Group Analytic Contexts, Issue 77, September 2017

Newsletter – Autumn 2017 73
Symposium moves in a circular pattern, reminding me of the
traditional Greek cyclic dances. The circle begins or ends; moves
forward, backward or turns, seniors are critically acknowledged and
newcomers are reluctantly welcomed, change of order happens
randomly and unexpectedly, life and death interact.
Life’s circle presents another Foulkes: are we not Foulkes’s
descendants, sharing his encoded commands? Do we identify with
Benjamin Mayer-Foulkes, his grandfather’s grandson? Are we
overflowing with emotion? Are we diving into the past while heading
to the future passing in transit through our present condition? Do we
incessantly relive the past? Benjamin’s presence created the feeling
that S. H. Foulkes himself was among us, a feeling augmented by the
spare narration of his last moments in the film, shown this very
afternoon. We follow in his footsteps, overlapping our circles, closing
and restarting, using and experimenting with newfound concepts.
Renegotiation of limits and boundaries occurs. Welcoming
criticism as a different interesting standpoint, we adopt new roles. We
struggle to cross our borders and meet with the ‘other’ in and outside
ourselves. We are on the edge, not hurriedly crossing over, but
broadening the narrow path to accept new people and reconnoiter
novel ideas, as in the cyclic dance.
An unexpected experience gradually emerged during my stay
in Berlin and participation in the Symposium. I realized I suffered
from transgenerational trauma. The village of my grandfather in
Greece was burned down during the Second World War by the Nazis.
My mother was dealing with the aftermath of this trauma and her
narratives often interlarded my childhood, especially regarding her
beloved uncle Charilaos, who was burned with the village. I always
froze when hearing the German language spoken, a giant octopus
grabbed my stomach and breathlessness deprived me of oxygen
menacing my life. Although I have met people with different
nationalities, since I travel a lot, and I am friends with some of them,
there are only a few Germans among them, of whom I think by their
name and not by their nationality. Is this an accidental fact, I wonder?
What happened was amazing. Initially I was overwhelmed by the
exuberant German hospitality in the Symposium – a shade of guilt
insinuated. As days went by, I felt closer and closer to my German
hosts. I resonated with their unbearable heritage. They were wronged
as well, being the descendents of the perpetrators. I found them
cultured, sympathetic and hospitable, humane with dreams and fears
like mine, philhellene many of them. Since I admire the work that
Israeli and German people are doing in order to coexist and understand