Lifestyle
The Morgan Library's quest to honor a matriarch in archiving : Consider This from NPR
Belle da Costa Greene in 1929.
Library of Congress
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Library of Congress
Belle da Costa Greene in 1929.
Library of Congress
Imagine yourself in Gilded Age New York, as you witness a glamorous, self-possessed young woman become an influential figure in wealthy social circles.
Known throughout the city, photographed by the press, she works with one of the richest men in the country collecting some of the world’s rarest books and manuscripts, for his personal collection.
Though it may sound like the plot of a movie, this story is taken from history. Referred to as one of the most fascinating librarians in American history, Belle da Costa Greene is the figure who is responsible for the depth and legacy of the Morgan Library’s collection, to this day.
You may have never heard of her — but the Morgan Library and Museum in New York is trying to change that.
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The Morgan Library
The library was founded by J. Pierpont Morgan, one of the richest and most powerful bankers in the early 20th century.
While it was originally intended to house J.P. Morgan’s personal collection, today, it houses a one-of-a-kind collection of medieval writings, rare books and illuminated manuscripts. That’s thanks in large part to Belle da Costa Greene.
She became the librarian for the collection in 1905 — and in 1924 was appointed director of the Morgan Library.
Erica Ciallela is a curator for “A Librarian’s Legacy” — a new exhibit that is part of the Morgan’s 100th anniversary celebrations. She says it’s hard to find an area of the study that Greene hasn’t influenced, telling NPR: “We could go on forever with everything she touched and created.”
The exhibit traces Greene’s life and her lasting impact on the role of libraries as public spaces for everyone, not just the educated elite.
“Our exhibition programs, our lecture programs, our collections that we do today, we can trace it all back to her becoming director and believing that this institution could be one of a kind in the world and a place for scholars everywhere to come and look at these amazing materials.”
Greene’s vision was also a key factor in defining the scope of this collection.
“She really was looking for one of a kind items, which is what sets our collection apart, because she really was like, ‘I want the best of the best.’ And that sometimes meant looking outside of what was popular. And she knew exactly what would make this collection and this building become a site.”
Passing to survive
Heading a library was an unusually prominent role for a woman at the turn of the last century, particularly for a Black woman. But this woman chose to pass as white to survive in a highly segregated America.
Ciallela says the decision was a family choice, spearheaded by her mother, Genevieve, who not only made the decision for all of Greene and her siblings to pass, but did it fairly early on, when Greene was still in school.
Da Costa Greene’s personal struggles with race and gender were lost to time and her own hand, as she burned her 10-volume set of diaries before her death.
“But we do have a letter she wrote to the art historian, Bernard Berenson, where she said that that is where she wrote things down that she dare not even think to herself. So what that means, unfortunately we’re never going to know. But, I mean, it’s got to have been a struggle. And, I mean, it’s actually incredible that she was made director as a woman,” Ciallela said.
This episode was produced by Jordan-Marie Smith and Kathryn Fink. It was edited by Jeanette Woods. Our executive producer is Sami Yenigun.
Shoppers walk along Fifth Avenue on Nov. 29 in New York City.
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Heather Khalifa/AP
If you’re feeling guilty for thinking about returning that unironically ugly sweater your least favorite aunt gave you this holiday season, maybe don’t. ‘Tis the season of giving — and returning, after all.
The National Retail Federation reports that returns will total $890 billion for all of 2024. Returns happen year-round, but are most prevalent during the holiday season, the organization said.
But etiquette experts caution there is a delicate art to returning, or even regifting, the presents you receive.
“When it comes to returning a gift, I think discretion is key so you never hurt the gift giver,” said Myka Meier, an etiquette expert who runs Beaumont Etiquette in New York City.
There are some things to consider before heading to the store to make a return, according to Jo Bryant, a British etiquette consultant.
“The best way to return an unwanted gift is to really examine the financial worth, and relationship with the giver. It always involves a tricky conversation, so it is best to prioritise this for more expensive gifts when it really would be [a] shame that you can’t use it, and a real waste,” Bryant wrote in an email to NPR. “You also need to know the person who gave you the gift very well to be so honest with them.”
People walk past shops on Dec. 11 in Philadelphia.
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Matt Slocum/AP
Keep quiet and return
For Meier, it’s all about discretion when it comes to returning a gift.
She and Bryant differ on whether plans for returns should be shared with the gift giver.
Meier said don’t say anything “unless they specifically ask,” she said. “For most situations, it’s better to simply thank them graciously for their thoughtfulness without mentioning the return. The focus should always be on appreciating the gesture of being given a gift, not the item itself.”
And maybe keep mum even after some time has passed, she recommends.
“I would still try to avoid ever bringing it up, but I also would not lie,” she said.
