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Am Yisroel Chai. My Shabbat Speech

2 Jun

I was asked by my Rabbi to talk to my congregation about my trip to Israel. Here is a slightly edited version of that Shabbat speech, which I delivered on May 30.

Shabbat Shalom.

 I recently spent two weeks in Israel.  I did not visit tourist sites or go to a meeting.  I spent my time with my daughter and her husband and visits with friends and relatives who live in Israel.  What I did see was the resilience of the people of Israel.

On Sunday, 36 hours after I arrived in Israel, just as I went to take a walk, the siren sounded.  I went to the Mamad, the safe room.  A Houthi missile landed in Ben Gurion Airport.  This bombing partially cut Israel off from the rest of the world as airlines cancelled flights. Obviously, what the Houthis and terrorists want to do.

I also learned that when a siren for a rocket or missile attack goes off, take shelter wherever you can.  Just follow the crowd and they will let you in and show you what to do. When a siren sounds Israelis are one, helping each other to shelter.

On Monday, day 4, I took a bus with my daughter to Tel Aviv to meet with Ilana, who used to live in Overland Park and taught at the Hebrew Academy. She took me to Hostage Square, walking me from my daughter’s office to the site next to the Tel Aviv Art Museum.  Although I was there in the middle of the day, not when the protests usually happen, I was able to see the monuments and messages posted in honor and in memory of the hostages and those who died.   Ilana and I discussed the political situations in both the USA and Israel. How the hostage families want the war to end. Is what Trump is doing good for the Jewish people and Israel or not. What about Netanyahu?  What was going to happen.

Later we met my daughter for lunch at a restaurant in Sarona. We joined many others enjoying the lovely weather and eating outside.  We even ran into a group from Kansas City, including one of my daughter’s Hebrew Academy classmates. Life continues in Isarel. People enjoy luncheon dates. Tourist run into people they know. I have to believe, Am Yisroel Chai.

 On Thursday, Day 7,my daughter and I took the train from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. In the morning, the train was empty and quiet.  I was a little nervous about what to do if there are sirens during the trip.  But a large part of this journey is underground, through tunnels in the mountains around Jerusalem. This new train route is direct from Tel Aviv with just one stop at Ben Gurion Airport before going on to Jerusalem. It’s a great way to travel.

It ends at a new train station with easy access to the Central Bus Station and where you can catch the light rail station right in front.  We just had a five-minute walk through lots of construction to meet our family, two of my husband’s first cousins (who grew up in Wichita) and their spouses.   One couple lives in Shiloh on the West Bank.  Right after October 7, three of their sons and one so- in-law were called up. Two went to Gaza.  Now after a break, two have been called up again. In fact, that week 60,000 young men and women were called back to active duty for a new ground assault of Gaza.

 The other couple live in Sderot Boker. On October 7, the wife’s sister- in-law was among those murdered.  Her daughter is teamed with a search and rescue dog. They spent days after October 7 searching for the living and finding the dead.  We did not discuss October 7, our main topic of conversation was that Jay’s 82-year-old cousin finally had a bar mitzvah at the Kotel that morning, and the antisemitism in the USA, especially on college campuses.  Think of that, sons called up to Gaza; sister-in-law murdered on Oct 7; and we discussed the Jew Hatred in the United States.   They will persevere. Am Yisroel Chai.

The train ride back to Tel Aviv was packed.  Soldiers and students returning home with their laundry for the weekend. It made me smile.  Sixty thousand called up.  Airlines cancel flights.  Worldwide antisemitism.  And in Israel teens and soldiers are bringing their laundry home to their mothers.  As it should be. Mothers rule!!!

On Friday, Day 8, Zak’s parents, who live in Tekoa, in the West Bank,  and his brother and girlfriend, from Modiim, came for lunch.  We took pictures. We celebrated being together. We spoke about family and the future. We talked about the house they are renovating in Zichron Yaacov.  We did not discuss the war or politics. We discussed the future for our children. And we do see a future. Am Yisorel Chai.

For Shabbat . Day 9, we visited my cousins.  My mother’s first cousin is my age.  Her parents, my great uncle and aunt, survived the Shoah.  She was born when they finally felt safe.  Her daughter is an excellent chef and made us a wonderful meal. Three of her grandchildren were there as well. The oldest is in the army. She does intake for those who work in the Kiryia.  Her biggest complaint are the parents who call because their children did not make it into this elite group.  Parents are the same everywhere.  The next oldest, a boy, has one more year before the army, but already had his first meeting.  And the youngest is just 14. But he knows what’s in his future.  Families in Israel. Descendants of survivors,  still sending their precious children to fight for survival.  Am Yisroel chai.

On Monday, Day 11,  I took the bus once again to Tel Aviv.  On the way home my daughter pointed out a different bus line with the driver who poked the package.  To understand that you need to know that several months ago a few buses had explosives that blew up, luckily, when the buses were empty in Holon and Bat Yam.  A couple of days later, my daughter had to take a different bus than usual that went through Bat Yam then to Holon.  She was the last one on the bus and noticed an unattended.  She walked up to the bus driver to tell him.  He stopped the bus and looked at it and poked it. And said it was safe.  She was horrified. They had a short conversation with him ending it by saying “I don’t know why anyone would ride a bus!”  She was a bit shocked and said to him, You drive them!””  In any case he was our driver on Monday. Should I say Am Yisroel Chai?  Israeli bus drivers are tough! But it does make you think.

Later that day Edan Alexander was released by the Hamas and returned to Israel.  I did not realize how much this would touch my heart.  An American from New Jersey, Edan is from the same city where my sister and her family lived.  I have been at the high school and the Jewish Community Center.  I have walked those streets.  He survived over 500 days in hell.

Joshua 1:9: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not be terrified or dismayed (intimidated), for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.” 

