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My mother sent me, my brother, and our cousins a copy of the eulogy she wrote for my aunt Lea. I'm putting it behind a cut, mostly because it's long, but also CW mention of the Holocaust:
In the last few days several women friends who have contacted me to offer condolences have said there is a unique bond between sisters that does not exist in other relationships. This special relationship starts in childhood, and it was true for us even though the Holocaust kept us apart for years until we all moved to Ocean Parkway when Lea was ten and I was 15.
Lea’s clearest memory of the years in France was when Ruth and I were unexpectedly chosen to join the Kindertransport to America and our mother refused to let her come too, because she felt that at 4 ½ Lea was too young to be separated from her mother. In the photograph for which some of the children posed just before our departure, Lea jumped in just before the camera clicked. She stands in the front row grinning happily. I think it was not only Lea being mischievous but also Lea pretending to herself that she was actually going to America with her sisters.
For two years from 1942 until liberation Lea was a hidden child witnessing atrocities no seven-year old child should see. She had no memory of this time and reasonably never wanted to know. We know some of what happened only because after liberation, she gave her memories to our mother.
Lea was brilliant and she was precocious, as shown by the grammatically correct letters in perfect French she wrote while she was hidden in the convent, which were surreptitiously delivered to our mother in Gurs.
A few years later her outstanding mind was evident again when she graduated from PS 99 at the end of eighth grade. She won every single academic prize that was available to the graduating students. In my mind Lea’s greatest achievement was winning the sewing prize. Thirteen-year-old girls had spent months sewing dresses. Shortly before graduation the dresses were hung on a rack and judges looking for the best dress chose Lea’s because hers was the only one not produced on a sewing machine but had been carefully and evenly stitched by hand. The machines were standard equipment in many homes, but we were still too poor to afford one. I thought this prize was hilarious and wonderful, and it surprised me that Lea didn’t remember this success.
When the family was reunited in New York our parents had no knowledge of life in America and there were occasions when Ruth and I would explain or defend what our little sister wanted to do.
A major argument took place when Lea announced that she wanted to go away to college to which our parents strenuously objected. Not only did they not like the idea of her living away from home; There was also the cost. She had applied to Brandeis, was acceped and offered a half scholarship. While Ruth and I worked full time after graduation and went to college at night, finances had improved and Lea could go to Brooklyn Collee during the day.
Then one day Lea came home from Midwood High School and announced that a classmate who had also been accepted to Brandeis with a similar offer visited the college with her father and came back with a full scholarship. I took a day off from work and Lea and took the train to visit the Brandeis admission office. When Lea indicated she wanted to major in science, funds were found that would cover 100% of her tuition and also room and board for her freshman year. Still opposed father said, “Suppose the scholarship wasn’t renewed."
“Of course it will be,” I said. “This is your brilliant daughter.” And so it was, for four years. One of my most treasured photographs is of Lea, Ruth and me standing on a Brandeis lawn following Lea’s commencement.
She married Michael and they moved into a railroad apartment on the top floor of a walk up building on Avenue B and East Third Street. It was 1958, years before gentrification. There was no bathroom and only a kitchen sink. When I saw it, I was horrified. I remember telling Lea I had always supported her, but not this time. I was not going to praise this apartment to our parents.
When she moved to the Midwest with Michael, they did something totally unknown in our family. They got a dog, but not just a normal pet. They acquired a large Irish wolfhound that Anne was able to ride comfortably when she was about two. At one time they had three Irish wolfhounds. A year or two ago, Lea called me an outlier in the family, but at least with the dog menagerie, it was Lea who was the outlier.
Lea’s address on her retirement from the presidency of the International Society of Protistologists details her brilliant academic success. I knew about the research she regularly undertook in the summer, but was still in awe when I learned of the great number of her published scientific papers listed in her speech.
After I moved to London thirty years ago, Lea’s 24th Street apartment became my second home. At least twice a year I moved in for almost a week. The bed in Anne’s room was always made up for me when I arrived. She and Dave stopped using butter years ago, but there was always butter for me to put on my toast. I used to accompany Lea to Shakespeare as Bob Jones’ Friday class was known. Lea always had interesting comments or questions, and her fellow students expected this from her. When Bob posed a question to the class, it was Lea who usually came up with the answer.
