had met at Jay's studio,” she said, remorse in her voice. “My husband, and your son would be…” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t finish her sentence and John didn't correct her.
On the drive home it occurred to him: he was carrying on as though he had lost a son. But Jay wasn't his son; he was Tony's! Maybe Tony was right. John shouldn’t have interfered in the boy's life. What if instead of taking Jay in the night he showed up on their doorstep, he had sent him home? If Jay had been a cop in Philly, chances were good he'd be alive today.
Because of me, Jay's dead .
John fingered a rook from the chessboard. But it wasn’t his fault Tony never made amends with Jay before he died—something Tony evidently regretted based on the surge in his binge drinking. Last John heard, Tony was in rehab again… Yep, life was like a giant chess game. We all believed we were in control of our lives; we liked to think we had the last say. But there were more powerful forces out there. Something else controlling our moves, a queen to our lowly pawn.
Thirteen
Estelle Ginsberg was buried on Wednesday morning. The Litman Funeral Home was filled to capacity, each seat occupied by someone who had known Estelle, or had been affected by her tireless community work. Estelle’s brother Morton, a frail man in his early eighties slowly ascended the steps to the podium. With a trembling hand, he pulled a thin pair of reading glasses and a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. He smoothed the paper out on the shtender, and addressed the sea of mourners in front of him. Speaking in what sounded like an Eastern European accent, he began.
“My sister, Estelle was a wonderful woman. She was a wife and mother. She was my sister, but she was also a mother to me. Many of you know about my sister and me that we survived the holocaust. Our parents, our two brothers… they were not so lucky.”
He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose.
“We were in Auschwitz, Estelle and I. She kept me alive. I was older, but I was weak. She was the strong one. She was healthy….” Morton paused to wipe his tears and collect himself. “My sister… she subjected herself to humiliation… demeaning, unspeakable acts, so that I would live. So that I was given extra rations or clean socks, or an extra blanket. She did these things because she knew I would not survive if she did not. My sister was a wife and a mother. Because of what she suffered at the hand of the Nazis, she could not have her own children, so she took in a child that needed a home. Avi had what they call Down syndrome. His mother and father had six children already to feed. They could not take care of one more, especially one like Avi. My sister cared for him and loved him like he was her own. Estelle loved all children no matter what problems they had. Avi's heart also was not right. He had two surgeries, but still his heart could not be fixed. Avi died when he was ten years old. My sister was heartbroken, but always she made the choice in life never to despair. She gave all her time to others—children and adults. She helped many. She was trusted. My sister understood the dangers of loshon hora , improper speech. Never would she speak badly of another. Everyone loved my sister. How could they not? Always there was a smile on her face; always she spoke a kind word. She loved every minute of her life. I will shock you when I say that I believe she also loved her time in Auschwitz. I say this because she had purpose . Always did she find meaning in her life, as a prisoner in Poland during the war and also here, in our great country, living in freedom. My sister, she lost so much. Her wonderful husband passed away six years ago. During his illness, Estelle took care of him, never once did she complain. Never was she bitter. I know my sister. She would not want us to be angry or sad. She would tell us God is good. God makes no mistakes. Everything he does,
On the drive home it occurred to him: he was carrying on as though he had lost a son. But Jay wasn't his son; he was Tony's! Maybe Tony was right. John shouldn’t have interfered in the boy's life. What if instead of taking Jay in the night he showed up on their doorstep, he had sent him home? If Jay had been a cop in Philly, chances were good he'd be alive today.
Because of me, Jay's dead .
John fingered a rook from the chessboard. But it wasn’t his fault Tony never made amends with Jay before he died—something Tony evidently regretted based on the surge in his binge drinking. Last John heard, Tony was in rehab again… Yep, life was like a giant chess game. We all believed we were in control of our lives; we liked to think we had the last say. But there were more powerful forces out there. Something else controlling our moves, a queen to our lowly pawn.
Thirteen
Estelle Ginsberg was buried on Wednesday morning. The Litman Funeral Home was filled to capacity, each seat occupied by someone who had known Estelle, or had been affected by her tireless community work. Estelle’s brother Morton, a frail man in his early eighties slowly ascended the steps to the podium. With a trembling hand, he pulled a thin pair of reading glasses and a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. He smoothed the paper out on the shtender, and addressed the sea of mourners in front of him. Speaking in what sounded like an Eastern European accent, he began.
“My sister, Estelle was a wonderful woman. She was a wife and mother. She was my sister, but she was also a mother to me. Many of you know about my sister and me that we survived the holocaust. Our parents, our two brothers… they were not so lucky.”
He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose.
“We were in Auschwitz, Estelle and I. She kept me alive. I was older, but I was weak. She was the strong one. She was healthy….” Morton paused to wipe his tears and collect himself. “My sister… she subjected herself to humiliation… demeaning, unspeakable acts, so that I would live. So that I was given extra rations or clean socks, or an extra blanket. She did these things because she knew I would not survive if she did not. My sister was a wife and a mother. Because of what she suffered at the hand of the Nazis, she could not have her own children, so she took in a child that needed a home. Avi had what they call Down syndrome. His mother and father had six children already to feed. They could not take care of one more, especially one like Avi. My sister cared for him and loved him like he was her own. Estelle loved all children no matter what problems they had. Avi's heart also was not right. He had two surgeries, but still his heart could not be fixed. Avi died when he was ten years old. My sister was heartbroken, but always she made the choice in life never to despair. She gave all her time to others—children and adults. She helped many. She was trusted. My sister understood the dangers of loshon hora , improper speech. Never would she speak badly of another. Everyone loved my sister. How could they not? Always there was a smile on her face; always she spoke a kind word. She loved every minute of her life. I will shock you when I say that I believe she also loved her time in Auschwitz. I say this because she had purpose . Always did she find meaning in her life, as a prisoner in Poland during the war and also here, in our great country, living in freedom. My sister, she lost so much. Her wonderful husband passed away six years ago. During his illness, Estelle took care of him, never once did she complain. Never was she bitter. I know my sister. She would not want us to be angry or sad. She would tell us God is good. God makes no mistakes. Everything he does,
Similar Books