So, if that aunt who bought that ugly sweater asks how it fits two months after Christmas?
“In that case, you can kindly and tactfully explain, for instance: ‘It was such a thoughtful gift! Unfortunately, it didn’t fit quite right, so I exchanged it for something similar that I’ll use every day and always think of you!’ “
A shopper carries a Christmas-themed bag in London on Dec. 2, 2020.
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Alberto Pezzali/AP
But maybe direct honesty is more your style?
Bryant believes “honesty and tact is best.” Regardless, be sure to flatter the gift giver and heap praise on the present at the same time.
If something absolutely must be returned, instead of saying that you just didn’t like the present, give a reason for the return that is out of your control, Bryant said.
She suggested saying something like, ” ‘I loved the cashmere jumper — it is one of my favourite presents this year — but I think the size up would be more comfortable for me,’ or ‘Thank you for the crystal glass vase; we love it but my mother recently gave us one very similar. I really don’t want such a generous gift to be wasted, so I’d love it if we could look to choose something else together? You always get us the best presents and we are so lucky to get such amazing and thoughtful gift from you.’ “
To save on possible awkwardness with these kinds of exchanges, Bryant suggested that gift givers be proactive and include the gift receipt, when possible.
What are the rules on regifting?
Yes, regifting is allowable, under etiquette rules.
“But it should be done thoughtfully and carefully,” Meier said.
There are limits to what can be regifted. “If the gift was customized in any way or has sentimental meaning, it’s not something to regift,” she said.
She addresses this topic further in a post on Instagram.
Some things Meier recommends if you plan on sending that previously discussed hideous sweater to a new home:
- Make sure the gift is new, totally unused and in its original packaging
- Avoid giving this gift to someone in the same social circles. In other words: Don’t give the sweater your aunt gave you to your cousin.
- Rewrap the gift “to show effort and care, just as you would with a newly purchased gift!”
Lifestyle
Opinion: As Christmas and Hanukkah coincide, is it time for everyone to let there be holiday lights?
Hanukkah begins on Christmas this year, marking a rare coincidence of the Jewish and Christian holidays, which occur according to different calendars. The alignment invites reflection on how two traditions can inspire each other.
The Orthodox Jewish community I grew up in rejected Christmas lights as signs of unwanted assimilation. We lighted the menorahs in our windows and doorways for the holiday’s eight nights, keeping the tradition simple and understated. Any more showy displays would have felt like crossing a line.
Still, as a child, I secretly admired the glowing homes of my neighbors. But those lights weren’t for us — or so I was taught.
Decades later, I stand in my cul-de-sac and stare at my neighbors’ dazzling home, with warm, sparkling lights wrapped around the trees. They decorate their home for Christmas because it brings them joy — and, honestly, it brings joy to everyone who passes by.
Apart from menorahs and basic landscape lighting, most of the Jewish homes on the street stay dark during Hanukkah. We keep them that way out of habit, tradition and a lingering belief that holiday lights are “not Jewish.”
My kids don’t observe the rigid boundaries of my childhood, though. When we drive through the neighborhood, they’re drawn to the lights like moths to a flame, pressing their faces against the car windows and pointing out their favorite houses.
“Why don’t we have lights like that?” my 12-year-old, Rosa, asks, her voice full of wonder and betraying a hint of sadness.
I don’t have a good answer. Why don’t we?
Holiday lights have more than aesthetic benefits, signaling community and social connection. Lights can boost mood, reduce stress and create warmth, especially during the dark winter months. Holiday lights are more than decorations; they’re a means of emotional well-being. These seem like good reasons to rethink our traditions.
Judaism, however, emphasizes differentiation: Observing dietary laws, keeping the Sabbath and other practices make us stand out, reminding us — and others — of our identity. Critics claim holiday lights blur the distinction between Jewish and non-Jewish traditions.
Christmas lights descend from the candles once used to decorate Christmas trees, which in turn may have links to pre-Christian traditions. Ancient civilizations celebrated the winter solstice with evergreens and fires to mark the triumph of light over darkness. Christianity adopted some of these traditions, and starting in the late 19th century, electric light helped the holiday decorations become a secular cultural tradition in Europe, America and beyond.
While holiday lights have only become less specifically religious, they still carry strong associations with the Christian celebration of Jesus’ birth. Preserving Jewish identity in a world of cultural blending takes effort, and some worry that adopting symbols closely tied to Christmas undermines that work.
The tension between preserving Jewish distinctiveness and engaging with the rest of society isn’t new. Hanukkah itself celebrates an ancient Jewish victory over the Seleucid Empire, which sought to impose Hellenistic culture and forced assimilation in Judea.
