Each of their zoom boxes has a photo of them in life. I requested this because I didn’t know if I would see skeletal remains, or dust, or nothing at all. Below the photo, their names, because I didn’t know if I’d recognize them from photos I haven’t seen. Instead of self-identifying pronouns, (a concept I didn’t think they’d relate to), a descriptor that identifies them. Either in life or death - their choice. 

I open the meeting: Thank you for coming. I know this might be a stretch since you died between one and eight decades ago. You’ve missed both the fabulous and the horrific - nuclear weapons, the Beatles, Sputnik, the Vietnam War, Netflix, Franco’s long awaited death, #s, #metoo, #BlackLIvesMatter, AI, climate change... I won’t go on, we have limited time. I asked you here because I need some help. Fascists are taking over my country. You had this experience - what should I do?

Rosie Leiser, (the grandmother I was named after), descriptor “tragic Jewish daughter of Zeus” says: You must get away from those people. We stayed too long. We didn’t think they could hurt us. I bribed so many people, fled through four different countries, then I died anyway.

Herman Leiser, my father, descriptor “professor of schmattology” says: Mutter, would you sing a song for me? His picture, a round faced blond boy looks a
little teary.

My father’s father, Josef Leiser, descriptor “handsome/rich/athlete” says: nothing.

I realize I have no idea if they have connected with each other since they died. Although hosting a family reunion is a delightful idea, I want to know what they can teach me about coping with the rise of fascism.

The screen around my mother’s picture flashes green (Josefine Leiser, aka Fini, descriptor “best daughter/wife/mother”.) She’s trying to say something.

Unmute, I yell

Fini: I can’t hear you

 Me: Do you have your hearing aids on?

Fini: They don’t help. They don’t work on the telephone. 

Me: This isn’t a telephone. This is zoom. Hearing aids are much better now. No more little batteries all over the floor. Can you get new ones there?

Fini: I can’t hear you.

My mother’s mother Chana Rivka aka Anna Landman, descriptor: “broken saint/seamstress who never complains”: Vus is dus zoom? (What is that zoom)

Me: I can’t explain it. We started using it during a recent pandemic. Not the one you lived through in 1918. How come no one ever mentioned that pandemic?

Isaac Landman, my mother’s father - descriptor “former socialist/wrestling fan”: too much other dreck going on, pogroms, world war I 

Rosie: what country are we in now?

Me: you’re all buried in the Inwood Jewish Center plot at Cedar Park cemetery in Paramus New Jersey. But you’re probably on unceded ether somewhere. Or maybe the Bardo.

“Your internet connection is unstable” flashes on the screen.

Are we being hacked? There’s no one in the waiting room. 

Elon and Trump appear center screen. They start to do a duet of “Springtime for Hitler” then Trump suddenly starts making arm gestures for “YMCA”. Elon’s son X takes Trump’s hand and leads him to a distant golf course. Elon does a solo of “Tomorrow belongs to me.” Gives Sieg Heil salute, then is gone.

Fini: What is that supposed to be?

Chana: Alles zu America. (send everything to America)

Me: I’m IN America. 

Herman: Noch schon wieder? (Again, already?)

Fini: Now do you see why we said you should be grateful?

Me: Now I see, but it was a little challenging when I was five. Anyway, I’m glad you don’t have to live through this

Herman: Fini, do you hear how she talks to her parents and grandparents? She is glad we are dead.

Fini: where is your sister?

Me: Long story. She stopped talking to me after you died.

Fini: you should be taking care of her. All you have is each other.

Me: I have a wife, Lee, remember, you got along well with her.

Chana/Anna: A wife? Vus is dus? (what’s that)

Fini: let’s not talk about it

Isaac: Shh, Shh

Chana/Anna: Ikh ken schoyn redn (I can talk already)

Me: I have so many questions...

Herman: If the Nazis came back again I would get a gun and shoot as many as I could before they took me away.

Me: you’ve never even seen a gun. You think I should shoot them?

Fini: You are aggravating your father. Let’s talk about something more pleasant.

Me: If you can’t tell me what to do when fascism arrives, maybe you can tell me what it’s like to be dead?

Everyone suddenly leaves the meeting. I see only my own face reflected back on the screen.

End meeting for all.

Roz Leiser (she/her) was the first child on both sides of her family born in the United States to refugees from the Nazis. She grew up wondering, “why didn’t the Germans do more to stop Hitler?” She is currently wondering if we will do a more effective job.

She has worked as an RN, grief counselor, research coordinator, non-profit director, waitress, secretary and movie theatre janitor.

Her writing has appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle, Persimmon Tree, Common Ties, The Sun, The Noe Valley Voice, Blue Lyra Review and Moment Magazine.