Tag Archives: grandparents

The Tavern in Trzciana Comes To Life

29 Jul

I vividly remember when the movie version of “Fiddler on The Roof” was released.  It was the first Broadway show I had seen in person as a child.  So seeing it again in the movie theater reminded me of the special trip into New York City with my parents and the delight I felt while listening to the songs and learning about Anatevka.  One of my favorite scenes occurs in a tavern where the Polish and the Jewish citizens end up in riotous dance!

The tavern scene has so much more meaning to me now.  I was with my maternal grandfather the first time he saw the movie.  Grandpa was from a small town in Austria/Poland called Trzciana.  When he watched the tavern scene, he turned to me and said, “My family had a tavern just like that.  It looked just like that.”  Anatevka/Tzrciana taverns were interchangeable in my grandfather’s eyes. He said the movie brought back memories of his childhood.

Grandpa did not often speak freely about his family.  Stories came in bits and pieces of memories.  But it was not something you asked about.  It was something that he had to offer because Grandpa’s family all perished in the Shoah.  His parents, his siblings, his aunts and uncles, his cousins, everyone who was in Europe died, except for three.  (See blogs below.)

But that tavern memory has so much more meaning because now I know more about it thanks to the research of Izabela Sekulska who started the Mayn Shtetele Mielec Facebook group.   Izabela has been helping me find out information about my family for about a year now. The documents she finds make the stories I was told by Grandpa come to life.

Izabela recently found a document from the Chamber of Commerce and Industry that  brings the family tavern to life.

Chamber of Commerce and Industry document

My great grandfather Gimple Feuer applied to open a tavern on April 10, 1912, when my grandfather was just over 12 years old.  My Grandpa did grow up with a tavern in his life.  This document from the Chamber of Commerce and Industry states that the location was in Trzciana, Galicia, which was then part of Austria as Poland.  Throughout his life Grandpa said he was Austrian as that part of Galicia became part of Poland after the war. 

At my family’s tavern they sold beer, wine, other alcoholic beverages and tobacco according to this document.  I knew my great grandfather had a farm that included a crop of  grains and grain silos to store the grain.  So having a tavern makes sense, he had the grain to brew the beer.

Grandpa told us stories about cleaning out grain silos and how one time he and his cousin became intoxicated on the fumes from the silo.  They actually became sick and ran to a nearby stream/creek to drink the water and wash the fumes away. He said they almost drowned, they were so drunk.  

As I remembered this story, I  looked for  a map of current day Trzciana online and saw where the Cichawka stream goes through the town.

Thanks to Izabela, I know that there were no street names in Tzrciana, the homes and buildings  were just numbered during the time my grandfather lived there..  And the number of the tavern was 129.   

On the map that  I found online all the buildings are numbered.  There is one numbered 129 close to the creek. Could this be when my great grandfather had his tavern?  I am not sure, but it perhaps the numbers remain the same. 

Now there are addresses and streets. So perhaps with this information we can one day find out exactly where the tavern was located in the town. Perhaps this address is where the family lived, and the tavern was located on their farmland?   

Izabela has asked for help in finding out where this location is now in Trzciana in the Facebook group.  That would make this amazing find so much more amazing.  And it might be that the number 129 is in the same place. And the numbers around it are the places where the other members of my family lived before the war.

Knowing my great grandparents had a tavern, perhaps explains to me why there was actually a trial after the war concerning the murder of my great grandmother during the Shoah.  Perhaps their standing in the community created lasting friendships that existed after the war and lead to people actually testifying about her death. (See blog below.)

No matter what I find about where the tavern actually stood in Trzciana, I do know that from now on whenever I see the story of Anatevka and see the tavern scene, I will think of my grandfather and his family that perished, but I will also remember how they lived.

 

These two pictures are from Google. The show the new house at 129.
If you look closely at the other picture you see this building right next to it. It could be the home of my great grandparents or other relatives!!
Zissel and Shalom: Survivors and Heroes
March 9, 1942: The Destruction Of Mielec’s Jewish Population
The Trial For the Murder of Chava “Gimplowa” Feuer
An Unexpected Email Reveals Family Shoah History

Renewing A Family Connection: My Mother’s Day Gift

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Pre-Passover/Pesach Ponderings

8 Apr

At 70 years old, I envisioned that I would be sailing through my retirement years comfortable with my world.  Enjoying my family, watching my country continue to flourish, seeing the United States and its reputation be strong in the world, as my husband and I continued to travel and enjoy visiting new places.

