A Letter To Rodriguez From Liz In Chicago.

Dear Mr. Rodriguez,

I understand you have many, many fans all over the world and likely get thousands and thousands of notes.

I am a loyal fan.

I was at the show you played on Tuesday, May 14, 2014 at the Chicago Theatre. I cheered the loudest.

Your incredible story played on the big screen at the Music Box Theatre, in Chicago. I loved the film, and I truly love you.

My family is here in Detroit and I am in town now. I see that you are across the world, where I have friends in Melbourne. I wish you safe travels. You sounded exactly like you do on your records.

I’m captivated by your incredible story and loving daughters.

Your show was the highlight of my week. Two days later, I lost my job. Two days after that my long-time boyfriend broke up with me. The following week I turned 49. Life – not cancer bad – just life.

I tell you this with the belief that my “fan note” will flicker across your computer screen and you’ll read that seeing you was – most obviously – not just the highlight of my week – but an experience that I relieve when I listen to your voice, from my computer, iPod and car stereo.

Thank you for your efforts that include safety for women – while you sing so beautifully and poetically about social justice.

Mr. Rodriguez, your voice needs to be heard.

As the daughter of a Holocaust survivor, I am actively engaged in “tikun olam” – repairing the world. I’m including a link to a 60-essay that I wrote and read for Holocaust Remembrance Day. I know you will understand:

http://www.wbez.org/episode-segments/holocaust-remembrance-day

Many thanks. I wish you continued good health and success.

I am going to keep track of your tours, with the sincere I hope I will be so lucky to shake your hand – and let you know that I intend to write about you.

Like you, I have important work to do. Educating children about these horrors, that, so astoundingly, continue in other countries.

When the last eye-witness to the Holocaust passes away in my generation – like my dad did, in almost good health, to 95 – it is on me to be their voice, of those who perished.

I look forward to meeting you. I know the line is long. It’s okay. I can wait. I am patient. Like you.

Best wishes,

Liz