By: Carole Imber Soloff
I was blessed to be born in 1942 to the best father a child could hope for, Ben (Benny) Imber. A man of few words, he had a way of making you feel safe and comforted. It was the same for my Uncle Harry his next older brother. Ben and Harry were close in age and could be taken for twins. There was also an older brother Sam and a younger sister Jean. My father worked as a window cleaner with his brothers and a nephew, my Uncle Harry’s older son Maurice. Even as a child I sensed my father’s strong inner core. My father could not be swayed by fleeting ‘americanized’ theories of psychology. He always believed that I, Chayalah, his precocious younger daughter, was good. He loved and accepted me for who I was and he carried in his wallet until the day he died my Hebrew school graduation picture My father was a man of few personal needs. After WWII he bought our first Chevy which opened up the world for us. We could now take trips to ‘the Island’ and more importantly we could attend the Family Circle in some far off section of Brooklyn. We lived on East 12th Street between Kings Highway and Avenue P. The Family Circle was held in a hall for Jewish War Veterans. I remember that you could hear the sound of the elevated subway going by during the meetings. There were Bomzers, Imbers, Kleins…and everyone was either an Aunt, an Uncle, or a Cousin. You were everyone’s child and you could feel the love. The elders who had their private, personal stories of survival wanted to pass on to us a hopeful future. Remember this was the time of the founding of the State of Israel (1948) and an Imber, Naftahli Herz Imber, had written the words to the Hatikvah, the Israeli national anthem. Boy was I proud! At the Family Circle there were lots of kids and we would be ‘shushed up’ when Cousin Yetta Bomzer brought the meeting to order. She was the organizer and she led the business meeting. A celebration was always planned for us the next generation. I remember the Family Circle as being fun. We celebrated Jewish holidays that those of us who didn’t come from observant homes, or those of us who were not lucky enough to be sent to Hebrew school, and many girls were not, would have forgotten. We were living in the land of opportunity and families were assimilating. The older people wanted us to remember where we came from and who we were. Families took turns in providing the delicious food. There were also talent shows. They were less competitions than an opportunity for the older people to kvel over their Jewish children. You did whatever you chose to do: read Hebrew, play the accordion, sing, or dance. You were always rewarded. The Family Circle and seeing my much beloved father enjoying himself amongst his extended family, many of whose first language was Yiddish, made me proud to be an Imber. The Imbers understood what it meant to be part of something greater than themselves, a family, a community, a people. They were good Jews and proud Americans. They worked hard in their new country so that their children would have a better future. People of the Book, education was of utmost importance. I think ‘scholarship’ was one of my first vocabulary words. Before I even knew what it meant, I knew that I was going to win one. Like all lives mine has not been a straight journey but one with many twists and turns. However, one thing has been constant. Whenever the going has gotten rough, I have gone deep within myself and have retrieved those values learned, oh so many years ago, in the embrace of a wise and resilient family. Gratefully, Chaya (Chayalah), Carole Imber Soloff June 13, 2019
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By: Aaron (Tzvi Avigdor HaKohen) Goldblatt
It hurts to look at him. You walk into the spacious den room and look upon a shell of a man. He has deep-seated wrinkles, a wizened physique, and tortuous limbs that rest on a mammoth hospital bed. He seems as though he has always been this way, only able to operate one side of his mouth and one side of his body in the proper manner. It’s hard to believe that in this shell lies the brilliant, eminent Rabbi Dr. Herbert W. Bomzer, a New York City religious leader renowned for his oratorical genius and iron wit. You just don’t see it, so stark is the contrast, and a tear bubbles out of your eye and traces a meandering path down a florid cheek. But then, the shape before you jerks slightly and you are able to see a pair of piercing, glittering burnt umber eyes that stab through your own and seem to gaze thoughtfully upon your naked soul. These are eyes that blaze with the steely intelligence of an erudite scholar who finished through the Talmud three times with heavy study and who actually turned down an invitation to the esteemed MENSA organization. You gasp as you realize that the man’s still in there. But he’s trapped. And he can no longer tell his story. But, if you peer closely into those eyes, you may see a man who lived a vigorous and joyous life in the big apple. You may see a wise and caring leader who lovingly guides his people through heartbreak and