Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts

Friday, November 17, 2006

The Little Things In Life....

Don't worry folks. We have many more series planned for the "Writing And Despair Happy Hour" - just stay tuned! The following post is one of my rare "personal" ones. I don't often use a blog to post about my family or kids or my rare dates. Of course I have a lot to rant about in the world of agents, writing and publishing. But this one post, I will break with my tradition and rules, for just a moment.

My son is going to have his Bar-Mitzvah in two and a half months. He is really excited. Not about the party, not about the people coming and not about having to read the entire portion of the Torah in synagogue. He is excited about one thing. Getting his Tefillin or "Phylacteries" as they are called in the English dictionary. Now I assume that most of you have absolutely no idea what Tefillin are, so below are pictures.




Traditional Male Jews (and today some Females as well) put on Tefillin every morning for prayers (except on the Sabbath and holidays). It is based upon thousands of years of tradition and can be traced back to at the very least to the Temple Era. The whole real point of a Bar Mitzvah is not the party (believe it or not!), and I know you are aghast at such a statement, but it is the time when a Jewish male begins to have to wear his Tefillin every day from then on. That is what is behind the cliche - "Today I am a man."

But this post is not about teaching you the ins and outs of Judaism or of Jewish beliefs. It is about something I would hope most of us can relate to - childhood memories, a bit of nostalgia and perhaps the renewal of dreams.

Pop, my Pop, was the wisest, most compassionate and kindest man I have ever known on the face of this earth. I have said this numerous times before. He is long dead but I miss that man every single day of my life along with Mom. I guess I was one of the lucky ones. I had an incredible childhood with great parents.

It is true that I would give my right arm for the wisdom my father held in his pinky. And it is also true that I would give anything, even after twenty years, to be able to just hug my parents again.

Pop taught me never to allow bitterness to enter the heart, for bitterness leads to meanness and mean people are ugly. He taught me never to hate. He would listen to others talk in jealousy of what they didn't have and what others did have and would say, "Never be jealous of someone else's success. You have no idea of the woes and sorrows that another person carries with him. You have no idea what is in his suitcase of life." And when Pop saw someone worse off than him, he would always give a helping hand. He drummed it into me: "If not but for the Grace of God there goes I."

Folks. That is about the best advice any one can get on the face of this earth. Race, color, creed, religion all make no difference. What makes a difference is that you keep your own humanity - because in the end that is all you have. And you only have this lifetime to get it right.

So last night an important basketball game was on, and I was going to watch it with my son (we are basketball freaks). But though the television was on, he was nowhere to be found. I went into his room to see if he had fallen asleep, and there he was practicing with my Tefillin figuring out just how to put them on and wear them. (It is complicated for a child who has never done it before as there is one for the head and one for the arm and the straps must be put on in a certain way.)

When I saw him standing there with his back to me, though at times I can be an emotional person, this time I was overwhelmed with an emotion that I had not felt in a long while. The years upon this earth, of often riding the roller coaster of life, made me immediately realize this was something that was unique and something I would never be blessed to see again. There my son was, and in my mind's eye an old, long forgotten memory came out of the haze, of myself looking up into Pop's beaming face as he watched me put on my Tefillin for the first time.

My son felt my presence and turned around and said:

"Abba. I am just practicing. Don't worry. But I think I finally got it right."

He had it right. Totally. Completely. Not on his arm, and not on the straps. He had it so right though. And at that moment somehow, magically, in a moment that comes but once in a lifetime, my heart opened so wide, with so much joy and so much pain side by side, that I had to turn away for fear of my son seeing my tears fall.

And to my father in my heart I said:

"Pop. I wish you could see your grandson right now. Cause you know what? Maybe, just maybe, I think I finally got it right."





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Thursday, November 09, 2006

"Help! I Have A Fire In My Kitchen"

Hear Ye! Hear Ye!

This is to announce the opening of my new blog "Help! I Have A Fire In My Kitchen.
This is a humorous blog which you too can contribute - of single parenting and learning how to cook. It will be chock full of recipes (kosher) and tales from the trenches in how a single parent who never knew how to make spaghetti - finally learned how to cook and enjoy it.

"Help! I Have A Fire In My Kitchen" also accepts recipes and humorous stories from readers all over the globe. Take a look at the blog.... It is just beginning, but I promise I will make you smile and laugh if nothing else!


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Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Yesterday In New York...

Yesterday, in New York, they buried my Uncle Herman. He lived a full and long life and left behind wonderful children and grandchildren.


Yesterday in New York, for probably the last time, the first and second generations of what was known years ago as the "House Of Gross" met. There were some absences to be sure. None intended. None that meant anything that would force one to think there is ill will here. Distances could not be traversed by some of the nephews and cousins (myself included).


Yesterday in New York, in a small parcel of land in Queens, in a plot of land bought so many years ago, as one man was buried next to his brothers, an end came to a whole generation.


Yesterday in New York the Gross family watched and participated in a the "end" and then looked around and saw the seeds of its rebirth.


There was the man, the husband, the father, the grandfather, the Uncle the friend. Of that person I will not discuss on a blog. It is for those who knew him and are sitting now shiva for him to tell of his kindness, compassion, smile, wisdom and love.


