Soap

My father grew up in Yonkers in a very poor part of town. His father, my grandfather, worked at the GM plant and my grandmother did a little bookkeeping .  She also washed every piece of fruit with any kind of skin:  apples, pears, peaches with Rokeach kosher soap.  For those not familiar, in a kosher kitchen all meat and dairy is separate and cannot be mixed together.  There was a red bar of soap for the "meat" dishes and pans and a blue bar of soap for the "dairy" dishes and pans.  I'm not sure which one she used to furiously wash the fruit.

My father grew up in an orthodox Jewish family.  They were modern in their style and dress but the house was strictly kosher and all holidays and days of observance were strictly enforced.  My dad had a brother, 5 years younger.  My grandfather would get up very early, go to work, come home, eat and go to sleep.   When he was awake he would often be in front of the television smoking Camels watching, "The Little Rascals."  He and my father had a barely-existent relationship.

My grandfather left school after 3rd grade to be a "runner" on Wall Street.  He would run messages and papers from one building to another.  His father was born in Poland and came through Ellis Island in the late 1890's, escaping the extreme poverty and anti-semitism of the time.  Since my grandfather was not a man of many words I don't know much else.  I remember him being quiet and kind.  He would run to the store to get me Cocoa Puffs when I came to visit   He died on his son's (my dad) birthday when I was 12.

My grandmother was a much stronger presence and I know a lot more about her.  She was born in Lithuania and came to the U.S. when she was 2. She grew up in a middle-class home and came over through Ellis Island in 2nd class-not steerage- like most immigrants.  In 1920 my grandmother was offered a scholarship to Columbia University which was unheard of for a Jewish woman in those days. She declined the offer and spent the rest of her life blaming everyone else for her decision.

I can see how my father came to a place in his life whereby he would become a husband to a domineering and depressed woman as well as becoming a neglectful and absent father to his child.  So many patterns repeated.  So many lessons never learned.   I can say, however, that the fruit in my house growing up did not taste like soap.  So maybe some lessons were learned.