hardship. You may see the flinty courageousness of a warrior who risked his freedom to enter Soviet Russia on a mission to keep the weak embers of Jewish faith burning. But before all that, you may see a boy. A young Chaim Ze’ev, traipsing through the streets of East New York. Before we go visit that Depression era youth and hear his story, we first must travel back to the 1920s in post World War I Europe. More specifically, we shall zoom in on the snowy towns on the Polish-Russian border in Galicia. We shall join the father of our protagonist, the eighteen-year-old Philip Bomzer, as he rushes into the home of the esteemed Jewish leader of the village known as Kapitchinitz- the Kapishinitzer Rebbe (“Rebbe” was a term of respect used for spiritual leaders of the Hasidic Jewish movement). We see him rush inside the house, stand beside the Rebbe, wringing his cloth beret in icy-cold fingers. “Yes?” the Rebbe inquires. “What is it you need?” “Rebbe,” Philip nervously “I have come to ask if it is wise for me, my mother, and my siblings to emigrate to the New World.” The Rebbe’s features contort into a mask of rage. “America??? It is a Godless place! The very stones are not kosher!” “Yes Rebbe, but please realize that during the last war, my family was forced to hide in the frigid forests to escape the German invasion. Now, the Polish and Russian armies are looking to draft able men. I am especially attractive as a prospect to them considering that I speak both Russian and Polish. I will be conscripted for over 30 years!” At that time, most Jews didn’t leave the army alive, and if they did, they retained no semblance of their original cultural heritage. “Go then! But forget not your roots…” the Rebbe intoned. Philip walked out with his back ramrod straight and his head held high. Yes, he thought to himself, this will be the beginning of a new chapter for the lives of my family. And so it was. Kind of. I wonder if he ever regretted leaving. Philip left with a heavy heart to the US in the early 1920s. He began his immigrant life by joining a society. At that time, the many different towns that people rooted from used to form little organizations with their fellows to assist them all in making a living in an alien environment. Philip was from the shtetl (an Eastern-European, Jewish village/town) of Suchoshtov in southern Poland, who had a society called the Landsmenshaft that would allow for people already longer settled in NYC to facilitate the attainment of jobs and apartments for the non-English-speaking émigrés. In time, Philip met the beautiful Yetta Kleinman from the Tarler town in northern Poland, and they were happily married. By the 1930s, the two of them were raising four children in a religious Jewish household in East New York. As you probably know, the 1929 Stock Market Crash began the infamous and horrifying time in NYC and the world at large known as the Great Depression. It was a gloomy period during which the pecuniary system of the US crashed and joblessness and hunger swept the nation. Gone were the jazzy, glitzy days of the Roaring Twenties. Gone was the wealth, the dancing, the music. People just needed to make what little cash could be reaped from the barren, arid wastelands of the American economy to allow their families to survive. This is the stage upon which our lead is born. On August 16th of 1927, a baby popped into the world. He was named Herbert W. Bomzer, or Chaim Ze’ev ben Meshulum Shraga Feivish (if you think that’s bad, my Hebrew name is Aharon Tzvi Avigdor ben Dov Aryeh HaKohen, as you saw above), and was born into a poor, immigrant household. Young Chaim was a very precocious child; he was a whiz in mathematics and science from an early age and also was quick to learn complex Talmudic law. He attended Jewish religious day school for elementary school, but for high school graduated the well-known Townsend Harris High School. After high school, he was offered a full scholarship to an elite math/sciences academy, but his mother turned it down to instead send him to Yeshiva University, a hybrid between religious learning and a secular education, where he studied to become a rabbi and attain his Doctorate in Jewish Education and Administration, as well as a Master of Arts in Jewish History and Philosophy. His mother pulled the dean of YU aside, and told him in no uncertain terms “Take care of this boy and, in time, you will find him taking care of you.” The dean heeded her words and Rabbi Bomzer actually ended up as a dean of YU. