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Treasures in the Bookcase

16 Aug
Bound Copies of the Bialystoker Stimme from 1922-1941. Several were personalized.

Bound Copies of the Bialystoker Stimme from 1922-1941. Several were personalized.

I honestly thought that we had discovered all the treasures in our Catskills house. Last summer my siblings and I had torn the house apart, filling a 20-cubic yard dumpster with unused and unusable items.   We had discovered a mother lode of photos and a photo album from the 1920s that I am still slowly scanning and finding more information about our maternal grandmother and her family.

But I had forgotten about the old bookcase in the corner of the living room. I actually did not think about it until the very last day we were in the Catskills this summer, when I got a ‘jubba’ as my grandfather would say — a feeling that I had to open the glass door.

My Grandma Esther's bookcase in the corner.

My Grandma Esther’s bookcase in the corner.

We now call it my brother’s bookcase. But in reality it was my paternal grandmother’s and before her it belonged to her parents. Since they lived in the same apartment, there was no real distinction. The bookcase came with the books in it after my Grandma Esther passed away. Over the years, new books were put in and the older books migrated to the bottom shelf.

We have placed it along side the fireplace behind the television. It acts as part of a wall, so that the area behind the fireplace can be used as a bedroom when needed. This semi-room holds an old upright piano, a trundle bed that opens up to two twins, and a computer desk. So we usually do not even think of this piece of furniture as a bookcase, but more of a wall divider.

In any case, my ‘jubba’ called me over to the bookcase about an hour before we were planning to drive home. And inside of it, I found treasures! Nine books containing bound copies of the Bialystoker Stimme from 1922 through 1941, as well as a 45th anniversary book.   My great grandparents, Louis and Rae (Rachel) Goldman, were very active in the Bialyskoker group in New York City that founded the Bialystoker Home for the Aged.   In fact, he was on several important committees and boards.

My great grandfather top right.

My great grandfather top right.

My great grandfather was elected to the board, or re-elected in 1936. Louis Goldman.

My great grandfather was elected to the board, or re-elected in 1936. Louis Goldman.

While just skimming through the bound copies, I found announcements of both my Dad’s and Uncle’s bar mitzvah. These were in English. The Bialystoker Stimmer was printed mainly in Yiddish. But there were also a few English pages or a few English paragraphs in almost every copy. I also found photos of my great grandfather on several pages that announced committee and board members.

His 70th birthday

His 70th birthday

But the best was a photo of him and a paragraph in Yiddish celebrating his 70th birthday. I can read enough Yiddish to recognize his name and a few other words. To be honest, I do not know what it says yet. But I will find out.

That was with just a quick skim. I needed these books.

I told my sister that I had to ship them home and search them. Since we found the books in what is my brother’s bookcase, my sister sent him a text asking if I could ship them to Kansas.

They both agreed that the books should come home with me, as I am acting as the family historian.   I was so excited. It was well worth the $40 I spent at Staples to ship them home.

Today the books arrived!

An article about my great grandfather. I also need to get this translated.

An article about my great grandfather. I also need to get this translated.

As I continued to go through the books, I found what appears an article about him. It, too, is all in Yiddish. I know I will need it translated. I am excited to know what it says about him. I know he was a tailor.

My Dad's first cousin, David, 1938. I think he graduated high school at age 16, but I need a translation.

My Dad’s first cousin, David, 1938. I think he graduated high school at age 16, but I need a translation.

I cannot read all the Yiddish, except really for the names and a few words. But in skimming the books I sometimes see a photo that jumps out at me. Like the one of my Dad’s first cousins, David. Well, it looked like a very young David. I was right, it was him at age 16, when he graduated high school. This article is also in Yiddish. I need a translator!!!

I realize that I will never know if my great grandparents were mentioned in other places. But I am taking photos of every page that has a photo or a mention of my family that I can find.

But besides the book, I posted the photo of my great grandfather Louis Goldman and the small article on the “Tracing the Tribe” Facebook group. I was hoping someone would be able to translate it for me. Although that has not yet happened, I remain hopeful. But someone posted a link to the Bialystoker Center Yahrzeit Cards website. There I found the yahrzeits for my great grandparents, my grandparents and my great aunt. I will say that the Hebrew name for my grandfather is wrong on the site. But it is definitely him. That was also interesting to see.

I started with the books from the 1940s, I am now in the 1920s.  There is much more Yiddish and much less English in these earlier books.  I am hoping to still find more treasures in them.  But to see members of my family mentioned in these early archives makes me so happy.  I knew my great grandfather was an active volunteer.  These books confirm what I had heard.  My heart is happy.

I hope to find a good home for these books after I am done investigating them. There are many other families mentioned in the books.   I do not know how many people saved them.   In our case it was benign neglect. We did not know they were there, so they were just ignored.   And allowed to survive. A happy, lucky find for me and my family.