This is a far distant vison than the one my great grandmother faced 82 years ago, when in April 1943, she was murdered by the Germans at age 70 in Poland.  It was the Thursday before Easter, and after her husband and four children had been murdered and her farm and property had been confiscated by the Germans.

My great grandmother is a bit different than the many unknown who were murdered during the Shoah, as there is a record of her last day taken during the trial held after the war for her murder.  I know what she did, what she said, and who killed her. (See blog below.)

For fifty years I had been on a quest to find out what happened to my grandfather’s family.  A quest that started after I spent my sophomore of college in Jerusalem.  A year when I met many members of my family who survived the Shoah and ended up living in Eretz Israel, the land of Israel.

When I returned home, I was the child who said, I need to know.  I sat with all of my grandparents to hear their stories.  I wrote everything down. In the 1970s there was no internet, no easy way to discovered what happened. But I kept my papers and over the years when I met other members of my family I wrote down what they said.  And slowly, slowly the stories came out.

In some instances, I found out history that perhaps I did not want to know.  I learned about my father’s family who came to the USA in the 1870s.  I learned of both tragedies and joys.    

I learned about a great uncle who ended up in a mental institution, a great aunt who died from the Spanish flu, multiple children who died in their infancies; family menbers who did not speak to each other and a child who was raised by an aunt and did not know till she got engaged.

For my mother’s family, both of her parents came to the USA in the early 1920s, I learned about the hundreds of cousins, siblings, parents, all many of relatives that were murdered in the Shoah, as well as ones who had been saved.

I learned about relatives who were on Schindler’s List.  Those who were saved by the Kinder Transport and ended up in England.  A cousin who survived the Kelce Pogrom. Others who hid in the forests near their home town and formed a group like the one in the movie, “Defiance,” but these were my family.

I learned about a relative who converted to Catholicism before the war, but during the war she tried to save her sibling and her children. She was not successful.  Their bodies were found buried in a field when construction was being done about three years ago. The driver of the vehicle was the grandson of the relative who converted, so Catholic himself.  He had dug up the bodies of his own dead Jewish great aunt and her family.  Can you imagine the irony of this? 

I learned that owning property or having money does not save you.  What might save you is luck, fortitude, or relatives who might have a chance to get your out.  But you also had to make your own luck.  You had to want to survive.

My great grandmother finally gave up. Everyone was dead, she had been hiding in the forest with others for a while.  But then she was done. It was too much sorrow. Too much loss.

In this world with the chaos and uncertainty surrounding the economy; the round up of immigrants, even those with legal residences; the job losses; the attacks on education; the attacks on the rights of LGBTQ communities; the rise in anti-Semitism and hatred toward Israels and Jews, I have had to re-evaluate.

Could our property be confiscated?  Could our savings be stolen?  Could people in the USA be forced to hide in the woods to stay safe?  Will people just give up?

Am I really so different from my great grandmother whom I am named after?  Should I consider my own exit strategy?  Believe me my mind often mulls over the options. 

But it is the Tuesday before Pesach and Easter.  It is two days before the 82nd anniversary of my great grandmother’s murder by the German mayor of Czermin, Jukub Hesler.

So I am pondering and considering and hoping that our Constitution is strong enough. That our courts are strong enough. That our elected politicians remember who they vow allegiance to:  The CONSTITUTION of the United States of America.  And who they serve, the people of their states and districts.

I wish everyone a Zissel Pesach, a happy Pesach.  And I wish all who celebrate Easter a happy Easter.  And I wish to everyone throughout the countries of the Earth a peaceful and joyful 2025.

The Trial For the Murder of Chava “Gimplowa” Feuer

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I Need Help Finding My Morris Brenner!

17 Nov

I am feeling so frustrated right now. 

I have found out so much about what happened to my family in Trzciana and Mielec.  The revelations are sometimes difficult to understand. But at least we now know. 

But within all that we do know, there is a mystery of a grave containing two women, sisters and the son of one of them.  (See blog below, An Unexpected Grave Mystery.). In my talks with Izabela, a Polish woman who has helped in my search, I found out that she is also aware of this grave and the unsolved mystery of exactly who are related to these two women and boy.    We have discussed it several times.  We think that I have the answer to the mystery.  But I want to be sure.