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Chaim grew up in a time when ten dollars was a fortune and money was very hard to come by. His father used to work long hours and many different jobs, just to keep his wife and four kids afloat. This duty was made excruciatingly difficult by Philips religiosity. You see, back in those times Judaism and its faith were not truly accepted by the mainstream US culture. In those days it was deemed unacceptable to ditch work on late-Friday and Saturday. Philip usually found some work in the window-washing field, and very often Philip would approach his boss on a Friday afternoon, to have the following dialogue. “Have to head home early for the Jewish Sabbath, Frank,” he’d say. Frank, a massive, brawny, pot-bellied bloke would turn towards Philip and say, “Better see you tomorrow, bright and early boy!” Philip would squirm uncomfortably under Frank’s glare. “Well, y’know Boss, about that…” “WHADDAYA MEAN YOU DON’T WORK SATURDAYS!!! LISTEN GOOD SONNY, IF YOU DON’T COME BACK HERE TOMORROW MORNING, DON’T COME BACK AT ALL!!!” So he didn’t. At one point in the thirties, Philip held over 40 jobs in just one year! This was in the time before real welfare and unemployment stipends (the years of Franklin D. Roosevelt had not yet begun) so to say times were tough would be an understatement. Things took a turn for the worse when, in 1946, Herbert’s mother died from a malady that could’ve been easily cured by penicillin. Though penicillin had been discovered nearly thirty years prior, due to the family’s indigence and the troubles of the times, it wasn’t available to her. For a while after, things began to improve with Philip beginning his own window cleaning business with money made in the summers. Then, while Herbert was attending college as a full time student, his father developed jaundice and required intensive surgery. He called a meeting of the family, and explained to them in no uncertain terms that if they wanted a home and sustenance, they would need to have someone take his place washing windows. Back then, there were fewer regulations in the business world, and had he hired another person to do the job for him, that guy could very well make off with his clients and company. At that point Herbert was 19, and the rest of his siblings were either too busy or too young. So he volunteered to do his father’s rounds. To this effect, he had to wake up at 2 a.m. every morning (or night, I guess…) and go around to mostly stores and wash their windows until they dazzled. Can you imagine a young Herbert humping out of bed bleary-eye, with networks of blood vessels painting the whites of his eyes a florid pink. He jumps into the dingy bathroom, washes up, throws on a pair of work-clothes, and makes his way onto the dark streets of East New York. He rolls along a cart full of squeegees, mops, sponges, and crusty buckets brimming with murky, foamy water. He reaches a Bar and Grill, and as he blinks the sleep and mucous out of his eyes, he dips a sponge into a bucket and begins to clean the soiled display-window. Suddenly, the oafish owner of this most respectable of establishments marches onto the street and begins to vomit out a deluge of obscenities directed at this poor boy trying to do his sick father’s job. “Listen here kid, where the **** is that god****ed washer! I just had the new *****ing display installed and because that son of a ***** wasn’t here, the windows have been covered in ****! Where the **** is he???” The boy, who grew up in an insular religious household and has never before heard such a revolting manner of speech before, gapes for a moment, then in a strangled voice says “I’m so sorry my dad’s very sick-” “ARE YOU ****ING KIDDING ME??? SO WHAT, LET HIM COME SICK AND CLEAN THEM!!! Are you going to now? Good. But make ****ing sure that every placard is put exactly where it was!” When the boy decides to use chalk to mark off where each placard was the owner immediately bursts a blood vessel. “WHAT THE **** DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING???” “Sir, I’m just marking where the placards-” “AHHH, we got a COLLEGE boy here, you think you’re so ****ing smart???” That night, the boy goes to his father and says angrily, “That guff, the language he used, why do you deal with him?” Philip groans, then exclaims “Oh him? Ha. I hear the same thing every day.” “So why do you take it Dad?” “Well, from him I get two and a half dollars a week (back then, this was much more than now; 10 dollars was almost like 100 nowadays), so he may not be worth it. But, his friends are all other clients, and were I to drop him, they would drop me. That’s 15-20 dollars a week!” Philip gives a throaty, world-weary chuckle then intones softly, “Chaim, this is a good life lesson, for business and also for when you are one day a rabbi: you will always encounter nasty people in life, and if you get worked up and throw in the towel, that’s when they’ve won. You have to stick it to the end, and come to take what you need from each of these people. This advice settled in the boy’s heart, and remained with him for all of the rest of his life in the city of the rude. This story was one hundred percent true, as heard from Rabbi Bomzer himself, though he just used the words “four-letter expletives.” I may have gotten carried away… East New York was also a very dangerous time to be a young Jew in the early/mid-1930s. One day, Herbert shows up from the subway with his large, black kippah prominently displayed on his head. The Dean, a Rabbi Dr. Belkin, stood agape and asked in an awed voice “Herbie, why aren’t you wearing a hat???” “Rebbe, I don’t have a hat.” “So, why didn’t you take