PS: Thanks to Sabena and her Yiddish teacher who translated the paragraph about my great grandfather:  “Mr. Luis Goldman, has just become a septigenerian (70), and if he himself hadn’t told us, we would certainly not believed it. Mr. Goldman is among the most active people in Sumkh Nuflim (I think that’s a place) in the Center and in the old age home where his work is greatly admired. We wish him a lot of further birthdays with joy in his family.”

PPS:  The Yiddish Book Center in Amherst, MA, would love to have the Bialystoker Stimme books!

http://kehilalinks.jewishgen.org/bialygen/Yahrzeit.htm

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At The Cemetery Visiting Those We Will Always Love

4 Aug

It has been over two years since we finally held the unveiling for my parents and brother in law. They died over a difficult 15 months. One funeral was more difficult than the next. In between my aunt passed away as well. Four new graves in a family plot.

The unveiling was emotional and miserable. Not just because we uncovered all three stones on the same day, but because it was held during a deluge of rain. The heavens were crying for us, as well as the over 80 people who showed up to remember our parents and my sister’s husband.

I have not been back to the cemetery since then. I live in Kansas. The cemetery, Beth El, is in New Jersey. I have not wanted to bug my sister about It when I was in town. But when I was in New Jersey this past March, I mentioned it. And she seems oaky.

Now I am back in New Jersey with my son to spend 12 days with my sister, niece, brother and other family members. We already spent a weekend at our Catskills home. It is filled with memories of our grandparents, parents and others. Over the weekend, I once again mentioned my desire to go to the cemetery.

My sister was fine. “Let’s not take the kids,” she suggested. I agreed.   They are in their early 20s. But I know that going to the cemetery is not something they want to do. It is still painful for them.

I meant to take stones from the Catskills back to New Jersey with us. But I forgot. In the last minutes as we were getting ready to leave, our children were impatient. I should have picked up some stones earlier, but we were busy visiting and just relaxing.

So this morning I went outside with a ziplock bag and searched for small stones around my sister’s home. Although my niece did not think I would be successful, I found enough stones. It is a Jewish custom to leave stones as remembrance on a grave, not flowers. And I needed at least 12 stones.

Our family plot includes all four of my grandparents, my parents, two sets of aunts and uncles, and another uncle. We are fortunate that my aunt is still alive. In fact we have plans to see her and some cousins in the City this week.

My brother in law is buried directly opposite my parents. My sister put the biggest stone on his grave. I had selected it for him, since it came from his house.

Then we turned and went to our grandparents. We went by couples, my sister putting a stone on one grave, while I put a stone on the other grave.  We read each name in English and Hebrew. We spoke about each of them, just a little remembrance: our grandparents, our parents, our aunts and uncles.

For the first time I really focused on their Hebrew names, I have begun to realize how important graves are for those studying their family’s genealogy.  Especially since I had joined the group, Tracing the Tribe.  I realized that some had left off the Levy designation.  And one did not have the Hebrew name.  Would that lead to problems for future generations? Perhaps not, since they were all together.

I had a stone left. I had picked up 13. We knew just a short way down from this family plot was our cousins’ grandparents. So we walked to visit them as well. We stopped and put a stone on Grandma Rose’ grave, we read her name and remembered her. And although we did not have a stone for him, we read the name of Grandpa Asher. My sister did not remember him as she was only three when he passed away. So I told her something about him.

In the same plot are the graves of one of their son’s in laws. So we read their names as well, and I remembered them.

My sister does not remember Grandpa Asher and the other couple as well as I do. Three and half years in age makes a difference. But I felt it was important that all of their names be remembered.

After we were done, I took photos of all the graves. Do other people do that? Or is it a Jewish custom? I am not sure. But since I am so far away, I wanted this memory.   I am not sure when I will be at their resting place again.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, I started to cry, a little.  My sister admonished me.  “NO crying when we are driving.  If you cry I will cry.”  I stopped.  Driving and crying are not allowed.

So on our drive home we spoke about our great grandparents. Two perished in the Shoah. We have no idea where they are buried, or even if they were buried or burned. One died in Europe in the 1920s. Not sure if her grave still exists, so many were destroyed by the Nazis and the townspeople. Four are buried in the NYC area. We need to visit them at some time. We know were two are, thanks to our cousins. But the third and fourth we are not sure. And one we think is in Seattle, Washington.

I remember one of my great grandmothers. She passed away when I was not quite three. My sister is named for her.

We say in our tradition, “My His or Her Name Be a Blessing.” We name our children for those who passed before us. My brother, sister, cousins and I are all named for our great grandparents. Our children are named for the grandparents who are buried in the plot in New Jersey.

These are the graves of people who were blessings in my life, in my family’s life. I am glad we went to the cemetery this morning and remembered those we loved and still love. Those whom we will always love.

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The Sad Scandal That Forever Scarred My Grandpa Harry

14 Jun

My paternal grandfather, Harry, was a difficult man to love. He never hugged us or played with us. He kept his distance, except to sometimes reprimand us from eating too much cake. “The Trolley Car Stops, Too,” he would intone if we spent too much time at the dessert table. Or to tell us to “Quiet Down.”

