and was smoothly accepted in the fold of American culture. Through all of my assimilations I still could not feel as though I was one of them. In 1963 after completing my PhD in Agricultural Economics I was asked by my exprofessor to join him in Nepal as part of the Ford Foundations economic advisory team to His Majesty’s Government of Nepal. At that time I didn’t even know where Nepal was, but I felt needed, I felt as though the role I was to play was vital, so I took my family and moved to Nepal. The Nepali people were wonderful, they accepted us openly but only as foreigners. Again I was confronted with a difficult conundrum; would I always be an outsider? This question would haunt me for years to come.

As I traveled the world, living and working in countries as far flung

as Ghana and Bangladesh, Turkey, Kenya and Uzbekistan, the complexities of my past followed me. I have now called 20 nations home yet none of them have ever called me one of their own. Of all the places that I have lived, Nepal, my home of 27 years, came closest to being my own, even though I knew I would always be their foreign “uncle”.

In the last ten years I have felt a strong need to get back to my peoRunning on Empty 361

ple, a need to consolidate my scattered identity. In the years that I wandered the earth my sisters and subsequent extended family have lived in Israel. My family has fought for the Jewish nation, they have worked to build the Jewish nation and now, today, they are a solid part of the Jewish nation. When I visited them over the past forty years I have heard their constant pleas for me to come home to them, I have shrugged off their pleas for me to come home to Israel. I always told them that I was at ‘home’ with the people of the world, for I truly believed that I could not confine myself to just one nation. Finally, this last year, I felt a strong need to be with my family, my blood relatives, and ‘my people’. That is why I am on my way to Israel as an Ole Hadash (new immigrant)”.

During my soul searching when I applied for immigration to Israel, I recalled that Sion, my son, had shared his personal feelings of searching for identity in a poem he shared few months earlier. I decided to ask him for his permission to use it in my memoirs, which he agreed to.

“We are displaced, Erased, like pencil from the page, Born before our time we came Dripping, oozing, singing Into the sublime light of now, And now we are just hurtling through The universe on an epic quest To find our original place.

“A hole in space Running on Empty 362

The exact shape of My matured self Awaits my return, I will fit there Perfectly, willingly Frictionless and with The sense of bliss That I have been chasing since, Well, forever!

“For we are displaced, Secured in the knowledge That where we are isn’t Where we came from And it isn’t the place We are meant to end up in.

“For there is only one place for us, One hole, in one universe, One you and one me, One perfect fit for all humanity.

One womb, one consciousness, One song to sing, One finger, one ring, One way to get back From whence we came; That is to be born, Running on Empty 363

To live, and to die, For when we die, We will surely reunite With the eternal source of life.”

I landed at Tel Aviv, exhausted, but at peace. My three sisters were all there waiting with flowers and welcoming notes. I stayed with Nazli, my second sister, for a couple of months while I searched for an apartment to move into. My household effects were on the high seas then en route from Nepal. Nina and her family were very supportive in trying to help me locate in Tel Aviv. I found Tel Aviv too crowded and its ‘energy’ too exhausting. I needed a quieter place to hide but also to live through my period of aloneness.

Arial view of Tel Aviv and its coast line, 2004-

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I finally decided to move to Caesarea, north of Tel Aviv, not far from Zikhron Yacov, where my friend Selim, Nina and her husband had earlier suggested I find a place to buy and settle into. Caesarea seemed to be the place for me then. It was a little village, clean with wide flower studded roads, and easy access to the sea. It was not far from the inter city train station that was reputed to be clean, safe and very comfortable. The ride from there to my sisters’ homes was only 30 minutes or so. Or Akiva was the nearest town that had all the facilities that I might need: a small theater, a movie house, a shopping mall and medical services.

Old preserved Roman ruins built by Caesarea at its seaport; Caesarea, 2004-present

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I was shown a house that was available with three rooms, a small open space for my ‘office’ and a shared garden with the owners. I took it and arranged to move in as soon as the owner finished emptying the space and painting some of the walls.

My weeks with Nazli were very pleasant. One of my many joyful moments were when I went with her shopping at the open market, Souk el Carmel, in Tel Aviv. It reminded me so much of my days in Beirut when I used to go each Friday with my father to Beirut’s main food market to shop for our weekend’s food needs. Another beautiful evening was when we watched the opening of the new Yad Vashem Holocaust Memorial Building in Jerusalem. The ceremony was held outdoors and the setting was moving, but more so the songs sang and the words shared. I felt then extremely happy and proud to be a Jew, and in Israel.