off your kippah? You wore that through East New York, Brooklyn, and Washington Heights? Herbie, do you have a death wish?” You see, in those days, it was very common for a Jewish boy to have rocks hurled at him for exposing his cultural heritage in public in the city. Rabbi Bomzer used to describe the snowball fights that would go down between Jewish and non-Jewish kids in the neighborhood of East New York. “HA! ‘Dirty looks’ you think it was? How about suddenly being clocked in the head with a snowball! Then, when you fall to the ground and there’s blood pooling by your feet, you suddenly realize that there were stones and ice shards packed tightly in that little clod of snow. In East New York, in Washington Heights we didn’t have ‘snowball fights,’ we fought dangerous battles! But, oh no, we weren’t going to take that sitting down. We’d crouch low, and find some nice stones to reciprocate…” While still an undergraduate student, Herbert met the love of his life, Leona Abeles, may she live and be well, and they were happily married for some 60 years with six children and many grandchildren and great grandchildren. Post-college, the now Rabbi Bomzer began his long and illustrious career as a rabbi and Jewish educator. He first worked as the rabbi of the synagogue the Young Israel of Williamsburg for four years. He then went on to found the synagogue known as the “Young Israel of Ocean Parkway,” where he held a position as a pulpit rabbi for over 40 years! He took on a position as a Dean of the YU religious study program, and taught over 3,000 students for 50 years! In 1985, he was conferred an honorary Doctorate of Divinity from YU for exemplary communal service. He received semikha (Rabbinic Ordination) from great leaders Rabbi Joseph B. Soleveichik and Rabbi Moses Feinstein. His specialty in Jewish law was conversions to Judaism for non-Jews (a highly unusual circumstance, considering that Judaism is, by definition, not in any way a proselytizing religion, i.e. we do not seek to convert the masses), and he was renown for his erudition and expertise in this regard. He wrote two books on Jewish law and history, The Chosen Road and The Kolel in America, both of which were lauded by The Jewish Press. He served twice as the president of the Rabbinical Board of Flatbush, once as the president of the Halakhic (Jewish Law) Committee of the Council of Young Israel Rabbis, and was a board member of the Rabbinical Council of America. He was very politically active and outspoken about many issues, such as anti-Semitism in NYC and other vital issues, and he was actually one of the people who brought about the political career of Senator Chuck Schumer by aiding him in securing a seat in the city council at the very outset of his political career. Rabbi Bomzer also was actually a part of the prison system, as he served as the chaplain of Ryker’s Prison in NYC for 15 years. During that time, he ensured that all prisoners, both Jewish and not, were as comfortable as possible- receiving the proper accommodations and respect that every human being inherently deserves.- and he did his utmost to aid every person on their path to reconstruction. Rabbi Bomzer and the Prison Warden are walking through the austere, stone hallways of the prison’s underbelly. The Warden seems agitated- it has been a long, long career keeping broken people locked away- and he is tired. So very tired. He turns to the Rabbi, and queries, “Rabbi? I have a question: honestly, what’s the difference between us and them?” The Rabbi ponders this for a moment, and then utters a few words that remain with the Warden until this very day. He says, “they’re just visiting, my friend. Passing through. But us, we are the lifers.” We have taken this on as a profession. Our job is to be sure that this is just a transitory place for these most unfortunate of people. We are the ones who have dedicated our lives to rebuilding and helping others. We are the ones who stay. Rabbi Bomzer for a long time maintained a very close relationship with the famed scholar Rabbi Menahem Mendel Schneerson, also known as the Lubavitcher Rebbe. The Rebbe used to send missions of his disciples into the then-Communist USSR to keep the Jewish faith alive in those dying communities. Communism was inherently an anti-religious movement and many Jews were forbidden there from keeping the most basic of their ancient traditions. Rabbi Bomzer and his wife managed to sneak into Russia in 1987 under the guise of being lecturers on “Jewish Culture,” and while there he disseminated to the Russian Jews many religious articles that he disguised as clothing and trinkets. They were interviewed and searched at the Moscow Airport for six hours until they were finally allowed in. Overall, he built two mikvot (ritual baths), oversaw six conversions, taught over 100 men and women more about Judaism, wrote five divorce documents, officiated religious marriages, and most importantly reassured them that their freedom, through the policy of glasnost, was coming soon! This went on to occur! The Lubavitcher Rebbe thanked Rabbi Bomzer