In the summers he would take long walks and sit by himself. Grandpa Harry, “Hersh Zvi,” was not one to dole out love.

When I entered high school, he actually began talking to me. I took some sewing classes and was making my own clothes and clothing for my sister and Mom. Grandpa was a retired tailor. And suddenly we had a language to share. He taught me how to match plaids and make my slacks more tailored. He could explain about French seams and other ways of making the clothes I made stand out. We formed the tiniest bit of a bond. I know he was so proud of everything I made, which made me feel good as well.

I knew he had had a difficult life. I remember my paternal Grandma Esther saying to me, “When you get married, make sure you check out the family. You do not only marry the man, you marry the entire family. And they can be crazy.”

And that was my Grandpa Harry’s family according to my Grandma. His family could have been a column in the “Bintel Brief” columns of the old Yiddish Jewish Forward. Except I am not sure my Great Grandma Sarah could write.

We think this is Grandpa Harry on his bar mitzvah day.

We think this is Grandpa Harry on his bar mitzvah day.

My grandfather was the oldest of six children: Harry, Harriet (Hady), Muriel, Jacob and two ‘maiden’ sisters. When he was either 13 or 14, his father abandoned the family and took off for the west coast. Disaster.

Grandma Esther once told me that my great grandmother was a ‘schrier,’ someone who screamed a lot. And although my great grandfather Abraham was probably unhappy, he should not have left my grandfather with the mess. And that is true.

Abraham was one of three to five brothers who all came to America at different times, or so we think. Their original last name was Grau, but in the USA Abraham Grau became Abraham Rosenberg. I believe he was from Russia, perhaps Bialystok.

So we know this is a posed photo, but it is when Grandpa crossed the USA looking for his father.

So we know this is a posed photo, but it is when Grandpa crossed the USA looking for his father.

In any case he was not a mensch at all.

My grandfather at age 15 took off across America by himself to find his father.   He traveled through the plains, up the mountains, to Seattle, Washington, in the early 1900s. Grandpa was born in 1888 or 1889. So this was in 1903 or 1904. Can you imagine! He might have wanted to get away as well. But I think he really wanted to find his father.

Well he did find him, in Seattle, living with another woman as if she was his wife. Or as my grandma called her, the ‘churva,’ which I believe means prostitute in Yiddish.

Grandpa Harry was not happy. I do not think the meeting went well. So Grandpa turned around and traveled all the way back to the New York, where he became the bread winner and head of the family.

He worked as a tailor and never finished school. But his five siblings, four girls and his brother, ALL went to college. He paid for it. His brother even became an attorney and lived Up Town.   Grandpa sacrificed his life for his siblings. He was a mensch! He gave them food, clothes and a college education in a time when women did not go to college. And he did not get much in return. I think this is why he so unable to show affection to his own children and grandchildren.  He held back.

Eventually, on February 26, 1922, he married my Grandma, after he finished supporting his siblings and mother. He was in his mid 30s when he married. Since, my grandmother’s father, Louis, was also a tailor, I believe grandpa married his partner’s daughter. In fact my grandparents and my great grandparents continued to live together.

As for my great grandmother, Sarah Rosenberg, we know nothing. Not her maiden name. Not when she was born or died. I do not think she was a very loving person either.  In fact, my brother reminded me that years later Grandpa found out his father was sending money, but his mother never told him!

My Dad on his Bar Mitzvah day on the roof of a building in the Bronx.

My Dad on his Bar Mitzvah day on the roof of a building in the Bronx.

I do know that in 1941 my great grandfather and his second ‘wife’ showed up in New York City, in the Bronx on the day of my Dad’s bar mitzvah. I do not know if one of the other siblings had kept in touch with him. I do not know why he chose that day. All I know is that my grandfather would not let him into the house. I believe my Dad met his grandfather in the hallway.

As for my grandfather’s siblings, we never met any of them except for Aunt Hady and her husband, Lenny. The others were not part of our lives. However, I do know that my Aunt Leona, my Dad’s sister, took piano lessons with her cousin at the apartment uptown. So she had some weekly contact with my great Uncle Jacob and his family when she was a child.

But I would one day like to know, where did my great grandfather end up and was buried? What was my Great grandma Sarah’s maiden name? Who was she?

And where are the children of Muriel, who had two sons; and Jacob, who had two children: Delilah and Betram.

I wish my Grandpa Harry had not been so scarred by his own father.He was a good man.  He provided for his family.  And he cared about us. I know in the moments that he discussed sewing with me that he wanted a connection with his family, he just did not know how. He was forever scarred by the scandal of his childhood.

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Finding Katie!

13 Jun

When my maternal grandmother immigrated to the United States in 1922, she was sponsored by her father’s sister: her Aunt Gussie. I wrote about this in another blog, which I will reference at the end.

Grandma became very good friends with her first cousin, Katie L. They remained friends throughout their lives, even though they did not live near to each other. But the letters and phone calls seemed to keep their love for each other in tact.

