Rabbi Ron Eisenman
It was a warm day in May when Gertrude Hollander (details changed) left this world.
Gertrude and her then future husband Manfred were born in the German city of Fulda in 1928 and immigrated to these shores after Kristallnacht.
They settled in Washington Heights where eventually they married in 1949.
The couple moved to Cleveland where they raised three daughters in the path of Torah Im Derech Eretz.
In 2005 they moved back to the New York area to be closer to their daughters.
Since one of the daughters is a member of my Shul, I have had the privilege of becoming ‘close’ to Manfred Hollander. I say the word ‘close’ somewhat hesitantly as I am not sure if anyone could be considered ‘close’ to Manfred.
Perhaps it was caused by trauma experienced before the war; perhaps it was his stoic ‘Yekkishe’ upbringing which prided itself on its taciturn and reserved outward presentation; or perhaps it was just ‘him’. Whatever the reason, Manfred Hollander was one of the most dour and restrained individuals you have ever met.
Despite his outwards manifestations of being laconic and almost brusque, I knew he was filled with pride when a grandchild would accompany him to Shul; provided of course the child was properly behaved.
Manfred and Gertrude were married for 66 years.
At the funeral he was the paradigm of dignity and placidity and he remained restrained throughout the Shiva.
When he called me at the conclusion of the Shloshim, I was sure he wanted to discuss the disbursement of his estate; why else would he insist that all three daughters who were in town at the time be present at the meeting?
As everyone filed in to my office, one could feel the awe which the daughters – notwithstanding the fact that all were already grandmothers- felt when they were in their father’s presence.
All looked to Manfred Hollander to speak first and no one dared speak before him.
Manfred straightened his tie, cleared his throat and began to speak.
“The purpose of my requesting all of you to gather here this morning in the presence of our esteemed Rav is for me to state something which I believe is halachically mandated.”
I was wondering which aspect of Hilchos Yerusha he was about to cite.
Manfred looked at each of his daughters and continued.
“During the period of time when your mother and I lived here, one of you came to visit our home daily. If one of you could not make it, you always arranged for a grandchild to visit daily and the visit lasted minimally one hour. I have observed over the past month that the daily visits have decreased to a ‘twice a week’ ritual; and the duration of the visit has been cut in half. Please allow me to state unequivocally that although I understand that the major focus of the visit was your mother, you should realize that I too treasured them!”
Suddenly, Manfred Hollander, the man who never shed a tear and who maintained his composure under the most difficult circumstances began to cry.
As large tears trickled down his cheek he said in an emotionally chocked-up voice, “I humbly request of you that these visits be reinstated immediately; after all, I enjoyed them immensely and they were the highlight of my day. Remember, even though I am not a schmoozer myself don’t think I don’t enjoy hearing others schmooze and laugh and don’t think I don’t enjoy company!”
And then Manfred Hollander burst into uncontrollable sobbing as he pleaded with his children, “Do not cast me away at the time of old age”. (Tehillim: 71:9)
You can put on a face of aloofness and even appear be distant; however, when all is said and done, we all need love.
