It started after several frigid days two weeks ago with a leak as a result of an exposed water pipe that was open to the outdoors.
There was water everywhere in the basement. I have an office down there that I do not frequent too often. It’s just a room in the corner with a glass double desk, a computer with two screens, some photos, a bookshelf, and some mementos just lying around for decades at this point.
The water was flowing from part of an upper wall in that room, so I had to enter to analyze or at least observe what was going on. Most recently, the Gemara in Sanhedrin discusses how when there is discord it tends to flow uncontrollably like water from a spigot or from a stream or perhaps a waterfall.
In other areas of our oral law and tradition, we are taught that there is no reference to water that is not really about how Torah flows into and out of a Jew. Ein mayim elah Torah.
Also, that is what our daily life is like and that is probably true of the generation before us, the generations that preceded them, and those that will follow into the future.
{IMG Bagel – Mr Nison Gordon passport.jpg
{Caption R’ Nison Gordon passport
So, there were things that, at least preliminarily, had to be removed from this room that was filling with water in order to salvage them. As long as I’m contemplating and pondering the matter of water, it occurs in this moist, increasingly damp and odor-filled environment, another thing that flows like water, which are our memories that come and go depending on what we are busying ourselves with at that period of time.
So, I looked around quickly. The first thing I spotted was my dad’s green felt tallis and tefillin bag. Of course, I knew where it was and had been for a long time. About ten years ago, I had a sofer check the tefillin and he reported to me that it was kosher or still kosher. My nephew, Ari Blander, procured my dad’s Rabbeinu Tam tefillin probably right after his petirah. But I still have his Rashi tefillin and a very yellowing tallis. Now that it’s on my mind, I’ll probably have it checked again and maybe put on new black end straps. Perhaps one of the younger Nisons or future Nisons might still wear them some day.
Then the plumber who was down here with me one afternoon last week handed me a long rectangular box, which was where I used to keep my Megillat Esther from Purim to Purim. I know the Megillah is down in Florida because that’s where we celebrated Purim last year. But I must have packed it in to my suitcase without the box because the klaf comes in its own case.
I quickly removed the cover to see what was in the box, and inside, I found a collection of about 50 to 75 cassette tapes. These tapes, assuming you’re familiar with the word “cassette,” are recordings of various radio programs that were broadcast here in New York and on other media outlets during the 1970s and 80s. There might even be a few that were recorded in the early 90s.
A cassette on top of the pile was one of my more than a few interviews with Moshe Yess and Shalom Levine who were the Megama Duo. Yess wrote the timeless tune, “My Zaide,” which is just as well known today as it was when they introduced it publicly almost 45 years ago.
But I don’t want to talk about the tapes and the radio interviews today. Let’s talk about the black satchel. A satchel is a briefcase or perhaps today it would be more commonly referred to as a bag or even a backpack. As far as I can recall, my father referred to it as a satchel.
I think he kept some books and notebooks inside it when he travelled. The satchel sat on the dresser in the bedroom or sometimes on one of the beds just prior to departure to wherever he and my mom were going.
Usually, the last sound we heard was the two snaps or locks making a clasping sound followed by my father saying, “Okay, let’s go.”
So, as long as I was salvaging the satchel from the currents of the busted pipe, I took a few moments to open the satchel snaps to see what was inside. The first item that I noticed was my father’s passport. Even though it had been lying in this bag or satchel for at least 35 years, it certainly looked as if it was issued yesterday. The passport was issued in 1986, about three-and-a-half years before my dad was niftar.
It says that he was born in Poland in 1918. He and his siblings were born in the town of Dokschitz, which is still on the map today, but is listed as being a city in Belarus. I guess either Poland moved or Belarus moved, though I do recall my father speaking about changing borders during those years.
In the photo, my father looks exactly the way I will always remember him. He’s staring straight ahead, no smile, hair kind of mussed, the jacket he’s wearing looks brown with a brown tie and a light tan shirt.
All the customs stamps on this passport were either from JFK or Ben Gurion Airport.
Among the more interesting and personal items I found were handwritten letters from my father’s cousin, Natan Kasovich, and another letter from my mother’s cousins, Yechezkel and Esther Levy. Both parties lived in Israel.
Back in 1990, with our first visit to Israel with our two-month-old baby, we visited with Yechezkel and Esther as well as with the Kasovich family in Kfar Saba. The interesting thing that was conjured up by those letters and visits was that in those days, when you travelled to Israel, visiting relatives (whether you knew them or not) was a mandatory and imperative thing to do.
So, we went to their homes and did just that—visited with them. We visited the Kasovich brothers on a Saturday night and the Levys during the week. Sure, we have lots of relatives in Israel, but we pretty much rely on just running into them here and there. That is, except for my wife’s nieces and nephews who all live in Israel and a couple of years ago made a beautiful Chanukah party for the extended families. It was a great time, especially for the younger kids to get together and meet one another for the first time.
Also in the satchel were some yellowed newspaper clippings from Hebrew newspapers in Israel. And then there was a beautifully handwritten letter to my parents from Yechezkel and Esther Levy. The letter is dated February 15, 1984. To my recollection, Yechezkel spoke English fluently while Esther did not speak it at all.
I reached out to our cousins and family genealogy experts, Leah Roth and Rachel Blonder, to find out where the Levys fit into the family tree. I received a quick and easy answer explaining that Esther Levy (who they referred to as Edith) had the maiden name of Hollander, which was also my grandmother’s maiden name, and the Blonder and Roth great-grandmother’s maiden name.
Now, 40 years later, I finally understood the relationship and why the Levys visited us in New York at my parents’ home and why Esta and I, along with our infant daughter visited them in Israel.
The letter I found in the satchel amongst other things offers an apology from them for being unable to attend my brother Yossy’s wedding, which took place a month or so after the date on the letter.
There is a reference in the letter to the fact that Yechezkel was in the midst of the school year and since he was still teaching, he could not get away at that specific time of year. He wrote that while he and his wife cannot attend the wedding in New York, “We will join you in our minds as if we were present.”
Near my father’s satchel was another black briefcase-type item. This one with no snaps or locks, a little higher but not as wide as the briefcase.
A couple of months ago when we recited our annual prayer for rain, we recited the following: “Remember the one—Yaakov—who carried his staff and crossed the Jordan River. He dedicated his heart and rolled a stone off the mouth of a well of water, as when he was wrestled by an angel composed of fire and water, therefore you pledged to remain with him through fire and water.”
That is our tefillah for rainwater in season. Nothing there about a blessing associated with a busted water pipe because of freezing outdoor temperatures. But in this case and in a timely fashion though an inconvenience, the experience still took me down a path that felt very much like a blessing.
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