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The Takeaway Men

Page 2

by Meryl Ain


  So it was when she went to visit Aron, Dyta, and their twins in the hospital on Sunday, July 6.

  “Mazel tov!” How is the beautiful mother of the beautiful twins today?” Ruth said.

  “I’m okay,”

  “Maybe it’s none of my business,” she said. “But have you given any thought to giving them English names besides the Hebrew names they got yesterday? You know, the Americans run Warteplatz, and you will likely end up in the United States. I told Aron I think it’s an omen that they were born on July Fourth.”

  “Do you have any in mind?” Aron asked.

  “Well I was thinking you could combine Yosef and Hannah, reverse it, and make it Joan or Joanne. Those are popular American names. And Bracha could be Barbara in English.”

  “How about Johanna?” Aron asked. “Is that a name in America, Ruth?”

  “I think it’s a little old-fashioned, but sure why not? You can always give her a nickname.”

  “Okay then, Johanna and let’s name Bracha Barbara,” Aron recommended.

  “Johanna is fine, but I want to use my mother’s exact name, Bronka,” Dyta said as she began to tear up. She was less than thirty-six hours removed from the birth of the twins, hormones racing and emotions flaring. She began to weep. The thought of her mother and her family in Kielce touched a raw nerve.

  “Fine, but Bronka is a Polish name, not an American one,” Aron said.

  As the words came out of his mouth, he realized that he didn’t care. If naming the baby exactly after his beloved wife’s mother would make her happy—even if her mother’s husband was no good—that was the least he could do. The Passover hymn, Dayenu, came to his mind, but he used the tune to put his own words to the song.

  If she had given him hope in a hopeless place. Dayenu

  If she had saved his life. Dayenu

  If she had loved him and married him. Dayenu

  If she had given him two children at once. Dayenu.

  She had already done more than enough. If she wanted the child to be Bronka, then Bronka she would be.

  “Sounds good to me,” said Ruth. “I was meaning to ask you, Dyta. Is your name Judyta or Edyta?”

  “Just plain Dyta is fine with me.”

  “And did the two of you grow up together in Kielce?”

  “In a sense,” she said.

  JANUARY, 1951

  NEW YORK CITY

  ARON AND HIS FAMILY WERE standing on the deck of the ship as it neared New York Harbor. The voice of the captain boomed over the loudspeaker:

  “We’ll be docking within the half hour. We’re now passing the Statue of Liberty; be sure to take a good look on the starboard deck so you can see her. Everyone in the world yearns to see Lady Liberty because she represents hope and opportunity for all who seek a better life in America. Look at her raised hand holding the torch. It’s a symbol that America is a refuge, and all are welcome here to live in freedom. Welcome to the United States. Welcome to New York.”

  Soon, there was a big commotion as the boat full of refugees shifted to the right to see Lady Liberty. For a moment, Aron was almost afraid that the boat might tip over as everyone ran to one side of the boat.

  “Look at the Statue of Liberty, look at the lady with her hand up,” people started yelling in numerous languages—in Yiddish, German, Polish, Hungarian. As eyes filled with tears, many hugged complete strangers.

  Aron lifted one twin and Dyta the other in order to give them a better view.

  “We’ll remember this day always,” Aron said. “You will remember the day you were welcomed by Lady Liberty. It’s the first day that we are truly free. We must thank God for rescuing us and bringing us to America.”

  When the ship docked, it was a clear, cold January day—about thirty-six degrees. As the captain raised the American flag, Aron put his right hand over his heart. He was free at last. Aron watched the wild waving and throwing of kisses as those on the boat and those waiting for them on the dock were overwhelmed with joy. During the long voyage, he had often come on deck to look at the ocean. He reflected on how beautiful and endless it was, especially on partly cloudy days when the sun occasionally peeked through the soft puffs of cotton clouds and provided a fleeting glimpse of a blue sky.

  How foolish for man to try to control things when it is the Almighty with ultimate power, he thought. But then again, he told himself, Within parameters, man makes choices. Aron had made his choices, but he knew that it was God who wanted him to survive. Life and death were God’s domain. God had given Aron and his family a new chance in America. It was now up to them to live their lives in a way that would please the Almighty. He would do his best, he vowed.

