Tribute to Henri Parens, M.D.

I called Dr. Henri Parens Zayde, the Yiddish word for Grandfather. This was his primary role in my life, and the thing I loved him most for. Calling him anything else feels unnatural.

When I was 14, Zayde came to Saint Paul, Minnesota, to give a lecture at my high school. I was excited for him to tell his story to my classmates. I wanted them to hear about his daring escape from a detention camp, subsequent emigration to the US and success as a psychiatrist. To me, it was a testament to his strength and intelligence, and by proxy that of my family. It is the fantastic story of a refugee finding that bootstrapping success that we Americans love to hear. For all these reasons and more, I was incredibly proud of Zayde.

When the day came for him to speak, he ascended the stage and told a slightly different story than I remembered. In this retelling, he emphasized the critical role that his mother played, and rather than talk about his success in medicine, he spoke about the greater significance of his work. Zayde asserted that war was not the inevitable fate of humanity. He was confident that humans had the potential to overcome their trauma and aggressive tendencies and live in harmony.

Afterward, many of my friends told me what an engaging presentation it had been. Naturally, Zayde had impressed them; he had a powerful presence and was a natural speaker. His story resonated most with my friend Kemal, also a refugee. Born in Somalia, he fled with his family first to Kenya and later to the US. Kemal had also lived through the trauma of war, and Zayde's assertions that humanity had the potential to break the cycle of violence gave Kemal hope.

This experience made me feel like I saw Zayde more clearly. He was, naturally, working toward a more peaceful world so that other little boys would no become refugees. He envisioned a world where there would be no more world wars, where mothers and sons would not be separated. It was a noble goal, and it made me even more proud to be hi