profusely in a letter, and wrote “there was no trip so successful until Rabbi Bomzer went to Russia.” Rabbi Bomzer also became very well known for his speaking ability. He was a skilled orator and a very naturally funny person. He had a really wicked sense of humor. When he married his wife, he proclaimed to her “I may never be able to give you much, but I will always make you laugh!” His speeches were very well attended and widely spoken of due to their verve and wit. He actually used to instruct other Brooklyn rabbis on how to give over sermons, and many of his sermons were actually republished in the Rabbinical Council of America’s sermon guide for newer rabbis. He was very often invited to programs at hotels to speak over the holidays, and he had one very popular speech dubbed “Humor in the Torah (the Old Testament).” He always had a speech on his mind, could speak literally off the cuff, and was often quoted as saying “I have never, ever turned down an opportunity to speak.” He was also very literate and well read. He was an avid reader of poetry, especially that of Emily Dickinson who he often quoted in his sermons, literature, and philosophy. He always had a funny story or anecdote that always elicited laughter from whoever he was with. He was a joy to be around. But then, in the later years of his life, tragedy struck. While on a plane, Rabbi Bomzer was stricken with an ischemic stroke that left him with severe motor deficiencies and great difficulty speaking. It was tragic to see someone so vital and full of life trapped in so limiting a situation. In a cruel twist of fate, the man who helped so many out of imprisonment became a prisoner in his own body. But you know something? He was still there. He still spoke as often as he could, he used to try to teach whenever possible, and remained a presence in the family for the remainder of his days. For, at the ripe old age of 85, my great grandfather Herbert W. Bomzer was laid to rest as his soul left this world. Sorry professor, but I’ve stayed out of the essay for long enough. Though my Zeidy (“grandfather” in Yiddish) was already older when I met him, I actually had a personal relationship with him. I still remember a time when I was very young, and we were at a family gathering, and he lifted up a pen, and pointed at me- his first great grandchild- and proclaimed, “This pen goes to the one who made me great!” I remember when we drove to Albany in a car together, just him and I, and when it began to hail balls of ice the size of baseballs, and a pounding, clicking noise filled the interior like close range machine guns, he moved the back of the car under an overpass so I was protected leaving himself to weather the elements (pun most definitely intended). I remember watching him go from “just fine” to “handicapped” in a matter of days. Heck, every Sunday morning I went over to where he stayed and I would help him say the morning prayers. I would put tefillin (phylacteries, little black boxes with straps that Jewish men wear while they say the morning prayers) on his paralyzed left arm and he’d always be watching. I was just a small kid, one of his many hundreds of kids and grandkids and great grandkids, and I had a personal relationship with him. You know why? Because that’s the kind of person he was. He was the person you meet the first time and just irresistible and intrinsically like, he treated everyone like a peer and an adult, and he loved to joke around. He was so down to earth. So normal. He loved watching reruns of Star Trek under a blanket while sprawled out on his chintzy couch in his small, cozy house in Brooklyn. He loved everyone, no matter what. And not a day goes by that I don’t regret not getting to know him better. Because, it's sad for me to realize that I’ve been shocked by so many of the things I found out while researching about him and his life, talking to his wife, kids, and grandchildren. My grandfather was a New Yorker to the bone, but he wasn’t your average one. Not by a long shot. Don’t believe me? He has his own Wikipedia page. If that doesn’t prove anything, I don’t know what does. It was 2008, when I sat down with my grandfather, Rabbi Herbert Bomzer ZTZL, to ask him about his family and our family history. He began telling me about places and people that lived nearly a hundred years before I was born. One story that sticks out in my mind was about “the grandmother”, the royal grandmother who even had indoor plumbing. Her name was Malka Bomzer. He began to describe her, as he remembered her. He knew her well from when he sat in her living room and in her kitchen nearly 70 years earlier. “And she was as I remember her, as being a loving personality, but one that you respect very very much. One was called Bubba, and the other was called Bobby. She was the Bubba....She was the Grandmother, yah know, ‘grand’…real grand…” Malcie Imber (pronounced Mal-Chi) was born into a wealthy family in the town of Janow, pronounced Yanov in Yiddish, (modern day Dolyna), located in central Galicia, Poland (a familiar Jewish area comparable to today's Long