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3 Tammuz 5762 - June 13, 2002 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family
Tante Dvoireh
by Anni Rephun Fruchter

Four sisters had Mutti, each one a gem. Ziviya, the oldest, was born in Kolbuszowa during the reign of the Austrian- Hungarian empire. When I met her in 1929, it was Poland. When I think of her, I remember her as a tall and stately grandmother, well-dressed and graceful.

When we arrived in America from Germany in 1937, I met the other three sisters: Tante Dvoireh, Aunt Chanshe and Aunt Raisel.

Dvoireh was the plainest looking of her sisters, yet when her generous eyes came to rest upon someone, they radiated the tranquility of her heart. "Sheker hachein" was the thought that struck me at our first meeting. Soon I learned that she glowed with a strong, profound love of Yiddishkeit. Her personality was gentle and pleasant. Her kindness reached out to all those she could help. It was easy to love and admire her.

In spite of her wit and her ability to accept her hard life with humor, she was overshadowed with sadness. With good reason. When she was in her teens, her father, my grandfather Osher Yeshaya, lost the two forests he owned with a partner. He had to sell their fine two-story home and the family moved to a ramshackle old building near a small stream. No one had lived in this shack for years and it was rumored to be inhabited by sheidim.

The family was very poor now and Dvoireh had to be sent as a household help with a family in a nearby town. When she returned home for Yom Tov, her mother was horrified to see black and blue marks on her arms. Her mistress had treated her unkindly and Dvoireh's mother cried, "Vay is mir that I sent a child to be a servant!" Her father sent one of the brothers to collect her wages and to tell the family that Dvoireh would not be returning.

Many families in those days sent their children to America in the hope that they would have a better life, and several months later, Dvoireh left for New York to the home of distant relatives.

A storm arose during the voyage and Dvoireh arrived weakened and depleted. She was immediately told that in America it was essential to know how to wash sheets and blankets, towels and clothing. A large pile of laundry had been accumulated for her to do. "After you finish, you can eat," she was told.

That night she slept on the bare kitchen floor. The next day she rose early, washed neigelvasser and went down the street looking for some religious-looking woman whom she could ask for directions to a Rov, since she needed advice.

Luck was with her. The third woman she asked told Dvoireh that her husband was a dayan and invited her to come with her. When retelling her story, at this point my aunt would always remark, "The dayan appeared to me like an angel of Hashem. First the wife served us breakfast. Afterwards, the dayan asked how he could help. At first, I couldn't talk, only cry. When I told him I was looking for work as household help, he found me a job with a fine, frum family- beginning the next day."

Here her qualities and ability were respected and appreciated. Dvoireh was given her own room off the kitchen and lived with this family until she got married.

"Yetz kommen die schwerre yahren," Tante would sigh. Harder times were in store for her. "The couple I had worked for through two and a half years led Moishe and me to the chuppa. And now -- parnossa."

Times were hard in the U.S. in the late 1800's and early 1900's. Workers were not paid well and for every backbreaking job there were dozens of applicants. Moishe went out every morning to look for work. Dvoireh took in washing. One evening he came home agitated and anguished to the point of tears. He had been offered work at a fairly decent pay -- but only if he worked on Shabbos. He refused and was thrown out.

"If you were mechallel Shabbos, I would prefer to die," answered Tante. "He Who sees to it that all Creation is fed to the tiniest bird will send us parnossa -- while we uphold our most precious heritage."

Then Tante went to a neighbor to borrow some walnuts and eggs to cheer up Moishe by baking his favorite cake.

She found customers who wanted their laundry washed. Moishe would pick up the dirty laundry and deliver the dried and carefully ironed items. But the income from this work was not enough. In the next eight years, they were blessed with six children. Tante went out and bought material on credit and sewed children's suits and dresses. These she sold from house to house and when she was able to pay for the material she was given some more.

During those years, Moishe would joke that Dvoireh worked 25 hours a day. "But there are only 24 hours in a day," people would remark. "Correct," was the answer, "but she always borrows one hour from the next m'es l'es (24-hour day)."

Years passed. The children grew old enough to work and now it was easier. For years, Tante Dvoireh paid a private melamed to come to the house to teach and supplement what the boys learned in cheder.

When we arrived from Germany in 1937, Moishe was still working 4 1/2 days a week. All their children were married and they were living in comfort.

Tante Dvoireh lives in my memory as a true heroine, the personification of an eishes chayil.

 

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