"God gathered the scattered of Israel"

"God gathered the scattered of Israel and freed its prisoners at the right time of year." ~ Tehillim 68:7

Today would have been my father’s 84th birthday.

My father and me

He and my mother parted ways before I turned three… and I never saw him again – until last year.

I did research over the years, hoping to meet him. I found his social security number, his mother’s maiden name, his US army record… eventually, I found out that he had died at the too-young age of 53. My information pretty much stalled out there for several years.

Then a miracle of modern science presented itself. I signed onto Ancestry.com and did the DNA test in hopes of finding out more about my father’s side of the family. I found a few links to family tree builders on my mother’s side, but nothing about my father. Then Ancestry.com offered its annual half-price sale for full access for six months. With a certain amount of trepidation (because it was costly, even at half-price), I asked the Dearly Beloved if I could indulge. Of course, being the Dearly Beloved, he said yes. I signed up, and spent the night in self-recriminating dreams, wondering what was in my mind, spending all that money for perhaps a clue or two... or maybe nothing. And then it became morning…

The photo that started it all

I logged onto the site and found a photo of my father I’d never seen before. I wrote to the woman who had posted the photo.

  

Hi, Jeanne. My name is Ruth Eastman, and I am Norbert Winston's daughter. I was delighted to find a photo of him I'd never seen in your file! Can you give me any other information? Are we related, or was he in some way a family friend? At 62 years of age, finding even a glimmer of my past is fascinating and inspiring. I look forward to hearing from you. Regards, Ruth (Ruti) Eastman

Jeanne – the wife of a half-brother I never knew I had – was quick to answer, and we began a lovely correspondence, sharing pictures, memories, small bits of information about Dave’s and my father, about his and my dear mothers, and about our children.

My brother Dave and my sister-in-law and new best friend Jeanne

A few days later, I awoke to a very special message:

Dear Ruti, I have a link to something you may be quite surprised and happy to see. Several years ago I found a video record of your Dad speaking of his Holocaust survival. It is quite amazing and was particularly interesting to see how much he looked and gestured like my husband Dave. It is under his nickname Kip Winston and the site is United States Holocaust Memorial. I think you will be fascinated. Looking forward to future correspondence. All the best, Jeanne

Jeanne was right. I was and remain fascinated. One Generation After, a Boston-based oral history project conducted by the children of survivors, had interviewed my father. Thanks to Janet Seckel who conducted the interview and the videographer, Wolf Krakowski, I spent an hour and a half with my father, recorded almost exactly a year before he died, listening to him tell his story. 

My father was three years old when the war began, and six when he arrived in the States; so most of his impressions of the war are made up of feelings: terror, panic, confusion. But a few memories are clear.

Norosz and his cousin Yanusz were playing in the yard with a pony. Yanusz was a year or two older than Norosz. Suddenly, bombs were being dropped from planes. The mother of Yanusz, Bronya, called out to the boys in a panic to come inside... Norosz ran toward the house, but Yanusz was slow to respond. A bomb landed on his head and and blew him up... all over little Norosz.

My father’s memories of those years included bad smells and bodies and looks of hatred on the faces of Poles... “There was a lot of death in the ghetto. I don’t remember a day towards the end, walking outside, when I didn’t see bodies. Then all of a sudden, we started hearing of people being taken away...”

It was January of 1941. Little Norosz and his parents were on a train in a cattle car with about 200 other people, destined for Treblinka. My father was now four years old, and the war, too, was young. When the train tipped over in the snow and Jews began to stream out into the woods, the German soldiers apparently were perplexed. Were they expected to deliver live Jews, or would dead Jews be acceptable? No one wanted to bring down the wrath of the Reich with a bad decision. So they faltered for a few moments before they made the choice and began shooting. Those few moments allowed a brave and decisive man – my grandfather, Samuel Fienjstien – to grab his wife Rita by the arm and his small son Norosz by the hair and save their lives. 

