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We may be related....

October 30, 2014

My Mother,
Miriam Tracht was a first cousin with Leon Rechnic. Miriam Passed away at the
age of 91 on Sept 22 this  year before Yontif. I found the book that Rose Rechnic wrote regarding the Holocaust and know that they were cousins.
Please let me know if we are somehow related..
Thanks
Vanessa Cohen
       

My remarks at Dad's funeral service

April 9, 2014

Dad would be so pleased that we’re all here together today. “Togetherness!” he would say.  Togetherness.

Let me add my thanks to all of you on behalf of our family for being here with us and for the incredible love and affection you’ve shown for Dad.  It’s hard to believe how many lives he touched and how many of us loved him.

There’s still a piece of me that truly believes Dad would live forever. And why not?  He seemed to take every curveball that life threw at him, first on his own and then with mom at his side, powering through and making lemonade every time.  Sorry for the mixed metaphor.  You can’t actually make lemonade from curveballs but Dad wouldn’t have minded.  For him it was never about how you talked about something but what you actually did about it.  How you faced each challenge. 

One of those curveballs was actually of his own doing.  A crazy son that always seemed to be taking another road less travelled.  I used to imagine Mom and Dad going into parental executive session and Dad asking her to remind him “exactly what planet is he from again?”

Once Dad and I had lunch at Rattnor’s world-famous kosher deli on the lower east side.  Dad ordered Borscht which he loved with a dollop of sour cream.  When I ordered a roast beef sandwich on white bread!  With mayo!!! Well a lesser man might have been embarrassed or even mortified.  But not Dad.  He just chuckled and shook his head.  It was always the same.  He may not have always understood me but that didn’t matter because he sure loved me. 

When I showed a serious interest in playing the guitar Dad came home one day and handed me a couple of catalogs.  Beautiful shiny new guitars.  He started talking to me about this model versus that model.  He had actually done research! I am reminded of that John Adams quote (I paraphrase here) … I shall wage war so my son can study music.  We picked out a red guitar that I still have today.

I will never forget the time Dad came home from work and found me in the backyard at Nautilus Avenue my childhood home.  I had injured my hand and was unable to play a gig that I’d spent months preparing for.  Emergency room visit number 8 I believe.  Right Mom?  Anyway he approached me and I saw that tears were welling up in his eyes. 

He loved us so much.  An unconditional love the transcended everything.  It didn’t matter that he didn’t know much about music or the law, like my brother, or teaching or social work, like my sister.  If we loved those things then he loved them too. 

There’s an old home movie, B&W, no sound of course.  Dad is hamming it up for the camera.  A real cut-up.  Full of light, full of life.  That clip, maybe 10 seconds long, really speaks to me because it was filmed around 1950 just a handful of years after surviving an unimaginable horror.  

No one would have blamed Dad if he became an angry bitter man after the war.  You don’t survive what he survived without it changing you forever.  But Dad chose a different path.  He chose to use every new day given to him by the almighty and treat it like a brand new beginning.  What a remarkable man.  And that may be his greatest gift to me.  Eric my son (he might say) take whatever life throws at you and turn it into a cool glass of refreshing lemonade. And if you're fortunate enough to actually have a family... well keep them close, hug them often and love them, love them, love them. 

From Faith

February 16, 2014

January 29, 2014

 

Did you know……………

            **he had a brother, 3 sisters, a brother-in-law and a niece

            **he was only 13 when he was separated from his family

            **he was not bar mitzvahed

            **he went back to Poland in 1994 with Mom, Mark, Eric and Peter (I was pregnant with Melanie); they found his father’s gravesite and Dad was able to say Kaddish

            **he lived with Aunt Rose, Uncle Leon, Elaine and Alice when he first arrived in the US

            **my parents dated only 6 months before becoming engaged

            **this March they would have celebrated 64 years together

            **he earned his GED

            **Robyn Elizabeth is named for 2 of his sisters and Peter is named for Dad

            **he was an honorary Thespian for the work he and Mom did on Plainview Kennedy HS plays

            **he went to ice cream college at Penn State with Mark and Dad was elected president of his class of 105 professionals

            **he would wash my hair when I was in middle school

            **he loved Sephardic food and snick-snacks

Mom………

            Thank you for giving us 3 ½ years that wouldn’t have happened without your love and caring.

