Description
My Zaidy’s Diary – By Rabbi Pinchas Winston
HE HAS MANY memories of his zaidy, all of them fond. But then again, he was only 20 years old when Zaidy left this world for the next one. He died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of 88, the last of his four grandparents. Bubby, his wife, had died years earlier. His other grandparents hadn’t lived long enough for him to really know them.
It seemed to him that Zaidy died suddenly. If he had been sick, his grandson didn’t know about it. Only two days earlier he had spent time with him, laughing at his corny jokes. Even with the numbers on his arm, when he was younger he thought Zaidy might outlive him.
After all, how could anyone have gone through what his zaidy had and still be able to smile, let alone laugh? How could anyone who had known so much cruelty possibly have the capacity to love again? How could a person who had lived through such turmoil walk around with such a sense of calm?
He did not know then and he does not know now.
Once he asked his father if zaidy had just forgotten all about it. He had shaken his head slowly and said, as his eyes watered, “If only that were possible. It’s all inside him. Your zaidy kept it all locked away inside.”
He wasn’t exactly sure at the time what “all locked away inside” meant. But he figured it out somewhat the day of his bar mitzvah. He had just finished his drash and, instead of applauding as others did, his zaidy quickly got up, turned around, and headed for the door of the banquet hall.
He wondered whether it was something he had said, and wanted to follow Zaidy to find out. But his father gently put his hand on his arm, looked at him sympathetically, and said, “You stay here. I’ll check on Zaidy.”
It wasn’t until later that night, after all the excitement had died down, that he found out what had actually happened. When his zaidy returned to the hall with his father, he was smiling again. He came straight to him with compliments on the drash and apologies for his quick departure. He said he hadn’t been feeling well and had to step out.
He suspected otherwise and pressed his father later that night for the facts. His abba tried to dodge the questions, telling him that some things were better left unsaid. But when he replied that he wouldn’t sleep that night without knowing the truth—he made that up—his father paused to think for a moment and then began to tell him something he had never known. It would change him and his opinion of his zaidy forever.
His father was one of three children that Bubby and Zaidy brought into this world and raised. He himself was one of five children, with aunts, uncles, and cousins like everyone else. He may not have met ALL his family, but he had heard about them.
Or so he thought. It turned out that his bubby was not Zaidy’s first wife, and that his father and his siblings were not his only children. That’s when the story got weird. Zaidy had been married previously to someone else, with whom he had three children. But the Nazis, ysv”z, murdered them all, and only Zaidy miraculously survived.
He probably wished he hadn’t. Apparently a broken man after the war was over, he went wherever he was sent, zombie-like. He lived but felt no reason to. The idea of starting all over again probably didn’t even occur to him. He had very deep wounds, and it would take time and a lot of hashgochah pratis to heal them, or at least heal them enough for him to be able to turn his life around, remarry, and create a second family.
During a conversation they had a long time later, although he had been reluctant to ask and it was clearly painful for Zaidy to answer, he finally shared what happened to him at the bar mitzvah. It seems that when he gave his drash, Zaidy suddenly remembered when his little boy, screaming and crying, had been mercilessly dragged away from him. All of a sudden he saw that boy in his grandson…as if he were still alive…grown up…having HIS bar mitzvah.
The mind is a tricky thing. For the most part it seems to function just fine. Then suddenly you see something—or hear something—and your brain runs off in some illogical direction, which can play havoc with your emotions. It did with his zaidy’s that day, forcing him to leave the simchah and sort out his terrible memories and emotions.
Although he wanted to know more, he was afraid of going where he did not belong. Zaidy was old and becoming increasingly more frail by the day. His father didn’t want to share more of what he knew, which wasn’t much anyway, and didn’t think it was a good idea for him to press further. So he didn’t. He made a conscious decision to let it go.
Call it hashgochah pratis or just a bad job of hiding feelings, but Zaidy picked up on his thoughts and invited him to his apartment one day to talk. But they didn’t talk about the death and destruction of the past.
“I don’t think it’s necessary for either of us to relive it,” Zaidy said, while making one of his famous cups of tea. The chocolate-chip cookies were already waiting on the table. “But there are things you should know…for the future,” he said, as he served the tea. “They may save your life one day.”
“Save MY life?” he had asked, surprised. He had never considered that HIS life would need saving.
“What I went through during the last war,” Zaidy said, slowly, deliberately, as if the words weighed very heavy on him, “was not the first time for klal Yisroel.”
He sighed then and seemed unsure about saying anything else.
“And it will probably not be the last time.”
His grandson unconsciously tightened up, which didn’t give the piece of cookie in his mouth safe passage to his stomach, almost causing him to choke.
A sip of tea cleared his throat and he was able to ask, “What do you mean, Zaidy?”
Zaidy got up, and slowly and tiredly walked to the bookshelf. He didn’t have a lot of seforim anymore, having giving most of them to his children and grandchildren as part of his preparations for leaving this world for a better one. But tucked away on the far right of the top shelf, which he could barely reach, was a thin sefer that he struggled to pull out.
He finally retrieved it and returned to the table to begin what would be a series of discussions that would change his grandson’s life forever. And true to his words, they DID save his life.
This is his story.
