I know you, Dov Berish Gersten

I see you in my dreams, Dov Berish Gersten. I know you. I never met you, but I know you.

I see you as a young World War I prisoner of war. You are perhaps 25 or 30 years old in the picture. I smile when I gaze at a photo of you as an older, handsomely dressed man standing on the street in your hometown of Czortkow, Poland. I see you, the devoted father of my beloved mother-in-law, Esther. You called her by her Polish name: Tynka. I also had a special name for her — I called her Mom.

My eyes read notes and letters you have written; my hands cradle the exquisitely carved snuff box you chiseled in 1914, as a prisoner of war in Siberia. The box itself is an insignificant piece of wood, but your detailed carvings are intricate and remarkably beautiful. For you, the box was likely a way to pass the time; for me, it is a treasured object in the palm of my hand. My heart beats a little faster when I hold the one treasured item I possess that was yours and yours alone: your elegant gold cufflinks. I cherish the gold pocket watch you gave to my father-in-law, Meyer, when he asked your daughter to marry him.

Get The Jewish Standard Newsletter by email and never miss our top stories Free Sign Up

But what don’t I know? I don’t know your voice, how tall you were, the color of your eyes, how you met your wife, what you liked to read, if you enjoyed your daily work. I do not know the painful details of how you were torn away from your family, stripped of the life that you thought you owned, how you suffered, if you wept, if you still hoped, how you actually died in the Shoah.

Do you hear me? Does your soul sense that I know you? That I loved your daughter, Esther, and her son, my husband, Bruno z”l, who proudly carried your Hebrew name of Dov? Are you comforted when you look down from the heavens and watch your amazing, diverse group of great-great-grandchildren? Do you find solace knowing that two of them — two of my grandsons — also carry your name?

Do you see that you are a part of us still? I know you, Dov Berish Gersten. Does your beautiful soul hear me?

Of course, I knew from your daughter, Esther, about your two sons. Shmuel, whom you called Salo, was murdered in the Shoah. His brother was Yitzchak, whose Polish name was Isio. He survived the war, returned to his hometown, and died many years later. I always believed that Esther lived her whole life after the Holocaust with a quiet sadness that filled a large portion of her soul. Joy was never complete. Missing you, missing her mother, missing her brothers, missing the life she had.

Bruno and I thought that if we ever had a son, it would bring her some comfort if we named him after her two brothers. Perhaps God agreed with us, and so He blessed us with a son, born on the 20th of Cheshvan, who was given the name Shmuel Yitzchak at his bris. We knew that your Salo was married but had no children. Now, we thought, his name will be carried forward. You remember watching, yes? I never really knew if this act of kindness brought your daughter Esther the comfort we prayed for. I do hope so. What I do know is that she lovingly called my son Shmuel Mulinu, in a way that always reminded me of how she called her beloved son Bruno Duninu.

One day I paid closer attention to the yahrzeit reminder of your son Salo, which began coming to us in the mail after both Esther and Meyer had died. I could not believe what I saw. At first, I thought I must have read the card incorrectly. But no, your dear son’s date of death (though perhaps it was the date the Nazis took him away) was the very same as our beloved son’s date of birth: the 20th of Cheshvan. No coincidences in life, you surely will agree. Everything comes to us from the Almighty. And it is clear, my dear Dov Berish, that we are inextricably connected.

Of course, so many pieces of my life bring me closer to you. You surely remember that I have already danced at the weddings of two beloved Israeli grandsons. Of course you know this, as I am sure you watched from above. I flew to Israel this past November for a third grandson’s wedding, the wedding of your great-great-grandson Dov Betzalel. Another precious Dov. Perhaps it surprises you to hear that you are an integral piece of the story — you and of course my beloved Bruno. Proof that our past belongs to our present.

Some weeks before the wedding, two small packages were delivered to my house, ordered by Dov Betzalel. Amazon Prime and UPS packages at the front door are a modern-day phenomenon that no doubt amuses you. Even I sometimes marvel at the efficiency and satisfaction of the entire process. In Dov Betzalel’s package were two different sets of inexpensive cufflinks. Aahhh, I thought, my first grandson to wear a cuffed shirt to his wedding. I sent him photos of his two purchases and then thought to mention that I actually had two sets of silver cufflinks that belonged to Bruno, my husband, your grandson, and Dov Betzalel’s namesake. Perhaps he would be interested in wearing a set to his wedding.

