From The Bimah: Jewish Lessons For Life

There’s a story that lurks in our family lore. I don’t remember anyone ever telling it outright. But it was there. Fuzzy around the edges. Bleeding into every day. When my grandfather was very young, his father died tragically. He went duck hunting, got pneumonia, and, without antibiotics, the infection quickly took his life. My great-grandmother was not only broken-hearted, but also understandably terrified about her future. It was 1927. Women didn’t work outside the home except under serious duress. There were no federally funded social safety nets (FDR’s New Deal including aid for dependent children wouldn’t come for another eight years). Without her husband, my great-grandmother had no idea how she and her young son would survive. My grandfather remembered her anger, her fury that no one stepped up to help her in the ways that she needed, following her husband's sudden passing. She was so upset that she cut off contact with her family. My great-grandmother became a schoolteacher. She was disc