Island, NY). Janow was a small town with a Jewish population of about 300 families. "There were lots of forests around. There were big rivers and great waterfalls.... The city had very few very rich people. Had some affluent people, and a lot of poor people." As described by Yitzhak Kahana who, like his parents, were born and raised in Janow (1). The Imber family were part of that wealthy minority. It was said of the Imber family of Janow that they were so wealthy, that they even had indoor plumbing (2). During those times, in the late 1800's even the wealthiest families still did not have any electricity. It was only in the 1920's that the Erde and Gross families had the proper wiring installed, and only for basic household appliances. The entire town by and large was still living off kerosene lamps and wax candles. The Imber family was also known for a famous second cousin, Naftali Herz Imber, a poet who rhymed the ancient Hebrew language into modern songs (2). Naftali is most noted for having composed the words to Hatikva, a song which now serves as the national anthem for the state of Israel. When Malcie was six or seven, she was enrolled in the local public elementary school. The school was comprised of Jews and gentiles. She studied in Polish and became friendly with many of the town's young population (3). Her Jewish education came mostly from her home, and the synagogue, which she visited on rare occasions. There were some minor incidents of anti-semitism, but nothing that compared to the prewar years. For the most part, Jews and gentiles lived side by side in harmony. When she reached marriageable age (18 years old), her father, Moshe Meir, wanted to find the best suitor money could buy. Malka was very mature though, too mature for the young lads of her village and they decided to seek a husband from the surrounding towns. It became known to Moshe Meir that there was a man from the nearby town of Suchostaw, a Chassid, but at the very least a scholar and a God fearing Jew. This man had been recently widowed and was seeking a spouse to take care of his 7 or so young children. Moshe Meir was not unfamiliar with chassidim, but he had not been overly exposed to them, since Janow was just a small town with little outside connection. So the match was arranged between Chaim Wolf Bomze, a man of famous enough Chassidic lineage, and Malcie Imber (4). They were married in 1892 and would live together in Suchostaw for 15 years. Towards the end of the winter of 1907, Chaim Wolf caught Pneumonia. He spent nearly two months fighting it off. The local doctor in Suchostaw, did all he could, but with the medical supplies running low, Chaim Wolf passed away on March 9th, 1907 at the age of 64 (5). After their wedding in 1892, Malcie moved in with her husband in the town of Suchostaw. She soon after became pregnant and gave birth to Jente (Yenta). The young girl, whom she named after her own mother, Yente (Czaban). Jente would grow up to be the first of Malcie’s children to travel to the US and begin laying plans for the rest of the family to come over. Malcie’s second child with Chaim Wolf, born in 1896, was named Golde, who unfortunately passed away at the tender age of seven from spasms. In total Malcie had 6 children, 5 of whom emigrated with her to America. The oldest was Jente or Yetta. Next was Golde (who is buried in Suchostaw). Then came David, followed by Peretz (Paul), Meszullim Feivish (Philip), and finally Ciwie (Sylvia or Shirley). At about this time, early 1900’s, the children from Chaim Wolf's first marriage had all but grown up and immigrated to London, England, and its surrounding towns. Widowed, and without much family left in town, Malcie was looking for a new beginning. After facing the devastation of WWI she set her focus on starting a life in a new locale. The USA. By the time Malcie and her children traveled to the US in 1920, many members of the Imber family had been living in America for over three decades. Notably in Philadelphia, New York, and in other locations. Her daughter Yetta, and son-in-law, Louis Klein, arranged for visas, travel papers, and helped cover expenses for boat tickets for numerous cousins and relatives as well as for Malcie herself and her three children. Malcie’s manifest at Ellis Island says that she was in possession of less than $100 dollars when stepping off the boat (about $2000 in 2017 money), a fraction of her parents money 50 years earlier. Yetta had arrived in New York in 1911. She traveled by herself at the age of 17 aboard the SS President Grant with $10 in her pocket. She moved in with her uncle, Shimon Frenkel until she married Louis Klein (who she was taller than by three inches. He was 5”4, and she was 5”7) and moved in with him at 268 stanton Street on the Lower East Side. Their home would be listed on many family members Ellis Island papers as their destination. Earning a meager living as a Spring Maker, Louis, who arrived as Leib Hausvath was able to assist many a family member in purchasing and obtaining travel tickets to come to the USA. Yetta looked upon the streets of New York