But standing out doesn’t require rejecting every element of the broader culture. Light, after all, is universal. The Jewish tradition uses light as a symbol of hope and connection, not least at Hanukkah, often called the “Festival of Lights.” The menorah represented eternal light and divine presence in the ancient temple, and Hanukkah celebrates the miracle of a single day’s oil lasting eight. The public lighting of candles shares our story with the world — known in Hebrew as persumei nisa, publicizing the miracle. Even a small flame banishes great darkness.
Holiday lights may have religious roots, but today they also bring joy to people of all backgrounds. For Jewish families, embracing holiday lights doesn’t have to mean celebrating Christmas. It can be a way of enhancing our own traditions with a universal symbol of hope and illumination. Using blue and white lights or incorporating Jewish symbols like illuminated dreidels or Stars of David allows families to celebrate their traditions while connecting with their neighbors. It’s not about copying Christmas; it’s about marking Hanukkah in a shared language of light.
Jewish tradition is already replete with light. The third verse of the Torah says, “Let there be light,” emphasizing its centrality to creation. Isaiah calls the Jewish people “a light unto the nations,” urging us to spread hope and inspiration. So why limit ourselves to eight nights of candles? Why not let our lights burn brighter and longer, connecting us to our neighbors and reflecting the beauty of our traditions?
Growing up, we avoided holiday lights out of fear of losing something by blending in too much. Now I realize we won’t lose anything but darkness. It’s time to change; it’s time to shine.
Eli Federman is a writer and private equity investor. X: @EliFederman
Oleksandr Budko, a 28-year-old Ukrainian war veteran, whose military call sign is Teren, poses for a portrait in Kyiv, Ukraine, on Oct. 18. Budko, a double amputee, participated in the Ukrainian version of the TV show The Bachelor.
Oksana Parafeniuk for NPR
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Oksana Parafeniuk for NPR
KYIV, Ukraine — Oleksandr Budko looks like a leading man. He’s sandy-haired and blue-eyed, with muscular tattooed arms and the chiseled face of a movie star.
“I’m a military veteran, an activist and writer. And I’m also The Bachelor,” he says in this season’s Ukrainian edition of the popular reality TV franchise.
The Bachelor, or Kholostiak in Ukrainian, is produced by Starlight Media and Warner Bros. International Television, and it airs on STB, a Ukrainian channel. This season, its 13th, premiered on Nov. 1.
Inna Bielien, 29, a German language translator, poses for a portrait at home in Kyiv, Ukraine, on Dec. 13. She is one of the female contestant of the Ukrainian version of the TV show The Bachelor.
Oksana Parafeniuk for NPR
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Oksana Parafeniuk for NPR
In one episode, Budko is on a rock-climbing date with a wholesome translator named Inna Bielien.
“Oh my God,” she says, as she hangs off the cliff.
“Don’t worry, I will be very close, right behind you,” he says, as he helps her scale the rock face.
What goes unsaid is that Budko is doing this on prosthetic legs, clearly visible because he’s wearing shorts. He’s a double amputee. He represents the tens of thousands of Ukrainians who have lost limbs since Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine. An adviser to Ukraine’s Sports and Youth Ministry put the number at around 100,000 last year.
Oleksandr Budko, with the call sign Teren, lost both legs on the front line in Ukraine’s battle against the Russian invasion.
Oksana Parafeniuk for NPR
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Oksana Parafeniuk for NPR
Their visibility — in fashion magazines, on catwalks and now a popular reality TV series — shows how much the war has affected Ukraine.
“Still,” he tells NPR in an interview, “there is still a problem with stigma. I went on The Bachelor to help address it.”
“I realized then I would lose my legs”
Budko, 28, grew up in western Ukraine and was working as a barista in a coffeeshop in Kyiv when Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. He enlisted and was soon on the front line. That summer, his unit had stalled while trying to push Russian troops out of northeastern Ukraine. During a lull in the fighting, the unit decided to rest. Budko lay down in a trench.
“Then something hit that caused the trench to crumble,” he says.
Russian troops had shelled the trench. Budko was buried in earth, twisting in pain as his fellow soldiers dug him out.
“I was conscious the entire time,” he says. “And I also realized then that I would lose my legs.”
Budko recovered through intensive, and often excruciating, physical therapy. He threw himself into sports, even competing in swimming at the 2023 Invictus Games. He also wrote a book and performed in a modern ballet.
“There was no point in me being angry at anyone or anything about what happened,” he said. “It was better to do something good instead.”
Oleksandr Budko tries to ride a unicycle at the Recovery rehabilitation center in Kyiv, Ukraine, on Oct. 18. He goes to rehabilitation centers to share the information on the process of his recovery, logistics to obtain prosthetics and about the possibilities for injured veterans.
