Unfinished Business – A Passover Story
NORTH SHORE TOWERS CARES FOR THE NEEDY
BY BEVERLY BORD
Last month, Arlene Greenwood and I,
co-chairpersons of North Shore Towers
Cares for the Needy, celebrated
our first successful year of partnership with
Commonpoint Queens. We are most thankful
for the generous donations of essential daily
items donated month-by-month by North Shore
Towers’ residents. February donations of dental
products were brisk and all three buildings won
the competition for which building donated the
most.
Now for more news…Commonpoint Queens’
innovative workforce, the Hub, had been
scheduled to open in Elmhurst, Queens, this
spring. Although the opening is delayed due
to the current coronavirus crisis, when it does
open it will provide a 10,000 square-foot, onestop
social service center that will more than
double the number of people Commonpoint
Queens is able to provide services for. This
notable project is funded by UJA-Federation
of New York and brings together an array of
dedicated partners.
At the Hub, people will be trained in highgrowth
careers, placed in meaningful jobs,
experience real-life work experiences through
Commonpoint Queens’ internship programs,
and receive food so that no one goes to bed
hungry. In the community surrounding the
Hub, more than half of all children live in
households that are below or near the poverty
level (Citizen’s Committee for Children
of New York, 2017). It is also home to one of
the most culturally diverse populations in the
United States.
Uniting together--Commonpoint Queens,
the funding of the UJA-Federation of New
York, and donations from people in our
community--will ensure that no one is kept
from their dreams: a job paying a living wage,
graduating from high school or providing food
for their family.
Commonpoint Queens will be excited to
take you on a tour of the new Hub when it
finally opens. Stay tuned for more information.
In the meantime, we are forced to suspend
the collection of donations for Commonpoint
until further notice. We will be back up and
running as soon as possible. Thank you again
for your generosity. Stay well!
Passed Over
BY VICKI MAZEL
I’m going through a real psychosis
My body is starting to crave Charoses,
While my appetite is full of curbs,
I’m really missing the bitter herbs.
Anyone have some good suggestions
How to replace the classic four questions?
Minus matzo is really the pits,
And what about beloved Manischevitz?
We dream about each special dish,
Savoring Mrs. Adler’s gefulte fish.
No talking about our people roaming,
No looking for the Afikomen.
“Where’s the brisket?” cries the maidel
“Where’s the chicken soup with knaidel?”
So much is missing, so much to say,
That we can’t celebrate this holiday.
We all have to put things on hold,
And do the things that we are told,
But you want to know something funny?
I’m also missing the Easter Bunny!
We’re all walking around in a cloudy haze,
Waiting to hear good news and better days,
Let the time pass and let fears fade,
In the meantime I’ll just walk the arcade.
BY IRENE FRANK
Aunt Mary came from Boca,
Aunt Yetta came from Baltimore,
Uncle Louie came
from Los Angeles, Uncle Julius
came from Flushing. The welldressed
and assimilated siblings
gathered around the Passover table
Jaden with familiar holiday staples
to remind us of our ancestors’ trials
and tribulations and to push for the
continuity of our traditions.
I knew this Seder was going
to be the last of such gatherings
at mom’s house as her health
was failing. Wanting to make it
a special and memorable occasion,
I had decided to place a
tape recorder in the middle of the
table and encourage my relatives
to speak of their lives in the old
country. For some reason that
I never understood, they rarely
told us about life in Poland and
Russia before they immigrated to
the United States. I wanted their
stories for the edification of future
generations of the Mishne clan.
The first to speak was the oldest
sister Yetta, often referred to as
the witch by the youngsters in the
family. She leaned forward, getting
her mouth very close to the microphone.
With slow and measured
words, she began. “The night
before papa left for America he
came to my room and put thirty
kopecks in my hand and said,
‘You are the smartest one in the
family and I know you are going
to become a famous bookkeeper
in the United States.’”
As soon as the last word was
uttered, her younger brother Louie
screamed, “Papa told you that you
were the smartest in the family?
You were the oldest but not the
smartest. I was.”
My mother, the Pearl Mesta of
Kew Gardens Hills, nearly dropped
the plate of gefilte fish as she ran
into the dining room. With tears in
her eyes she cried, “He gave you
thirty kopeks? He had no money.
He was a rabbi without a congregation
and mama was the one who
made wigs and wine so we could
live. I don’t believe you.”
Tiny Aunt Mary
pointed her finger accusingly at
her brothers and sister and hissed
into the machine, “Ya know why
I’m so short? Mama would attach
a wooden yoke onto my shoulders
and I had to go to the well and carry
the pails of water to the house so
that YOU could have a hot meal
before school. I had to stay home
to help mama.” Uncle Julius, who
didn’t believe in God, said very
quietly into the recorder, “You were
not smart enough to go to school.”
The crying, the screaming and
the hissing created an unbelievable
cacophony that I shall remember
forever. These people, who pronounced
their love and devotion
throughout their lives, at long last
spoke words of anger and envy,
the very essence of sibling rivalry,
which I guess continues until
death do us part.
I pulled the black box, the harbinger
of truth, and hid it under the
table, declaring, “Who cares what
happened a hundred years ago.
Let’s start the Seder. I’m starving.”
28 NORTH SHORE TOWERS COURIER ¢ April 2020