Morris’ rocking chair. Now owned by my brother.

When I was a child, I knew my grandfather’s cousin Morris Brenner.  He and his wife owned a newsstand/candy store in Jersey City.  He was a diabetic and had both of his legs amputated.  So he always sat in a rocking chair and was the cashier, while his wife, (we think her name was Anna), would walk around the store and help people.

My brother and I remember going to visit several times with our parents, or with our Mom and grandparents, or perhaps with just our grandparents.   My sister doesn’t remember because she is so much younger. I am the last one alive to have seen him in my family.  My Mom and I visited him in a nursing home near Bayonne, New Jersey.  I detail that visit in a blog. (Childhood Events Definitely Influence My Adult Choices.)

His wife died before him, and since he had no legs, he had to move to skilled nursing.  He and his wife did not have children.  I believe I remember that they were first cousins so decided not to have children.

Why is this important?  Because there is belief that the women buried in the grave had a brother who moved to the United States before the war, named Morris Brenner.  Is this the right Morris Brenner?  I wish I knew because it would bring closure to this mystery.

I have been searching the Ancestry files for days.  I have found a number of Morris Brenners. But not a single one is listed as running a candy store.  I have searched in Jersey City and Linden, New Jersey.   My grandfather owned a bakery in Linden for a while, so I thought maybe there.  And there is a Morris Feuer there, but he was married with children and did not own a candy store.

My frustration is strong.  I thought it was an easy find compared to finding what happened in Europe.  I thought how many men with the name Morris Feuer could there be?  I thought the amputation and the knowledge of the nursing home would help.  I also figured he died in the late 1960s. But I am not skilled enough with Ancestry to find him.

My Morris Brenner was probably born in the late 1890s in the Mielec/Trzciana area of what was then Austria, now Poland. He was married. His wife’s name might have been Anna.  They had a candy store/news stand in New Jersey. They might have lived in the same building as the store, because I remember going into the back of the store through a door to a kitchen.  Perhaps Jersey City, perhaps Linden, Perhaps Newark?  At the end of his life, he lived in a skilled nursing facility/nursing home near Bayonne.  Perhaps it was one for Jewish people?   He did have nieces and nephews.  I do not know if they were from his family or his wife’s.  I know my grandparents began to visit him after my one visit.  I know that my family inherited the rocking chair, my brother owns it.  I know he died in the late 1960s perhaps early 1970s.

I even looked for people named Nissan Brenner, because by grandfather had a cousin in the USA by that name as well. 

I do admit that my brother and I could have distorted memories. We were young when we knew him.  I think I was about 10-12 years old the last time I saw him. That would be 1965-67.  I believe he died within a year or so of that visit. But I do not know for sure. I remember when he died, but I don’t remember exact dates that far back.

I am asking for help from those of you who are excellent at research. Members of Tracing the Tribe have helped me in the past.  Could you please help me find my Morris Brenner! Thank you!

An Unexpected ‘Grave’ Mystery
Childhood Events Definitely Impact My Adult Choices

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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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The Cigar Box: A New Family History Adventure Begins

14 Aug

This might be the last treasure box found in our Catskill home.  After being in our family for 63 years and after a 90-year presence in Kauneonga Lake, we are selling our home.  None of our children, who are widely dispersed, can care for it.  Our fortune is that we have cousins who still have homes near the lake, so we can visit.

But in cleaning out the house and the drawers and the closets, my niece came upon this last treasure buried in a drawer under linens: a beautiful cedar box from Montauks Cigars.  In it were postcards written from my grandmother when she was in Europe with my mother and her brother in 1931-32. Postcards written to my grandfather in Yiddish and English, The Yiddish will have to be translated. I am hoping the generous members of Tracing the Tribe will translate these, as they are just short paragraphs.

 I had to laugh because all the stamps had either been peeled off or torn.  They were given to one of the grandchildren who were collecting stamps. It might have been me.  I collected postcards as well. But these were probably too important to my grandparents to give to a child who might lose them.

There are letters written in German and Polish to my grandmother during the time she was in Europe. I know one is from her cousin Dora, who survived the Shoah and moved to Israel. Others I think were written by my great aunt Esther to my grandmother, her sister.  The German I can understand a bit. But the Polish is impossible for me.  I will need to find a translator for these letters.