  Throngs of people on the deck were there to greet the new arrivals. As Aron and his family walked off the boat with the other refugees, he saw some ahead of him kiss the ground, crying with emotion. Aron then spotted a bald, stout man in his sixties holding a white cardboard sign that said simply, “Lubinski.” Next to him stood an elegant-looking woman with silver gray hair rolled up into a bun, neatly covered with a hair net. She wore a black Persian lamb hat and coat. Over the coat was a mink scarf wrap, which showcased the heads and tails of the animal.

  “That must be Izzy and his wife,” Aron said to Dyta and the twins, who, at three-and-a-half, were quite overwhelmed by the tumult.

  “Izzy, Izzy, is that you?” Aron called out.

  “Yes, Aron, it’s Izzy and Faye,” a deep, soaring voice yelled back.

  Encumbered somewhat by their oversized rucksacks and each holding the hand of a child, the newly arrived Lubinskis could not run as fast as their hearts told them to. But the older couple started racing toward them, and in seconds Izzy and Faye were embracing the family as if they had known them forever.

  “Such pretty girls,” chirped Faye. “They look so alike, yet each is beautiful in her own way. Are they identical or fraternal?”

  “Fraternal,” Aron replied.

  In fact, the most obvious difference between the twins was their coloring. They both had perfect little circle faces and bowlike scrumptious strawberry lips. But, on closer inspection, Bronka had delicious licorice eyes, while Johanna’s eyes were dark blue flecked with gold. Bronka’s face was framed with luxurious mahogany ringlets, while Johanna’s curls were blond.

  “Look what I have for you,” Faye said, holding out two identical pink teddy bears.

  The bewildered twins remained silent.

  “They are a little bit stunned,” Dyta explained in the halting English she had learned at Warteplatz. “It’s been a long trip, and this is all so new to them. Thank you very much.”

  “We can speak Yiddish, if that’s easier,” Faye suggested.

  “No,” Aron said emphatically, almost snapping. “We all need to learn English better. My wife’s been taking English classes, and she’s been trying to teach the girls. But you’ll see, they speak their own language, a combination of Polish, Yiddish, and English. So the more English, the better; the faster they’ll learn.”

  “Okay then,” Izzy said. “But don’t be so hard on them, Aron. They’re tiny girls. They’ll learn soon enough. And at home you’re welcome to speak Yiddish or whatever makes you comfortable. By the way, I can understand Polish too. Now since you’re going to be staying with us, I want to get everyone’s name straight.”

  “My wife is Dyta,” Aron said. “The girls are Johanna and Bronka.”

  “Dyta for Judyta,” Izzy surmised. “You’re in New York now. I’m going to call you Judy.”

  Not wanting to get into a discussion about names, Aron said nothing. And that is how Dyta became Judy in America. It suited everyone’s purpose.

  Izzy’s huge personality matched his large frame. At six feet tall, he had a booming voice, which sounded very authoritative, especially when he was giving his opinion on any number of subjects—names, the price of flour, the trial of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, the treatment of Jewish refugees—or his favorite topic, his rabbi, or to be more exact, his for
mer rabbi. But Izzy’s kind heart matched his size, and when he had heard from Aron Lubinski, even though he had never met him, he’d stepped up to the plate.

  In Izzy’s eyes, Aron was, after all, family. Family he had never met, but family nevertheless. Izzy was a first cousin to Aron’s father, David. Izzy’s father, Tuvia, and Aron’s father had the same grandparents—Necha and Hirsch Lubinski. Rabbi Hirsch Lubinski had been revered throughout Poland for his knowledge and his wisdom. People came to him from miles around for his learned opinion. Having him in the family carried with it yichus, pedigree, status. Yichus meant something in Poland. Unfortunately, not so much in Bellerose, Queens, where Izzy and Faye lived. But Aron remembered his father talking about large family seders presided over by his grandfather, at which the children would play under the table during the meal. He also recounted stories of helping his siblings and cousins put up and decorate his grandparents’ sukkah, the temporary hut built during the festival commemorating the Jews wandering in the desert. Izzy also had fond memories of those special family holidays, and the sight of Aron, and his resemblance to Izzy’s grandfather, brought back a rush of nostalgia.