Our returned hostages have an entire country supporting them. People lined the streets to the hospital to welcome him home.  Hostage Square was packed that evening. Am Yisroel Chai.

Tuesday, Day 12, my daughter and I go to the large outdoor mall in Tel Aviv to meet her friend with her 2-month-old daughter and her father.  Her friend’s first cousin, Maya, was slaughtered at the Nova concert.  I planted a tree for her and said Kaddish on October 7, 2024. We had lunch together, in a restaurant where we were served by both Jewish and Moslem wait staff. My daughter and her friend spent two hours in SheLev baby store going through everything Lara would need.  While her Dad walked the baby, I stayed mostly with the girls. They suffered a horrible loss on October 7, but now it was all about the Babies.  And there are lots of babies in Israel. They are having a baby boom!  The people of Israel will continue to live.  Am Yisroel Chai.                 

Later that day, my daughter drove me. to a kfar near Natanya, where I have distant relatives. The descendants of survivors, whom I met when I lived in Israel in 1974 and 1975. The families had lost touch over the past 35 years, when my grandfather and the survivors passed away.  But now we were reunited and could share our family stories. My distant cousin, whose father lost his entire first family in the Shoah, his wife and four children, as well as his parents and all his siblings, was the oldest son of the second marriage. The marriage of two survivors.  My cousin and his wife have 7 children, 40 grandchildren and 19 great grandchildren so far. I do not know how many children his siblings have, but I know there are many. The people of Israel will continue to live. Am Yisroel Chai vChayon.

At this point, I will add that our current president’s trip to the middle East was about to begin.  There was consternation in Israel because neither he nor anyone else from the government was coming to Israel. There was some anxiety in the air, but at the same time not. Israel was already isolated. 

My final trip to Tel Aviv was on Wednesday, Day 13. I met with a childhood friend who moved to Israel 30 years ago. We had lunch at the Azrielli Mall in Tel Aviv.  Her daughter has finished her military service and now will be an English teacher.  Her son will go into the army later this year.  Her husband works at Ben Gurion Airport to screen those coming into and out of the country. We also discussed the Jew Hatred in the USA and around the world.   And keeping safe. Am Yisroel Chai.

After I walked her to the train station, I walked back to Serona, where I did my one tourist activity, I took a tour of Serona.  It was a welcome moment of just enjoying seeing something of Israel I hadn’t seen before, as docent took us into buildings that are usually locked and told us the story of Serona. Originally settled in the late 1800s by the German Templars, Serona was the site of the first government of Israel, the first Bank of Israel, the first military base. It was the Kiryia.  Having this place as the first seat of government enabled Israel to govern from a safe spot.  Now, of course, the main seat of government is in Jerusalem.  Whereas there is a new Kiryia is in Tel Aviv.

My daughter’s’s office is in one of the skyscrapers that now surround Serona. On the three days I took the bus into Tel Aviv with her, I got to see where she worked and meet with her colleagues.  The CyberWell office is dedicated to searching for and helping to eliminate Jew hatred on social media platforms.  They see so much hatred online that part of their workload includes monthly meetings with a wellness team to ease their stress. The efforts to stop the hate is ongoing and not easy as social media platforms track it mainly in English, and the hate comes in all languages.  But they have the technology and the people who will work to stop it. The Jewish people find ways to survive, we are resilient. Am Yisroel Chai.

On a daily basis, I walked the streets of Holon and Tel Aviv feeling safe.  Some days after work and dinner, when it was dark and cooler, my daughter and I walked around Holon for a mile or so.  We passed the many playgrounds with their bomb shelters, we passed stores, some that are open all night.  We passed my favorite bakery. The bread in Israel is so delicious, so we often stopped there to buy challah rolls or bagelas or pastry.  One side of the bakery was all pareve.  I was in bakery heaven.

My last night, we had one last siren before my trip ended.  In all I experienced four sirens and four trips to the Mamad.  By the end, I no longer felt anxious when the sirens went off.  I knew the military was doing its best to keep us all safe with its defenses and its alerts to the people. I knew that the people of Israel were strong, as was I, and this too shall pass, and we will remain as always.   Am Yisroel Chai v Chaiyon.

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What the Karlsbad/Karlovy Vary Postcards Revealed

27 Aug
Postcards from grandma to grandpa.
Grandpa’s one postcard.

The Cigar Box discovered in our Catskill house is beginning to reveal its secrets and memories.

There are seven postcards written from my grandmother in Karlsbad  (Karlovy Vary) to my grandfather in Linden, New Jersey.  

The first discovery is the address of my grandfather’s bakery, where he lived above the store.  We now know exactly where it was located.  The building still exists, and I even have a photo of the building that I found online.

This building was my grandparents’ bakery in Linden. From Google maps.
Google maps of where bakery was located.

We knew that when my grandmother went to Europe my grandparents were in the process of opening their own bakery.  My grandfather had been in business with his uncle since he moved to the USA. The bakery in Linden mainly served restaurants and grocery stores and had a small retail presence.  This store closed a few years after my grandmother returned to the USA when they purchase a building and opened a bakery in West New York, New Jersey.

We often wondered if or how they communicated when grandma was in Europe, now we know.  Postcards.  My grandparents saved these seven. These all are from the month that she spent at the spa trying to heal from her illness, kidney disease brought on by eclampsia and the termination of her pregnancy in early 1931. Luckily, she had a great doctor who saved her life.  (See blogs below.) The postcards date from June 30 to July 22, 1931.

Now we know what she was thinking while she was there.  She was 25 years old, the mother of two children who were staying with her in-laws in a small shtetl outside of Mielic, and she was horribly ill.

I must thank Leslie T., who was gracious to translate these postcards for me.  Leslie is someone who also belongs to the Jewish Genealogy Portal Facebook Group.

