and refuge – a shelter in more ways
than one. Our ideas and feelings
regarding ‘home’ were stretched
and broadened as we learned new
ways of ‘being at home.’
We have known, even before the
pandemic, that humans all over
the world develop attachments to
the physical locations and physical
spaces which connote ‘home.’ Our
physical surroundings ground us.
Psychology professor, Dr. Frank
McAndrew, an expert in environmental
psychology, found that the
Zuni of the American Southwest
have long viewed a house as a
living thing.
While traveling, I saw how ‘home’
can be a chateau or a palace, but it
can just as well be a hut, a cabin,
or a houseboat. I vividly remember
a visit to a Berber village in the
foothills of the Atlas Mountains in
Morocco. Among fields and fruit
trees, villagers reside in modest
brown mud huts with very little
creature comforts. I recall entering
a hut through an arched doorway.
In the middle of the main room
was a fire pit for cooking, and we
were served mint tea which filled
the hut with a pleasant aroma.
The single space was decorated
with hand woven rugs, pillows,
and blankets. There was a prayer
corner, and the eating/sitting space
became a sleeping space at night. I
was touched by the humble dignity
manifested by owners, mixed with
obvious pride when showing us
around their modest dwelling.
I had a similar experience
when visiting a Maasai village in
Tanzania’s Serengeti. We were
invited to enter a thatched roof
hut. Beautiful ornate carvings
adorned the entryway. Due to
the fact that the Maasai have to
be ready to move at any given
time, huts are built to be temporary.
Interestingly, the women are
responsible for building, and elder
women instruct younger women in
the craft of construction. Families
cook, sleep, eat, and socialize in a
single space. The hut we entered
was dark (no windows), small, and
very different from any dwelling I
have ever visited. But I could see
the effort invested in making it feel
like home.
‘Home’ as physical space often
signifies more than just a current
residence. The Pew Research
Center, a fact tank piloting social
science research, conducted a
study where a nationally representative
sample of 2,260 American
adults living in the continental
USA were asked to identify “the
place in your heart you consider
to be home.” Only 22% indicated
that ‘home’ was where they
currently lived. 26% said that the
place in their hearts they considered
‘home’ was where they were
born or raised. 18% viewed ‘home’
as the place where they had lived
the longest. 15% felt ‘home’ was
where most of their extended family
had come from. As the novelist
John Steinbeck disclosed:
“I have many homes, some that
I have not seen yet. Maybe that is
why I am restless; I have not yet
known all my homes.”
Beyond places, our various
‘homes’ may embody people,
objects, occurrences, and mindsets.
‘Homes’ may be associated
with parents and families of origin
– the places where our stories
began. Other ‘homes’ may be associated
with partners and families
of procreation. ‘Homes’ may be
attached to cherished places from
our history, and ‘homes’ may also
be connected with places where
we dream of being. We incorporate
elements of different places
and mindsets creating a notion of
‘home’ that combines the physical,
the emotional, the remembered,
and the hoped for. As life evolves,
our notion of ‘home’ may expand...
Perhaps a saying that encompasses
all these different ‘homes’
is “Home is where the heart is.”
Home is a place that, for whatever
reason, we feel deeply connected
to emotionally. As far as we go in
time and physical distance, we
carry ‘home’ along – in our hearts.
T.S. Eliot wrote: “Home is
where one starts from.” On a roots
trip to Poland, I went searching for
the homes where my parents grew
up, homes situated in communities
reduced to ashes during WWII. My
parents, who left their childhood
homes young, carried memories of
these homes with them throughout
their lives. They shared with me
their cravings to belong yet again,
their awareness of the importance
of a ‘home’ that can offer refuge,
comfort, and stability.
Personally, I still bestow the term
‘home’ on various places where I
have lived – on two different continents.
I remember trips to Israel,
taking our children to my parents’
home, saturated with memories
of my own years of growing up.