When I finally moved into my ‘space’ in Caesarea, I cleared my shipment from Katmandu and began the unpacking of my household effects with the great help of my sister Nina plus some hired help. In few days, the house became a home as I hung my favorite paintings, arranged my furniture and moved about finding my way in my ‘new home’. My first Yom Kippur in Caesarea, October 13, ’05 was indeed a memorable day.

Yom Kippur is supposed to be one of the most important holidays for the Jews. It is a day of atonement where adults fast for twenty four plus hours and spend most of the day at Running on Empty 366

the synagogue praying and asking God for forgiveness. To me, for atonement to really be, forgiveness must be reflected in our forgiveness of our fellow humans. According to the prayers, we ask God to forgive a whole series of sins which we all have committed during the past year. Most of the forgiveness asked tended to be between humans. Gibran wrote: “I am God’s yesterday while He is my tomorrow; I am God’s roots on earth while He is the flower in Heaven”. I do believe that and know that HE for-

gives, but then why does man hang on to his grudges against his/her fellow being?

I went to the local synagogue with my landlord and neighbor, but I didn’t understand a thing nor could relate to the services’ whole vibes! Men were seated in front and women in their sections in the back; why I wondered? I returned home and did what I usually used to do on Yom Kippur: I don’t meet people; I don’t talk on the phone; I don’t watch TV or read a newspaper. I just sit in my meditation room, read some sacred books in English and do my prayers. When I felt tired, which I did, I would go take a short nap and return to my sitting and reading. When the day came to an end and I saw three stars in the sky, I would take a bath, dress, drink my cup of tea and have a light meal before calling my sisters to wish them ‘Hagsameach’, or good feast. I used to feel great doing what I did.

I really can’t relate or seem to accept the rituals of organized religion; any religion mine included. No judging though, just stating. I am so much at peace with the way I relate to my God; yes I do believe in a living God, and my fellow human.

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Surprised that throughout my life, and living in so many countries, I had NEVER been in a place where silence was absolutely so real. Strikes and curfews I witnessed, but total silence in a country ? I did then! Once the fast was over, I began to hear cars moving and phone ringing, amazing really! To keep the Israelis quiet and their mouths shut, I NEVER thought it possible, but it happened in Caesarea on Yom Kippur. The land of miracles, I thought! Was I then surprised when I heard that French President Nicholas Sarkozy when in Washington, November 7, 2007, exclaimed that he always considered Israel a miracle, “a refuge where every Jew in the world can go if something befalls him”? Others had described Israel as “a place, a way of life, faith, religion, heritage, a dream, hope, coping, pioneering, scenery and man. It is the past, war and peace, agriculture, fauna and flora, coexistence, an experience”.

It sure has been an experience and how. The most fascinating thing about this experience, for me, has been the mix of people and their way of being. For example, a young lady I know who is well positioned in a highly competitive industry, will seldom, if ever, say thank you. Not many in Israel say thank you, either! Why? Could it be that they believe the world owed them a living; or could it be because they fought so many wars and suffered so much that they believe they were all equal and so need not thank anyone for whatever they do for them?

When I shared this recently with an Israeli friend, he said: -“Why are you surprised David? Israelis do not have the word thank you in their vocabulary”. Wonder of wonders!

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So many other examples come to mind whenever I think about the ‘miracle’ aspects of Israel and its uniqueness.

To me the biggest miracle was the one that I witnessed as a teenager in Lebanon in 1948. Seven well trained and well equipped armies of the Arab world amassed their forces and set to destroy the fragmented and ill equipped bands of fighting immigrant Jews, but could not!! Israel came into existence then and the UN assembly recognized its legitimate status as a state. How many more attempts were made to destroy and drive the Jews out of Israel only to meet with similar fates?

Now, six decades after the first war of Israeli independence, Israel, though a thriving nation, continues to be on its toes for fear of another attack, especially more recently from the nuclear potential of Iran and its president’s repeated threat to wipe out Israel from the map of the Middle East?