The first postcard dated June 30, 1931, asks for $100. And informs my grandfather that the first treatment did not help, but the second treatment is helping.  She also told my grandfather that there was someone at the mineral waters who was 58 years old.  I think that gave her hope that she could and would survive.

There is another postcard written on the same day in English.  Thanking my grandfather for the money he has sent.  And asking him to please write, as she is worried about him. 

Grandpa was 31. I know exactly what he was thinking because I asked him.  Why did you let grandma take the children to Europe.  “She was a sick woman.  I had to let her do what she thought was best..”  But what would have done if she died? The children would have been left in Austria.  “As soon as she died I was going to get on a boat and return with my children. I would never leave them there.”    End of discussion. 

The postcard correspondence continues.

July 6, 1931:

Most beloved husband:

I’m very surprised that I’m not getting any letters from you. I write to you so often and yet no answer. Anyway, how are things by you? Hopefully, still good. No news forthcoming from my part. Everything is the same as always. Well then, I send you greetings and kisses; also, the very best greetings and kisses from the dear children.

I remain your faithful wife who hopes to see you as soon as possible

July 14, 1931:

Dearest husband Nisan,

I’m letting you know that I got your card from Sharon Springs

 I’m very happy that you went to ‘take the waters’ but dear Nisan, see to it that you get some rest after the mineral baths else you could become very weak. I’ve experienced something like it. I’m still staying at Carlsbad this week – see that you send me some money. And don’t worry about the house because I get very frequent letters [from there]. Everyone is OK and the children really yearn for you – as do I. I send you heartfelt greetings and kisses from your faithful wife who hopes to see you as soon as possible. Thelma Amsterdam

July 21: 1931

Dearest husband: In this picture you can see the guest house where I live in Joachimsthal [now called Jachymov Czechia]. Just looking at it is enough to make you cry, but it is the stuff of memories. Well, Nisan, I’m begging you to send me some amount of money by telegraph to Carlsbad to the same bank – and immediately, as soon as you get this card, because I am left without a cent. Other than that, there is no news, at least, nothing good to report. Just know that I send hearty greetings, and you should get much pleasure from your dear children as well.

I feel worse now than at home.

Write an answer to your children.

July 22, 1931

Dearest husband:

I have taken 3 bath treatments already and feel like all my bones are breaking. There are people here from all over the world and everyone says that the treatments work but that you have to come at least several times. I believe that I’ll go from here to Vienna to see a heart specialist. Please send money to the same bank as before. No other news. Your faithful wife sends her regards – and the best greetings are from your children. Thelma Amsterdam

July 24, 1931

Dearest husband,

I received your letters from Sharon Springs. I’m writing you another postcard because yesterday I sent you a telegram asking for money. I want to go to Vienna to see a professor about my heart. The children are fine, but they miss us very much. I hope to be seeing them soon. Dear husband, here in Joachimsthal things are going well for me. There is a heat wave here and the baths aren’t sapping my strength, but everyone says that one course of treatments won’t do it; one has to come here at least 3 times to get cured. Other than that, there is no news to write. I’ll write you a letter soon – your faithful wife Taube

And then one from my grandfather from Sharon Springs.  I am assuming this one is from mid-July because on July 14 grandma says she got a postcard and found out that he was taking spa treatments.  But I do not know the definite date. Later, July 24, she also mentions getting letters from him.

Much beloved wife: I’m writing to let you know that I’ve had two spa treatments already. Dear Taube, write and let me know how you’re feeling and what they’re writing to you from Auntie.

How are the children doing? Otherwise, I have nothing else to write to you. I send you my regards and kiss you and the dear children. Your faithful husband Nisan

Honestly, I was al ittle disappointed by these postcards. I wish these postcards had more information. But then they were postcards.  You really cannot be intimate or give out real information that anyone could read.

But I have questions:  How did he get the money to afford all of these?  I know his bakery was doing well. But really, 1931, was during the Depression.  He was supporting himself and my grandma in Europe.  Plus paying for all the Spa fees!  I know they did well, but that really surprised me.

I also wonder what was going on with the children (my mother and uncle.)? They were just 2 and 5 years old.  I do have letters in Polish to both my grandmother and grandfather written by the same person, as the handwriting is the same.  I do not yet know who wrote them or what they say.  Perhaps they tell the story of the children.  I hope so.

The Mysterious Kalsbad Photos: Who Are They?
Speaking Yiddish Always Brings Me Holocaust Memories

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Technology Equals No Division

17 Jul

I had the most pleasant dinner with my husband and siblings in a restaurant in Montclair, NJ. The food, fish for all of us and ice cream and sorbet for dessert was delightful. We chatted and ate and visited and finally were ready to leave.

I have to admit that perhaps we asked for too much. We wanted to divide the check so that my husband and I paid half and my siblings each paid a quarter of the bill. The waitress said it was fine. And so we gave her three credit cards and waited. And waited. And waited. I should have known something was not working out.

Our bill for four people was $129.02. She came back with my credit card and a receipt for $86. She then was going to divide the $43.02 between my siblings. I was astounded that she did not even realize that this was not divided in HALF. It was two-thirds and a third, but definitely not half. $86 and $43 are NOT equal!

I went up with my receipts to speak to her while she was running the other cards. I politely said, “Wait. This is not right. $86 Is not half of $129.02.”

She was not convinced. “Are you sure? I have to get my manager,” she told me as she hustled away with a dazed look on her face.

A few minutes later the manager came. “How cam I help? ” He was pleasant.

“This is wrong. $86 is not half of $129.02. ” I told him. I was sure he would understand. But no such luck. “You asked for half on one card and the rest divided between those two!” He told me.

“Yes half. $86 is not half of $129.02. Half of $130 is $65. This is wrong.” I started doing the math, the division on a piece of paper. I showed him the math. But that was not what he needed. I offered to show him on my phone calculator. But no. He had a calculator that he pulled out.