Coming back to my parents’ home,
a home I never stopped honoring,
after a long time away, was always
emotionally evocative. So many
memories... I concur with F. Scott
Fitzgerald:
“It’s a funny thing coming home.
Nothing changes. Everything
looks the same, feels the same,
even smells the same. You realized
what’s changed is you.”
Before moving to North Shore
Towers, we spent 42 years in our
Jericho home. When we purchased
our beautiful new North Shore
Towers apartment as empty nesters,
I was ready to move onward,
looking forward to a new chapter.
I assumed that my state of readiness
would make the transition
easy. Little did I know... Letting
go of our home was harder than
anticipated. It was a home we
moved to when the children were
young. The children grew up there.
It was our witness. Its soul was
crafted by us. Every corner was
soaked with memories. It was
filled with objects that inhabited
our past. Only “things,” I know,
but still... I had a particularly hard
time letting go of my home office,
which some patients referred to
as “the womb.” Detaching myself
from the garden was also difficult. I
loved adorning it with flowers year
after year – selecting and planting
the flowers myself, creating diverse
color schemes and ever-changing
plant combinations. The garden
became a canvas inviting my
imagination.
Just before moving, we organized
a “Goodbye to the House”
ceremony. With our children and
grandchildren, we gathered to say
farewell, revisit memories, and prepare
the house for a new chapter in
its narrative. I read a tribute poem
I wrote in honor of the house, left
a welcoming letter for the new
owners, took the memories along,
and passed the baton...
The following evening, the first
in our new apartment, surrounded
by unpacked boxes, we cheered a
new beginning. The new apartment
had been furnished and decorated
with items transported from our old
home – an attempt to make the new
chapter flow from the one before it
as smoothly as possible. “Hello new
home,” I recited, as a first dazzling
sunset welcomed us, a prelude to
the many that would follow.
Ever since, I love to sit on our
balcony at night and look at the lit
windows of the building adjacent
to ours: So many lights, and each
light is ‘home’ to someone. Lives
illuminated...
Clare Cooper Marcus, retired
professor of architecture, wrote
an interesting book titled: House
as a Mirror of Self – Exploring the
Deeper Meaning of Home. In it, she
summarized her studies of people’s
emotional ties to their homes. She
shows how we interact with our
dwellings past and present and
how we, consciously and often
unconsciously, design our homes
to mirror who we are. In her words:
“Home remains, whether in our
hearts or in reality, the place of
security and nurturance necessary
for our psyche. It remains
the envelope into which we
retreat for privacy and intimacy,
which reflects who we are as
individuals...”
Walk around your apartment:
Can you see in what ways it mirrors
who you are? Focus on your
home’s interior and contents: the
colors, the arrangement and style
of the furniture, the artwork, the
objects you chose to transfer from
one home to another, the items
you were determined to hold on to
even when you were sizing down...
Is there a continuation? Or, have
you made changes that created a
home environment more accurately
reflective of who you currently
are? What in your current dwelling
makes you feel at ‘home’?
Reading Marcus’ book helped
me better understand the deep
connection I have had to elements
of the different homes of my past.
Perhaps we need to leave home in
order to fully understand the value
of coming home.
In summary, the concept of
‘home’ – any way we define and
experience it – is saturated with
feelings. ‘Home’ encompasses
places and people, memories and
experiences. It connects us to
loved ones with whom we shared
homes. It bears witness to our story.
It mirrors us. We never get too
far from ‘home.’ Wherever we go,
‘home’ remains at the center of our
longings. ‘Coming home’ is a profound
feeling we try to replicate – in
different ways, throughout life. In
that sense, we can go home again:
We can come back from wherever
we venture to a place where we
feel we belong, a place that is a
reflection or an extension of us. As
one of my favorite poets, the wise
Rumi, said:
“There are a thousand ways to
go home again.”
September 2021 ¢ NORTH SHORE TOWERS COURIER 25