But then I remembered one other set of cufflinks that were safely kept in a small purple velvet bag in my safe deposit box in the bank. Your cufflinks, Dov Berish. Your cufflinks that your daughter Esther hid for safekeeping during the war and brought to America after the Shoah. Jewelry you touched, jewelry I hope you wore with pleasure. Fourteen karat gold, delicate, beautiful, unusually designed, with a small emerald in each center. Not worn by anyone since you wore them, Dov Berish. Waiting perhaps 85 or 90 years for the precious opportunity to adorn the dress shirt of a suitable young man in our family. Another Dov.

So I took them out of the safe and sent a photo to our Dov Betzalel. Surely you are not surprised to hear that he loved them. And so I brought them to Israel to complete the outfit of our beloved chatan on his wedding day. His face lit up when he saw them. “They’re beautiful and so delicate,” Dov Betzalel realized when he held them in his hands. And then he echoed my thoughts. “I think I’ll take them off for the dancing.” I smiled, and with some relief, wholeheartedly agreed.

But then his amazing soon-to-be wife, whose name is Kayla, sent him a small package the night before the wedding, which included a beautiful pair of cufflinks for her soon-to-be husband. Dov Betzalel knew precisely what to do. He decided that he would wear Kayla’s gift before and after the marriage ceremony and would save yours for when he stood under the chuppah.

And, oh, what a magical chuppah it was on that chilly December evening. Above us was a clear Jerusalem night sky; the front of the chuppah was bedecked with attractive, colorful flowers. And despite the chill, I felt the joyful warmth of so much of my family surrounding me, while my eyes were fixated on the chuppah ceremony in front of me. Generations danced within my emotional heart, for there was Dov Betzalel wearing his great-great-grandfather’s cufflinks, your cufflinks, Dov Beresh, while he and his stunning Kayla stood beneath the tallis of his zaidie, whose Hebrew name of Dov is the remarkable middle link in this family chain. Soul-stirring.

I felt Bruno’s presence. Were you and Bruno standing together in the heavens watching? Was he pleased to be remembered at such an auspicious moment? Did both of you feel the magic? Yet within the magic, was there sadness? Was Bruno smiling? Was he crying?

And our chatan? How do I describe him? In some ways, Dov Betzalel is precisely what his Hebrew initials spell out: daled, bet, shin. Devash: the Hebrew word for honey. A special sweetness is part of his personality. But he is much more: kind, smart, thoughtful, religious, handsome, inquisitive, perceptive. Born on the 25th of Elul, the Hebrew date that the world was created, he arrived five days before Rosh Hashanah. I imagine that on that date Hashem must have decided that the world needed such a person. The Almighty’s master plan, a gift for our family that the sweetness we pray for in our Rosh Hashanah prayers comes in all forms and events. A sweetness in this baby, now a grown young man who, like honey, will never spoil.

Completing the picture is Kayla, our stunning bride. Have you and Bruno been watching over her as well? She, like one of the meanings of her name, is the “crown of laurels,” a symbol of honor and victory. A name that encompasses a sense of majesty and positivity. She is the smart, beautiful, stately, sweet, perfect match to be my grandson’s life partner. No coincidences in life. Hashem’s plan, carefully crafted.

And now, almost two months later, with the trip a cherished recent memory, my heart is still filled with the joy of the wedding in general and the couple specifically. I share with you my love of the words of the last prayer recited under the chuppah. “Blessed are You, Hashem, our God, King of the universe, Who created joy and gladness, groom and bride, mirth, glad song, pleasure, delight, love, brotherhood, peace, and companionship.”

Look where the groom and bride are placed in this amazing list. Not first, not last, but right in the middle. That positioning reminds us of the Almighty’s purposefulness in gifting the world with the love between a bride and groom in the midst of other remarkable, diverse treasures of happiness and friendship. How remarkable it is to imagine that the marriage of our Dov Betzalel and Kayla has the power to be a valuable component in the process of sweetening and bettering the world. Is it truly possible that these two young people together are the link to the very best kind of world Hashem wants for His people? Of course it’s possible. No coincidence here; it is His amazing plan.

And no matter what life brings, I hear the music of this hopeful, joyful possibility not just in the “cities of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem,” as the prayer states, but in my soul no matter where I am. You hear it also, Dov Berish Gersten. I know you do. I know because I share my dreams with you.

And one final thought. My heart assures me that you, with my beloved Bruno by your side, are watching over Dov Betzalel and Kayla, as well as all my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. They belong to you just as they belong to me. In my daytime reveries and my nighttime dreams, I see you, Dov Berish Gersten. I know you and I cherish you. You are a part of me always.