The incidents and feelings multiplied even though my stay in Caesarea was never more than two months at a time. Late after remarrying Ragee, we bought a small apartment, furnished it and used it only when we were there for the ‘big’ holy days. Some wanted to rent it but we did not feel that comfortable doing that. We did, however, give it to a young couple who were marrying to use for a year. We did not accept any rent but we made sure that they did open a new bank account and deposited what they would have had to pay in rent every month. That account was to be shown to my lawyer every three months and to be used only after the year was over in helping them buy a house for their future use. Another inRunning on Empty 369

teresting condition we placed was that they were not to fight or have major arguments inside the apartment for we did not want to have ‘negative energies’ deposited into our peaceful small abode. Apparently they did that and whenever they had any major disagreement, they told us they argued always outside the house! Crazy huh, but why not I say?!

My mind drifted October 4,2006 then to the fact that on that same day, six years before, October 2000 to be exact, Joanne and I exchanged vows of love, devotion and commitment “until death do us part”! Were they words sprayed through the clouds or were they just hot air added to the toxic substances that polluted our world and added to global warming? Where was she now and was her mind totally blank to this moment? When one hits the delete key on a PC, where do the words and images disappear? They say that all of our words are stored in the universe and maybe one day they will be able to recall and hear all the jabbering! Will they understand what happened on this day six years ago and what happened at the San Francisco airport two years ago, less two days? Will they feel the emotions that propelled our loving and committing words? Would they be able to relate to my hitting another period where I felt that I was running on empty? What does it matter now, huh? I am alive and living with much love to share and moments to experience; but it still matter for I have not yet shed all of my past with Joanne!

Today’s news carried the mad bombing of three hotels and a market site in Sharm el Sheikh, an Egyptian vacation Running on Empty 370

spot that Israel handed over to the Egyptian in return for a peace treaty with Egypt. Over 70 people died...why and why can’t humans live together? Who is guaranteed a long life and if we are all to die some day, for sure, then why not live the now fully and let live? I get so sad when I see what is happening now. I know it is not the product of actions taken today but it comes from pent up pain, hatred and need for revenge for actions that neither we nor our parents had caused. Will such revenge or innocent killings bring the dead back or right the wrong of the past? Oh GOD, give us wisdom to know how to be as you had wanted us to be, is what I do pray for now.

Concurrently, the internal scene in Israel was agitated.

The disengagement from the settlements in Gaza was causing much ugliness to surface among people of the same race and nation. There was even fear of civil war, especially if prime minister Sharon really pulled out of the West Bank! The West Bank continued to be considered much more important for the Jews than Gaza. I then read what the Prime Minister, Ariel Sharon, had shared with the UN delegates when he addressed the Assembly, September 15, in 2005. I felt then that he was indeed sincere in extending the hand of friendship and peace to the Arab nations and more so to the Palestinians. Some had ridiculed his statements as being non sincere and just a repeat of the same promises while the displaced Palestinians continued to live in poorly serviced refugee camps., under what they labeled as ‘living under occupation’. I did sincerely identify with his words and supported the sincerity of his offers while Running on Empty 371

praying that indeed one day will live, once again, in the same neighborhoods and under the same skies… Fate did not favor him then as he experienced a stroke that rendered him, to this day, a comatose ‘vegetable’. His words then can’t be dismissed and that is why I am sharing some here now.

I stand before you at the gate of nations as a Jew and as a citizen of

the democratic, free and sovereign State of Israel, a proud representative of an ancient people, whose numbers are few, but whose contribution to civilization and to the values of ethics, justice and faith, surrounds the world and encompasses history. The Jewish people have a long memory, the memory which united the exiles of Israel for thousands of years: a memory which has its origin in G-d’s commandment to our forefather Abraham: “Go forth!” and continued with the receiving of the Torah at the foot of Mount Sinai and the wanderings of the children of Israel in the desert, led by Moses on their journey to the Promised Land, the land of Israel.

“The land of Israel is precious to me, precious to us, the Jewish peo-

ple, more than anything. Relinquishing any part of our forefathers’ legacy is heartbreaking, as difficult as the parting of the Red Sea. Every inch of land, every hill and valley, every stream and rock, is saturated with Jewish history, replete with memories.

