I’ve been having Holocaust dreams lately. Not actual scenes of concentration camps or ghettos, but disturbing scenarios with enough related resonances to let me know I’m in the territory–cozying up with the inherited terror of my family’s refugee/survivor history.
In one dream, my husband comes upstairs from the laundry room carrying a huge sack of clothes slung over his shoulder. Someone has stolen our brand new laundry cart, which I’d left downstairs. I rant about the cost of a new cart and fret about not being able to trust our neighbors anymore. In real life, the next morning, my husband reported that I’d cried out in my sleep, “What are we going to do?!!”
In another dream, I’m overseas at a huge conference center. My flight home is in a couple of hours but I haven’t packed yet and can’t remember where my room is. I begin a race against the clock to find my room, get my stuff, and make it to the airport. Nobody will help me, so I run around anxiously, in and out of buildings and through wooded paths. Finally, I see some members of my group descending a giant staircase with their suitcases. “Wait for me!!” I cry, desperate not to be left behind, alone. Continue reading “Dreaming About War”