Mezuzah

The attached photo is of my grandmother’s mezuzah. It’s a piece of Judaica which has a very special meaning to me. Miriam Goldstein was only 17 when she fled her native town of Lodz, Poland. The year was 1916 and the Russians had conquered part of Poland. One of the few possessions she carried to the United States with her was this mezuzah. It was on her door until her death in 1967.
My aunt inherited the mezuzah, but it did not find a place on her door. She had fallen in love with a Catholic and, like so many Jews, converted. It has been kept in a box in her house for 40 years. It might have remained unused except for a fortunate series of events.
Although I grew up in a Conservative Jewish household, I fell away from my religion for about 35 years. A couple of years ago I returned to my heritage. My parents were overjoyed and mentioned it to my aunt. When she found out I was shopping for a mezuzah to put on my door she remembered the one she had and sent it to me. I was absolutely thrilled to be able to return it to its proper place on a door. I was even more thrilled when my rabbi, hearing the story of the mezuzah, honored me by blessing it and assisted me in putting it up.
Now, every day when I return home from work or shopping, I see it there on my doorframe and am reminded of my grandmother and her miraculous journey to America.

--Gulf Breeze, FL

Congregation Beth Jacob Relics

The life of a shul is like that of its congregants, time limited. My shul lasted some seventy years. I came as a new member in its waning days. Established as a Hungarian Modern Orthodox synagogue in Astoria, it became a German Jewish institution where High Holy Day services once did not have enough seats.

Always a newcomer among its attendants of many decades of faithful support, hundreds came for a service but never to return. We became a congregation unique, enjoying each other in the group of shul goers, even though we may have lacked as individuals. We came alive in the group.

But despite all our efforts, we came to an impasse. The synagogue could not afford to continue. Battles ensued for five years as to the dissolution. We asked to become a Jewish center, a Jewish club, a much smaller shul. Nothing was viable, and we became fewer.

So we disperse the assets, kept the grave site, and guard the shul’s relics. We were not a rich shul and it shows in these remaining religious heirlooms. They need a new home to enrich Jewish life.. And not shown are a dozen of the most beautiful stained glass windows, one for each tribe, still in the building that once was our synagogue, now reliving as a Greek Community Center.

--Long Island City, NY

Kiddush Cup

My family likes to joke about it sometimes - they say "don't forget to polish the holy grail" or "make sure to put the chalice in the dishwasher," and they 're not wrong; our Kiddush cup looks like it was swiped from King Arthur's court and mistakenly placed on our Shabbat table. It isn't until you closely examine it that you see inscribed between the flowers & flourishes, the words “zechor et yom ha shabbat li kadsho” remember Shabbos & keep it holy. Our kiddush cup has borne witness to almost 80 years of shabbosess remembered and kept holy, beginning in 1928 when my great grandfather received the cup as a wedding gift from his parents. It has presided over Friday night dinners in Germany, Saturday lunches in Poland and many yuntifs in New York, moving with my family as they traveled across the globe, running from Hitler’s Nazi regime. The cup embodies the strength and perseverance of my great grandfather and is a testament to his commitment to Jewish life. After my great grandfather’s death, the Kiddush cup and its history were passed on to my father, who in turn relayed its story to my sister and me. And one shabbos afternoon, im yirtzah hashem, my sister and I will gather our children round and tell them about the adventures of the Holy Grail.

--Suffern, NY

Matzah Cover

The banging on the door with accompanying shouts of “FIRE! FIRE!” came at 4:30 in the morning this past October 5. Frantically reaching for bathrobes and slippers, Midge and I– still half asleep– clasped hands and lunged for the front door.

Rose Hollow Drive was jam-packed with police cars and their flashing, rotating lights. There were several fire fighting vehicles, extending ladders with firemen rushing to position their equipment. Streams of water from many fire hoses were directed to the fire. From the roof of our building, billowing clouds of black smoke were being highlighted by the 15-foot flames reaching to the sky. The entire scene was illuminated by batteries of floodlights, car headlights, workers rushing in all directions with powerful flashlights.

The heat from the flames was so intense that streams fo water were being directed to the adjacent building to prevent spreading of the fire even as the occupants were directed to leave their building.