There are photographs in the box.  Almost every one of them is identified in English, Yiddish or German.  The ones that are not identified, I actually recognize the people in the pictures.

I have already sent scans of two of the photos to my third cousin.  One shows her grandmother at her elementary school graduation. Her grandmother and my grandmother were first cousins.  When my grandma came to the USA she stayed with her aunt’s family.  The two girls became best friends.  The other photo shows five brothers who lived in the same building. My grandmother’s cousin married two of them. One when she was young with whom she had her children.  And later when her husband died, she married one of his brothers who also lost his wife.  My cousin was glad to see the photos.  I am going to send her the original of one.  The other my niece wants because she shares the same first name.

I have written about these people in other blogs. So below are links to their stories. 

I think this box will be giving me much more to write about.  Every time I think I have finished the story of my European family, another piece of information turns up.  I hope to start with the notes my grandmother wrote to my grandfather from Europe. I always wondered if they were able to communicate.  As well as what she was thinking when she was there, as we know she went to Europe so sick, she thought she would die.  Her plan was to leave my mother and uncle in Europe. Thank goodness she got well!

My Obsession With Grandma’s Album Leads to the Shoah
My Grandma’s Favorite Photo
Amazing What Information Two Photos Can Provide
The Mystery of Abraham Prantki
Grandma Thelma Knows What She Knows

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Great Aunt Minnie was Basically Another Grandma

17 Mar

I have written about my Grandmother’s two brothers who died relatively young: one as baby, the other in his early 60s.  I did not know them that well.  I decided I should write more about my Aunt Minnie, my grandmother’s older sister, because she was important in our lives. 

Aunt Minnie is in many of my blogs because she was always with us.  When my grandmother moved to Co-op City in the Bronx in the late 1960s, Aunt Minnie moved to Co-op City in the Bronx, in an apartment directly under my grandparents.

When my grandparents came up for the summer to the Catskills, Aunt Minnie came up for the summer to the Catskills and stayed in the same bungalow with my grandparents.  I honestly do not know how they did that.  My grandparents had the bedroom, Aunt Minnie slept on trundle bed in the kitchen area.

Every holiday, Aunt Minnie was there.  She was basically another grandmother. She gave us gifts for our birthdays and Hanukkah, $5 each.  She hugged us, she scolded us sometimes, and she told us what to do, just like my two other grandmothers.

My father was the youngest boy. He is the lower right.

Aunt Minnie’s married in 1918. Her husband, Uncle Eli or Uncle Al, died before I was born, in 1949.  They had two sons, who were older than my uncle and my dad. But, in reality, the four boys, and then my aunt who was the youngest, were basically raised together.  Part of the reason is that my great grandparents lived with my grandparents.  My grandfather and great grandfather worked together in a tailor shop they owned. (See blog below.) Family gatherings were always at their apartment in the Bronx.

With all that togetherness, what amazed me is that one of Aunt Minnie’s sons, Victor,  married and moved to New Orleans.  He left the fold.  The other, David, met a lovely woman in England during World War Two and brought into the family a British war bride who was not Jewish, but by the time I can remember she was a loved member of the family.   In our family these two men were known as Cousin Victor and Cousin David.  They weren’t uncles, but they were not to be called by their first name alone.  And their wives were also referred to as cousin, before their first names.

Cousin David had two children, who I won’t name because they are still living.  However, I will tell you one story about Cousin David.  He had a very bad stutter growing up and into his adulthood.  When he was anxious he would stutter then slowed his speech till it stopped.  As a child, I had a bad speech impediment.  I started meeting with a speech therapist before I even started school and continued through eighth grade.  This made me very shy and wary of speaking to strangers.  Cousin David was my advocate.  At every family event we both attended he would stop to talk to me to give me coping skills which I still use today.  I am very adept in the middle talking to switch words because a word I can say today, I might now be able to say tomorrow.  I have a thesaurus of words sitting in my mind  waiting for an emergency.  Cousin David’s advice has been well used over the decades.

Another little Cousin David story.  My father is also named for the same person David was named for. But my dad had a different first name that began with D, only his Hebrew name was David.  This goes back to my Grandma Esther’s dislike of being one of five girl first cousins named Esther. (See blog below.)

