LIFE AND DEATH IN JUNE June 5, 2026
June means a great deal to me as an individual, an American and a Jew.
Sunday is the 123rd birthday of my father, Morris, in Warsaw, Poland. In February, 1906, age two-and-a-half, Dad came to America with my grandparents—Sam and Kaylah—along with Aunt Alice (older) and Aunt Etta (Younger).
As half the team of Morris and Blanche Finkle Perlstein (their anniversary: June 28), Dad gave me life. Okay, Mom did the heavy lifting.
Dad taught me a lot about honesty, integrity, hard work and family loyalty—qualities he held in abundance. From Mom, I learned to loosen up and enjoy life. Dad’s sober, introverted side and Mom’s “I’ll drink to that” extroversion often have clashed within me. Dad’s nature usually wins out, but Mom claims a triumph now and then.
In 1983, June also took Dad’s life. There’s a lot I’d like him to know about—how his daughter-in-law has appeared on TV shows and in movies. How his three grandchildren have made their way—each very much an individual, and each accomplished.
Thankfully, he saw me married, a parent and starting a freelance advertising business that proved rewarding on many levels. I know that he believed in me. I was with him in the hospital the day before he died. I held his hand. Although in a coma, he heard my updates on family and business. His thumb tapped mine. I will always remember that moment.
When my sister Kay and I stood at my parents’ gravesites in New Jersey following the unveiling of Mom’s headstone in 2000—a Jewish custom—we promised them that we would always be there for each other. We have been. Dad and Mom always knew we would be.
Life and loss also are well-represented in tomorrow’s 82nd anniversary of D-Day, the Allied invasion of Normandy that led to the destruction of Nazi Germany. A third of the world’s Jews perished at the hands of the Nazis and their sympathizers. Horrifically, the Germans rushed to kill as many Jews as they could as Allied troops closed in, the war lost.
I honor the men who hit the beaches, and the men and women who supported them. Those men gave their lives—3,000–4,000 on D-Day alone—to save so many others. That not only includes Jews who survived the death camps but many of us around the world.
Had the Normandy invasion failed—or had Hitler brought England to its knees earlier—the Allies might have come to terms with Germany. While German troops might not have entered the United States, the Holocaust would have continued. The position of American Jews would have been fraught with danger. As to what might have happened, read Phillip Roth’s novel, The Plot Against America.
Dad—and Mom—gave me life. Millions of Allies fighting in Europe and Asia helped sustain my life and that of my family. My children may be here because of them.
June—as well as July, with so many family birthdays (including my own) and the birth and death of my brother-in-law Herb—marks the never-ending cycle of life and death. While Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, is three months off, l pray that we value all life, and are written and sealed in the Book of Life.
The post will take off for two weeks and return on June 26.
To understand the background of today’s far-right, authoritarian descent, read my new novel, RIDE THE TYGER. Order from Amazon, barnesandnoble.com, iuniverse.com, or your favorite bookstore.
Lovely essay, David.
Thank you, Lisa.
The circle it goes round and round.
Indeed, it does, Nancy.
Ellen and I will be in Normandy tomorrow and Sunday to see and remember. We were in line for the Monet gardens this morning and started talking to two couples, one Austrian and one Dutch. They all spoke with gratitude to the Americans (and the Brits and Canadians) who liberated Europe. Obviously, they didn’t experience the war themselves, but that gratitude is part of their collective memory. It’s sad that fewer Americans have that memory.
The Austrian woman quipped that their thank you gift to us for liberating Europe was sending us Arnold Schwarzenegger.
We’ll take Arnold, David. And we’ve gotten so much more—as we’ve given so much. Enjoy the experience—and say hello for me.
Will do.
David, we have so many parallels.
My dad was born in 1902. Came from Belarus in 1915. He died in 1983.
My mother called me and said she was losing him. I went straight from my office to the airport and straight to the hospital, midnight Florida time. He was in a coma. I told him I was there. My mom and I went back to the apartment and got a call from the hospital that his vital were going and there wasn’t time to come back. I know he waited for me to come. When he heard my voice, he let go.
Enjoy your time off!
My birthday is in June as are many of my family. We are May and June BD’s.
My father loved to travel. He would be proud of what I have accomplished.
Similar stories indeed, Sandy. And no doubt he would be proud of you… which you know.
Re June birthdays. David’s mom and my dad share June 6 (not the same year, of course). We will toast them tonight.
A worthy toast, Ellen.