Standing in the curb across from our home with my arm around Midge’s shoulder the bewilderment began turning to comprehension as this terrible event continued to develop. It was then that I realized that my other arm was clasping a picture frame that evidently I had removed from a wall as we rushed out of danger.

This was a specially constructed frame for a long honored possession of the Greenberg family, the traditional Passover matzah cover. The warmth that rose within me, as I became aware of this, was almost as hot as the flames. I could feel my parents’ (of blessed memory) arms on me as I remembered the contents.

Romania is where this object was created. The year, 1903, is included in the beautifully stitched Passover matzah cover my mother created as a part of her wedding dowry. This key accessory is a basic must for every Passover Seder table setting where the holiday is observed and celebrated.

In reds and pinks, flowers highlight the garland design connected with different shades of green for the leaves. Contained in the center, the stitching spells out the traditional closing phrase in Hebrew, Next Year in Jerusalem. The closing prayer in every Passover Seder throughout the world.

This treasured family keepsake is on view throughout the year, and we remove it from its frame for the Passover celebration. It has been used in the Greenberg family each year since its creation. The other colors in the fabric are undoubtedly from accidents and spills from ceremonial wines, red horseradish and even chicken soup that occurred during the 90 years it has been in use.

If one were to plan an emergency escape from a burning building– which wouldn’t be such a bad idea– jewelry, clothing, books, bank records would undoubtedly be included in a priority list. Yet, unplanned, here, I stood, protecting the Greenberg matzah cover. A human interest tale that will become part of the history of the very special object. Surely there is substance for a sermon in this story.

--Yardley, PA

Spice Box

After the death of his youngest sister in Stuttgart, Germany my father thought deeply about the meaning of life and death, and the idea of becoming a rabbi became a calling. So, the 17-year-old Karl Richter, with youthful enthusiasm, decided to do his university--- as well as rabbinical studies--- at the seminary in Breslau. The year was 1928.

Like most students he had very little money to spare since everything was spent on books and life’s necessities, but one day, when walking past a tiny shop, he spied a beautiful silver Habdalah spice box. The little tower with the flag on top beckoned to him, so he convinced the owner of the shop that he would bring a few extra coins each week to pay for it, because the little spice box had captured his heart.

Karl Richter met his wife Ruth in 1933, they were married in 1935, and he accepted a pulpit in Stettin, Germany.

Every Saturday night the Habdalah spices would sweeten the air as they acknowledged the departure of the Sabbath Queen, and they would live ordinary lives until the following Shabbat. From 1933 to 1939 my parents heard the threats against the Jewish people, but did not believe them. The world heard the threats but did not listen.

On January 1938, my father packed his books and his precious spice box to accept the position in the main synagogue, as one of the two remaining communal rabbis in Mannheim, an industrial city on the Rhine River. A young man, ordained only three years before, he found himself entrusted with grave responsibilities.

In 1938 the hostile government raised anti-Semitism to its central article of faith and all hope was shattered. Now, the young rabbi and his wife had a 2-year old toddler, and their world had gone mad. The smell of the sweet spices of the Habdalah box gave little comfort because Shabbat prayers for peace seemed futile.

On the 10th of November, 1983 the great destruction began. Kristallnacht announced total war against the Jewish people.

Although it was difficult to emigrate, many people helped the Richters to escape to the United States in 1939. They brought few belongings with them, but the precious spice box was spared.

As a small child, I can remember opening the door of the box, putting in the cloves, and imagining the departing Sabbath Queen sprinkling prayers of peace in her path.

On November 9, 1988 my father spoke at a commemoration of Kristallnacht at the Kaufman Concert Hall of New York’s 92nd Street Y. A mini-van then transported my parents to the airport for the flight to Mannheim where my father, now in his mid-80s spoke at the dedication of the new synagogue.

Karl Richter, the last surviving graduate of the Seminary in Breslau, died September 25, 2005. I now have the precious spice box that he purchased those many years ago, and I remember the words he said upon his return to Mannheim in 1988:

“May the flame of hatred be extinguished forever. May we be blessed with the flame of hope, the flame of love and the flame of reconciliation.”