“We ran and ran and ran into the woods... it seemed like hours! We marched around for days. I don’t remember how we ate or slept or where, sometimes in barns. We were more afraid of the Poles than of the Germans. The days and hours became weeks... At some point, we found a hunter’s shack... In order to keep people away, my father put out a sign on the shack that said ‘cholera.’ That kept people away. My father was a very clever man,” he smiled proudly. 

My father remembering his father

“One day a man came to the door – Dr. Braun – who said that perhaps he could help us.” Dr. Braun, a Polish Jew, stayed with the family in the cabin for several days, sharing their food. My father remembered a very significant moment during those few days. In an eerie reprise of the experience he had as a small boy at the beginning of the war, he was playing outside near the cabin when a German plane “decided to use me for target practice. Dr. Braun heard the airplane, saw what was going on, ran out and jumped on top of me and got hit, he caught about four of these slugs in him...  they didn’t kill him, but that was the end of our staying in the cabin.” Sam persuaded a farmer to take Dr. Braun to a doctor. They knew this was dangerous, but they knew he would die of his wounds if he didn’t get care. 

There is more to the story of my family’s survival and eventual emigration to the United States. But this and one followup story resonate for me, a few days before we observe Holocaust Heroes and Martyrs Remembrance Day.

Twenty years after he was almost strafed by a German war plane, my father ran into Dr. Braun in a Tel Aviv cafe. They renewed their acquaintance, and my grandfather flew from America just to meet the man who had saved his son’s life.

Dave has often wondered where you were and if you are healthy and happy.  

Thanks in part to you, lovely lady – my sister! – I am indeed very happy; and thank God, we are healthy.

We are all living through this horrible COVID-19 plague, and I don’t know when we will finally meet in person. But I am so grateful to you for filling a big empty space in my personal history. And I am grateful to God for the friendship with you and my brother and your dear family. May our friendship grow for long, healthy, happy years!

Some of my family on the Dearly Beloved's 69th birthday -- Photo credit: Micha Paul

Important postscript: There would only be three people in this photo, if our forebears hadn’t escaped or otherwise survived the Holocaust. Thank you, God, for the amazing gifts You have given us. Sam and Rita, Norbert and Sandra... I know you are all smiling from your places in Heaven. A lot of courage and blessing built a special family. May we continue to make you all proud.

A Happy and Kosher Pesach to You!

13 Nisan 5780.

Here is a little drash I heard years ago from “A Famous Rabbi.” (I’m always embarrassed that I cannot remember which famous rabbi...but the concepts are of no less value for my lapse in memory.)

Mere weeks ago, we were greeting each other with the words “Chag Purim sameach!” Have a happy Purim!

At this time of year, we greet each other with “Chag Pesach kasher v’sameach.” May you have a kosher and happy Passover.

But we have that backwards, says the famous rabbi.

Photo by Shannon Nuszen from Purim 5778

At Purim, who cannot be happy? We don’t need to be reminded to be happy. With all the costumes and makeup, kids’ games and parades, feasting and copious amounts of alcohol... who could not be happy? What we need to be reminded of is to keep it kosher: eat and drink for the right reasons, in the right amounts. Remember why we’re doing this. It’s not just mindless drunken revelry, chas v’shalom.

During the buildup to Pesach, it’s all about kosher. Not a speck of chametz anywhere. Clean, clean, clean. We are immersing ourselves in learning and relearning elevated thoughts about the meaning of the holiday. The last thing we need is to be reminded to keep the holiday kosher. (We must be reminded, of course. But last.) What we might forget is to be sameach, to be happy. We get so caught up in the minutiae of cleaning and clearing out the chametz that we forget to have fun. We worry ourselves and our families into unnecessary stress, leaving out the joyfulness that is part of renewal.

The Dearly Beloved was doing the "Box of Plagues" before there was a box of plagues.

Our kids have always looked forward to the yearly signs of the times.

This year, we’re trapped in our homes either with too many people in too little space, or by ourselves in a seemingly vast and lonely cave. Now, more than ever, we must figure out, each at their own Seder table, how to be happy in this holiday. This may be more challenging than the backbreaking work of scrubbing and sanitizing and searching and destroying every hint of chametz. But we are up to the task. In crisis, we find out what we’re made of. I know we can find joy in the work of becoming our finest selves. We can make the pursuit of excellence fun for our kids and satisfying and pleasurable for each other.

