She called herself
“the last of the Mohicans”; with her wry sense of humor, my mother knew she was
an icon of a long-gone time, a time when life was harder, both physically and
materially, yet infinitesimally less complex than the world we inhabit today.
Chana Golda Lesser
was the beloved youngest child born to her illustrious parents, Rabbi Dovid
Nosson and Tzvetta Lesser, of Krakow, Poland. While her three older siblings
were born in Europe, young Goldy, as she was affectionately called, was the
“baby,” born to her aging parents in Brownsville, New York, more commonly known
today as East New York.
Times were
difficult, and making a living was a struggle; this was particularly true for a
Torah scholar of distinction, newly supplanted on American soil, who sorely
lacked the educational and cultural familiarity necessary for gainful
employment. Mommy was a child of the Great Depression; adding to this challenge,
Shabbos observance posed a huge obstacle for any traditional Jew, and Zaidy
Dovid Nosson was no exception. In spite of these challenges, Mommy’s early
years were replete with fond recollections of her parents and siblings, who
doted on her, and of her aunts, uncles, and extended family, whom she adored
and to whom she gravitated as her older siblings married and began lives of
their own. Rebbitzen Kaplan’s newly founded Bais Yaakov School was still in its
infancy at that time, so Mommy attended Thomas Jefferson High School, where she
received her general education and, amazingly, even managed to learn
conversational Hebrew!
However, she gained her essential Jewish
education and text skills from her very own loving father, who patiently taught
her, night after night, Chumash, Rashi, Neviim, and Kesuvim, (Bible, Prophets, and Writings), thus
enabling her to later attend the prestigious teachers college, Bais Medrosh
La’Moros, where she become a world class teacher and educator.
* * *
When Mommy married
our esteemed father, Michoel Don Geller, in 1951, her life took a radical
twist. No longer was she the sheltered youngest, ensconced in her family’s
protective bosom; suddenly, she was the wife of an US Air Force Chaplain, in
Shreveport, Louisiana, who was responsible for the welfare of the Jewish
servicemen and for their religious needs, as well. Mommy quickly learned the power of sincerity
and authenticity as she and Daddy, together, cared for these men, and lovingly
impacted their lives. Our parents’ future life in outreach was initiated right
then and there, to be followed by Daddy’s first position as the nascent young rabbi
of Congregation Brothers of Joseph, in Norwich, Connecticut.
Mommy and Daddy
were a couple on fire, aligned with a mission. With none of the myriad
resources available today of trainings or apprenticeships, kiruv (outreach), as we know it, was nonexistent. Thrust into the
demanding role of sole religious leadership in a slumbering wasteland, the
young couple rose fully to the task.
In the absence of
any formal religious infrastructure, the synagogue slowly began to take shape. The
dusty old Hebrew school was reorganized once more, with Mommy at its helm. Sisterhood
and men’s clubs began to emerge, offering educational and learning programs; my
parents vigorously implemented youth programs, as they keenly understood that
no progress would ever be sustained without engaging the interest of the young.
With the establishment of the Hebrew Day School of Eastern Connecticut, the
landscape of Norwich began to transform. My parents prevailed, despite
considerable opposition, not only in this difficult endeavor but also in
numerous others, as they built a community of note, and continued to inspire
young men and women toward lives of Torah observance.
* * *
Mommy was the
quintessential educator. She was a natural in the classroom. Armed with a wide
array of professional techniques, Mommy utilized her charm, her grace, and her
loving heart to captivate young and old. Her repertoire started with preschool,
and included every age and stage, through adult education.
Everyone warmed to
her; her sincerity was genuine, and her passion never waned. She and Daddy
understood that “B’makom she’ein ish, hishtadel
l’heyos ish –
In a place where there is no one to take charge, one must take charge.” There
was no one else to hold the reins, so they carried the responsibility with
steadfast devotion, with love, and with consistency. They never thought of
themselves first; it was always the needs of others that took precedence –
whether it was “indulging” in a Yom Tov or Shabbos “off” at the home of New York
relatives, something they hardly allowed themselves to do, to not even
attending the aufruf (the calling up
to the Torah) in New York of their very first son-in-law, it was always the
needs of the kehilla first, not their
own personal priorities.
It is hard to imagine anyone, today, rising to
such high standards of personal ethics. Yet they never bragged or complained
about their personal sacrifices. As for us, we never imagined there was any
other way.
In spite of the
fact that she possessed so many gifts in her own right, Mommy’s greatest pride
was her role as Daddy’s wife and steadfast partner. She shared his vision and
his fervor. With Daddy’s persistently positive outlook on people, he could, at
times, be blissfully naïve. Not so, Mommy. She was astute and understood people
and situations clearly for what they were. She had tact and grace. She knew how
to talk to anyone, and her words were always well received, never hurtful or
offensive. This innate wisdom helped her to support Daddy in the oft-
complicated scenarios that were part and parcel of communal life in those
small, far-flung communities across New England. No wonder so many people found
refuge at our home at 18 Pearl Street!
A mixed variety
clamored to be there – young people in search of their roots to students of all
ages seeking learning, guidance, and emotional support. There was frail Mrs.
Goldstein, the lonely widow, who spent countless nights on our playroom couch,
to Bernie, the middle-aged, Downs syndrome neighbor next door, whom Mommy
kindly “babysat” whenever his mother needed to run a few errands.
All types and
stripes of people gravitated to our home, as it was a safe haven, a place where
one could be fully oneself. Every wayfaring “meshulach” (rabbi/fundraiser) knew our address, and Daddy would do
his utmost to help them procure much-needed funds, at a time when money was
scarce for all.