Katie’s married name was Katie Alexander. That is the name we always heard, and this was the name we thought of when we spoke of Katie. It was so ingrained in our lives.   Grandma loved her cousin, Katie; she spoke of her often!

I think my sister was the most in love with the name.   She named her son, Alexander. And four years later, she named her daughter Katherine, or Katie. My Mom at first said, “How can you name her Katherine?” My sister was naming her daughter after my grandmother, whose name was Thelma in English/ Tova in Hebrew.

My sister reminded my Mom that Katie was Grandma’s friend and cousin. And since she did not want to name her daughter Thelma, she thought she would use Tova as the Hebrew name and Katie, Grandma’s cousin’s name for the English.

I laughed. I often tell my sister that she named her children for Katie Alexander. And so the name stays alive in my family.

Album

Last summer, while we were cleaning out the attic of the Catskill’s home that had been both our grandparents and parents, we found an old brown leather photo album. It was filled with photos from the 1920s. Many had no names. Some had Yiddish or Hebrew writing on the back. Some had just an address or a place.

Grandma:Katie

But within the photos was a photo from 1924 of Grandma and Katie. That was it. I decided I had to find out what happened to Katie Alexander’s family. Thanks to the Tracing the Tribe Facebook group, I now have that information. The wonderful members of the group found members of Katie’s family for me. And then I contacted them.

I have been in touch with one of her sons, a niece and a granddaughter. I have found out that another name we often heard in our home was Katie’s brother. We never knew Katie’s maiden name. She was always referred to by her married. But I realized after I send them some photos, that the Sam L. that my grandmother spoke was Katie’s brother. WOW!

I am hoping that they will be able to identify more of the photos in the album so we can put names to those nameless young men and women who were so important to my grandmother. I am so happy we were able to find Katie.

https://zicharonot.wordpress.com/2014/05/29/grandma-thelma-knows-what-she-knows/

https://zicharonot.wordpress.com/2014/08/19/old-photographs-bring-memories-to-life/

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The Connections Keep Widening, My Family Contacts Keep Growing

16 Feb

Overwhelming, amazing, stunning, these words cannot really describe my incredible journey in researching my family history. And I have only finished two of my great-grandparents. I wonder what will happen when I research the other six?

Since researching one of my paternal great grandmothers, actually the one I knew as a small child, I have been really shocked.   I have lived in a city in the Midwest far from my family on the East Coast for over 30 years. And in the past month my research has shown me that a branch of my great grandmother’s family settled here. We just lost touch with them.

But what is absolutely amazing to me, is that I know many of these descendants. I have volunteered with them, emailed with them, see them around town. I am Facebook friends with three of these distant cousins. They are all people that I like. One of them played an important role in the life of my son, as she was an assistant superintendent of the school district where he went to school, during a difficult time in his life.

And now I find out that they are my third cousins. I know that is not a close relationship. But they are my cousins. And in Israel, where my daughter now lives, it is her second and third cousins who have reached out to her and consider her family.

But these cousins in Israel are all family members that we remained in contact with over the years. We always knew who they were and were they lived. The cousins in Israel come from both sides of my family and my husband’s family. We knew we were family, cousins.

With the new contacts it is different. These new family members were unknown, but at the same time known. These are people I had contact with in many forums, people who have had some impact in my life, and I never knew that they were also my cousins. How strange is that? To me it seems extremely strange.

But it makes so much sense. The Internet has changed the world.   Before in the 1800s and early 1900s when people moved to the USA from Europe, they had no way to keep in contact, except through mail. And mail was not always easy. They were busy learning a new culture and a new language. It was difficult to keep in touch with relatives in New York or even in Europe. So the family ties were forgotten and lost.

With the Internet and the many ways to trace family history, these lost members are found. Through websites and Facebook groups, we can make contact. It was through the ‘Tracing the Tribe Group” that I made the first contact. But it was through Geni, that I keep seeing more and more connections! It is these Internet tools and their large outreach that enhances my ability to make these connection.

Those who know me, know that I love a good mystery. And searching for my family connections is the most personal mystery. Although I am glad I have found this family branch, it is more of the success of a hunt, of finding the answers to a mystery, the mystery of my family that excites me. How lucky am I that I can actually find new branches?

When I look at them now, I can see a resemblance in character. Every one of the four women I know are strong willed, determined and intelligent. They fit into my family, as my grandmother was a strong willed, determine and intelligent woman who worked until she was 77.

In fact, we take pride in my family that we are all strong women. And these four fit right in. Wow. If I could choose family members, I would choose women like them.

I plan to meet up with some of them next week for lunch. I learned they were my cousins several weeks ago. The other cousins, I just found out about this weekend when Geni sent me a match!

It is nice to know that I have connections here. I will look at them differently now knowing what I know about our large family. The connections keep widening and my family contacts keep growing!