Lea never put into words why she hated to go shopping. Ruth on the other hand enjoyed it, knew good quality and also what would fit Lea. Problem solved until Ruth was no longer able to shop and I did my best to fill the gap. Once I arranged for a personal shopper in Macy’s for Lea, Janet and me, and Lea actually enjoyed having clothes brought to her. I had also discovered Talbots, a store that offers a large selection of petite sizes. Several times I managed to persuade Lea to come with me. More often than not, she refused, so I would buy T-shirts and trousers for her. Lea’s taste was surprisingly conservatives. She rejected tops with interesting patterns, and styles with that little bit of extra.
Furniture shopping was anathema to her. Years ago she hired a decorator who furnished 24th Street. She happily inherited some of my furniture when I moved to London, but nothing lasts forever. Twice in the thirty years I stayed with Lea on 24th Street, we went furniture shopping. The first time we bought the blue couch, and while in the huge furniture showroom she made an impulse buy, the stand that holds the Oxford English dictionary. On the second furniture shopping trip she found two chairs she thought would work well in the R living room, and then surprised me and perhaps herself by also buying two identical chairs for the other living room that she and Dave sat in watching TV many evenings.
I will be forever grateful to Anne for arranging my Zoom visit to Lea’s hospital room six days before we lost her. She needed a large oxygen mask to enable her to breathe. It covered her face and made it impossible for her to talk. So I was prepared to have a one way conversation. That’s not what happened. Propped up in bed, Lea waved when I greeted her. Then to each bit of news I gave her she stretched out her arms and happily clapped her hands-- two or even three times. I felt such interest, warmth and enthusiasm from her moving hands that it was not a one way conversation at all. I ceased to be aware of her oxygen mask and all the equipment in the room that was keeping her alive. We were together, chatting easily as we had always done.
It’s dawned on me that I never said I love you to my brilliant, kind and fun-loving little sister, but love her I did and will always.
In the last few days several women friends who have contacted me to offer condolences have said there is a unique bond between sisters that does not exist in other relationships. This special relationship starts in childhood, and it was true for us even though the Holocaust kept us apart for years until we all moved to Ocean Parkway when Lea was ten and I was 15.
Lea’s clearest memory of the years in France was when Ruth and I were unexpectedly chosen to join the Kindertransport to America and our mother refused to let her come too, because she felt that at 4 ½ Lea was too young to be separated from her mother. In the photograph for which some of the children posed just before our departure, Lea jumped in just before the camera clicked. She stands in the front row grinning happily. I think it was not only Lea being mischievous but also Lea pretending to herself that she was actually going to America with her sisters.
For two years from 1942 until liberation Lea was a hidden child witnessing atrocities no seven-year old child should see. She had no memory of this time and reasonably never wanted to know. We know some of what happened only because after liberation, she gave her memories to our mother.
Lea was brilliant and she was precocious, as shown by the grammatically correct letters in perfect French she wrote while she was hidden in the convent, which were surreptitiously delivered to our mother in Gurs.
A few years later her outstanding mind was evident again when she graduated from PS 99 at the end of eighth grade. She won every single academic prize that was available to the graduating students. In my mind Lea’s greatest achievement was winning the sewing prize. Thirteen-year-old girls had spent months sewing dresses. Shortly before graduation the dresses were hung on a rack and judges looking for the best dress chose Lea’s because hers was the only one not produced on a sewing machine but had been carefully and evenly stitched by hand. The machines were standard equipment in many homes, but we were still too poor to afford one. I thought this prize was hilarious and wonderful, and it surprised me that Lea didn’t remember this success.
When the family was reunited in New York our parents had no knowledge of life in America and there were occasions when Ruth and I would explain or defend what our little sister wanted to do.
