Part II (written 2004)

(Continued from last week)

But my story would not be a story to tell were it not for my parents, Josef and Bertha Strauss, or Opa and Oma, as the family always called them, and as they are called in these stories.

Opa, until 1993, when he was taken from us at the ripe old age of 97, had been the head of the family for 75 years. He had been successful by starting a business from scratch while he was still a very young man, and had guided his family through darkening clouds in the 1930s and ‘40s, during the rise of Hitler, yimach sh’mo (cursed be his name), and through the economic hardships of establishing a new life in the U.S. Never did he flinch from his responsibilities to his family and the community, and never did he waver or concede an inch while upholding his firm belief in Hashem and the Torah.

When Opa retired from his business that he had re-established in the U.S., he switched his occupation to assisting charities. The local Yeshiva Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, Cong. K’hal Adath Jeshurun, Gemiluth Chesed of Greater New York and, finally, Palisades Garden for Senior Citizens, where he and Oma would spend their later years, were all beneficiaries of his hours of toil and wisdom.

There probably is not, and never was, a person in the world more honest than Opa. I had my first lesson from him on that subject while working in his warehouse, and also while helping him send financial settlements to his suppliers. One little story that I remember Opa telling illustrates this.

Opa, in World War I, was with the German artillery on the front in France. Something that might be difficult to imagine in today’s day and age, soldiers were paid in cash, at whatever location they happened to be at any given time. The cash was kept in a horse-drawn wagon with a “zahlmeister” (paymaster) in charge, and it traveled with the unit wherever it went. At the end of the war, in 1918, the zahlmeister received instructions to return the leftover money to a specified place in Berlin. For reasons that are not relevant to the story, the zahlmeister of Opa’s unit decided he did not want to go to Berlin, and appointed Opa to take the horse and wagon with the cash and go in his stead. Opa, as always, followed orders and when he came to the destination in Berlin and tried to deliver the cash, he was received with, “Strauss, sind sie verrückt?” (Strauss, are you crazy?) Nobody could understand the honesty of that soldier, driving hundreds of miles to Berlin to deliver cash, when he could just as easily have driven home with it. In the confusion after the end of the war, nobody would have known and nobody would have questioned it. It obviously never entered Opa’s mind to be dishonest.

Opa was always very careful in what he said and did, and put great emphasis on preserving a shem tov (good name) for himself, his family and organizations that he was involved with. Many times, he told us boys, “Remember, always remember, your shem tov goes with you wherever you go.”

Oma, who left us in 1990 at the age of 89, showed superhuman strength during the Holocaust years in Germany, from 1938 to 1941, when she had the sole responsibility for guiding the family and making all decisions while Opa was thousands of miles away, first on the way to Cuba, and then back, and finally already in the U.S. And when it came to the most difficult and dangerous final decision in late 1940, Oma was able to rescue her children and herself and unite everyone again in New York.

Throughout her years in New York, Oma shared with Opa the responsibility, respect and love of the extended family. Everyone was welcome in her house at all times, including some of my cousins, who had no family of their own anymore.

And tragedy struck our family just a little over half a year prior to my writing this, with the loss of our son, Benjamin, at the young age of 50, leaving his wonderful wife Claire and four brilliant children, ages 18 to 22.

What I am about to write, “My Stories,” is dedicated to his memory.

Benjy, as he was known to our family, or Ben, as he was known in his office, not only was the best husband and father, but I cannot imagine anyone ever being able to be a better son to us and grandson to Opa and Oma. His immediate family was very important to him, but he also cared about and remained in contact with others in the family who needed his help and consideration.

He was deeply involved with Cong. Beth Abraham, but he always remained in the background, never willing to accept any official position, though they were offered to him many times. He and Claire were the founders of Tomchei Shabbos of Bergen County, an organization that supplies weekly food packages to over 200 needy families in the area. He worked for that organization literally until a few hours before he was rushed to the hospital. Many other organizations were the beneficiaries of his generosity and wisdom as well.

Benjy was a great public speaker and speech writer, for himself as well as for others. He was at his best when asked to speak at functions honoring someone else, since he never accepted any honors for himself.

When, in the early 1980s, I was honored by a local institution, Benjy spoke to several hundred guests about me, concluding with, “Tonight, we give you no plaques, no awards, no gifts. Instead, we give you our boundless respect, admiration and support—and most importantly, our love.”

That was our Benjy. We will always miss him—but he will always be with us.

May the reader have less difficulty reading “My Stories” than I had writing it.

(To be continued next week.)

By Norbert Strauss

 Norbert Strauss is a Teaneck resident and has volunteered at Englewood Hospital for over 30,000 hours. He was general traffic manager and group VP at Philipp Brothers Inc., retiring in 1985. Prior to Englewood Hospital he was also a volunteer at the American Committee for Shaare Zedek Hospital for over 30 years, serving as treasurer and director. He frequently speaks to groups to relay his family’s escape from Nazi Germany in 1941.