I learned more as a child growing up in this building at 1310 Avenue R in Brooklyn than anywhere else since. As in this tale of the Oppressed and the Oppressors.
I lived in apartment 2H across from Mr.and Mrs. Gold; two Orthodox Jews who left Germany just in the nick of time. The rest of their respective families were not so lucky. They did not survive.
Down the hall from us both lived the building's Superintendent and his wife; Mr. And Mrs. John Bucholtz. What makes this even more remarkable is that he was an ex Nazi soldier who was captured and imprisoned in North Carolina. At the end of the war he was allowed to stay, and bought his wife over. He became Superintendent of 1310 Avenue R. in 1961 when the building was just completed.
Every year at Rosh Hashanah the building, with it's 7 floors and 72 apartments, was filled with the smells of all the holiday cooking. All Kosher, as most of the building, with few exceptions, was Jewish.
Mrs. Bucholtz was an excellent cook herself, but not being Jewish was not involved in the preparations for any of the holidays. This story concerns Rosh Hashanah when I was about 11 years old.
Mr. Gold was a wise man. He frequently took me on walks to the western side of Coney Island Avenue, which was heavily Orthodox. He did this for a reason. He would bring things, mostly envelopes containing cash, and point to a particular brick home and instruct me to ring the bell, hand the envelopes to whoever answered, and never divulge his name.
He explained to me that this was a Mitzvah, something his religion required him to perform. Charity without vanity if you will. At 9 years old this made no sense, but I enjoyed the walks, the talks, and of course the $1 he always gave me for my help. I now know better and should never have taken the money, but $1 back then went a long way at the candy store, where it invariably went.
These Mitzvah's continued until I turned 13. After my Bar Mitzvah the walks, talks and deliveries continued, but without recompense. As an adult it was now expected of me to help perform these deeds, which were not very difficult. Besides, if you knew Mr. Gold, it was a pleasure just to be with him, walking and talking.
Now, back to Rosh Hashanah 1965 when I was about 11. The mercurial nature of the Hebrew calendar and the shifting dates of the holidays, make it impossible for me to tell you if it was before or after my birthday, which is also in the fall.
Mrs. Bucholtz was driven that year, more than ever, to help Mrs.Gold with the holiday preparations for the Rosh Hashanah feast. But Mrs. Gold was rigidly Kosher. And so the wisdom of Mr. Gold entered the picture.
Taking Mrs. Gold aside he explained to her the torment that Mrs. Bucholtz endured from the exclusion she surely felt at each holiday of the year. He also explained that it was his duty, as a Jew, to relieve her suffering. What could Mrs. Gold do except to go along with her husband's plan?
He went down the hall and explained to Mrs. Bucholtz that, while she could not provide anything to help, she could use her hands as an instrument in helping Mrs. Gold in the kitchen. And so the miracle was performed. Cooked up might be a better way of saying it; pun intended.
And so it came to pass that Mrs. Bucholtz proudly entered the Gold's apartment, and Mrs. Gold's kitchen, the barrier to which was one that even Mr. Gold respected, and he performed what I now know to be a miracle Mitzvah.
Lovingly taking her by the hands, the twinkle in his eyes in direct contrast to the aphrehension in Mrs. Gold's eyes, he lead her to the sink and washed her hands with that red and blue Kosher soap, which was used for the meat or dairy dishes, and recited a blessing in Hebrew. He explained to both women that Mrs. Bucholtz' hands were now as Kosher as Mrs. Gold's kitchen, thus allowing her to assist in the preparation of the holiday meal.
And so it came to pass, that on the first night of Rosh Hashanah 1965, the Oppressed and the Oppressor, became one. And to a boy of 11 the miracle of forgiveness was imparted.
I lived in apartment 2H across from Mr.and Mrs. Gold; two Orthodox Jews who left Germany just in the nick of time. The rest of their respective families were not so lucky. They did not survive.
Down the hall from us both lived the building's Superintendent and his wife; Mr. And Mrs. John Bucholtz. What makes this even more remarkable is that he was an ex Nazi soldier who was captured and imprisoned in North Carolina. At the end of the war he was allowed to stay, and bought his wife over. He became Superintendent of 1310 Avenue R. in 1961 when the building was just completed.
Every year at Rosh Hashanah the building, with it's 7 floors and 72 apartments, was filled with the smells of all the holiday cooking. All Kosher, as most of the building, with few exceptions, was Jewish.
Mrs. Bucholtz was an excellent cook herself, but not being Jewish was not involved in the preparations for any of the holidays. This story concerns Rosh Hashanah when I was about 11 years old.
Mr. Gold was a wise man. He frequently took me on walks to the western side of Coney Island Avenue, which was heavily Orthodox. He did this for a reason. He would bring things, mostly envelopes containing cash, and point to a particular brick home and instruct me to ring the bell, hand the envelopes to whoever answered, and never divulge his name.
He explained to me that this was a Mitzvah, something his religion required him to perform. Charity without vanity if you will. At 9 years old this made no sense, but I enjoyed the walks, the talks, and of course the $1 he always gave me for my help. I now know better and should never have taken the money, but $1 back then went a long way at the candy store, where it invariably went.
These Mitzvah's continued until I turned 13. After my Bar Mitzvah the walks, talks and deliveries continued, but without recompense. As an adult it was now expected of me to help perform these deeds, which were not very difficult. Besides, if you knew Mr. Gold, it was a pleasure just to be with him, walking and talking.
Now, back to Rosh Hashanah 1965 when I was about 11. The mercurial nature of the Hebrew calendar and the shifting dates of the holidays, make it impossible for me to tell you if it was before or after my birthday, which is also in the fall.
Mrs. Bucholtz was driven that year, more than ever, to help Mrs.Gold with the holiday preparations for the Rosh Hashanah feast. But Mrs. Gold was rigidly Kosher. And so the wisdom of Mr. Gold entered the picture.
Taking Mrs. Gold aside he explained to her the torment that Mrs. Bucholtz endured from the exclusion she surely felt at each holiday of the year. He also explained that it was his duty, as a Jew, to relieve her suffering. What could Mrs. Gold do except to go along with her husband's plan?
He went down the hall and explained to Mrs. Bucholtz that, while she could not provide anything to help, she could use her hands as an instrument in helping Mrs. Gold in the kitchen. And so the miracle was performed. Cooked up might be a better way of saying it; pun intended.
And so it came to pass that Mrs. Bucholtz proudly entered the Gold's apartment, and Mrs. Gold's kitchen, the barrier to which was one that even Mr. Gold respected, and he performed what I now know to be a miracle Mitzvah.
Lovingly taking her by the hands, the twinkle in his eyes in direct contrast to the aphrehension in Mrs. Gold's eyes, he lead her to the sink and washed her hands with that red and blue Kosher soap, which was used for the meat or dairy dishes, and recited a blessing in Hebrew. He explained to both women that Mrs. Bucholtz' hands were now as Kosher as Mrs. Gold's kitchen, thus allowing her to assist in the preparation of the holiday meal.
And so it came to pass, that on the first night of Rosh Hashanah 1965, the Oppressed and the Oppressor, became one. And to a boy of 11 the miracle of forgiveness was imparted.
What a wonderful story. Thank you for sharing Mr. Gold's wisdom and generosity.
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