Then there was the brother. One of six. The fifth one in birth the last one to die. It was with him that the "House Of Gross" was truly laid to rest. He was my father's brother. My father was number two. They started out in life as Jess, Harold, Nathan, Seymour, Herman and Aaron. Their own father, my grandfather, did not live many years. They set out, these brothers did, to take care of their mother. That was their goal and they accomplished it. They made it through the depression with scars to be sure, but they made it through. The made it through World War Two, some serving in the armed forces including my father. They built a family business.They never forgot to take care of their own mother. They remained close these brothers did. They, I am sure went through periods of anger. They sometimes perhaps did not talk to one another. But they remained close. Six brothers who together and alone established families and dug their roots deep. The respect and honor they showed their own mother was legendary. I still read and hear of it, even today. They married, had their own children. The Gross family, this Gross family grew. Cousins grew up. Some stayed close. Others, such as myself, drifted far away following the beat of a different drummer. But being born into this family left one with memories and values.


Values. That is the word I am searching for. Values in a world so cynical and so egocentric, the brothers taught their children values. Secular and religious values. Each according to their own belief. Values. What a strange word to place up on the Internet at times. Values. Compassion, kindness, love, understanding. Respect. All those words which we the third and fourth generation seem to find so hard to accept and keep. For them it was simple. Values. Yet they managed to teach us, these brothers did. They managed to teach us values and respect. The ingrained it so deep in our personalities that we would rather die than betray their legacy.


There is something incredibly sad about the death of Uncle Herman that goes beyond the sadness his immediate family and grandchildren feel. There is a loss that has taken place that is beyond just that of a good human being being laid to rest after a long and fruitful life. It is the end of an era for our family. The end of a foundation and a hope, represented in all ways by the symbol of the "House Of Gross" - a farmer shaking hands with a soldier while pointing up to the white dove of peace. The House of Gross, that first generation is now gone. Three of my aunts are still with us. They are also part of that dynasty and in their own right part of their own families and their own dynasties as well.


And so as a middle aged boy I look back and try to understand with the perspective that my wise father, Pop, would show and give to others with such ease. I look back and try to see this all from a perspective of time and distance. It saddens me to know that this era is over. It saddens me to know that those Passover Seders and Hanukah parties are all but faint memories of a long lost past.


The era is over. And yet it has begun again. Perhaps the best legacy those six brothers could have left us was always there. In every word and thought. Perhaps it took time and learning to truly understand. Perhaps it is just part of life and living and learning. Perhaps this is what they call understanding with wisdom.


My father was the kindest, most compassionate and wisest man I have ever known. After being on the road to hell a few times in my life I have come, as a middle-aged boy, to appreciate his wisdom. This is what he taught me. When you see someone else who is more fortunate than you are, and jealousy takes over, try to always remember that everyone has their own package of woes and troubles. And when you see someone less fortunate, always remember, 'If not but for the grace of God, there goes I'.

That is wise and sound advice. Best you can get.


That wisdom is what six brothers left us. It is something I would kill for today. To possess their values and wisdom.


From the early 1900's when the six brothers began to be born until today is approximately 100 years. There are children, grand children and great grand-children. There are families. The Gross family in 150 years came from Russia, to the United States and some have made home in Israel. Spread out we all are. And yet yesterday, for that one day, in honor of the values, in honor of the person, in honor of their awesome wisdom, the Gross family mourned together once again.


Yesterday in New York while Uncle Herman was eulogized a great many tears were shed.


Yesterday in New York while the body was lowered into the ground, hearts were filled with pain.


Yesterday in New York, after the Kadish was recited over the mound of earth that would forever be Uncle Herman's resting place, a new generation was born.


Yesterday in New York this new generation set out bereft of guidance but ingrained with the wisdom and values that would forever keep the legacy of these six brothers alive.


May the soul of Uncle Herman and all his brothers be bound up in the bond of everlasting life.




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Categories: short stories, writing, on writing series
Getting Wasted - Writing & Editing & Publishing Short Stories

Edited With Qumana


Wednesday, June 14, 2006

My Children's Children

My Children's Children

Tonight my daughter, Aderet, graduated from University. Well essentially she graduated last year, but in Israel, the graduation ceremony takes place a year later. Tonight I watched my daughter walk up and get her "official" degree to help the hearing and speech impaired in her life's work.

I watched her do this in an open garden, full of trees and flowers, one person in a large audience of parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters friends and cousins to the hundred or so graduates.

But I was special. I watched Aderet graduate, while I held her son, my grandson, in my lap and we laughed at the balloons flying high in the sky. Tonight I watched Aderet graduate, and I held my year old grandson in my arms. Tonight I watched a woman march up to the podium, and all I could see was a little girl in pigtails, trying desperately to keep up with her older brothers.

Tonight without a party, without a big family meal, without a crown and without any adornments, tonight I knew what it was like to be a king. Tonight I was a prince and king.

Somehow this was greater in its own way then Aderet's birth or her marriage. Somehow this spoke to me not of only one person or one event, but of continuum. Somehow, on this magical night, it all came together.

Tonight I held pure joy in my hands and watched with wonder at the achievements of my daughter.

Tonight made all those difficult times worth living. Tonight my daughter Aderet, made me cry in joy.

Tonight, above all, I thanked God for allowing to me live to see and participate in this day.

Tonight I held my grandson in my lap and watched my daughter graduate University with my son-in-law next to me.

Tonight, somehow, the world seemed right and perfect.

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