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Amazing Coincidences After Finding My Ancestors; We Are One People

1 Feb

It has been a crazy time since I found out the lineage of my two times great grandmother Esther (Etka Lew) Wolff. I have connected with distant family through the Tracing the Tribe Facebook page. I have been welcomed to see our very large family tree on Geni. And I have found out who my ancestors were back to 1720.

Amazing.

But the amazement does not seem to end. In one of the many emails my two distant cousins sent me I saw that a branch of the family, one of my three times great uncles descendants migrated to Kansas City. What! I live in the Kansas City metro area. I have lived here for 18 years with no family except my immediate family. For a while my husband had cousins here, but they moved away. Now I find out I have distant cousins here. Really?

And then I thought about it. Many years ago, when the Bialystok Home for the Aged still existed and they still did a newsletter, I would get the “Bialystoker Stimmer.” I was a supporter of the Home for the Aged because my great grandparents, my grandma and my parents were always supporters. So the tradition continued.

In any case, in one issue I read, there was an article by a man and his daughter from Kansas City. And I knew his daughter. I mentioned the article to her, and we would joke about it and call ourselves “Landsmen,” which we were. So when I heard that I had distant cousins here, I immediately thought of her.

I sent her an email.

“What was your maiden name? I just found out that a branch of my family, last name Lew/Lewin/Levin moved to the Kansas City area. (Originally from Bialystok region). Just curious.”

She wrote back. And it all fit. They were from the same small town, Ciechanowiec. Her dad’s last name was Lewin but he changed it to Levine in the USA. We were third cousins.

And I thought that was all.

But my contacts back east (EW and AB), who had been feeding me all this information, were not done. They had heard of my friend/cousin. But there were others as well. They sent me a diagram. And asked if I recognized any other names. I did. One was a boy the same age as my son, they had gone to school together through second grade and had played together. The family belonged to the same synagogue my family belonged to. We have been friendly acquaintances for 20 years. We are related through the father.

I sent them an email because I find it all so interesting. I would never have expected to find family in Kansas! I am still in a state of determined amazement. Jew from the small Polish village of Ciechanowiec settled in Kansas and Missouri!

When my children were little they went to the local Jewish day school. My daughter used to feel sad sometimes because everyone was related to everyone else, except for her. She had no cousins at the school. I wish I had known this when they were little, as they were in school together, although their children were younger and more my son’s age. We might not be family, but they would have been ‘cousins.’

My daughter lives in Israel now. Many of her cousins who she is in contact with are also third cousins. These are branches of my family and my husband’s family that we have been in contact with forever. She has many second cousins, as my husband’s first cousin moved to Israel 27 years ago. These cousins have all been welcoming and loving. It is strange that some lines of the family stay in contact, and we see these cousins even with the distance in relationship; we consider ourselves close family.

But some lines of a family are lost over time. The movement from Europe. The aftermath of the Shoah; the younger generations moving away.   I had information from my Grandma and my Aunt mentioning these lines of the family, but we had no contact with them.

What an amazing coincidence to find some of these third and fourth cousins in Kansas. Of course we are distantly related. Third and fourth cousins are not so close. But it was surprising to find a connection where I was not expecting to find one.

But even more important, it shows that the Jewish people are really one. We are interconnected. My family, with its approximately 20,000 descendants is a perfect example of the inter-relations between all Jewish families. And even though a number of my family, from both my maternal and paternal sides perished in the Shoah, we remain.

That is the most amazing aspect of my continued search for my ancestors how we are truly one people.

 

https://zicharonot.wordpress.com/2015/01/27/serendipity-wins-in-finding-a-family-connection/

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Serendipity Wins In Finding a Family Connection!

27 Jan

Serendipity is when events happen by chance and cause success or benefit the person who the events occur around. Today, a few days after my birthday, my life was ruled by serendipity!

For about a year now I have belonged to a Facebook group entitled “Tracing the Tribe.” I joined it mainly to see if I could find anybody related to my maternal grandparents. And last summer I did make contact with a family member through this group.

Recently I began thinking about my paternal grandparents, and wondered if I could find anything out about them. A few days ago someone started a comment asking people to put up the names of the families they were searching for on to the site. I did not do this. But I was watching. They then put all the names into a spreadsheet.

GG Grandparents

So this morning, I checked. And there was a name I knew, Wolf or Wolff, or Wolfe. That was my great great grandparents last name. So I put up a post on the page addressed to the woman who had posted about the name Wolf. I just wrote, “ My gg grandparents were Victor and Esther Wolff. Does that match your search?” She was not related to me.

However, soon another man posted, EW. He had some interesting facts and names. Names that were familiar. We soon realized there was a connection. It was a distant one. But it seemed possible that his three times great grandfather was the brother of my two times great grandmother. If so, I would have much more information for my family tree.

And so we sent emails back and forth throughout the day. I sent him a photo of my great great grandparents. He sent me a photo of his great grandfather. And there were some similarities.

And through these emails and looking into my family information that I had gathered from my Grandma Esther in the 1970s, it was definite. We were related.