He typed in 1292. No I said. You need a decimal. It is 129.02. He might have been anxious at this point. I noticed my siblings laughing and looking at me. I was getting exasperated. And I now was in teacher mode. I had taught at a high school. There is a definite teacher voice and look that can come over me.

In any case he correctly typed in 129.02 and divided by 2. 64.51 was the number it read. “You are right,” he admitted. “I am sorry. I will fix it. ”

I wanted to make it easy. I wanted him to credit my sister’s account and just put the rest on my card, the other $43.02. We would sort it out later. But that was too much as well. He ended up crediting my account and my sister’s. He ran a new receipt putting all the money on mine. I paid , added tip and we settled up.

My siblings laughed all the way to the car. They knew I was frustrated, they told me that the look of our mother came over me as I tried to explain the math to the manager. Mom taught fourth grade for 30 years.

“I just can’t understand how the waitress and the manager did not see that $86 was not half. $43 and $86 are not equal. Did they not understand half, divide by two,” I was still frustrated.

I was concerned that they did not believe my division that I did on paper. They would only believe a calculator. I felt like I was in a science fiction novel that I had read years ago where a boy who could do math in his head was considered a genius because everyone else HAD to use a calculator!

I am worried Technology is destroying the ability to calculate math in our brains.

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My Personal Coat of Many Colors

29 Mar

A recent on-line post from a friend reminded me of my favorite coat!  I had a coat when I was a freshman in high school that I just loved.  It was a long, mid-calf, tapestry coat in beige, cream, red and green, with a red satin lining. It was my personal coat of many colors.

My wonderful tapestry, multi-colored coat.

I wore it every day in the late fall till the early spring.  It was warm; it was comfortable; and I loved the feel of it.  I crocheted a green scarf to wear with it.  Over time the scarf got longer and longer.  I could wrap it around my neck, head, and face about three or four times, which kept me so warm.  When I wore that coat, I felt stunning.   I do not know why, I just did.

I have one photo of me wearing that coat.  I remember the moment it was taken.  I was on a high school trip to Washington, DC.   I have tried to remember why I went.  It was not the entire sophomore or junior class, just one teacher’s students.  Was it American history?  I sort of remembering that it was a specialty class.  North Bergen High School for a while offered one semester classes on all sorts of topics.  I took several of those.  My favorite was about Canada.  So perhaps it was one of these classes that sponsored the trip.

What I do remember is that my Dad drove me to the high school so early in the morning, the sun was not yet out.  Then we all got on to the bus for the drive from North Bergen to Washington.  It was the trip of a lifetime.  One I have always remembered.

We toured to the White House; we toured the FBI building; we toured the Capitol; we went to the Supreme Court; we went to the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument, I did not climb up.  We also had a short visit to the Smithsonian, original building.  How we did all of that in one day, I do not know.  But we hustled and we walked fast.

We were allowed to walk around in small groups in some of the sites. I took lots of photos.  I don’t know where most of them are now.  But there is one I have: a photo of me in my lovely tapestry coat standing in front of a black marble monolith.  I do not know where it was taken, except it was on this DC trip.

I tried asking my North Bergen friends about when and why we went.  Only one other friend even remembers going.  No one else does.  I do not know who took this photo.  I wish I did because I would thank her.  My coat is long gone, but this photo gives me joy.

I wore that coat as much as I could for five years. The lining was frayed. The pockets had holes in them.  I kept sewing them back together.  But eventually the fabric was so thin, it could not even be sewn.  I thought about replacing the lining.  I never got the chance to do that. This coat drove my mother crazy.  She was constantly asking me to buy a new coat as the tapestry coat was falling apart.  But I would not.

In the end my mother won this argument.  It was not a fair fight, and I was really annoyed!

My sophomore year of college I spent overseas in Israel.  I did not take the coat with me.  Honestly, I could have used it.  Winters in Jerusalem can be cold, and a bit of snow did fall.  I was gone for 12 months.   When I got home in July, I did not look for my coat.  I had a lot to do.  In this time before social media, I lost a year of local, national and friend news.  I had to reconnect.  It wasn’t until I was getting ready to go to college in late August, that I discovered my coat was missing.

I asked my sister, “Where is my coat?”  She looked at me with a deer in the headlights stare and said something like.  “You better ask Mom about that.” I did. 

That did not end well because while I was in Israel, my Mom got rid of my coat! I will say that my Mom and I had one of our worst fights ever.  The following reconstructed conversation is to my best memory.  I will say the tone of the conversation was loud and screaming on my part.  My Mom was almost laughing the entire time.  She really did hate that coat!!!

“You did not wear it for a year so I thought you did not need it. It was just taking up room.” Her words.

 “I did not wear it because I was in Israel, it would have been difficult to get.” My words.

 “It was falling apart, the lining was shot.” Her words.

“I was going to replace the lining when I got home.” My words.

“You only asked about it now, you did not even notice it was gone.” Her words.

 “It was 80 to 90 degrees, and we were in the Catskills, who thinks of a winter coat then.” My words.

“You always hated my coat,” I finally yelled in frustration.

“It was in horrible shape and you could not wear it another year. There is nothing I can do now.  I will get you a new coat,” my Mom responded.

It was long gone and there was nothing I could do about it. Mom was right.  I went shopping with my Mom to get a new winter coat.  It was an okay coat.  A typical college coat.  Nothing special.  Solid colored with a hood.  I also got new gloves and a new scarf (Yes she got rid of the scarf as well). I was warm for the winter; however, without the sparkle or style I had with my tapestry coat!

I have never found another coat I loved wearing as much as I loved wearing that coat.  I can remember the feel of the coat.  It was not a printed-on tapestry look. It was an actual woven tapestry.  Although many, many years have passed, I have never forgotten my multi-colored, wonderful tapestry coat.  But at least I have this one photo to keep its memory alive.