A major argument took place when Lea announced that she wanted to go away to college to which our parents strenuously objected. Not only did they not like the idea of her living away from home; There was also the cost. She had applied to Brandeis, was acceped and offered a half scholarship. While Ruth and I worked full time after graduation and went to college at night, finances had improved and Lea could go to Brooklyn Collee during the day.
Then one day Lea came home from Midwood High School and announced that a classmate who had also been accepted to Brandeis with a similar offer visited the college with her father and came back with a full scholarship. I took a day off from work and Lea and took the train to visit the Brandeis admission office. When Lea indicated she wanted to major in science, funds were found that would cover 100% of her tuition and also room and board for her freshman year. Still opposed father said, “Suppose the scholarship wasn’t renewed."
“Of course it will be,” I said. “This is your brilliant daughter.” And so it was, for four years. One of my most treasured photographs is of Lea, Ruth and me standing on a Brandeis lawn following Lea’s commencement.
She married Michael and they moved into a railroad apartment on the top floor of a walk up building on Avenue B and East Third Street. It was 1958, years before gentrification. There was no bathroom and only a kitchen sink. When I saw it, I was horrified. I remember telling Lea I had always supported her, but not this time. I was not going to praise this apartment to our parents.
When she moved to the Midwest with Michael, they did something totally unknown in our family. They got a dog, but not just a normal pet. They acquired a large Irish wolfhound that Anne was able to ride comfortably when she was about two. At one time they had three Irish wolfhounds. A year or two ago, Lea called me an outlier in the family, but at least with the dog menagerie, it was Lea who was the outlier.
Lea’s address on her retirement from the presidency of the International Society of Protistologists details her brilliant academic success. I knew about the research she regularly undertook in the summer, but was still in awe when I learned of the great number of her published scientific papers listed in her speech.
After I moved to London thirty years ago, Lea’s 24th Street apartment became my second home. At least twice a year I moved in for almost a week. The bed in Anne’s room was always made up for me when I arrived. She and Dave stopped using butter years ago, but there was always butter for me to put on my toast. I used to accompany Lea to Shakespeare as Bob Jones’ Friday class was known. Lea always had interesting comments or questions, and her fellow students expected this from her. When Bob posed a question to the class, it was Lea who usually came up with the answer.
Lea never put into words why she hated to go shopping. Ruth on the other hand enjoyed it, knew good quality and also what would fit Lea. Problem solved until Ruth was no longer able to shop and I did my best to fill the gap. Once I arranged for a personal shopper in Macy’s for Lea, Janet and me, and Lea actually enjoyed having clothes brought to her. I had also discovered Talbots, a store that offers a large selection of petite sizes. Several times I managed to persuade Lea to come with me. More often than not, she refused, so I would buy T-shirts and trousers for her. Lea’s taste was surprisingly conservatives. She rejected tops with interesting patterns, and styles with that little bit of extra.
Furniture shopping was anathema to her. Years ago she hired a decorator who furnished 24th Street. She happily inherited some of my furniture when I moved to London, but nothing lasts forever. Twice in the thirty years I stayed with Lea on 24th Street, we went furniture shopping. The first time we bought the blue couch, and while in the huge furniture showroom she made an impulse buy, the stand that holds the Oxford English dictionary. On the second furniture shopping trip she found two chairs she thought would work well in the R living room, and then surprised me and perhaps herself by also buying two identical chairs for the other living room that she and Dave sat in watching TV many evenings.
I will be forever grateful to Anne for arranging my Zoom visit to Lea’s hospital room six days before we lost her. She needed a large oxygen mask to enable her to breathe. It covered her face and made it impossible for her to talk. So I was prepared to have a one way conversation. That’s not what happened. Propped up in bed, Lea waved when I greeted her. Then to each bit of news I gave her she stretched out her arms and happily clapped her hands-- two or even three times. I felt such interest, warmth and enthusiasm from her moving hands that it was not a one way conversation at all. I ceased to be aware of her oxygen mask and all the equipment in the room that was keeping her alive. We were together, chatting easily as we had always done.
It’s dawned on me that I never said I love you to my brilliant, kind and fun-loving little sister, but love her I did and will always.