who's in the kitchen: judy joszef

At his yahrzeit and on Yom Ha’Shoa, thinking of Jerry’s father

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On the last day of Pesach, or as my husband Jerry likes to kid, “the eighth day of a seven day holiday,” he commemorated his father’s yahrzeit. He identified with and admired his dad. His dad lost every member of his immediate and extended family (that lived in Europe) during the Holocaust, most in the spring and summer of 1944 after Hitler unexpectedly invaded Hungary. His yahrzeit was followed by Yom Hashoah, and now by Yom Hazikoron and Yom Haatzmout. It seems to me that these days are inextricably related, when I reflect upon Jerry’s dad and all that he experienced.

Jerry’s father was fun. He understood children, and his inner child was always conspicuous in dealing with Jerry, his brother Seme, his cousins, and every last one of their friends, who all loved him. His taste in comedy was of the slapstick “Three Stoogens” (as Jerry’s dad called them), Abbot and Costello, and Laurel and Hardy variety, and Jerry and his dad would laugh together as they watched TV. Jerry’s sense of humor never matured and he (and all his friends) loves visual madcap slapstick humor.

Jerry was mesmerized by his father’s stories about growing up in a Satmar chassidic home in Satmar Hungary. He loved his parents and brothers and sisters and they were a remarkably diverse, yet very close, family.

His youngest brother was “House Bochur” to the Satmar Rav. His oldest brother was tall and strong like Jerry who secretly joined the Jabotinsky Zionist movement, yet remained Orthodox. Jerry’s dad, a professional soccer player (all who witnessed him play in professional soccer stadiums in Europe agreed that he was really great) often accompanied him to secret meetings. His father’s dad knew about Jerry’s dad and his brother attending these clandestine meetings but said nothing.

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