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Barbie Dolls, Fashion and Kindness

15 Feb

Growing up in the 60s, my friends and I were enamored of the newest toy, a Barbie doll, which were first sold in 1958.  I do not remember when I got my first one, but I was probably 7 or 8, in the early 1960s.  All I know is that the world of play time changed forever. 

At the time, we often were outside playing in our backyards or in the driveways or even in the streets!  Our homes in North Bergen, were close to each other making it was easy to get together. My neighbor, Dorothy, and I often played with our Barbies.  Each day we created a new story and chapter in the lives of our dolls.  It did not matter if we were indoors or outdoors, we could take our Barbies everywhere to play. 

The only one who was not enamored of our dolls, was my brother.  He and Dorothy were the same age, I am a bit younger, so the three of us often played together. Before Barbies, we would play ball in the driveways, or stoop ball in the front.  We had imaginary horses made by the cement fence that divided the property.  We would walk along the fence, we would dig in the backyards, we were often a threesome going on great adventures within the two backyards or along Third Avenue.

But the year the Barbies enter our lives, a major change began. My brother did not want to play with the Barbies and often would try to destroy our imagined home. Sometimes it was a war zone in our driveway, backyard or home, as he came through as the super hero/villain and wrecked havoc. Looking back as an adult, I know he felt left out. So I feel badly. But not then!

The other issue was my sister, who was four years younger. Dorothy was an only child and did not enjoy my mother’s instructions to allow my sister to play with us. It is really hard to be an older sister sometimes. Truthfully, we really did not want to play Barbies with her. It was just too difficult to plan our more ‘mature’ scenarios with a four-year-old. (Of course, now I am sorry we left her out.)

One way of avoiding these issues (known as my siblings) was to go across the street to Livia’s house.  She also liked to play with Barbies.  We did not play Barbies with her that often, but every once in a while we were invited into her home.  That was actually a big deal!  Livia’s older sister, Cheryl, had a birthmark that distorted one side of her face. It was red and wrinkly and stretched from the top of her forehead to her mouth, covering one side of her face.  The other side was perfectly normal.  Cheryl did not come outside to play.  But when we went to Livia’s house, Cheryl would often play with us.

The other interesting fact about their house was that their grandmother made the most fantastic Barbie clothes. WOW.  She made them for us as well.  Of course, Cheryl and Livia had the most extensive collection.  Why buy clothes, when their grandma could make the best?  I coveted those Barbie clothes.  I did have a few.  I am not sure if my Mom paid for them.  Or if Dorothy and I were given them because we would play with Livia and Cheryl and never said a word about Cheryl’s face.  My Mom made it very clear to me when I saw her once on the street, before I went over to their house,  that Cheryl was just like me and I was to be kind and polite.

So I was!  And Cheryl was just like us, but perhaps very shy. For me, Cheryl’s face became connected to homemade Barbie clothes in my mind.  Making them more precious because playing with Cheryl and being kind was so such an important directive in my home.

Recently I realized another connection.  My friend Dorothy and I still talk about growing up on Third Avenue and our childhoods in North Bergen.  In this conversation we talked about going over to Livia’s house.  We were remembering the wonderful Barbie clothes, when it hit me that Dorothy might have gone into fashion design and attend the FIT, because of the exposure to these magnificent Barbie clothes. And I asked, “Do you think it was these Barbie clothes that made you go into fashion?”  Dorothy’s response, “I never thought of that.”   But I think it did. Because she soon was drawing and making paper doll clothes all the time, then as she got older she was sewing and designing real clothing.   I think all from going to Livia’s house on Third Avenue.

Years later, when my daughter had her own Barbie dolls, I searched out craft people who made Barbie clothes and purchased many outfits for my daughter’s dolls.  My favorite was a doll dressed in the most glorious wedding gown.  It stayed high on a shelf in my daughter’s room with her doll collection.  The Barbie clothes, and her doll collection are now packed away in my basement.  Memories perhaps waiting for another generation.

Each time I purchased a doll outfit and dressed the Barbies with my daughter, I did think of ]Livia’s grandma, the time playing Barbies with the girls, and those beautifully made Barbie clothes in the 1960s.

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Mugs Bring Joyful Memories of Nungesser Lanes

8 Feb

Karyn S., whose family started the Grasshopper Salon on Bergenline Aveune in North Bergen, made many of us OLD Time North Bergenites happy with her recent post about Nungesser Lanes coffee mugs that she found in the salon’s basement.  She offered them free to anyone who wanted one or two on a North Bergen Facebook page. The comments just flowed from people who had happy memories and would like a mug for themselves or a family member.  I was one of the many people who was excited to see the mugs because of my experiences bowling and meeting up with friends at the bowling alley, we called “ Nuggesser’s.”

My two mugs!

From the time I was three until fourth grade, I lived on Third Avenue between 85th and 87th streets. Then we moved to Boulevard East and 78th Street, which is on the other side of what was then Hudson County Park (now Braddock Park). It meant my siblings and I had to also go to a different elementary school. Switching from Horace Mann to Robert Fulton was difficult. I was leaving all my friends behind. When I look at a map now, it was not so far away. But when I was a child, it seemed like hundreds of miles, while in reality it was just one mile away.

My parents found a solution for my brother and me to keep in touch with some friends.  They signed us up for a bowling league at Nungesser Lanes!  We played on the league for one or two years.  I don’t remember every single meet.  But I do remember my first time getting two strikes in a row. The magic of the points adding up when that happens was so amazing to me.  I loved that moment.  I remember the noise of the bowling, finding the right ball and shoes, and just being with our friends!

