On November 7, 1981, my cousin made a cassette tape of my grandfather singing his favorite songs in Yiddish. It sat in my house for all these years. I could never listen to it after he passed away. Grandpa had a wonderful singing voice and used to sing to us all the time in Yiddish.
Two months ago, I took the cassette tape to a company that turned it into a CD. I got it back on Friday. On Mothers’ Day, I listened to my Grandpa sing in Yiddish and listened to him speak about his life in Europe and coming to the United States in 1920.
He passed away in 1989, so it has been a long time since I heard his voice. It was just as I remembered it.
Listening to this tape was interesting in many ways. Most of the stories he told, I have heard before. I had spoken to my Grandpa about his life in Europe many times. I just never recorded him. I am extremely grateful that my cousin made this tape.
He sang six songs. Tumbaliaka, Hativah in Yiddish, Ofin Primpinchick, Yiddisha Mama and two others I had not heard before. He left out some I remember him singing. But it doesn’t matter. Hearing him sing these favorites is a gift.
Grandpa left his home in 1918. He was the oldest of five children who lived on a 16-acre farm, that they owned, in Austria. He said if he had stayed in Austria, he would have eventually had two acres for him and a place to build a house. (I wrote about Grandpa leaving Europe in an earlier blog, see link below.)
When he first arrived in the USA, he lived with his uncle Morris and went to work as a butcher. A farm boy, he knew about animals. He worked for $4 a week. He did not know English. It was a job he did not like. A month later, he switched to being a baker for $20 a week on Flushing Avenue in Brooklyn. (I never knew the address in Brooklyn. ) He was lucky. He had relatives who were both a butcher and a baker. And they provided him with jobs.
Grandpa was brought up to follow the rules of Shabbat, although they were not extremely religious. He had no beard or payos. But when he first started working at the bakery, he had to light a fire on Shabbat. “I sat there and cried,” he said, “because my Mother always told me that if I light a fire on Shabbat I would die.” He did not die, so the following week he lit the fire without crying.
Grandpa excelled at baking. But he said he was very bashful. People would say to him, “Do you want to meet a girl,” and he would say yes. But they did not work out. Then, by accident, he met our Grandma in Brooklyn. He went to deliver a gift to someone, and there she was.
“Before Thelma, I did not look for someone. But when Thelma came it was different. Something drew me to her,” he said. “I was 25, she was 18 or 19. To look at, she was nothing. But it is the person she was. Someone made for you.” (I disagree. I think my young Grandma was lovely.)
They got married in September 1925 and lived in Brooklyn, till my uncle was born. Then Grandpa opened his own business in the Bronx, where they lived for five years. And my Mom was born. In 1929, they moved to Linden, New Jersey. My grandparents opened a new bakery.
But they had it for only about 18 months.
My grandmother was ill. Grandpa said she had to go back to Europe to see a Dr. Lapenski in Krakow. He could help her. She was sick from the fumes from the gas in WW1. I honestly had never heard that story before. (I wrote about her time in Europe in earlier blogs, see links below.)
When Grandma came back, they moved to West New York, New Jersey, and opened the bakery they would have for almost 30 years.
“I wanted my children to have a better life,” Grandpa said. “My Mom did not know that I had to learn to read. I worked on a farm. I had no education. My parents said, you know how to work in the field that is enough. My Mom thought I would stay in Europe. She did not know that I would leave.”
My cousin asked if he was afraid to come to the USA by himself. He started to laugh. He was not afraid. “It could not be worse than where I was,” he said. “It had to be better.”
He told us a bit about his younger siblings and his parents. But the main discussion was the fact that none of them survived. “I could not convince them to come,” he said.
As for his wife’s parents, my other great grandparents, Grandpa said, “From the day I got married I had to support her family.” Which is true. Her mother had died during WW1. And her father, was an educated man. He studied. “His wife made a living for him,” my Grandpa said. When she died, there was not much income.
The tape was made just over three months after my grandmother died. It was strange to hear Grandpa say her name. He never said it when she was alive, to keep the evil eye from getting her. He was still in deep mourning. They had always thought he would die first as he was six years older. But instead she died.
“You struggle and you pay for those things you did,” Grandpa said. “Maybe I did something wrong.” This was his explanation on why she died before him. It made me so sad to hear him say this. I remember how desolate he was without her. (See Autumn Leaves blog link below.)
My cousin asks questions. Some Grandpa answers. But he made his point. He loves his family. “I accomplished my mission. I would have my own home. And I did more than that,” he said. He got to see four of his five grandchildren marry. He saw the arrival of six of his eight great grandchildren.
Before he ended the tape, he sang one last song. He sang of traveling the world, always wishing he could go home and kiss the stones where he was born. My cousin asked if he would want to go back to Austria.
His answer, Yes and No. (Grandpa told me that he never wanted to go back there.)
Hearing my Grandpa talk about his family; his children, and his grandchildren was bittersweet. I made CDs for my siblings and cousins. I think they need to have this experience as well.
https://zicharonot.com/2016/06/06/the-mysterious-kalsbad-photos-who-are-they/
https://zicharonot.com/2014/06/25/how-world-war-i-saved-my-family-or-my-grandpa-was-a-draft-dodger/
https://zicharonot.com/2015/02/23/the-melody-of-autumn-leaves-haunts-me/
https://zicharonot.com/2017/12/04/the-us-passport-a-matter-of-life/
https://zicharonot.com/2016/08/02/a-chair-a-baby-grand-piano-and-yiddish-songs/
Tags: casette tape, grandparents, immigration from Europe, memories, Music
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