Cousin Victor and his wife lived in New Orleans and had three children.  I did not know them at all. I remember meeting them at my wedding, when they came up for the celebration.  My Aunt Minnie had died about two years before when she was in her early 80s, and I think the cousins decided that they needed to celebrate together not just go to funerals.  One spring break we took our children to New Orleans and spent time with Cousin Victor and met his son and his family.  Once again, I won’t name them.

 But I will say that Cousin Victor’s son died late last year.  He and I kept in touch over the years as I sent him updates on my family discoveries.  When my daughter went through a pregnancy crisis, he was so supportive as his daughter had gone through a similar crisis several years previously.  He spent hours on the phone with me one day helping me sort through all the emotions this caused.  I always enjoyed my contact with him.  And I will miss him.  We often would say how much our dads and grandmothers would like knowing that we continue to keep in touch.

Aunt Minnie and my Grandma Esther are forever entwined in my mind and in my heart.

Sisters: Grandma Esther and Aunt Minnie

https://zicharonot.com/2015/10/10/12-delancey-street-and-my-family/

https://zicharonot.com/2017/11/16/too-many-esthers/

https://zicharonot.com/2024/02/25/uncle-sammy-presents-a-surprise/

Baby Jacob is Found

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Bright Smiles

16 Jan

I absolutely love this photo.

It is 1951. My parents are engaged. Dad is in the army and will be deployed to Japan and then Korea. They will marry in June 1951, when he is on a two-week leave before his deployment.

In this photo, my Mom, far left, is with her future family. My father’s sister, mother and grandmother. (My Aunt Leona, or Yoey, Grandma Esther, and my Great Grandma Rae.) I believe it is at the shower held at my Grandma’s apartment in the Bronx, when Mom met all the women in the family. We actually have a movie of this event.

I love their smiles and faces of joy. My Grandma is looking at my Mom with so much love.

I smile whenever I see this.

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Childhood Events Definitely Impact My Adult Choices

5 Dec

When I was a child, I remember going to my grandparents’ cousin’s candy store on Bergen Boulevard near Journal Square in Jersey City.  My brother and I have discussed their names, as it is a memory from long ago, over 50 years.  He remembers the wife as Anna, and I remember the husband, as Morris Brenner.  We will go with these two names.

Like my grandparents, they were from Europe.  I believe that Morris was my grandfather’s second cousin.  That is a connection I have yet to finalize.  But I am pretty sure he was not a first cousin.  However, in the area they came from in Galicia, Mielec, my grandfather’s family was large and very intermingled.

The best part of going to the candy store, of course, was the candy.  We could eat whatever we wanted, within the reasonable constraints of my mother. The other part was seeing Morris and Anna, who were always excited to see us.  They never had children of their own, but they loved us.

Sometimes, my Mom would drive my grandmother, my brother and I to visit them in the candy store.  I have good memories of being there. My grandmother and Anna always had a good time visiting.  So even though it was my grandfather’s cousin, my grandmother often went to visit without him.  And since she never learned to drive, my Mom had that job and we got to tag along.

Morris always sat behind the counter and ran the cash register. He sat there because he no longer had legs, he lost them to diabetes.   Anna ran the store.  She was tiny and very energetic.  That is why what happened is so sad.

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Morris’ rocking chair. Now owned by my brother.

Anna died first.  I don’t think she was that old.  But when she died, Morris could no longer stay alone. The store was closed; their belongings were sold or given away, and Morris went into a nursing home.  I remember my parents speaking about it, because we were gifted his rocking chair.  It did not go to the nursing home with him.  My brother still has the rocking chair in his home.  The tangible evidence that Morris and Ann were part of our world.

The nursing home Morris lived in for the rest of his life was in Bayonne, New Jersey, close to where our family dentist had his office.  Usually we all went to get our teeth done at one time.

But on this day, it was just my Mom and me.  As we drove away from the dentist office, she turned to me and said, “I want to go visit Morris.  I know he lives near here.”I don’t remember how old I was, somewhere between 10 and 12.  To be honest, I thought we were going to the candy store.  But I was in for an unpleasant and emotional surprise.

When we arrived at a large one-story building, my mother and I entered and went to the desk, where Mom announced that she wanted to see Morris.  The woman stopped what she was doing and called to someone, a nurse/supervisor/care giver came out.   Both were so surprised that we were there to see him.  The supervisor said, ‘Oh my, who are you? You are the first people who have ever come to visit him.”