I remember my Dad dropping us off at the front parking lot on rainy days and sometimes picking us up. I know we played on the weekends, because we definitely did not do activities in the evenings after school.  In those days, you were home!  Sometimes, after bowling, we went to a friend’s house.  Looking back, I am sure that the parents arranged these in advance.  We would go to their house, or they would come to ours.  A definite break for all of our parents.

As a special treat, we would sometimes stop for White Castle hamburgers after bowling.  You would buy them by the half dozen.  Honestly, I did not like them that much.  I’d rather just eat the fries.  The place I liked better was called Steak and Shake and it was just up the road, or so I remember.

I believe my brother and I sometimes walked from our new home on 78th Street to Nungesser’s through the park, a one and half mile hike. But I think that was when we were older. I vaguely remember meeting up with friends at White Castle for lunch, and then perhaps bowling. The main thing was to be together.

We would walk up 78th Street to Park Avenue and enter the park on a path by the tennis courts.  We would pass the playground and meander along the paths, sometimes cutting across the grass, coming out on the opposite end, across the street from Nungesser’s.  It was worth the energy spent because on the other side of the park were our friends.

To say the post about the mugs brought back happy memories does not do it justice.  I really, truly wanted one, but I live in Kansas now.  I felt it would be an imposition to ask Karyn to mail it to me.  But my good friend, the one I used to bowl with when we were children, told me I had to call. She said after a long talk with Karyn, my friend was sure she would send me a mug.

I followed my friend’s advise.  She was right about Karyn, who I also had a fun chat with about North Bergen, and how close I once lived to where her salon is located.  I asked about the mugs and their discovery. She told me that the basement was flooded in a bad storm, and when cleaning it out, they found the mugs in wet boxes.  Her parents once bowled at Nungesser Lanes, so she believes they have been there for decades.  

Karyn did a wonderful Good Deed when she decided to share the mugs with others who remember Nungesser Lanes.  From the over 100 comments on her Facebook post in North Bergen, Now and Then, and the Memories, many others were as happy as I was to ask for a mug.

Karyn was also kind enough to mail mine to me!!! She was the post office was not far away, and she would send them. SO sweet to do that !!!  I was so excited when my mugs arrived yesterday.  (Yes, I did pay for the shipping!!)

Living in Kansas, I often hear people say how abrupt and unkind people in New York and New Jersey are to others.  I explain that is not at all true.  Karyn is an example of the many, many kind people I grew up with in North Bergen. 

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How a Shoe Store became a Jewlery Store

8 Sep

Growing up in the New York City metro area, one thing I will say, we had connections.  The majority of my extended family lived in New York and New Jersey.  Family get togethers were important.  Besides that, our summers in the Catskills with my cousins made us extremely close.

So of course engagements, weddings, bar and bat mitzvahs and the arrival of babies were always celebrated.   This continues today as well into the next generations.  But when I was a teen and young adult growing up, everyone lived within a short distance of each other.

When we needed new shoes, we did not go to just any shoe store.  No, we drove from North Bergen or West New York, New Jersey, to Yonkers, New York, to get our shoes.  Why?  There were lots of shoe stores near by.  But my Uncle Jack was the manager of a shoe store in Yonkers.  So, of course, that is where we went for our new school shoes each year.   If ever we had a shoe problem, or issue, we knew to stand up and see where our toes ended in relationship to the edge of the shoe.  I have written about my Dad’s fixation on healthy feet. And wearing good shoes was part of this. (See blog below.)

My Uncle Jack had other connections.  One of his best friends, also named Jack, was a jeweler.  I asked my cousin if he was related to them.  But No, Uncle Jack and Jack A. met at the Sephardic synagogue they went to in NYC.   Uncle Jack lived in Israel as a child and teen.  ( I wrote about his mother, my grandma Rose, and her experiences during the siege of Jerusalem in 1948, see the blog below.)  

So why a shoe store and a jeweler and family gatherings all in one story?  Because in 1979 I got engaged to a nice Midwest boy who wanted to buy me a diamond engagement ring. I was shocked.  He wanted to go to a store and buy it retail?  Who heard of such a thing?  Not when my family was involved.

To be honest, I do not remember exactly what happened.  All I know is that we were in town for my brother’s wedding.  It was nine months after we got engaged, but I still did not have my engagement ring.  We were waiting until we went to see my family.  Finally, a meeting was set up.  My husband, then fiancé, thought we were going to go to a wholesale jewelry store in Manhattan.  But that is not what happened.  He was a bit shocked.

My parents drove my husband and I to the shoe store in Yonkers. My then 24-year-old fiancé asked, “We are getting your ring in a shoe store?” I just nodded my head yes. My father said something like, “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

When we got to the store, my Uncle was waiting for us, and led us to the back of the store.  Mom stayed in front to shop!  Next thing I know is that Dad, my fiancé and I are in the shoe storage racks in the back of the store.  Jay was a bit shy about entering the back stacks, but as we were all going, he went along. It was here that we met with Jack, the jeweler!

When we were situated where no one was coming, way in the back, Jack, the jeweler, opens the shoe box he was carrying.  Inside were five or six diamond rings, all about one karat, all different shape diamonds.  I tried several on and finally decided on the ring I wanted.  A check was written.  We were given an appraisal, but Jack was firm about us getting an appraisal from another jeweler as well.     If there was any problem, we were to let him know.

We left the stacks.  I was now wearing my engagement ring.    Jack the jeweler stayed behind.  My Uncle went in to say goodbye to his friend, who left through the back entrance.  Quite the covert mission.  You did not want anyone to know you were carrying a shoe box filled with diamonds!

I wore my engagement ring for years.  But about five years ago, I had a ring I inherited from my grandmother that I used to make a new ring.   I put my engagement ring away with the idea that one day my son would use it.  That time is now.  He and his girlfriend got engaged.

