Old People I Knew only as a Boy

President’s High Holiday Address

Shanah Tovah. Welcome to BZBI! My name is Gregg Kanter. It is an honor to serve as your President.

I am pleased to announce that Nikki Morris will succeed me in July. Nikki will be a great President. She is smart, outgoing, and friendly. More importantly, Nikki is committed to having BZBI play a big role in her family’s life. I wish her the best, and hope she finds serving you as fulfilling as it has been for me.

If you haven’t already met me, or Nikki, we’d love it if you’d come over and say hi.

My talk tonight will not be your typical High Holiday address. It skips the usual topics. I won’t talk about our finances and ask you for money. You already got that on Rosh Hashana. I won’t talk about the Board’s plans and vision for BZBI. The Board will soon be posting on Shofar, BZBI’s blog. Finally, I won’t talk about the wonderful things happening here, because they are all described on our website. And some might be inappropriate to bring up during Yom Kippur. People fasting do not want to hear about the sumptuous meats prepared by our very own Iron Chef at our upcoming Steak and Scotch feast.

Tonight, what I want talk about is two of the old people I knew when I was a boy. When I say I knew them as a boy, what I mean is that I knew these two old people as only a boy could know someone, in the simplest of ways. As a boy, I did not know the circumstances of their childhoods the obstacles blocking their way in life, their successes and their misfortunes; their thoughts and beliefs, anything about their personal lives, or what made them laugh or cry. From an adult’s perspective, I hardly knew them at all. You certainly didn’t know them. But when you were very young, you might have known old people like them.

Why is it fitting to talk about and remember these old people on Yom Kippur? It’s because by doing what they did years ago, they made it possible for us to be here today.

I’ll start by going all the way back to the fall of 2009. We had just moved to Philadelphia and Markus, my first child, started at BZBI playschool. I went to Back to School Night. The program for Markus’s class was downstairs, in the big open space between the classrooms. While the teacher talked I explored the room and the stuff on the walls. There were plaques of various shapes and sizes: larger stand alone plaques and smaller memorial plaques.

One of the larger plaques caught my attention. It was dedicated to Dr. Francis H. Stern. It said he was a Physician Scholar Lecturer Friend and Devoted Member of Neziner Synagogue. What a coincidence! I had an uncle named Francis Stern. He was Aunt Bibby’s husband.

But I didn’t think this plaque was for my Uncle Francis. While my Francis may have been a doctor, he was not a scholar or a lecturer as far I knew, And I didn’t think Francis had anything to do with a synagogue, because Bibby was not religious. Let me illustrate with one example. I introduced Aunt Bibby to the woman I was dating and whom I would eventually marry. It was over dinner at Bibby’s Miami Beach apartment. Bibby began the meal by serving Pillsbury Crescent rolls right out of the oven. What was noteworthy about this first course is that it happened to be the 3rd night of Passover.

Getting back to the plaque, I later discovered it was indeed for my Uncle Francis. As I scanned the names on the smaller memorial plaques, I saw three consecutive rows with two plaques side by side. One row for Max and Gussie Rosen, my grandparents and Aunt Bibby’s parents. One row for Rueben and Hannah Stern, who must have been Uncle Francis’s parents. And one row for Francis Stern and Reserved.

I thought Reserved should hear about this, so I called Aunt Bibby. I told her I saw Uncle Francis’s name on a plaque at BZBI. Bibby told me that Francis had been a member of Neziner and supported the congregation for a number of years, because most of the other Neziner members were poor. I never knew Uncle Francis supported a synagogue.

Indeed, I have only a few memories of him. I remember Francis and Bibby coming to our house for dinner every now and then. I remember when I was 5 having a sleepover at Francis and Bibby’s house. The next day, they took me to Dover Beach in Delaware. I went swimming while they stayed on the shore. When they thought it was time to leave, they told me to come out. I didn’t think it was time to leave, so I stayed in the water. They had to send a lifeguard in to get me.

My last memory of Francis was when I was 9. We were at a farewell party just before Francis and Bibby moved to Florida. I remember my father giving me $5 to give to Francis so he could give it to a charity when he got to Florida.

The other old person I knew as a boy that I want to talk about is Aunt Kate.

Aunt Kate was not my aunt. She was my mother’s aunt. In my earliest memories, Aunt Kate was already old.

Although she lived in Miami Beach, we spent a lot of time with her. We stayed with her for winter breaks. She stayed with us during the summer months.

I remember Aunt Kate played the piano and sang. One of her songs was Those Were the Days. I remember she would do things to make herself useful. For instance, one summer, she sewed buttons into several dozen slacks so my father could wear suspenders with all his suits. I do not know what, if anything, Aunt Kate did for work, but I had heard she volunteered for Hadassah. I recall that was she was always nice, never got mad or raised her voice towards us kids, and didn’t even argue with other adults. We didn’t have a grandmother growing up; Aunt Kate was the next best thing.

I learned something about Aunt Kate by chance, just like I learned something about Uncle Francis by chance. I was at a bat mitzvah in Sea Cliff, NY in 2016. During the Rabbi’s sermon, I walked around the hallways. I came across a large plaque dedicated to Isidore and Dora Thierman who both died in 1935. They were my great-grandparents. The plaque was donated by their daughter, Mrs. David Lippman. That was my Aunt Kate.

Why I am talking about Uncle Francis and Aunt Kate?

It’s not to suggest that, while you’re in a synagogue, you should look at the plaques on the walls. The reason is because behind every name on every plaque is a story. A story of what was done for us by Unlce Francis, by Aunt Kate and by people like them. They helped build and sustain our Jewish communities. They created spaces where you already belong – even if it’s your first time walking in the door, whether it’s for Back to School Night or for Kol Nidre or Yom Kippur.

You may know about forebearers of your own who supported our Jewish communities. Perhaps there are many more you don’t know about.

As we enter a new year, 5779, let’s remember what the past generations have provided to us, let’s respect and honor their commitment, and let’s consider our responsibility to future generations.

When we are long gone, how will we be remembered by the young boys and girls who knew us only when we were already old?

Shana Tova and G’mar Chatima Tova.