with the same piercing blue eyes as those of her mother, with hope and with ambition. Hoping that the future, and the work and hardship, would lead towards a better life for her and her descendants. By now, Malcie, a woman of 48 years old, 5”6 with grey hair, her piercing blue eyes still showing her youth and vigor started to build a new life for her family. She became a business woman and helped support her family. She had traveled thousands of miles away from the land of her parents and ancestors for the sake of a better life. Little did she know that her short trip across the pond would save herself and her family from the horrors of WWII and Nazi Germany. As she reached middle age, she moved to 1368 44th Street in Borough park a two hour walk from her son Philip, living in East New York, Brooklyn. On Shabbos afternoons in the 1930’s, Herbert Bomzer, Philip's eldest son, would walk the two hour journey from East New York to visit his grandmother in Borough park. Although nearly a full head taller than her, he still described her as “a tall woman, she spoke with such authority”. It was not only his perception he recounts, but that of the whole family who felt this way. “Malka Imber was a regal personality. She was a queen of her family. Her children literally bowed down to her.” In the year 1938. She contracted chronic nephritis. As the months passed on, a heart condition developed as well. She was cared for by her daughter Yetta, as she had been cared for many years ago when immigrating to New York. At that time she was coming to a new world. Now she was about to enter a new world as well. Her heart finally gave out and she passed away on the first day of Rosh Hashona, 1940. Malcia passed away at the age of 68 in her little house in Borough park. Her grandson loyally attended the funeral as it proceeded to Mt Hebron. It was there that my grandfather took me, 70 years later and told me, “this was my grandmother, sunny boy. She was the “grand” grandmother”. Bibliography (1) http://www.jewishgen.org/yizkor/terebovlya/ter174.html. (2) Interview with Rabbi Herbert W Bomzer in Woodmere, NY, 2008. (3) Ellis Island Manifest record for Malcie Imber and three children. New York, 1920. (4) Interview with Mr. Sternklar in Cedarhurst, NY, 2013. (5) Index for Certificate of Death, 1907. Suchostaw, Galicia, Poland The earliest known member of the Bomzer family is a lesser known, yet brilliant kabbalist and Chassidic master. Even during his lifetime, he went by the title “The Maggid of Mikulince”, Preacher from Mikulince (Today called Mykulyntsi). Rabbi Aryeh Yehuda Leibusch Bomze, was born in 1740 in the small town of Sataniv, a Sztetl where the Jews were nearly half of the 3,000 total inhabitants. While serving as an early center for the Haskalah movement, Satanov also became known for its important Chassidic leaders of their time. Leibusch Bomze's family, who were well connected with the upper echelons of Polish Jewish society, were the honored hosts during the chance arrival of Rabbi Yisroel, known by his acronym, “Besht”. Rabbi Yisroel Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Chassidic movement, which arose in the early 1700’s, travelled across Eastern Europe, garnering support and followers for his new movement focusing on the ability of any Jew to connect with God, not just the scholarly elite. When he journeyed through the town of Sataniv, the Bomzes merited to host him at their house for those long winter weekends. Thus it was, that young Leibush was brought up and inspired in the ways of Chassidus from a young age. In 1757, at the age of 17, Leibusch was sent to the world-renowned Yeshiva in the town of Nikolsburg to study under the famed Rabbi Schmelke of Nikolsburg. Expanding on the ideas of Chassidism with an appreciation for an emotional connection with God, Reb Shmelke also taught a rigorous study schedule which would lead towards a mastery of all the classical and not-so-classical texts. Leibusch had the opportunity to learn with some of the most brilliant minds of his generation. During the five or six years he spent in Nikolsburg, he became close friends with the illuy (genius) of Yaroslav, later to be known as the Rebbe of Berdichev. Rabbi Levi Yitzchok kept in touch with Rabbi Leibusch after graduating from Nikolsberg and in all likelihood married off a grandchild with that of Rabbi Leibusch. (This is likely the branch of the family that changed the name from Bomze to Bomzer) Eventually, Rabbi Leibusch moved to the town of Mikulince where he fostered a large family and produced many progeny. He married off his children to other well-known families such as the renowned Schor family, and the Rabbinic Porrille’s. Rabbi Leib passed away in the year 1825 at the advanced age of 85. It was said of Rabbi Leibusch of Mikulince that he was fluent in all of Talmud, the halachic codes of Maimonides with its glosses. The Tur, and the Shulchan Aruch, were committed to memory. He was well-versed in the mystical realm, as well. To his good fortune, he was able to sit and learn in prosperity, while his work was done by others.