His three times great grandfather Israel Lew was the brother of my great great grandmother Esther Wolf.   And I now had the names of her parents, Jankiel and Mindel Lew/Lewin/Levin (who were cousins) from Ciechanowiec. I also now had the names of more of her siblings, including Israel Lew, there was Azriel Aharon Lew, Fedjda Perlowicz, Betzalel Lew, Abram Boruch Lew and three more!

WOW! I always knew that my Grandma Esther was named after her grandmother, but I now learned that my Great Aunt Minnie was named after her great grandmother Mindel. That was exciting.

Not only all this. But I found out that Victor’s Hebrew/Yiddish name was Awigdor/Avigdor, which I had not known before now. Although I knew he had to have a Hebrew name. And that Esther was also known as Etka, which was probably the European name.

EW also found the date that my great grandparents, Louis and Ray, married: January 28, 1894, almost exactly 121 years ago! What serendipity that I was finding this all out now. Right near their anniversary! I was a bit stunned. All by chance. By one little message on a Facebook group’s page!

There was so much information in the multiple emails my new relative sent me, I think I had an information melt down. As I read each email it made more and more sense, and I could see the lines making the connections.   It was like a mini revelation!

I cannot explain the glow and the excitement that went through me! One little posting and I learned so much!

I was so glad that I had sat with my grandmother 40 years ago to get this information so that I could now say with certainty, I can go back one more generation in my family’s lineage.

And perhaps more! My sister and I have been trying to find out where our great grandparents were buried. There in all the emails was information on Beth David Cemetary in Elmont, NY. If other relatives were buried there, I believe there is a good chance our great grandparents are also there.

Serendipity, Chance and little guts to put a post up on Facebook.   What a win!

 

 

Update.  Found out my great aunt and uncle are in Beth David Cemetery, but my great grandparents are in Washington Cemetary in Brooklyn.

Update 2:  Thanks to another distant ‘Lew’ relative, AB,  I have now seem my family tree of my great great grandmother Esther Lew Wolf and have seen my ancestor back to my seven times great grandparents…back to an ancestor born in 1720!  For a Jewish family that is quite amazing.  And I can do that in my maternal side as well!

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My Family’s Holocaust History Impacts My Observance of Rosh Hashannah

13 Sep

As Rosh Hashannah approaches, I have a new view of my family’s heritage, a new reality that will impact my observance and prayers this year and in all future years.

It started with a Facebook Group called, “Tracing the Tribe.” I actually was able to find a family member due to a blog I posted about my grandfather’s family history and his town in Austia/Galecia called Mielec. I met Susan when I was in New Jersey this summer. It is actually her husband who was related to me.

We spoke about the family and how we might be related. I actually found the connection. My great grandfather and her husband’s great grandmother are probably brother and sister.

She emailed me a testimonial written by her husband’s first cousin, “E”, about her Holocaust experience. “E” survived the Holocaust and settled in the USA. In this memoir, “E” recounts a story about the Jews of Mielec and how they died. She wrote that 600 were rounded up and burned alive in their synagogue. She received this information from relatives in Mielec.

What! I was somewhat stunned. No one had ever mentioned this to me before. Whenever there was discussion about our family who died, we were told that they were burned alive in the fires of the Holocaust; or that some had died in Auschwitz; or that my great grandmother had been hidden and then murdered by the people who had stolen the family farm. But this story was never mentioned. Never.

But I remember thinking, when my Mom would tell me that our family was burned alive, that in the crematorium, the people were dead before they were burned. Weren’t they? So why would I be told that they were burned alive? Could this be what happened?

My Grandfather never talked about his family. He lost almost everyone who still lived in Europe: his parents, siblings, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, cousins. Everyone! Only a few cousins survived. When I finally got him to talk to me and tell me about his family, he was vague when talking about the Holocaust. He would tell me a little about life when he was a boy. But he did not like to mention the names of the dead.

When I found out that Germany was giving money to those who could prove they had owned property, I suggested that he apply to get money for the family’s farm.

He was furious. “Will this money bring back my mother and my father?” He yelled at me. “Will this money bring back my brothers and my sisters and their families? NO! NO! I don’t want their blood money! Let them keep their blood money!”

I can still hear him yelling at me. So I stopped. I never asked again.

My mother told me that a relative, Zissle Feuer, came from Europe and told my grandfather what had happened. And then my Grandfather contacted the Red Cross. Everyone was confirmed dead. My mother was about 16 when they found out that everyone died. She said that every morning when my Grandpa came upstairs from the bakery she would hear him cry while sitting at the kitchen table; sobbing over the loss of his family.

Now I read this testimonial. What is the truth? How did they die? “E” was not there. She only heard about it. So I looked through all the papers I had gathered through the years. And I found one document that I guess I never read entirely. I just read the part about the city of Mielec before the war. I never read the section that was call Holocaust Years. Because there it states, halfway down the page, that on September 13, 1939, on the eve of Rosh Hashannah, 20 Jewish were pushed into a burning synagogue. If they tried to escape they were shot. Then the German soldiers put Jews into a slaughterhouse and set it on fire. Then they went to the Mikveh and killed Jews there. On the second day of Rosh Hashannah a second synagogue was set on fire.

