My dad passed away on Saturday morning. He was 89 years old.
He was born in Poland, in Lodz. As a Jew, his community was segregated from the community at large. But when Germany invaded he Poland, at age 16 he lied about his age and joined the army to defend Poland. But Poland was overrun so fast he was quickly picked up and sent to a concentration camp for most of the war.
I won’t go into those horrors, but he saw the worst of the worst that Holocaust wrought.
After liberation he gave up his quota spot to go to the US and after marrying my mom and having my sister went to Israel as a captain in the Israeli army. He fought for independence from 1949-1952, before immigrating to America. About a year later he was able to bring my mom and sister over. He has four daughters and taught each of us to be strong, educated, independent women. Besides his family, his greatest sorrow was his loss at a chance for his own education. My three sisters and I all hold advanced degrees and are teachers, professors and one principal.
He was a devoted Jew, but not a slave to ritual. He loved his religion and passed his joy for it to us. He was proud of who he was.
From working in the coal mines as slave labor he developed COPD and heart problems, which really started in when I was a teenager. It was the COPD
It was the COPD that took his life on Saturday, his last Shabbat.
He was an accepting man, and became more liberal and lost any suspicion of people different from himself over the decades. He taught us tolerance and acceptance and felt social injustices keenly. He loved America deeply, but knew that your country and your government could turn on you, so it was your duty to be vigilant in watching your leaders. He was by no means perfect. He suffered from PTSD and depression, but he tried everyday to find joy in life and grab and the life he was so fortunate to have been given. Four children, four grandchildren and four great-grand children are his legacy.
Yesterday was the anniversary of Abuelita’s death. March 25th, 1995. It was a Saturday.
Saturday is, at least in Hispanic countries, “Our Lady’s Day”; many churches finish the Sunday Eve Mass (that is, the ones Saturday evening but which ‘count as Sunday’) with the Salve. March 25th is the Feast of the Annunciation (that being when Mary got pregnant from a Ghost), Our Lady’s biggest feast. My family jokes that since Abuelita was very devout of Our Lady, her death on that date proves that she managed to badger God into letting her into Heaven. Actually, woe be to Peter if he’d tried to stand in her way… the woman was a lady, but when she said she was going to do something, she bloody well was going to do it. Dad and I inherited that from her.
{{{Soapy}}} what a lovely tribute to your dad! Just know your dad, you and your whole family are in my thoughts and prayers. Thanks for sharing those insights into your dad’s life. He overcame a lot in his life and his story needs to be told.
You’ll always miss him. Always. My own dad has been gone almost eight years now and I do still miss him. Whenever I go home, I always go to my dad’s and younger brother’s graves and tell them how much I still love them and miss them.
Soapy, did he ever tell any fun/interesting stories about his time in the Israeli army? Not anything gross, mind you. Maybe meeting one of the big names of the time, or one of those quirky day-to-day happenings.
The story of the rebirth of Israel is something that absolutely fascinates me. Something good at the end of one of the darkest events of human history.
You want a good story? He was stationed in the Negev desert near Yad Mordechai (Battle of Yad Mordechai) and was involved in helping to reclaim the kibbutz. This battle was significant as it bought the Israeli army time to regroup and save Tel Aviv from invading Egyptian army. It’s a thrilling story (there’s a great book http://www.amazon.com/six-days-Yad-Mordechai/dp/B0007CA7ZY) as who would have thought a few hundred kibbutniks with limited arms could survive 6 days against over 2000 Egyptian soldiers.
Mostly, what we heard from his life in Israel was how my sister, as a baby, almost died, how they lived in a town no more than a sand dune (now a thriving community) and how proud my dad was to have fought.
I’m sorry for your loss. May your lovely memories comfort you.
My dad was only 40 when he died in 1974. I was just 18 myself. I can still picture him singing and playing the guitar. I know very little about him though. I wish I’d had the maturity to talk to him more while I had the chance.
**Soapy **- he sounds like an amazing man, and your personal connection with history. Surely his descendents are a testimony to his hopes and dreams.
This October will mark 10 years since my dad died, and despite having been thru the funeral, despite helping Mom sort out some of the weird things he’d accumulated and left behind (tools and miscellaneous stuff in his workshop, not really *weird *things), despite his absence every time the family gets together, it’s still not quite real in my mind that he’s gone. It’s almost as if I’m expecting him to pop out and say “Ha ha! I was hiding in the shed the whole time. Fooled you!!” Not exactly denial, but I guess there’s still that little girl who wants her daddy around…
But it’s Monday, and I’m up and thinking about what to do today. I stripped the electric mattress pad off the bed last week, so I’m thinking I’ll wash it and hang it outside today. I also need to get out the riding mower and cart and move the assorted logs **FCD **cut up last Firday with his new chain saw. I should do a little more transplanting, too. And it’s probably not too early to start primping for my hot lunch date with Tugig.
Primping - who am I kidding? I’ll take a shower and comb my hair…
Rough night last night, but after my sweetie went to work, I got another 2 hours of sleep with my faithful kitteh plastered to my right side, so I guess I’m rested enough to move forward.
Great OP, soapy, your dad sounds like he was a real character and you have plenty of good memories to treasure.
My father died nearly 28 years ago now, he is buried in the same cemetary as his parents, grandparents and a bunch of other relatives. I try to get down there at least once a year and take my mum to make sure the grave is still in good condition. Over the years we’ve had work done on the headstone and kerb lettering, planted all sorts of flowers and small shrubs, and also looked after some of the other family plots. Since there are quite a few of them and we don’t really know much about the other family members, mum says she doesn’t feel so much of a duty to look after them. We do our best for dad’s grave though, and also for her brother and his wife’s graves which are in a different cemetary about 100 miles away from that one. The annual cemetary trek becomes a good excuse for a week off work!
I could do with a week off just now, I am on my own in the office, we have teaching going on in a different building and everyone wants something today and usually wants it yesterday!
Aww, Soapy, thanks for sharing about your Dad. He really experienced quite a lot in his lifetime and he had the strength and courage to survive. Nava, I was especially close to my maternal grandmother, who has been gone since 1968, and I still miss her.
Thanks to all for sharing - my Mom passed in 2003 and I know that I still think of her, probably every day. For a very long time, I kept wanting to call her and talk with her. Memories are powerful, and at least we have them and they’ll always be in our hearts.
What I learned through this, while waiting in hospice everyday, was we all feel alone in this and yet everyone goes through it. Everyone room on the hospice ward had it’s own private sorrows.
Soapy, that was lovely. Thank you.
Gnat’s at the clinic for his quarterly appointment, girls are sleeping, and TomKitten is watching Cars and making things out of lego. I should unload the dishwasher and put pants on TomKitten, but I lack initiative due to lack of sleep. I would just like the house to be clean without my help, thanks.
Guys, my boyfriend’s son has been trying to get in touch with him unsuccessfully for several hours. I’m stuck in a classroom subbing and there’s nothing I can do except to bore holes into this phone with my eyes while I wait to hear.
He is the sweetest, kindest and just the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. I love this man. And I’m worried about him.
Soapy, I’m so sorry for your loss. I’ll read your op when I get home.