On Obergefell and Omi

Watching the celebrations play out on Friday in the wake of the Supreme Court’s decision in Obergefell, I was reminded of my Omi (grandmother), Lottie Morley.

No, she wasn’t gay, and in a lot of senses, she wasn’t particularly progressive either. She once told me that while she enjoyed coming to my jazz-band concerts, she looked forward to the day when I would start playing real music. (I eventually figured out that anything post-1870 didn’t qualify).

But she had a strong sense of justice and, even more importantly, a keen understanding of the importance of freedom. Omi came of age in Nazi Germany. Her first date with my Opi was on Hitler’s birthday in 1935. They had the day off from school.

Eventually, they both fled to England and then to the United States, where they settled, moved to the New York suburbs, had two children who grew to be successful professionals and pretty much embodied the American Dream in every relevant sense.

A few years back, Omi was invited to a friend’s house for a Seder to celebrate Passover, which commemorates the Jewish exodus from Egypt. The host asked everyone to write some thoughts on the meaning of “freedom” to share with the group.

In addition to her thoughts, Omi brought two “identity” cards that the Nazis had issued to her husband (my Opi) and her brother. Like all Jewish men, their cards were inscribed with a “J” for “Jew”, and their middle names were listed as “Israel”. Jewish women were assigned the middle name “Sarah”.

“What was the first time I was conscious of freedom?” Omi asked. “Walking through Hyde Park in London in September 1939, shortly before the outbreak of World War II, listening to the speakers at Hyde Park Corner. They stood on soapboxes and held forth about their diverse religious and political beliefs. They aired critical opinions about people in power without fear of persecution of any kind.

“I guess most of you have witnessed it without giving it a second thought.”

On the left, we sometimes pooh-pooh the importance of freedom from state-sanctioned oppression. How can we be truly free, some ask, amidst the tyranny of brand loyalty and trigger-warning-less speeches and micro-aggressions?

Of course, equal rights under law is not the only measure of freedom. But it’s a pretty damn important one. As I saw pictures of Jack Evans and George Harris kiss after becoming the first gay couple married in Dallas County on Friday, I tried to imagine what it must feel like—at ages 85 and 82, after 54 years together—to have the state declare their relationship equal to that of any straight couple.

I tried, but I can’t. Because while we’ve all faced challenges in our lives, fewer and fewer of us know what it feels like to endure the legal status of a second-class citizen.

Six days after Omi died in 2013, my wife and I welcomed our second daughter into the world. We named her Sarah.

A few days later, my dad told me he thought it was a nice way to reclaim the name that the Nazis had affixed to Omi and millions of other Jewish women during the Holocaust.

I smiled. We had settled on the name because we liked how it sounded. We hadn’t even considered the historical implications.

We never gave them a second thought.