My Mom was stunned.  “Are you kidding me.  He has nieces and nephews.”  But she was not joking.  No one had visited Morris in the year or so he had been living there.

The nurse walked us to his room.  In fact, by the time we got there, I think three or four nurses or caregivers were following us.  Mom walked in first and knelt down beside Morris.  “Morris, It’s me Frances, Nat and Thelma’s daughter.” She said in Yiddish as she reached out to him.

Morris started cry.  He put his hands on either side of Mom’s face and sobbed, “Frances Frances.” Her name was like a chant.   While Mom hugged him with one arm, she put out her other arm, I knew that meant I needed to come over.

“Here is Ellen,” she said.  My face was now embraced by his hands as he cried into my hair and stroked my face.  I was crying by then as well, as were Mom and the nurses/caretakers.  We stayed and talked to him for about an hour.  It felt longer.  He spent most of the time crying and hugging us. And asking about all the family. I have never forgotten.

As we went to leave, the supervisor asked Mom for her address and phone number in case they needed to reach someone.  They had no contacts for him.

We went and sat in the car.  My Mom cried for an additional half hour or so.  Just sobbing, with her arms crossed on the steering wheel and her face down in her arms.  I cried with her.  It was one of my saddest moments as a child.  When we got home, my Mom called her parents.

I never went back to the nursing home.  I think because every time I thought of him, I started to cry.   But I know my Mom and my grandparents went.  To be honest he did not live long after our visit.   My sister, who is four years younger than me, does not remember Morris or Anna. But what she does remember is my grandparents and my mom talking about him.  And my mother always talking about what happens to someone when they are all alone in the world.

For the past ten months I have been a Spiritual Care Volunteer at an elder care facility.   Over and over again people have asked me:  How can you do that?  Doesn’t it bother you? Isn’t too difficult when someone dies?

The answer to all these questions is an emphatic NO.  Each week when I go, I am greeted by smiles and joy.  I speak to each one of them.  Some days I give them hugs.  Sometimes someone cries, especially if they have recently lost a loved one.  Most of them have family members who often come to see them.  Most important to me is that I know that I am going every week.  I am giving them the attention that Morris so deserved and did not receive.

This childhood event definitely impacted my adult choices. Each time I go, I feel a little lift to my heart, knowing that I have helped to brighten someone’s day.  It is the best feeling, because each time I go, a little of the sadness that has followed me for over 50 years, whenever I think about Morris, dissipates.

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The Gift of a Photo Becomes a Gift of Genealogy

23 Nov

When my paternal grandmother died, my dad and his siblings divvied up the photos in her albums.   It made sense at the time, as it was before the internet and the scanning of photos.  But it left each of the families with an incomplete overall picture of whose photos exist.

I have been going through family photos for a number of years.  One of my paternal first cousins has been going through the photos her father had from my grandparents over the two years or so, and when she finds something interesting, she emails the photos to me.  Last week was special.  She found a photo of our paternal grandfather’s mother.  I have written several blogs based on these photos.  (See list below.)

But I had NO photos of my grandfather’s parents.  ZIP.  It was a hole in my genealogy puzzle.  In July, I wrote a blog about my grandfather’s family and its many mysteries.  And last week,  my cousin sent a photo of our great grandmother with my uncle that she discovered.  WOW.  I was struck my how much my grandfather looked like his mother! I immediately put the photo into the blog. (See below.).

But I think the acquisition of this photo needs its own blog, as now I have photos of seven of my great grandparents and four of my great great grandparents.  That is amazing!  I think of my children and my cousins’ children and grandchildren, and I realize that to have these photos labeled is an important gift I can give them all.  For my future grandchildren as well, they can now look back and see some of their four times great grandparents.  That to me is quite wonderful!

I did know one great grandmother, Rae/Ray.  I have vague memories of how she looked. But I remember seeing her when we went to my paternal grandparents’ home.  She lived with them always.   We have the most photos of her as she lived until 1957.  I have photos at different stages of her life and her husband, my great grandfather who passed away in the late 1930s. (See blog about him below.)

Because of this great new photo, I thought it would be great for my family to see all of these photos in one place: my grandparents, my great grandparents and the two sets of great great grandparents.  I also used both their Yiddish/Hebrew names and their English names when they were different, so that everyone knows these names as well.  Also you will notice my great great grandfather Jacob Zev Litwack.  This is not the last name that my great grandfather used when he moved to the United States.