Beautiful Feet, A Shoe Store and My Dad’s Sage Advice

Movie Night in the Catskills Was A Wonderful, Magical Night

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Getting My COVID Vaccine Takes Me to 1960s

5 Feb

This week I received my first COVID vaccine. I traveled through a snow blast to get to my 10:30 am appointment. My walking buddy took me. I don’t like to drive, so she volunteered to get me there. While we went, I thought of my Mom. I called her the snow witch because she attracted snowstorms. She died during the December 27, 2010, snowstorm that blanketed the New York City area over two feet of snow. For me, the snow seemed apropos. Mom was telling me she was looking out for me. Getting the vaccine was important.

When we arrived at the vaccination site, we lucked out finding a parking space in the crowded area.  The parking lot was full, but we were able to find a street parking space not too far away.  In fact, when we left, I told another woman who arrived that we were leaving and had a great spot.  She followed us and parked there as we drove away.

But the main point is that I got my first dose of the Pfizer vaccine.  Yes, I stood in a line for a while.  Actually, there were four parallel lines waiting to be checked in after our temperatures were taken and our paperwork reviewed.  Then it was to the computer check in, and finally the shot line, then I sat in a chair while a nursing student gave me that wonderful little jab.  I honestly felt the edges of my lips curl into a smile as the needle went in.  I never wanted a vaccine more than I wanted this one.

I then joined my friend and sat there for the required 15 minutes.  It was well worth it.  My friend, a dentist, already had both her doses. But she was happy to go back with me to make sure I got my vaccine.

While I was waiting in line, and then waiting for my 15 minutes to pass, my memory went back to my first pandemic vaccine.  Yes, I did have another one.  Just like many of my peers born in the 1950s and 1960s. I was one of the millions of children vaccinated for the polio vaccine.  Then for children, it was the taste of a sugar cube that saved our mobility and lives.

Every summer we went to the Catskills, to the mountains, to get away from the New York City area where parents were afraid that we would get polio in the summers.  People forget that polio was one reason why families wanted to escape the metropolitan area.  But I remember.

I also remember the long line that we stood in to get our vaccine. It was 1962 or 1963. I don’t remember the exact date. But I know I was 7 or 8 years old. My parents, my brother, my sister and I, stood outside in a slowly moving line that snaked into the North Bergen High School building. We never actually stood still. We just kept moving, and others kept joining the long line. Just like I did for the Covid vaccine: in one door and out another.

When we finally reached our goal, there was hundreds of little paper cups. In each one was a sugar cube. But not any sugar, these were doused in the live polio virus. To add to my enjoyment, each sugar cube that had the vaccine was a lovely shade of pink! We joyfully ate our sugar as we walked away. To be honest, I wanted a second sugar cube.

There was a worry that a few of the children might actually get polio from the live virus. But because it was the BEST way to keep the virus at bay, parents were willing to take a risk.  Due to these sugar cubes and the other vaccine developed by Dr. Jonas Salk and Dr. Albert Sabin, in the 1950s and 60s, polio basically disappeared.

So now when I stood in another line to receive another vaccine to help stop the spread of a different pandemic, a little part of me stood in that other line, remembering another vaccine in a time when lies and anti-vaxxers were not trying to destroy faith in vaccines.  When we did not have people protesting and trying to stop people from getting their vaccines, as some protestors did at Dodger Stadium in California. When people understood the need for all to come together to stop a pandemic.  When kindness to others and true altruistic love for your neighbor took precedence over the lies found on social media that seem to be corrupting kindness.

I was so thankful to get my vaccine this week. I look forward to getting my second dose in three weeks, which also reminds me of my polio vaccine sugar cube. We had to have three in all for the vaccine to work.

I am still smiling, even though my arm is a bit sore. As each of my friends and relatives get their vaccine, I feel relief. Life will get back to some semblance of normal. And this vaccine will help us get there. I just wish that kindness to others really meant something. That this kindness included keeping everyone safe and the COVID pandemic at bay.

https://www.cdc.gov/polio/what-is-polio/polio-us.html

https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2021-02-04/anti-vaccine-activists-dodger-stadium-have-more-plans

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Pippi Longstocking and It’s A Small World Always Have A Place in My Heart

17 Jan

Over time my sister and I have been amazed that her daughter’s personality is more like mine, while my daughter is more like my sister. I am known to call them by each other’s names because they do something that is so much like the other.

But recently, on a family Zoom, I realized that my reaction to my daughter is often the same as my mother’s reaction to my sister.

In the early 1960s my family went to the World’s Fair in New York City. (See blog below.). We had a great time.  Our favorite ride was the Disney, “It’s a Small World,” which premier at the World’s Fair.  My sister, who was just 4 or 5 at the time, fell in love with the song. 

She was in love with the song and used the $5.00 gifted to her from our grandmother to buy a special booklet about the ride that included the 45 record. My mother asked her to be sure that is what she wanted, as she used her entire $5 for it.  (I used my money to buy a Cinderella watch.)

The song became the bane of our existence.  My sister played that record endlessly.  “I did play it multiple times a day on the small record player that we were allowed to use unsupervised,” she said.  To be honest it drove us all crazy.

One day she came home from school to the horrible news from my mother that the record was broken.  My mom was cleaning and accidentally broke it.  My sister was devasted, but what could she do. It was gone. My Mom was such an honest, good person.  We all believed her.  And I think we all, except my sister, were relieved.

Fast forward about 10 years.  Our house was robbed.  The thieves came in through the back door. The police believe my brother surprised when he got home from school as he came in the front door.  (I have written about this before in the blog below.). It was traumatic for all of us!!!

But in the aftermath, on the floor of my parent’s bedroom, where the thieves had dropped all the stuff they did not want, was the 45 record of “It’s A Small World”.  It was not broken.  It was intact.   My sister was shocked.