  In 1951, Izzy was sixty-three years old. He had fled the old country in 1908, when his parents, under the supervision of his grandfather, had chosen a wife, Malka, for him. He was twenty; Malka was seventeen. She was the pious daughter of another rabbi, and both families thought Izzy, because he was so quick and bright, would follow in the footsteps of both his grandfather and his father-in-law.

  While Malka was sweet and attractive, Izzy was not ready to settle down, especially to a life that would be lived in a goldfish bowl. Izzy was brash and adventurous and did not want to be tied to an existence consisting solely of prayer and study. Despite his father’s and grandfather’s explanations and exhortations and his mother’s tears and tantrums, he had left Poland for the United States—never to return, and never to see any of his loved ones again.

  Although he was a headstrong man, he had loved and missed his family throughout the years. He had married in the United States, yet he frequently second-guessed his decision to leave the old country. Of course, all of the second-guessing stopped when the world learned what Hitler wrought. But the guilt and heartache never ceased—instead it got worse. Izzy believed that the entire Lubinski family had been consumed in the crucible of World War II. So when he learned that Aron and his family were alive and coming to America, he was elated. He would channel his grief and his guilt into generosity toward these young cousins.

  “Let’s head to the car,” Izzy said. “You must all be exhausted and hungry. We’ll eat and catch up when we get home.”

  They headed to a large black Lincoln Continental, and Faye insisted that Aron sit in the front with Izzy.

  “I’ll sit in the back with Judy and the girls so we can get acquainted,” Faye offered. But minutes after they got into the car, Bronka, Johanna—and Judy—were sound asleep.

  Aron looked out the window at New York City for the first time from his front row seat. He had been told that in America the streets were paved with gold. He could see that this was not the case. In fact, he noticed that the streets were dirty, and there was even garbage littering the roads.

  “You know,” he told Izzy, “in Europe, people think the streets are paved with gold.”

  “Yes, I heard that rumor before I came here too,” Izzy said with a laugh. “America accepts people like us and gives us the chance to get ahead on our own merit—that’s what’s golden about it. Look at the tall buildings, Aron. Bet you never saw anything like those before.”

  “Never,” said Aron, wondering how buildings could be built so high.

  “And in America, the minute you get here, you’re free to have dreams as high and mighty as those buildings,” said Izzy. “And people who dream and also work very hard, no matter who they are or where they come from, all have a shot at making those dreams come true. Look at me. Came here with nothing, and now I’m driving a Lincoln.”

  While Judy and the twins slept, Izzy and Faye filled Aron in on the family and the business.

  “We’ve been married five years,” Faye explained. “Edna, Izzy’s first wife, died ten years ago of breast cancer. My husband, Milton, was Izzy’s business partner in our Flushing bakery. He had a massive heart attack six years ago. He was working in the bakery at the time. He was DOA when he got to the hospital; Izzy rode in the ambulance with him. I fell apart. Izzy was amazing the way he comforted me and supported me. We stayed in touch, what with the business and the fact that we were both alone. It was bashert. We bought our house when we got married. And we just opened a second bakery on Union Turnpike in Floral Park.”

  Aron listened intently, his curiosity piqued by the seamlessness of their relationship. It appeared to be a marriage, not only of companionship, but also of comfort and convenience. He wondered whether he would describe his marriage to Dyta as one of comfort, companionship, or convenience—or all three.

  “We even finished the attic in the hope that our children would come and visit often,” said Faye. “But I only have one child—Rebecca—and she’s living in Israel now, helping to build the new Jewish state. Izzy and Edna had one son, Henry, but I’ll let him tell you about that.”

  “We named him after my grandfather, Hirsch,” Izzy said, picking up the narrative from Faye.

  “Edna was sickly and had trouble conceiving so we were thrilled when he was born. He’s a dentist, a smart boy; he graduated from Queens College and then from NYU Dental School. He’s part of a big practice in Cincinnati, Ohio. He got married four years ago to a girl he met here while he was in dental school. She’s a teacher, her mother’s a teacher too, and her father owns a candy store. Very comfortable family, pleasant people,” Izzy said, but Aron could hear a but in his voice.

