Velvel Klein, my maternal grandfather
lived in a small town which at one time had been a part of Poland and then
became a part of the Ukraine. He had a wife, four daughters and a son. In the
early 1900s he came to America hoping to earn enough money to bring his family
there. It was not working out well and in 1910 his 18-year-old daughter Ida,
decided she and her younger sister Lena would go to America and convince their
father to go back to his family in Europe. He agreed to do so and his daughters
told him they would stay in America a few years, earn some money and then they
would go home. In 1914 World War one erupted and there was no way they could at
the time leave America. By November 11, 1918 when armistice was declared, both
Ida and Lena were married and each had a child. They were not going to return
to Europe. In 1919 when there was a worldwide influenza epidemic, their father
and mother both died within a few weeks of each other. Their brother who was
the youngest of the family wanted to come to America and eventually did. Their
sisters in Europe, all then married and with families, wanted to remain which
they did and perished in the holocaust.
Lena married Hyman Haber in 1917 and between
January 1918 and January 1928, she had five children, Frieda, Aaron, Katie,
Irving and Benjamin, the latter, the author of this story. Frieda’s birthday
was January 16 and Benjamin’s January 17. Frieda always told the story, that
when she woke up to go to P.S. 87, the local Middle Village elementary school,
on the morning of January 17, the day after her birthday, and walked into
the kitchen in their small living quarters for her breakfast, but instead
of food on the table, there was Benjamin, the new born baby. When she left the
house to meet her friend Ruth with whom she walked to school, she told Ruth she
had gotten a present for her tenth birthday, a baby brother. In truth and fact,
it was I who received a birthday gift. It was Frieda and the first and best I
ever received. Frieda was a beautiful woman who easily could have qualified for
Hollywood and was not just good looking, but an extremely special person. It
was necessary for my mother to work in a factory hand sewing men’s ties and
while Frieda was only ten years older than I was, it was she who brought me up.
As a youngster I thought she was my mother. She was a good cook and baker and
an extremely accomplished knitter. All young members of the family and even
some adults wore a Frieda knitted sweater. Frieda passed way at the age of 96,
Aaron at 89 and Irving at 75. Katie is still with us at the age of 98 and I at
the age of 92.
My father Hyman died on the 5th day of August
1945 at the age of 52 and my mother Lena died on the 5th day of August 1987 at
the age of 93. They both were buried in Mount Hebron Cemetery in Queens. One
day while I was at the burial site, I arranged for a Talmudic scholar to recite
prayers. When doing so, he noticed both parents had died on the same calendar
date August 5, but many years apart. When he mentioned that, I took him to the
rear of Hyman’s grave and pointed out the burial site of Bertha Haber, his
mother who also died on the 5th day of August, but in 1937. He was taken aback
by the triple burial dates and said he wanted to look into the meaning of that
occurrence. I told him not to bother, because I knew my mother who never wanted
to make any trouble for her children, and may have arranged for them to deal
with one memorial date. I was joking of course, but it is good to be able to
deal with a memorial for both parents and grandmother on one day.
My birth in 1928 preceded by one year, the
terrible 1929 depression that lasted for almost ten years. We were poor to
begin with, but the depression made it worse. Fortunately, my aunt Ida was able
to help us out. Notwithstanding a lack of material things, we had a great
loving and caring family. I recall as a youngster when walking alone in
the neighborhood, I would pass my aunt’s and uncle’s houses and knew I could
never be abandoned.
My mother Lena made it clear one could have
disagreements, but under no circumstances could we stop talking to each other.
That rule was so accepted, there was never a time when my siblings and I ever
stopped talking. In fact, to this day, nieces, nephews and grandchildren accept
that rule. If any family member needed help or assistance, it was made
available by one or more other members.
Poverty being a part of my growing up, there
were no toys or books in our house. I remember when at the age of six, I
entered Mrs. Brown’s kindergarten class in P.S. 87, I was brought to school
that day by one of my siblings. Many of the children had been brought by their
mothers. When the mothers left, many children began to cry. I noticed there was
a boy who had been brought by his older sibling, and he was not crying. His
name was Sam Teicher and both of us coming from a home that was completely
lacking in toys and books, whereas the school room was filled with them, we
immediately became friends. We remained close friends for 80 years, until he
passed away.
Had I complained about not having
material things, I should have been ashamed of myself. I did not and do not.
The love, affection and care from all members of my family and relatives, made
me an emotionally wealthy person. Thanks to one and all.
Benjamin Haber
July 2020
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