While Rabbi Leib left behind manuscripts, all of them were ultimately lost. A few Torah insights from him remain, brought down by grandchildren and students in various seforim. The Zichron Yehuda cites “from my master, my mentor and teacher, the great, the grand illuminator, our sage the Rabbi, Rabbi Aryeh Leibush may his light shine, orator here, the holy congregation of Mikulince." The year was 1920. Poland had just been ravaged by the first world War and was plunged into poverty. Although Poland was given its own autonomy for the first time in a century and a half the local communities were left unprotected and rape and pillage was not uncommon. Amongst this mayhem Meszulim Feyvush Bomze, the 18 year old eldest son of his widowed mother, Malcie, was faced with an impossible decision. Continue to live in his desolate hometown and attempt to rebuild, helping his family survive day by day, or abandon his community, his friends and his Rebbe, venturing to America in the hope for a better life. A life with more stability, safety and success for him and his family. So the young Bomze gets up the courage to approach the Rebbe upon whose lap he had grown up. The Kopychinitser Rebbe had been a friend of the family since his father's time and possibly his father before him. He approaches the Rebbe and asks, “Rebbe what should we do? You know the difficulty there is in staying here in Poland. And yet you also recognize the difficulty of remaining faithful in America. How can we go, but how can we stay?” The Rebbe turns to him, and with audible distress in his voice says, “my son. Go to America. But I want you to take with you something.” He lifts the siddur he had been holding and tears out a page. “Bring with you Yedid Nefesh. Bring it with you always”. And the young man did. He traveled to the USA with his mother, two brothers and a sister that same year. Upon arrival, Meszulem Feyvush, now Philip, reconnected with landsman from his home town of Sukhostav who were gainfully employed in the window washing business. The Fink brothers helped get him on his feet to earn a reasonable income and support his family. At least till the end of the decade. On the weekend of October 29th 1929, a combination of events led to a state of overwhelming investor anxiety. Stockholders flooded the market leading to an 89% drop in the Dow Jones. The aftermath of this stock market crash is now ominously referred to as the great depression. During this time period many Jews were forced, due to the dire circumstances, to work seven days a week, including Shabbos, in order to provide basic sustenance for their family. Philip felt trapped. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to provide for his newly married bride and two young children, Sylvia and Herbert, and could not let them starve and roam the streets as beggars. On the other hand, this was precisely the reason he had feared for coming to America and being forced to break from the traditions of his parents and ancestors. Few who have experienced what Philip went through during this time have recorded their inner struggle and what it meant for them. Herbert, who was no less than eight years old at the time, would later recall that his father diligently continued washing windows. But each week, come Sunday morn he would need to seek new customers, seeing as employers were not satisfied with his absence on Shabbos and his unwillingness to break from his day of rest. Many a time Philip took Herbert with him on his window washing rounds, and eventually, after Herbert's Bar Mitzvah, he began filling in for his father when his father took sick days. Although Philip did not keep a journal and may not have been a proficient writer, it was not necessary for him to record what had inspired him during those trying times. As Rabbi Herbert Bomzer pointed out, it was the message from his Rebbe, the Kopychinitser, that carried him. It was the Yedid Nefesh he sang each Erev Shabbos when sitting at home, knowingly putting his family at risk and Putting all hope in none but his merciful father in heaven that inspired him to hold steadfast to his belief. When I was told this in 2010 by Zaide, who to our great misfortune is with us in spirit alone, he recalled the story with a double meaning. On the one hand, the Rebbe supposedly did rip out the page of Yedid Nefesh from his siddur. But in Zaide’s famous style he understood it differently. The invocation of Yedid Nefesh, when looked at through the first letter of each stanza spells out yud, key, vav, key. Therefore, this is what the Rebbe was telling the young Philip those many years ago. To take with him, not the beautiful words of Yedid Nefesh, but to take the awareness of God with him wherever he may go. For faith in God would provide the wellspring of support for whatever he would do. It would help him and his family survive religiously in the trials of America. And that's what he did. He raised his family with this message through his integrity in business and all his endeavors he managed to raise a beautiful, faithful family with the love of Torah and a love for Shabbos! "In 2014, a grandson, Aryeh Sklar, edited and published Rabbi Bomzer's sermons and notes on the weekly Torah portion, for the anniversary of Rabbi Bomzer's passing (yahrtzeit), entitled, "Keter HaRachzav." -Wikipedia
To preview or purchase "Keter HaRachzav, check it out on Amazon, here! With deep sadness we report the passing of Rabbi Chaim Ze'ev Bomzer OBM, a leading figure in the American Jewish community, who was widely recognized for his expertise and erudition in Halakha (Jewish Law). My Grandfather, always says that all the Bomzers are related. This website is dedicated to finding out the Bomzer Puzzle. We hope you can all benefit from, and help improve our Bomzer Family Website. |
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June 2019
Binny LewisBinny's passion for discovering his family history has taken him on a journey. Over the past few years he founded and lead the first JGS on a college campus, the Family Discovery Society at Yeshivs University. Having traced his family back hundreds of years with tools like JewishGen & MyHeritage, he has instructed dozens of University students to do the same. |