“The Land of Israel is the open Bible, the written testimony, the

identity and right of the Jewish people. Under its skies, the prophets of Israel expressed their claims for social justice, and their eternal vision for alliances between peoples, in a world which would know no more war. Its cities, villages, vistas, ridges, deserts and plains preserve as loyal witnesses its ancient Hebrew names. Page after page, our unique land is unfurled, and at its heart Running on Empty 372

is united Jerusalem, the city of the Temple upon Mount Moriah, the axis of the life of the Jewish people throughout all generations, and the seat of its yearnings and prayers for 3,000 years. The city to which we pledged an eternal vow of faithfulness, which forever beats in every Jewish heart: “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, may my right hand forget its cunning!”

“I say these things to you because they are the essence of my Jew-

ish consciousness, and of my belief in the eternal and unimpeachable right of the people of Israel to the Land of Israel. However, I say this here also to emphasize the immensity of the pain I feel deep in my heart at the recognition that we have to make concessions for the sake of peace between us and our Palestinian neighbors.

“The right of the Jewish people to existence in a state of their own,

the Land of Israel does not mean disregarding the rights of others in the land.

The Palestinians will always be our neighbors. We respect them, and have no aspirations to rule over them. They are also entitled to freedom and to a national, sovereign

“This week, the last Israeli soldier left the Gaza Strip, and military

law there was ended. The State of Israel proved that it is ready to make painful concessions in order to resolve the conflict with the Palestinians. The decision to disengage was very difficult for me, and involves a heavy personal price. However, it is the absolute recognition that it is the right path for the future of Israel that guided me. Israeli society is undergoing a difficult crisis as a result of the Disengagement and now needs to heal the rifts.

“Now it is the Palestinians’ turn to prove their desire for peace. The

end of Israeli control over and responsibility for the Gaza Strip allows the Palestinians, if they so wish, to develop their economy and build a peace-seeking society, which is developed, free, law-abiding, transparent, and which adheres Running on Empty 373

to democratic principles. The most important test the Palestinian leadership will face is in fulfilling their commitment to put an end to terror and its infrastructures, eliminate the anarchic regime of armed gangs, and cease the incitement and indoctrination of hatred towards Israel and the Jews. Until they do so - Israel will know how to defend itself from the horrors of terrorism.

“I am among those who believe that it is possible to reach a fair

compromise and coexistence in good neighborly relations between Jews and Arabs. However, I must emphasize one fact: there will be no compromise on the right of the State of Israel to exist as a Jewish state, with defensible borders, in full security and without threats and terror.

“I call on the Palestinian leadership to show determination and

leadership, and to eliminate terror, violence and the culture of hatred from our relations. I am certain that it is in our power to present our peoples with a new and promising horizon of hope. Peace is a supreme value in the Jewish legacy, and is the desired goal of our policy. After the long journey of wanderings and the hardships of the Jewish people; after the Holocaust which obliterated one third of our people; after the long and arduous struggle for revival; after more than 57 consecutive years of war and terror which did not stop the development of the State of Israel; after all this - our heart’s desire was and remains to achieve peace with our neighbors. Our desire for peace is strong enough to ensure that we will achieve it, only if our neighbors are genuine partners in this longed-for goal. If we succeed in working together, we can transform our plot of land, which is dear to both peoples, from a land of contention to a land of peace…”

When I lived among such sets of issues and thought about my life and what we each continued to have, I said again Running on Empty 374

and again, “LIVE NOW. It is the NOW that counts”. So what to do? Many ask me why I call myself crazy David... “Well, if you see the madness that is going around the world, be it London, Israel, or Sharm el Sheikh in Egypt, you would know then why I am crazy? I guess because I live THE MOMENET NOW FOR THIS IS ALL I HAVE, or anyone else has, for that matter.” But maybe they don’t believe that as they walk away

shaking their heads saying: wake up David wake up. Sure I am awake and you?

I go about doing my thing in my own ways. I meet many, young and old, listen to their stories, then I realize how well we are connected,. That’s when I say, oh GOD how good it is to be alive now and to have love for life in the here and now.

Israel offered me great opportunities to cross the life paths of, and interact with, some real neat individuals. I so vividly recall Orit’s father, Gabi, eighty six years old, hospitalized for a stroke he had recently suffered a few days earlier, a stroke that left his left side completely paralyzed. But his mouth did not drop to the side and his mental faculties were ever so sharp and intact. Whenever I visited him, almost daily, his daughter Orit, the ex wife of my nephew Wili, would sing as she danced to distract her father from having to focus on his condition.

During my visits, he shared with me glimpses of his life, especially his childhood, in Syria and Israel.

