Page 42 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text
P. 42

Father and Mother



           When I began to know and understand my father, he had a wife
        and six children, all born in the same house on Chernakowsky Street.
        They named the three daughters after ancestors, like all parents do,
        but my parents named the three boys after great men. I was named
        after our great progenitor Abraham, because I was born in the week
        when they read in the scroll in the synagogue the story of the great
        Abraham  when  he  traveled  to  Egypt  from  Canaan  with  his  Sarah.
        And I never begrudged my name: it doesn’t sound bad except when
        abbreviated to Abe. The second son my father named Joseph, when
        he arrived during the reading of the story of Joseph and his brethren.
        The last one to arrive was Benjamin, who came when that tale was
        read. Beside the girls already born before me, Chaia and Hannah, I
        was  my  mother’s  darling  and  Joseph  my  father’s.  My  features  are
        similar  to  my  mother’s  and  Joseph’s  to  my  father’s.  After  my
        sickness, I was pampered by my mother and sisters until more boys
        were born in the family. When Joseph came after my sister Rivka, he
        became  the idol  of my  father and the  rest of us  were  gloomy  and
        jealous.
           My  father  could  read  and  write  in  Yiddish,  Hebrew,  Polish,
        Russian  and  German.  He  transacted  business  in  those  languages,
        writing  petitions  to  court,  applications,  and  other  legal  papers  in
        Russian and Polish. But books were seldom read; not only were they
        a  scarce  commodity,  but  reading  them  was  considered  irreligious,
        putting one in danger of becoming a goy. My father had a bookcase
        with big books like thirty-six volumes of the Talmud, the Five Books
        of  Moses,  the  Midrashim,  and  various  commentaries  and  liturgical
        works—but  not  one  book  of  modern  literature.  Had  he  read  any
        biographical books he probably would have written something about
        himself; it is my regret that he left us no pedigree of our ancestors.
           My  father  had  to  feed  the  family.  To  do  that  he  had  a  bakery
        route,  barely  earning  a  living—like  everyone  else  in  that  country.
        Being in business and meeting people all the time he had to converse,
        and conversation, as Bacon said, is seven-eighths of your education.

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