            We shared……

            **Peter attending law school

            **the birth of Calder

            **Aunt Alice’s 90th birthday party

            **Ben’s engagement

            ** Barry and I buying a house in Virginia

            **many, many visits

Light Cavalry Overture

February 7, 2014
Light Cavalry Overture (see Stories)

Dad regularly recounted the wonderful story when his brother-in-law Harry visited his school and played a fanfare on the trumpet standing high above everyone on a balcony. It was apparently very special.  Dad never forgot it. But we could not identify the song that Harry played.  So I asked Dad to sing it to me which he happily did.  I sent the recording to our music director JoAnn Falletta.  Here is the audio clip and my exchange with JoAnn.

On Sun, Mar 25, 2012 Eric Borenstein wrote:

Hey JoAnn,

My father is always remembering things from his childhood before the war. He tells a story about how his brother-in-law, Harry, came to his school one day and played his trumpet.  He said it was magical. Can you identify the attached fanfare?

As always, thanks so much!

Eric

--------------------------------------------------

FROM JOANN -

Hi Eric,

I just listened while I am waiting for the next flight....

It is von Suppe:   Light Cavalry Overture, a wonderful piece!!

I loved hearing your voices.

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FROM ERIC -

You’re the best JoAnn.

Hearing this again will make him smile.

Safe travels.

--------------------------------------------------

FROM JOANN -

He is very musical....a lovely voice

I am amazed that he remembers the fanfare so clearly.

 

Liberation (retold)

February 4, 2014

Suddenly silence. The usual din of the camp evaporated.  At first no one even noticed.  Years, months, days of mind-numbing labor, starvation and sickness, plus the recent bombing of Dresden, some 10 miles to the west, had made us deaf to the sounds that surrounded us. Nothing mattered. I had long ago lost all hope.  One by one we lifted our heads as the awareness reached each of our ears.  I let my legs drape over the edge of my wooden bunk and drop to the floor.  It was difficult to stand.  No strength.  No emotion.  My ragged stinking prison uniform, much too large for my diminished frame, dragged on the dirt floor as I gathered all my remaining strength to get to the door.  No guards.  No sound.  Timidly, tentatively peeking out the door I saw others cautiously emerging from the other wooden structures.  Buildings that had become filthy tombs for so many.  I stepped over the threshold into the sunlight.  The camp was located on the outskirts of a small Polish town and carved into a wooded area; still the sunlight penetrated what remained of the canopy overhead.  I had long ago stopped looking up at the sky.  Stopped seeing.  Slowly I made my way to the main yard of the camp where others starting to gather.  No guards.  No dogs.  No guns.  I may have been the first to notice or maybe we all noticed at the very same time.  The gates.  The electrified fence that had long existed to keep us separate from the world, separate from our families, from reality, from humanity were… open.  We may have all noticed at the same time but I was the first to move towards them.  No guards.  No sound.  Those who could walk followed me towards the gates.  So cautiously.  So quietly.  I walked right up to the imaginary line in the dirt that had marked the only way in or out of this hell on earth. We exchanged looks.  Then I took one more step and pushed the one gate completely out of our way.  I was on the outside.  Slowly the group started to emerge from its frightened silence.  What did this mean?  What was happening?  Then someone heard something.  Someone else pleaded for everyone to be quiet.  The group fell silent once more.  What they heard could not immediately be identified.  A rhythmic creaking mechanical sound.  But not motorized.  Something in the distance.  We all turned in the direction of the sound.  It was coming towards us and was just beyond the crest in the country road that passed by the camp right outside the gates.  Then we saw it.  First a solitary soldier’s head just coming over the hill.  German?  American? Then his shoulders then we could see it.  A Russian soldier on a creaky old bicycle making his way down the road.  The sound was so incongruous.  In our condition we could not comprehend its source or its meaning.  He was upon us in no time but did not stop. He did slow a bit and flashed a sad look as he passed,  Someone thought that he was crying.   As our attention was focused on the bicycle none of us noticed what seemed like the entire Russian army advancing over the crest of that road.  First soldiers on foot then trucks and tanks.  It was true.  Our nightmare was over.  Freedom. 

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