So many burned alive on Rosh Hashannah. I do not know if it was 600, but even one is too many. What a horrible death!

How can I ever see Rosh Hashannah in the same way again? How can I understand that on this holiday my family might have been murdered, burned alive. Up until September of 1939 there were 4,000 Jews living in Mielec. When they were deported in March 1942 only 2,000 were still alive.

Did 600 get burned alive in the four buildings set ablaze during Rosh Hashannah of 1939? Did my great aunts, great uncles and cousins suffer in those flames? Did my great grandfather die there? Is this why my Grandfather could never talk about it? Did he know that is how most of his family perished? When my mother said they were burned alive, did she know as well?

Was it just too horrible to tell us?

Mielec, the home of my family, was one of the first to be totally depleted of its Jews. This report said only 200 Jewish people survived the war: 200 out of 4000. I know that four of them were cousins of my grandfather. I met them all: one settled in Montana; one in England; two in Israel. They have all since passed away.

On Rosh Hashannah we chant the Unetanah Tokef.   It is a prayer that has always made an impact on me. But this time when I read “who by water and who by fire,” I will be wondering: “Who died this way? Who?”

And I will chant Kaddish.

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I believe Mystically and Magically Great Grandma Chava Watches Over Me

22 Aug

Chava Amsterdam

Even though I was born long after the Holocaust ended, I have a connection that defies logic. I am named for my great grandmother Chava. She was hidden during the war and was murdered when she returned to the farm her family owned by the people who occupied and stole it. I have been told that she was shot in the head.

I learned about her when I was 11 years old. Before that I only knew I was named for Grandpa Nat’s mother. And that was all.

But when I was 11 years old, living in North Bergen, NJ, I had a major fight with my younger sister. I ran after her screaming, “I am going to cream you.”   As she ran away from me, I felt a giant tug on my pony tail. My gentle Mom was dragging me to the sink. “Never use that word in my house. Never. They burned your Grandpa’s family alive in the fires of the crematoria of Austzvitz. You will never use that word in my house.”   And then she put soap in my mouth. I have never, ever forgotten that.

I never even thought of the slang word, “cream” meaning ‘to kill,’ had anything to do with the holocaust. But in my mother’s mind it meant crematoria. And perhaps she was right. I have not found a reference for it. But it does not matter. What it did do was open up a conversation.

My Mom was the gentlest person around. For her to do this, something horrible must have happened. And so I learned about the Shoah. I learned about my grandfather’s family and how they died: some of it, not all of it. Some came later.

But mainly I learned about Grandma Chava.

I thought about her so much, I started speaking to her in my mind. When I was worried about something, I spoke to her. When I was scared, I spoke to her. I knew she had been through so much that perhaps I could gain strength from her. And she would not let that happen to me. One generation was enough. When I was worried, I imagined her near to me.

When my son was little and afraid to sleep alone at night, I once told him that there are angels guarding him. And I mentioned my great grandma. I will admit this backfired. When my son was about 8 we went to see a production of “Footloose.” When they sang the song with the lyrics, “Somebody’s eyes are watching you,” he had to leave the theater. He told me he thought about my great grandma and her watching him. So I changed that image for him.

But for me, thinking of my great grandmother was always helpful. I did not think about how she died or what happened to the family. I thought that she would never let it happen again.

Often my Grandma Thelma, who had spent six months living with Grandma Chava in Europe, would say, “You are so much like Chava. She also was shreier or a machshafer or chachama.” Whatever she wanted to compare me with that day.

But basically Great Grandma Chava was a strong-willed person, as was I growing up. And I think I still am.

Because I was named for Grandma Chava, I was given jewelry that was hers and embroideries that she made. I now have a picture of a bird she embroidered hanging in my dining room. I was given the matzah cover she made for Pesach, which I have since donated to a museum. (See my blog: “Watching Antiques Roadshow Inspired Me to Donate my Great-Grandmother’s Matzah Cover.”)

Recently we found a photo just of her. My Grandpa looked like his mother. My brother looks like her. One of my nieces looks like her. And I held her photo up to my daughter and there is a resemblance as well.

As for me, I look like the determination you can see in her face. She is staring straight at the camera, and in my eyes she is so strong.

My desk with Great Grandma Chava watching.

My desk with Great Grandma Chava watching.

I enlarged the photo and hung it by my desk so I can see her whenever I am working. Because I always have and still feel that she is my guardian angel. We share the same nechama, the same essence.

Almost all of her children and grandchildren died in the Shoah, except my Grandpa and his family because he was in the USA. There were no grandchildren till years after the Shoah. My older boy cousin was named for my great grandfather, who also perished. And I, the oldest girl, was named for Chava.