This is my Thanksgiving gift.  The gift of identified photos!  Happy Holidays to all.

 

MATERNAL Family

Maternal great grandma Sara, she died very young.

Great grandma Chava when younger.

Maternal great grandparents/Chava and Gimple

Maternal great grandfather/Shlomo/ Solomon Avraham .

Maternal grandparents. Taube/Tova/Thelma and Nissan/Nathan

PATERNAL Family

Paternal great grandma Sarah (The new photo!)

Baruch Lev/Louis and Rasha/Ray when they married

 

Paternal great grandparents Baruch Lev/Louis and Rasha/Rachel/Rae/Ray when older

Paternal great great grandparents Elka/Esther and Avigdor/Victor

 

Paternal great great grandmother Rasha/Rachel

 

Paternal great great grandfather Yaacov/Jacob Zev. (My great grandfather did Not use this last name in the USA )

Paternal grandparents Harry/Hirsh Zvi and Esther

Blog about my great grandmother and family mysteries: https://zicharonot.com/2019/07/18/some-of-my-paternal-family-mysteries-solved-but-not-all/

Other photos from my cousin:

https://zicharonot.com/2017/12/19/my-familiar-ancestor-who-we-cannot-identify/

https://zicharonot.com/2018/01/26/your-heart-just-gets-larger/

 

About my great grandfather, Baruch Lev:

https://zicharonot.com/2016/03/08/louis-of-the-blessed-heart/

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A Memorable Day My Senior Year at Drew

10 Feb

As I try to sort through old photos we found when cleaning out my parents’ and my grandparents’ homes, I find some that trigger strong memories.   Recently a few appeared that brought me back to college at Drew University in Madison, NJ.

It is my senior year.  I will only be there for one more semester, as I completed college in three and a half years.  It is the fall 1976, and my parents decided they were going to take advantage of the lovely weather and spend a day with me, along with my paternal grandparents.

Although both born in the United States, neither of my grandparents went to college. Grandpa finished eighth grade, I believe.  Grandma finished high school, she might have also gone to a secretary school, as she worked as an executive secretary until she was 77.

On this Sunday, since I was only an hour away from my parent’s home in New Jersey, they all came out to see me and take me out to lunch.  It was a wonderful planned surprise.

I took my parents and grandparents all around the college campus.  They met my friends. Saw my dorm room.  They finally could visualize where I was going to college.  This was a treat for all of us.

My grandfather, who was usually a solemn and taciturn person, was happy. He enjoyed the entire day.   I was almost surprised that he came because he was never outgoing with us.  But he and I shared a bond because I sewed and he was a tailor.

You will notice in one photo I stand with my grandparents and mother in front of a window.  They had a good laugh because that window led to my dorm room.

I was living in the first floor of what was then New Dorm.  It had recently opened. And I was so excited to have a room to myself!!!  Each ‘suite’ had four little rooms surrounding a common bathroom.  I thought it was the biggest and the best.  I never ever had my own room before. In fact, it was the only time in my life I had my own room.

Across the bathroom from me lived one of my best college friends. We are still friends to this day.  Another room was filled with a girl who lived with me my junior year in a real suite, where we even had a living room.  The fourth girl I did not know.  She spent most of her time in her room.

New Dorm was built into a hill, so on one side the rooms were below ground level.  That window was high up in my bedroom. But I did not care.  I told my parents that it kept me warmer and allowed me more shelf space!! They still could not understand why I would give up a suite with a living room for this arrangement.  But I loved it.

My daughter went to Drew 30 years after I did.  She lived in this dorm as a senior as well, after spending her junior year in a real suite.  It was just great to have your own space.  When she graduated, I was there to help her clean out her room after four years of college.  And when I entered Riker Dorm, once New Dorm, the rooms and the bathroom seemed so small!  I was mildly shocked because my memories made everything so much bigger.  But it was still a great place to live!

But back to my grandparents and parents.  They were laughing because I thought living in the basement was a great improvement over sharing a room.  My grandparents told me that in their day, living in the basement apartment was not considered a treat.  Rather it had lower rent because there were no good windows and no light.  They could laugh all they wanted, for me it was the best ever.

I had a wonderful senior semester at Drew. These two pictures bring back memories of college and delightful memories of my parents and grandparents.

 

 

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