Born in Damascus, his father had married the daughter of the chief rabbi. Gabi was brought to Israel when he was only three and half years old! His parents settled in Rosh Pina, in the upper parts of the Galilee. His great great grandfather Running on Empty 375

had come from Russia while his wife was from the Ukraine.

His grandfather, Gabriel, after whose name Gabi is named, was born in Damascus. His father had gone there as a Royal Turkish Engineer, but was later asked to remain there to teach Hebrew in one of the three schools established in Damascus.

He had rented a room at the home of the rabbi and then ended up marrying his daughter. The rabbi was known as Turkic, because he worked for the Turks and S’fadi (those who came from S’fad, the religious city of some of the leading Jewish theologians) because he used to travel to S’fad and buy textiles to sell in Damascus. Gabi, while in Damascus, spoke Arabic with his friends but Hebrew at home. His Jewish friend would not understand his Hebrew as he spoke the formal biblical Hebrew as taught by his dad, while his friend spoke the everyday one as they believed the biblical one was only for prayers. So he did not have many friends as the y could not communicate. He spent his leisure time with his brother and one sister.

They used to walk down to the market, as they lived in the upper part of town while the market was always down by the port. One of their games was to take their mother’s good china dishes and roll them down the hill, only to find out that they shattered by the time they got to them. His mother would get upset, but his little brother would say, “What’s the problem? I will go down and buy you new ones”.

Gabi had two daughters, but said he wished he had five.

His wife died long back but he never remarried but remained with a German Jew living in Munich. They seemed to live beRunning on Empty 376

tween the two cities while his daughters remained in Israel. He was a well accomplished lawyer and had great real estate tracts inherited form his father. As he aged, he would spend significant time lecturing to his club about biblical teachings as well as philosophy. He was well respected among the intellectual as well as political circles. One day as we talked, he looked When I asked him what’s up , he said he was sad about not being able to get involved in helping defuse the tension between the orthodox and liberals that was brewing over the withdrawal from the settlements in the Gaza strip.

Then there was Jose whom I had met at the gym in Caesarea. I saw him come every other day with wearing a sour look on his face and turned down lips. My God, I said look at that man who seems to be so unhappy and who must be ‘carrying the whole world on his back!’ True to my usual friendly self, I greeted him in Hebrew but he only looked at me and shook his head. Who is this Jose and why is he so sad?

After a few days of my greeting him and trying to make small talk as I found him capable of conversing in English, I asked him if we could have a coffee some times after the gym.

He accepted and over coffee I shared some of my background with him and about my family in Tel Aviv. He opened up some by allowing me a glimpse into his immediate past and his family unit. It turned out that he was a retired police officer who had headed the investigation unit of the Mid Region of Israel and had done quite a bit of travel to various parts of the world to upgrade his technical skills.

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As time went on, we met more and shared more. One of the first things I told him was that I saw in his face much pain and suffering. How come he never smiled and why did he seem to be carrying such heavy loads on his back? Since he had lived as long as he had and since he seemed to have had many good and many not so good experiences, why not burry them and try to live as fully as he could then? Wow, did I overstep the boundary of our budding friendship!!! Would he be willing to meet with me again and more importantly would he share some of the reasons he seemed so unhappy?

Was I doing all this for myself or for him and if for him, did he really need me to meddle into his affairs? I mulled over these issues but I decided not to dwell on them. I would let things happen as they do and see. I liked him and I felt that we could indeed build a good friendship. He was my age and he had gone through some rough times as I did, but certainly not the same!

I was finally able to break the ‘ice’, he had kept himself in, as he shared some of his life’s story. He was born in Hungary, spent a year in concentration camp with his mother, and then served in the Hungarian army for a time. He worked for the Israeli government some, but in what capacity, I never found out! He married in Hungary and had a daughter then divorced and remarried when he served at the Israeli diplomatic mission in Rome to his present wife. What fascinated *(Effendi being the Turkish title given to a male who is well-behaved and well mannered. Its social significance reflects the position of the person in society such as a master, lord, sir, and gentleman).

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me the most about him was his assertion that he ‘never loved and did not know what love was’! How sad to live that way, I thought then!

With time, he began to open up and share some of his story. He even became interested in writing his story if he had access to a lap top. Rapee, my wife, and I decided then and there to get him a lap top and carry it to Israel. That we did and he got so excited about writing that he ended up completing it within seven months. He printed it and shared it with his wife and daughter. He told me one day that his wife was so upset at him and his writing that she vowed not to discuss it at all.