So I sit at my computer working. And I turn my head slightly to see her. The world of magical thinking makes me believe that she knows we survived. That she knows her great-great granddaughter has moved to Israel. That she is not only looking over me, but also over my daughter.

As rockets fall in Israel, I think, ‘never again.’ Another Chava cannot lose her daughter to the hatred of anti-Semitism. And I believe, mystically and magically, that Great Grandma Chava is watching my daughter as well. And I feel her ruach, her comforting whisper. All will be well.

 

Schreier: screamer/yeller

Machshafer: witch

Chachama:  Smart one/intelligent

Nechama: soul, essence

Ruach: wind, spirit

 

http://lyrics.wikia.com/Footloose:Somebody’s_Eyes

 

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Old Photographs Bring Memories to Life

19 Aug

My siblings and I recently spent a weekend together cleaning the attic, basement and garage of a house in the Catskills that our family has owned for well over 50 years.   And although our parents made an effort to clean out some of our grandparents’ items when they inherited it, it still was quite full.

It has been a process. This was our final weekend of cleaning. My brother with some help from his son and a friend, had already moved out the old metal bungalow furniture and moved in furniture from our parent’s apartment.

We had cleaned out clothing and personal items. We had moved out some items that we wanted in our respective homes. But now it was time to get rid of the stuff that had just collected and decayed over time.

My brother ordered a 20-cubit yard dumpster that he demanded be filled by the end of the weekend. My sister and I thought he was crazy. There was no way we would have that much junk. We were wrong. And it was, amazingly, filled. The house is now in order. Clean, organized and ready for us to use it. We had a feeling of accomplishment by the time we were done.

Two of my nieces were there as well. And the four women, my sister and my nieces and I did the heavy emotional work, we went through thousands upon thousands of photos. We sorted them for each family. We made piles for our cousins. There were some we just discarded and put into the dumpster. And then we put together the ones we all wanted for me to take home and scan into my computer, for I am the family archivist. I will make digital copies and send them out to everyone.

Front Great grandpa USA Visa

The treasures we found included our great grandfather’s passport and 1936 visa to come to the USA from Poland. Our grandparents worked diligently to get the paper work accomplished to bring him and my great aunt to the USA. It saved their lives. My Mom would tell the story of going to Ellis Island with my grandparents to get them when they arrived from Poland.

Years later, when my children were little, we went with my parents to Ellis Island. My Mom asked, “Where are all the cages?” The main room was a large empty space. But on the wall were photos of what the room looked like in the days it was in use. And the metal bars between lines of people could have looked like cages to a child. We think that is what she saw.

In the bags and albums, we found photos of people in Europe from before the Shoah. And wondered how many of them perished? We found photos of our great aunt Tova and our great grandmother Chava. Photos we had never seen before. Our great grandmother is young in this photo. My brother and niece have her mouth. We know they both perished, along with many other family members.

Photos of our parents taken in Hudson County Park, North Bergen, NJ, in the 1960s were also a rare find. They were dressed up, obviously ready to go out somewhere. Mom even had white gloves on… white gloves and a sort of ‘mini’ skirt: an interesting combination; a transition between two generations, two styles of dress. There are no full skirts here.

We found pictures of our aunts and uncles from both sides of our family, grandparents, great aunts and uncles; photos of us and our cousins when we were little. They were wonderful finds. We even found three photos taken during the Woodstock weekend in 1969. We thought all of them had been lost years ago when my Dad tried to mail them to me and the envelope broke while in route.

My nieces loved one photo in particular, of my brother, sister and I when we were in our teens. We hate it. But the girls wanted to keep it as ‘blackmail.’

We found wonderful documents: the list from our parent’s wedding; some of Dad’s school papers, and his army paper, a telegram he sent his parents from the army. One of his school papers said he was in the choir in high school. We all laughed, Dad could not carry a tune!

Grandma Thelma graduation from night school she is second in middle row

A favorite was group photo of our Grandma with the other students, when she graduated from night school, after immigrating to the USA in the 1920s.

The attic held a bonanza of information! We actually thought we had found it all because previous cleanings we had found 8mm movies that my brother had turned into DVDs and other photos that I had used to make a book of family history.

But the most amazing find was a photo album of my grandmother from before her marriage. There was one young woman in many of the photos with Grandma. We were sure it was her best friend and cousin, Katie. But there were no names written on any photo. It was so frustrating. But then we found a more recent photo with my grandparents and another couple. In this one the woman was identified. And yes it was Katie. My sister and I were so excited!! When we compared her face to the young women in the photos we knew that we had discovered and identified our lost relative.

There are many photos in the album that were taken in Europe. On the back many are inscribed to my loving cousin, Tova, in Yiddish and in German. I think they are photos given to her before she left Poland for the United States in 1922.

I have that album with me now. I am going to try to match some of the unnamed people with photos that we have where people are identified. I have already found photos of my grandmother’s siblings.

It is a puzzle, and I am determined to make as many matches as possible because these old photographs bring my grandparents’ and parents’ memories back to life.

 

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