“Mom,” she said.  “It’s not broken.”  She says it was the biggest betrayal in her life!  My parents were both speechless and laughing.  My Mom admitted the truth, she just could not stand to hear that record again.  So they hid it. 

My sister says, “Mom did not have the heart to actually break and throw it out.” She thinks it is because she purchased with the money from grandma.   Now, 55 years later, my sister still has the record.  She admits she was obsessed by it and had to keep listening.  (Unfortunately,  while my sister found her record, my watch was stolen during the robbery.)

The doll and towel I purchased in Sweden.

Fast forward to the late 1980/early 1990s and my daughter’s favorite book, “Pippi Longstocking!”  She had to hear that one book every single day.  My husband or I read it to her.  It was my husband who broke first.  He finally had enough of her obsession.  He told me that he refused to read it again.  He took the book and put it at the very top of the floor to ceiling bookcase in our bedroom, knowing she would never find it.  I have to admit, I was right there with him.  I could have taken it down, but I never did.

We were so relieved.  We just never wanted to hear that book again.   Little did we realize that the book was in her soul.  When she wrote her college applications, she wrote about how she identified with Pippi Longstocking in her essays.

While she was in college, she came home for a break and was helping me sort through books.  I had totally forgotten that Pippi Longstocking was still up there in the bookcase, on its side where it could not be seen.  She was up on a step stool, when she yelled in excitement.  “Mom, I found Pippi Longstocking.  It’s not lost!”

I was startled and started laughing until tears came.  She says, it never occurred to her that we hid it.  She felt no sense of betrayal, only excitement because she found her favorite book. Both my Mom and I could not get rid of the evidence of our ‘lie’ which in the end was our undoing. 

Like my Mom, I explained to my daughter how tired we were of hearing and reading the book. So we hid it.  I think we still have the book.  But in August 2019, my husband and I went to the Baltics.  I made amends. The only thing I purchased for my daughter was in Sweden: a small Pippi Longstocking doll and tea towel that was adorned with Pippi’s picture.

I must also say, that “It’s A Small World” is also my daughter’s favorite Disney ride.  I have ridden on that ride multiple times with her. One time, on a rainy day, when no one else was there, she and I did it over and over again.  She is so much like my sister!!!

When thinking about it, I realize that both my sister and daughter were interested in entertainment that explored the world and had a positive view of life. It’s a Small World shows the people of the world singing in harmony and joy.  Pippi is a free and independent girl who is kind and helpful and works against bullies! Pippi Longstocking and It’s a Small World will always have a place in my heart.

These two blogs talk in more detail about the robbery and It’s a Small World Ride.

It was a Small World at the New York City’s World’s Fair 1964/65

Locking Up Candy Saves the Day!

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An Elegant Evening At An Embroidery Convention

15 Nov

Dressed for an elegant evening out, my parents are 28 years old in this photo.  My Dad was the co-owner of an embroidery shop in New Jersey. (See blog below.). In this photo they are at an embroidery convention.  When I look at them, I am amazed at how young they are here!

My mother’s lovely handwriting on the back says, May 1957, Laurel’s Embroidery Convention.  The dress my Mom is wearing is totally embroidered.  It is a fabric made in my Dad’s shop.  I have vivid memories of this dress, as it hung in the basement closet forever.  It was either a pale beige or rose color in my memory. The skirt was perfect for twirling.  How do I know?  Because my sister and I loved to play dress-up with this dress!

My Mom is also wearing my Grandmothers mink jacket!  In May!  But wearing a mink jacket is the height of elegance in those days.  However, I have to laugh because above her head is a basketball hoop.  So although the party was elegant, they had to walk through a sports area to get to the dinner event.

I remember hearing of the Laurel’s. It must have been a convention center/meeting place in New Jersey, probably in Secaucus, New Jersey, near Laurel Hill, also known as Snake Hill.(See info below.)  Over the years, the hill has been decimated as the highways were built and some of the rock was taken out when quarries were allowed there. But a little bit of the hill still remains!  It can be seen at Laurel Hill County Park and from the New Jersey Turnpike.

My Dad is dressed up as well in a really nice suit.  Dad was an elegant dresser.  He purchased shoes in Europe when he traveled.   He always worked in the fashion industry and looked the part.  He had so many suits and shirts and ties.  When he passed away, many of his grandchidren and I took a few of his ties to keep as a memory.  He had ties of every hue and color. His closet was a rainbow of shirts and ties. Everything organized and ready for the next fashion statement.

The one element of this photo that does offend me is the cigarette in my Dad’s hand.   My siblings and I hated his smoking.  We often had major battles over this.  Like the time I flushed his cigarettes down the toilet.  Or when my brother hid all his extravagant cigars behind the books on the top shelf of the bookcases. Dad never found them!  But cigarettes were a part of life in the 1950s.

My sister was not alive when my parents went to this convention. I was 2 and my brother was 3. Which means, I am sure, my grandparents were babysitting for us, as we were still living in an apartment above their bakery in West New York, New Jersey. (See blog below.)

I have to add an update! Thanks to a reader, I now know that the Laurels was a big hotel in the Catskills. A competitor to Grossingers, it was one of the largest hotels. So I am sure my grandparents were taking care of us, but we might all have been in the Catskills staying at our home in Kauneonga Lake while my parents went to this convention. The Laurels were located near Monticello in Sullivan County!

Photos really bring back memories. It brings back memories of my father’s embroidery shop in West New York, NJ.  Embroidery was a big business in the USA in the early and mid 1900s.  Now there is nothing left of these many shops!  Though I do not remember this event per se, I do remember my parents dressing up for other events.  I do remember the dress and the mink jacket.  Those memories bring me happiness in this time of staying home during the pandemic.

A Hudson County Embroidery Shop Started My Dad’s Career

Bakery Aromas Bring Back Delicious Memories

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snake_Hill

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