  “But they’re not Jewish,” Izzy’s tone dropped to a stage whisper. “Patty would’ve done whatever Henry wanted. But my son didn’t push. Don’t even ask me what kind of ceremony they had because they told me about it after it was over. Can you imagine? Then I started talking to Patty about converting before she had a child so the child would be Jewish. But then she got pregnant, and Henry just didn’t take a strong stand. They had a baby boy, named him Edward after Edna. Yeah, he was circumcised in the hospital. Very good looking and smart child. He’s two now.

  “Then they started talking about bringing up the child with religion. Well, Patty thought there should be religion in the home. She’s a really sweet girl. I sent her to my rabbi, Pulkowitz, to talk about converting. Not only was I a regular there, but I always opened my pocket every time he asked for money for the shul. I delivered cake and challah there every week, dirt cheap, because it was my rabbi and my shul.

  “So, what happens? Patty goes to speak to him, and he has this very superior off-putting attitude. That’s who he is, but he was particularly arrogant and snotty with her. ‘Why do you want to convert, young lady? You know it’s much easier to be a Christian.’ For Christ’s sake, she’s married to a Jew and wants to raise her son Jewish—why else would she want to convert? Wrong answer. Not good enough for him! Yeah, I know, that’s probably what my grandfather said in Poland too, but this is the United States of America halfway through the twentieth century—after six million Jews were killed in Europe! You’d think we’d want more Jews. So he did everything he could to discourage her—and then he threw in the clincher.

  “‘It wouldn’t be enough just for you to convert,’” he told her, ‘even if I accepted that you have a sincere desire to become Jewish, which thus far is not apparent to me. Your son would have to convert too, because he was not born to a Jewish mother. So that’s something that would also have to happen. We can discuss that if I decide to accept you. But so far, you have not convinced me.’

  “Patty walked out of his office, crying hysterically all the way home until she fell into Henry’s arms. He told her she didn’t have to convert, in fact, he didn’t want her to if that’s the way our rabb
i was going to treat her. She said she wanted to move back to Cincinnati to be near her parents, where they would be respected. They did, and Henry joined a big dental practice there. Then they became members of the Presbyterian Church her parents attended. Henry was welcomed with open arms, and no one ever even suggested that he should convert! But Henry says since the baby is not considered Jewish, there’s no point in observing Judaism. So they go to church, and celebrate Christmas and Easter. I’m sure Edna is turning over in her grave.

  “And if that’s not bad enough, His Eminence, Rabbi Pulkowitz, took away my High Holiday honor. I always had the third aliyah on Yom Kippur. And soon after that, the shul stopped ordering cake and challah from me.”

  “Do you see your son and his family?” Aron inquired.

  “Of course, he’s still my son. I’m not going to sit shiva for him—especially after the Shoah. And Patty’s a nice girl from a nice family. And little Eddie is a sweet little baby—very well fed. We see them about once a year. Faye and I drove there in the summer. But it’s a heartache, Aron. Can you imagine?”

  “Actually, I can imagine, more than you know. I’m sorry you had to go through this, Izzy.”

  “Thanks, Aron. It’s just one of many reasons why we are so happy to have you and your family here with us.”

  Aron lowered his eyes and looked the other way, feeling uncomfortable with the conversation as he thought about the choices he had made. Yes, he had taught his wife to be Jewish, and she was functioning as a Jew. She had eagerly sought and absorbed Aron’s lessons about the religion and could even recite a number of the prayers by rote. During her four years surrounded by Jewish refugees at Warteplatz, she had picked up many Yiddish words and phrases, as well as a basic understanding of the Jewish dietary laws. But a rabbi had not officially converted her. The birth of the twins sealed his secret. Bronka and Johanna were the future of Judaism. Why look back? And from what Izzy said, conversion was complicated here too—but he also said dreams could come true here. It was time to start a new life in America—with his Jewish wife and Jewish children, Aron told himself.

 

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