Delicious aromas
were always wafting from the oven, and a Shabbos invitation could be
forthcoming, on the spot, often straight from the synagogue, as Daddy was wont
to do. Daddy, in fact, would frequently invite some of the none-too-stable
Jewish residents of the State mental hospital, where he was a Friday chaplain,
to be Shabbos guests. We never knew who would grace our table each week, and it
didn’t really matter. All were welcomed, embraced, and celebrated, simply for
who they were.
* * *
Our parents loved
life and lived life fully, even as the years marched on. When, after 28 years
in Norwich, Daddy accepted a new position as a rabbi in Malden, Massachusetts,
he never waned in vigor and vim. He managed not only one synagogue but two
edifices, located in opposite parts of Malden, and would energetically manage
the long trek on Shabbos with nary a complaint.
When Russian Jews from the Former Soviet Union began immigrating to
America, Daddy spearheaded the project, and his community sponsored and
“adopted” a dozen such families. This was no small undertaking, and our parents
galvanized the entire community to assist with housing, jobs, and schooling for
the children. Not the least of their concerns was to provide these families
with critical Jewish education, for themselves and for their children.
How proud we were
to see our parents once again fully immersed in mitzvos!
Russian-Hebrew siddurim found their way into the
sanctuary, and Mommy was at her best – instructing the new immigrant women in kashering
their kitchens, learning how to bake challos and a myriad other tasks only a rebbetzin
with a giving heart could begin to undertake.
The Russian women fondly called her “Chanitch’ka,”
turning towards Mommy as a loving, nurturing presence in their lives, embracing
her completely, and seeking her advice in all matters. Until today, these
grateful women have remained part of our lives.
* * *
My parents spent
their “golden” retirement years in Baltimore, Maryland, in close proximity to
my sister, myself, and our respective families. Here, as in every other
location, they endeared themselves to one and all and cultivated rich and
meaningful relationships. Daddy, at last relieved of his myriad communal
responsibilities, was free to become a “yeshiva
mahn” once more, diving into every possible learning option with the
enthusiasm of a young boy, in addition to involving himself in many worthy
community endeavors. Mommy would quip that there was “no shiur (limit) to the shiur
(Torah class)”! Nevertheless, her pride was evident. She imitated him and
followed suit in her own way, becoming a superb “homeschool” morah, servicing her new students with
her trademark excellence, diligence, and commitment to task. She would create
charts and materials to best support the learning of her young charges, many of
whom had struggled in their former school settings, and she managed to capture
their hearts and souls as, for the first time, many of them experienced the
taste of success.
Of course, the
warm hospitality my parents personified repeated itself in Baltimore. Their final
years were blissful, content in their new community, delighted with the flavor
of life in Baltimore, and cherished by all who knew them.
* * *
Mommy – you were
such a role model! How did you do it? Weren’t you lonely? Who held your hand,
all those years out of town, with a handful of real friends, your family far
away, and your children leaving the nest?
I realize the answer: You had Daddy to lean
on, and you trusted Hashem completely to guide the two of you in your holy
work. You loved your children with a passion, and you believed in every single
one of us. We were your treasures, your gifts on this earth, and you told us
so, again and again, over the years. You trained us, early on, to share in your
communal work, to look out for others in need, and to be part of the family
effort on behalf of those less fortunate than ourselves, those uninitiated in
matters of Torah and observance.
Nothing meant more to you than your own
precious home, where you could temporarily drop your many hats and just be yourself.
Whether it was baking up a storm in your cozy kitchen or basking in the glow of
the newly kindled Shabbos candles, home was your haven, the place where you
gathered the energy and strength you so graciously imparted to others.
Mommy, you taught
us everything – how to love Hashem and do His bidding lovingly, how to pray,
slowly and with feeling. You modeled for us how to be loyal and consistent, how
to take responsibility and be leaders, when leadership was necessary. But most
of all, you taught us to love every single Jew – with a love so fundamental, so
authentic, and so real that everyone craved to be in your presence.
You built people
with your love. You saw the good and zeroed in on that, empowering others with
your kindness, and uplifting them with your unfaltering belief in their
essential worthiness.
You cared little
for money or “things.” While they had their place, they never ranked high for
you and Daddy. Instead, you modeled gracious hospitality, love of humanity, and
a sense of idealism and positivity that no glossy magazine or newfangled course
could possibly replicate.
You never thought
you were doing anything special. It was just what you both were – two people
with one mission.
Now that long
stretch of history has unfolded, and it is the end of an era. People have
well-meaningfully informed us that we now have “big shoes” to fill. I don’t
think it is possible to ever fill those shoes. The people who were born and
raised under unyielding circumstances had a resilience and a work ethic few of
us can imitate. But, to be gifted with such lofty role models imposes upon us a
responsibility and a charge we must never renege.
We have work to do
– their work – to emulate, to enhance, and to pass forward to our offspring for
posterity the ideals and life lessons of our blessed forebears.
They lit a torch
of dedication, and they were fully consecrated to that course, until their last
moments. Now it is our charge to carry this torch and pass it on, igniting the
hearts and souls of our offspring with the fire that suffused their lives.
* * *
“Ad heina azarunu rachamecha v’lo azavunu chasadeicha.”
How often would I hear our beloved mother recite these words, with feeling, as
she enunciated aloud the holy words of Nishmas!
“Until now have You sustained us with Your Compassion, and never forsaken us
with Your unlimited Kindness!”
This phrase
encapsulates the life and legacy of our dearly departed mother, a woman who was
forever thankful for everything she had, continuously expressing her gratitude
throughout her long and glorious life.
May the exalted
soul of Chana Golda bas Dovid Noson rise ever higher, and may she, together with
our father, her beloved soulmate, beseech the heavens for the Ultimate
Redemption, when we will again be joyously reunited, with the coming of
Moshiach, speedily, in our days.
