There it was, tucked deep in a rear corner of the chest of drawers. How could we have missed it? Hadn’t we just completed the final inspection sweep? The discovery rocked us both back on our heels. It also presented a haunting mystery, one we might never solve, but which nevertheless seemed to contain a message, a message from mom.
In the weeks after our mother was laid to rest, my sister I and spent countless hours in the draining task of shifting through and divvying up all the remaining cherished possessions of our parents’ home. They were collectors, making the task overwhelming at times. At long last we believed we were done, but then there it was - in a dark recess, a delicate, covered china dish. Naturally we expected to find yet another bracelet, pair of earrings, brooch, or pin within.
It was none of the above. Inside were several dark ringlets of hair.
Could it possibly be? No way…. But then again ….
There is a tale in family lore which might hold a clue to the mystery. How I learned about the tale is not clear, but somewhere along the journey I did.
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Rachele circa 1946
photo - Joseph Greenfield |
My mother Rachele came of age just after Germany invaded and occupied Poland in 1939. As a young girl during those frightful times, she had long hair, frequently braided and curled in a bun. In her town of Kovel, now part of Ukraine, Jews were regularly being harassed, if not worse. For entertainment troops often enjoyed the spectacle of cutting off beards and hair, the longer, the more beautiful the curls, the greater their sport.
Hearing what Germans were doing, the young Rachele cut off her locks, denying satisfaction to any soldier feeling the need to humiliate. It was an act of resistance which later led me to consider her a member of “The Greatest Generation”. But her way to fight back was unlike that of the men and women profiled in Tom Brokaw’s best seller by the same name. Those men and women used guns and armor in their battle against fascism then returned home, were celebrated, and hit the reset to start life anew. For my mom, she used only her resolve to battle. Then after years as a refugee, she restarted life in a new country, raising a family and creating an always warm, welcoming balabatish* home. She did it while maintaining a good name and solid friendships all over the globe.
But what about the pitch darkness she endured during the Holocaust** and kept locked within? In the ensuing years that bile would periodically erupt onto the surface. Considering the anguish our family experienced during those lows, and the brittleness of my mother’s final years, it was natural to lose sight of an earlier time. And therein lies a segue to the mystery.
Could it be Rachele’s shorn locks were somehow saved and hidden away, perhaps stored in a delicate china dish? Was she sending a message - “remember me not only by what you struggled through of late. I was once young and strong willed. Remember me also as such.”
I know we will.
* balabatish - Quiet; respectable; well mannered, with a touch of elegance and generosity. From the Yiddish balabusta - an expression describing the perfect homemaker, someone who loves to bring family together by cooking and caring for them.
** Holocaust - The internationally recognized date for Holocaust Remembrance Day corresponds to the 27th day of Nissan on the Hebrew calendar. It marks the anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. In Hebrew, Holocaust Remembrance Day is called Yom HaShoah.
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