Since he wrote it in Hebrew, I did not get a copy but my sister Nina read it and suggested he send it to the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Jerusalem, which he did.

Jose and I became like brother. I was the ‘brother’ he never had and he was the ‘brother’ I never related to during my youth and adult life. He began to share more and more of his life and he and his wife and mine became very close indeed. I did and do now treasure his friendship and his love.

He tells me he loves me as I do him. He wants to live now and has tremendous sense of humor which I thoroughly enjoy. I am sure tha he will always be a faithful friend indeed.

Another beautiful moment I remember was during the 2005 National Day of Remembrance, April 22 to be exact. I happened to be at my sister’s house as we sat and watched the various acts unfold. When I returned to my house, I wrote a few lines which I shared with my children then.

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Remember now How does one capture and recall?

How does one cry and be heard?

How does one ask and be answered?

Tonight was the memorial of Israel’s dead Who gave their lives in the service of their country So that you, I, And every Israeli and every Jew can live.

Prayers were recited, Names were read, Incidents were recalled, But where had the young ones gone?

Images were shared, Songs were sung, Tears were shed, But where had the young ones gone?

Hebrew was used, Not all said was understood, But the feelings were there, The tears were shed, The soul cried out, But where had the young ones gone?

Being a Jew in Israel now, Is worth the world several times over, Running on Empty 380

Thanks must be given To the one who left me, And in so doing freed my soul To soar among my own, My people who took me in Even when I rebelled for so long Against becoming one of the many Who had decided that enough is enough!

To be a Jew is not a shame To be a Jew is a privilege And to be in Israel now, Even with so limited access to the language I live with a blessing‌

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What Next ?

As I close my writing, I look back at my past and won der what next? I know that I don’t know about what changes will take place within countries or the world,

Let me end my memoirs by sharing a beautiful American Indian prayer titled, “Let Me Walk in Beauty*” that I often used during my morning meditations in Nepal and also Israel.

“O Great Spirit, Whose voice I hear in the winds And whose breath gives life to the entire world, Hear me.

I am small and weak.

I need your strength and wisdom.

Let me walk in beauty And let my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset.

Make my hands respect the things you have made And my ears grow sharp to hear your voice.

Make me wise so that I may understand the things You have taught my people.

Let me learn the lessons you have hidden In every leaf and rock.

I seek strength not to be greater than my brother or sister but to fight my greatest enemy, myself.

Make me always ready *LET ME WALK IN BEAUTY: This prayer is thought to be Native American in origin and is sometimes attributed to the Sioux Tribe. This free rendering appeared in the Friends Bulletin and reproduced by Eknath Easwaran in Selections from the World’s Most Sacred Literature. (c. 2004)

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to come to you with clean hands and straight eyes So when life fades as the fading sunset my spirit may come to you without shame.

Great Spirit of love, Come to me with the power of the North.

Make me courageous when the cold winds of life Fall upon me.

Give me strength and endurance for everything That is harsh, Everything that hurts, Everything that makes me squint.

Make me move through life ready to take what comes From the North.

Spirit who comes out of the East, Come to me with the power of the rising sun.

Let there be light in my word.

Let there be light on the path that I walk.

Let me remember always that you give the gift of a new day.

Never let me be burdened with sorrow By not starting over.

Great Spirit of creation, Send me the warm and soothing winds From the South.

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Comfort me and caress me when I am tired and cold.

Enfold me as your gentle breezes enfold your leaves on the trees.

And as you give to all the earth your warm, moving wind, Give to me so that I may grow close to you in warmth.

Great life-giving Spirit, I face the West, the direction of the sundown.

Let me remember every day that the moment will come when my sun will go down.

Never Iet me forget that I must fade into you.

Give me beautiful color.

Give me a great sky for setting, and when it is time to meet you, I come with glory.

And Giver of all life, I pray to you from the earth, help me to remember as I touch the earth that I am little and need your pity.

Help me to be thankful for the gift of the earth and never to walk hurtfully on the world.

Bless to love what comes from mother earth and teach me how to love your gifts.

Great Spirit of the heavens, lift me up to you that my heart may worship you Running on Empty 384

and come to you in glory.