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Oksana Parafeniuk for NPR
In the opening to The Bachelor, he jumps on a motorcycle, tucks a red rose into his leather vest-jacket, and speeds away. Each episode features beautiful young women vying for his attention, often with the built-in melodrama typical of reality shows.
“I wanted to show the possibilities,” he says. “I wanted to give people faith.”
“You are examples of courage and heroism”
The people he’s talking about are fellow wounded veterans. Budko visits them often, and they’re a tough crowd — exhausted, skeptical, emotionally distant.
“They never allow themselves to show any feelings of failure,” he says.
On a recent afternoon, he stops by a hospital in Kyiv where dozens of veterans are recovering from amputations. He cringes when he hears their screams of pain during physical therapy.
Injured soldiers at the Recovery rehabilitation center listen to Oleksandr Budko, a 28-year-old veteran, in Kyiv, Ukraine, on Oct. 18. During his visits to rehabs, soldiers ask Budko lots of practical questions about things like prosthetics and health care.
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Oksana Parafeniuk for NPR
Budko walks into a room filled with wounded soldiers in wheelchairs and sitting on beds. He introduces himself with his military call sign, Teren. It’s the name of a thorny wild plum. In Ukrainian folklore, it symbolizes obstacles and overcoming them.
“Do not focus only on your injury, because remember — you are examples of courage and heroism,” he tells the soldiers. “You are not disabled.”
Rostyslav Andrusenko, a doctor helping the men recover, says many are depressed. They fear they will no longer be useful to their families or society.
“They ask me if they will ever walk again or play football with their friends or help their kids, all the everyday things that they did before,” Andrusenko says.
Oleksandr Budko, whose military call sign is Teren, talks to injured soldiers at the Recovery rehabilitation center in Kyiv, Ukraine, on Oct. 18.
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Oksana Parafeniuk for NPR
Budko gives a pep talk to the soldiers and also cracks a few jokes that don’t quite land. The men politely clap when he finishes and then ask a lot of practical questions, like where to get the best prosthetics.
Mykola Kovalenko, a married father of two, badly injured his leg on the front line after a mine exploded and may have to have it amputated. He asks Budko how to navigate medical bureaucracy, which he equates to “passing through the seven circles of hell.”
Budko promises to help, and Kovalenko finally cracks a smile. He says his wife and two teenage daughters love this season of The Bachelor.
Ukrainian war veteran Oleksandr Budko (right) talks to an injured soldier, Mykola Kovalenko, 36, at the Recovery rehabilitation center in Kyiv, Ukraine, on Oct. 18.
Oksana Parafeniuk for NPR
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Oksana Parafeniuk for NPR
“What he is doing is very helpful,” Kovalenko says. “He is showing guys like me, guys who are injured, that all is not lost, that we shouldn’t give up, that we should keep trying.”
Budko says soldiers rarely discuss their feelings about relationships and self-image with him. He does offer his number, though, in case they do want to talk at some point.
“Everyone has their own sensitive topics that they’re ashamed to talk about,” he says, including intimacy and the fear of being pitied by potential partners.
Love and war
Inna Bielien, 29, German language translator who is a contestant on the Ukrainian version of the TV show The Bachelor, shows a photo from behind the scenes of show, in Kyiv, Ukraine, on Dec. 13.
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Oksana Parafeniuk/for NPR
The war has also touched the women on the show. One is a widow whose husband was killed on the front line. Another is a soldier. Inna Bielien, the translator on the rock-climbing date, is also a humanitarian volunteer who sources and sends supplies to Ukraine’s troops.
NPR meets her in her stylish apartment in a Kyiv neighborhood that’s often hit by Russian drones. She talks about a soldier, Vadym, she loved who was killed early in the war. She says she was still holding out hope when she got the call about him.
“I remember thinking, Lord, I hope he’s alive, even with no arms and no legs, because it is better to come back without limbs than not come back at all,” she says.
Even so, she says, many Ukrainians struggle to talk to wounded veterans.
“I was told that if you see a soldier, you say thank you and put your hand to your heart,” Bielien says. “Asking about amputations, whether that crosses personal boundaries, that is still new for us.”
Oleksandr Budko talks to a participant at the Donbas Media Forum conference in Kyiv, Ukraine, on Oct. 18. Budko, a Ukrainian veteran who lost both legs on the front line, stars in the Ukrainian version of the TV show The Bachelor.
Oksana Parafeniuk for NPR
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Oksana Parafeniuk for NPR
Budko says the series helped show that it’s OK to ask questions, especially when it comes to intimacy.
“Like, ‘Does it hurt when I touch your limbs there?’ and so on,” he says.
Budko says he feels he has done some good on the show. And he now has a girlfriend, but won’t say if it’s Bielien, who says she fell in love with him, or someone else.
He can’t reveal anything, he says, until the season finale on Friday.
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