Page 49 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text

Moshe Itzel and his brood

On my father’s side, my grandfather was Moshe Isaac Rothstein.
His wife, my grandmother, Chaia Ita, I never saw. She died before I
was born. My mother told me she was very pleasant, a complete
contrast to my grandfather. He had no income except the rent he
collected from a few tenants. He also planted beans, cucumbers and
other vegetables, some of which he sold; the rest were eaten by the
goats or the worms. He watched very closely that none of his
children or grandchildren would steal any of those vegetables. In the
community he was called Moshe Itzel, sort of an abbreviation. He
was a prominent man, and being his grandson, I was honored by
adding his names to mine; this also helped distinguish me from the
many other Abrahams living in Pelcovizna. Since my father had also a
certain prominence earned by his own good deeds, I then had the
good fortune to have his name as appendage, too, although he had
two names, Israel as well as David. So I was known to all people as
Abraham David Moshe Itzel, and with those added names I was well-
treated by my Jewish brethren. In the synagogue I was honored with
the scroll-reading on a Saturday or an occasion like Simchas Torah,
and of course many a father and mother eyed me as a match for their
growing-up daughters—especially as I made good as a learned young
Talmudist.
When I first learned to talk to my grandfather Moshe Itzel, he was
already past fifty years of age and gray. He was not well, which
produced seriousness and little talk. He very seldom showed any
affection for me or the rest of the children. He was of powerful
build, tall with broad shoulders. His complexion was nice and his
broad gray beard made him look like a general. And general he was,
for he commanded his sons and daughters and grandchildren with
the sternness of a satrap of olden times. In his old age he had asthma
and could not at times breathe. His head thrown backwards, his
mouth open like a bellows, I could hear him loudly breathing until he
found relief. Then his head would hang down from grief and
exhaustion while he leaned on his cane.

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