Hold in my memory that you are my Creator, greater than I, eager for my good life.

Let everything that is in the world lift my mind, and my heart, and my life to you so that we may come always to you in truth and in heart�.

GREAT!!!!!!!!!

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Running on Empty M E M O I R S

11. This world is a better place with a man like you". Shanti Thapa , kathmandu-Nepal 12. A kind, generous soul who shared his home, family and friends with me, for which I am truly grateful". Sally Colin, NC, USA 13. I thank God that ten years ago our paths crossed ; you helped change my life, my attitudes, my heart; and you taught me to be optimistic and believe that the best things in this life, are friendship, self respect, love, and much more ". Nodira Khosano va ; Tashkent- Uzbekistan 14. During the first ten minutes of conversation with David, you would think that he is just crazy! All you want is to flee and hide from him, because it was just too much of intelligence, words, soul, and smiles. However, something prevented you from fleeing. It was probably curiosity,–as if you’ ve met a real prophet, – a wise and loving prophet, – who is so unusual that it almost scares you.... But I’ve started signing my letters ‘CrazyasArslan’, and I am going to do my best to be as ‘crazy’ as David". Arslan Juldasov and his two lovely daughters , Lisa and Anna ; Tashkent - Uzbekistan 15. Tu es une personne unique et exeptionnellement rare; une chance de t'avoir rencontré". Robert Simon; French-Italian living in Phuket 16. Not known for his lengthy silences David is, in fact,an equally good listener ever willing to advise on others' problems". Philip, British living in Phuket 17. ...a Finnish word that fits you; Mahtava. Translated to English means:Great, magnificent, awesome...." Jari Nenonen, Finland residing in Phuket.

18. you have been always a universal man: universal to people, universal to cultures, universal to life". Ziv Evgi, Caesarea-Israel 19. David is a person that causes you to stop and wonder if you are not wrong about the way you understand life. He does it so good that you must stop and thing again and again". Avi Shani , Pardes-Khana - Israel residing in Havana -Cuba 20. you are the most special person that I know. I love you".Alon Amid , Caesarea - Israel 21. Since our paths crossed, my total attitude to life and living has been completely colorful; an artwork that is beautiful; a reflection of your greatness when you saw some greatness in me and in everyone else who crosses your life's path ". Ms. Boom KB, Thai residing in Hordorf, Wolfenbüttel, Germany Running on Empty 387

Running on Empty M E M O I R S

1. A man who is a joy to be with and to love". Rapee, my wife, Mission Hospital, Phuket 2. It is said that a brother is 'the closest thing to a sister's heart', but to me you are much more. You are the 'captain on a rescue ship' that wherever I am at high seas in the middle of a raging tempest, you come from nowhere to the rescue right in time of need . Your loving way of putting things in perspective is a virtue I cherish tremendously . May we continue to be for each other in joy, happiness and trouble". Nina Shayo, my sister in Tel Aviv- Israel 3. I have always loved and admired my brother Sion". Mayer David, my brother; North Carolina-USA 4. My father, a true renascence man, possesses tremendous wealth of knowledge and sharp intellect; a man who is at home wherever he lays his head; be it in Africa, Eastern Europe, the Middle East, Asia or America while being able to turn strangers into family with natural ease, a quick joke and a warm smile". Gwen Moual lem , my daughter; New Jersey-USA 5. It should be easy to talk about my father, but it is not. He has more than one life time's worth of stories, experiences, opinions and feelings. This is what makes being part of his lifeline precious, I too can carry those things with me through my own life". Sion Zivetz , my second son 6. .. a fiery individual radiating endless energies of passion, love for life, happiness, heartwarming goodness, compassion, generosity, ..." Pnina Schechter, my niece. Miami , Florida -USA 7. I'm inspired by your passion for life; by your ability to see beauty in the world and in others; by your generosity, and by your acknowledgment of individual right of choices in life". Niza Moal lem, my niece. Caesarea- Israel 8. Crazy David, as he likes so much to be called, is not at all crazy but is a Wise Man and a Gentleman. " SĂŠlim Ajami, adopted brother, Hertzeliya - Israel 9. So I like you brother weary much like we were born together in the same time, same place from thesame mother hand in hand together." Josi Kovari , Hadera , Israel 10. A loving lifelong friend with compassion and humanity with no parallel". Bhekh and Rita Thapa, Kathmandu -Nepal