The Sweater...

B"H

...On Your Shoulders

(Thirty-six Years Ago)

"It's chilly today," said the old lady.  

"Not too much, it is a nice day," I replied.  We were sitting next to each other on the bench waiting for our bus at the central bus station in Jerusalem.  

"You should wear that sweater, honey," instructed the old lady.


"I'm fine."


"It's chilly today," she repeated.


"Do you know me? Because I do not know you.  You are not my grandmother," an annoyed me responded. 


"True, but I could be.  Who are your grandmothers?  I might know them."






Grateful to leave the subject of my sweater behind, I said, "my paternal grandmother was from Minsk..."


The old lady interrupted me.  "Don't know anyone from Minsk."

"Oh, okay," I continued.  " My maternal grandmother was from Nimotsch.


"Nobody should be from Nimotsch, maybe Sheval instead.  So, what is her name?"


"Hanah..."


"Which Hanah?"  The old lady grew more and more animated.


"Hanah Goldberg and her family worked the..."


Another interruption, "the River Inn."  


It was clear that this old lady knew more than I did about my grandmother's early years.  "But she left when she was young, about thirteen years old."


"Yes, yes, I remember.  Her mother died."


"Are you from Nimotsch?" I asked the old lady.


"No one should be from Nimotsch.  Sheval was better."


"You knew my grandmother," I exclaimed. 


"Well, it was always a possibility.  By the way, it is still chilly," she continued.


I put my sweater on.

***

No matter where we find ourselves we are always connected some way, some how to those in our midst.  I have never been able to find out what happened in Nimotsch though I have met many who have said those same words that no one should have to be from Nimotsch.


Our elders carry much wisdom... a sweater on my shoulders protects me from the chill.