What the well-dressed shopper is wearing to the makolet: pearls, mask, matching gloves.

Wishing you a chag Pesach SAMEACH v’kasher!

How will you live in the post-Coronacaust era?

11 Nisan 5780.

Our lovebud tree, struggling bravely to overcome a blight

Locked inside our homes, we have some time on our hands to be introspective. Some people are alone or have only a significant other at home. Others are busy from morning till night trying to entertain and occupy children of various ages. Still, even for busy families, there are moments to reflect.

Funny how little the stuff matters now. When will I wear my watches again? They are tucked into a drawer with the other nonsense that I used to cram into my little purse, such as ID, credit cards, the bus pass... all the formerly-critical "don't leave home without it" flotsam and jetsam. I haven't touched my change purse in weeks.

On the other hand, the lipstick and blush, the pearls and the earrings… I am still making a point to wear those, as the Dearly Beloved still must look at me every day. What does it cost me to make his heart happy with a little color and fru-fru? (And lest I be accused of being sexist or too 1960s, he also is going to the trouble to look charming for me. You kids will do things your way…)

How much clothing does a person need? Certainly not all that I have in closets and cupboards. I'll probably spend this time deleting it from my possession. (Or at least preparing it for deletion. Who is accepting other people’s things these days?)

What angry words, moments of ego, careless jokes have I uttered that didn't need to be shared, and certainly will have no place in a better, fresher, cleaner post-Coronacaust world?

What really matters?

More than 30 years ago, I was in the US army. Cold showers were the rule during basic training. Even now, decades later, I will never, ever take for granted a hot shower.

Less than 30 days ago, I was able to travel about freely with and among other people. I was able to hug my children and grandchildren, record music in a tiny studio with my husband and sons, join together with friends on Shabbat, sit in a café and listen to the chatter of families, sit in a movie theater surrounded by my fellow humans and the smell of popcorn, watch people gathering together at the Kotel to cry and pray for those they love and for redemption... Whenever this ends, I will never, ever take for granted the freedom to be around human beings.

I will remember to appreciate the feeling of sun on my face (without a mask), the sounds of neighborhood children, the little kids in the neighborhood who would surprise me with a hug. I will think carefully before acquiring. What do I really need besides food and beverages to eat and drink, warmth and shelter, something to read, a little paint and music, the company of kind people? There is a lot I can give up to others, because time is of the essence – and fleeting.

When this Coronacaust ends, I hope and pray that those of us who are privileged to survive will treat each other better, without harsh language, with the considerateness born of knowing that everyone has lost someone they loved, that no one has missed out on being affected in one way or another. In this we are all equals. I hope we will strive for cooperation for the greater good rather than fighting for the biggest piece of the pie. 

May we learn whatever we can from this terrible tragedy, and come out of it our very best selves yet.

New Regs Dictate Fashion Choices

8 Nisan 5780.

I don’t usually ask for fashion guidance… but with the new regulations – “You must wear a mask when leaving home. If you do not own an actual mask, a scarf will do.”– I really need advice. (My friend Shannon has Trump masks, Hillary, Iron Man masks, the Hulk… Still thinking about those possibilities…)

I have some options and want your fashion sense. After all, over the years, your comments have caused me to actually match colors and patterns in a way that finally gets compliments, and no doubt gives my dear mother nachas in Heaven. So, tell me your thoughts. The options (unless Shannon persuades me to mask up like the US president or a former presidential candidate, or a superhero) are:

Dig out a pretty scarf combo, that works with the dress...

or that (thank God) never used and probably expired gas mask from years ago.

What’s your advice? Corona fashion is beyond my understanding…

 Okay. Your votes will determine how I go and get some business done before the next set of regulations takes effect. Looking forward to your fashion-conscious wisdom. Mama will be proud.

Photos taken and used with permission by the Dearly Beloved, pretty much the only human I've seen in a couple of weeks.