--Tucson, AZ

Menorah

I read about the Judaica contest in the paper and thought about my candelabra that was bought by my grandfather David Davidovic in Cologne Germany in 1930. He was raising his 3 girls in Germany when Hitler came to power and started arresting jews at their homes they were forced to flee in the middle of the night. Taking very little with them. The candelabra went to Paris.
He and the family escaped in 1937 to Paris, France with his family and the candelabra. In France he thought he would be safe to raise his family.
Once Hitler invaded France he was again forced to flee and left at night in a railcar to go to the south of France with his family and the cadelabra. After the war he remained in France and his daughter (my mother Marie Bienstock) and my father (Jack) came to the USA , Paterson N.J. to start with me and my brother.
The candelabra remained in France until my grandparents were able to come to the states in 1954.
One photo shows this magnificent piece, the other photo shows my grandparents in France in 1952 celebrating Hanukah with my photo of me in front of the candlabra.The photo shows that they were missing us in the USA.
My parents are both well into their 80's the candelabra has been given to me and sits in the livingroom of my house. It is an heirloom and my daughter Danielle will inherit next. We have put a laminated papeer inside the candelabra so futue generations will know the story of the traveling cendelabra.



--Oakland N.J.

Kiddush Cup

EXCERPT:

I am a convert to Judaism- 3 in Jewish years. But … I have Jewish blood coursing through my veins. My great-grandfather came to America at the turn of the 20^th century to escape the tsarist pogroms of Russia… He hid his Jewishness from the family he married into and never chose to speak about it…two years ago, I drank from my great-grandfathers Kiddush cup, one of the few items he chose to take with him in hopes of a better life. The Kiddush cup sat in a dusty Brooklyn basement for 93 years until it ended up in the hands of his great-grandson. Me, his Jewish great-grandson… If my Japanese father, who was a small boy in Hirohito’s Japan during World War 2 can sit next to (my wife’s) zaydie, a Holocaust escapee from Hungary at our wedding 60 years after the Holocaust, then anything is possible.

Tapestry

My grandfather's sister, Chana Wiesenthal Herzog, made this tapestry and sent it to him on the occasion of his marriage in 1917. The exquisite needlework of Chanshe=s 48" by 22" tapestry includes her brother's initials AJW,@ for Jacob Wiesenthal.
Grandpa Jake had emigrated to America in 1909. Chanshe had refused to take the ocean voyage that would have required her to travel on Shabbat. She and her family stayed in Europe, in a Galician shtetl called Jagielnica. Chanshe, her husband Yitzchak, and their children Tuviya, Feiga, Leah, and Rachel perished in the Holocaust. The one photograph that we have of them, with Grandpa's poignant Yiddish inscription that they died for the Holy Name, is a family treasure.
Grandpa gave me Chanshe's tapestry in the 1970s. In 1984, I founded and became President of an international, all-volunteer organization for the benefit of Jews in the Caucasus and Central Asian republics of the former Soviet Union. We have been blessed to rescue thousands of Jews from these mostly Muslim republics. As the sign above my desk says, kol yisrael aravim zeh b'zeh --- all Jews are responsible for one another. Chanshe's tapestry, which hangs in my office, inspires me daily --- an insistent reminder that we must do whatever is necessary to ensure the survival of our people.

--Delray Beach, FL

Passover Bowl

Ever since I was a little girl, I was always interested in hearing the stories of my parents' posessions, e.g., where the furniture was purchased, where "this" came form, or where "that" came from. No one else in my family seemed to be interested, especially to the extent that I was. Later, I attended and graduated from the Fashion Institute of Technology where I studied Interior Design.It was there that my eyes truly became more discerning to the heirlooms that were not being appreciated by my family members.

When I began furnishing my first home in 1967, I asked different family members if I could be the "keeper" of these unappreciated pieces. What was once people's discards became my treasured pieces.Then, in the late 1970s, my Great Aunt Rae gave me the "piece de resistance," my Great, Great, Great, Great, Great Grandmother's bowl, stamped "Made in Germany, 1755." It was brought to America in the late 1800s by my Great Grandmother. I was told the bowl was only used during Passover (so the story goes). Thats how it survived. It was given to me because Great Aunt Rae recognized my love of our family heirlooms and knew I would treasure it always.

My mission now is to pass the legacy on to a deserving family member.

--Delray Beach, FL