Gary Nachshen May 1, 1997
Jennifer Nachshen May 1, 1997
Issie Nachshen (unveiling Oct 5, 1997)
My grandmother, Polly Nachshen, brought great dignity and exquisite grace to everything she did and everyone she touched. Throughout her life, she carried herself and gave of herself in a manner that was an inspiration to all who knew her. Not even the most trying circumstances could shake her innate dignity, and it is that dignity and that grace which I will remember about her above all else.
And there is a lot to remember. She was born on March 1, 1907. Now by most people’s math, that would have made her 90 years old. Oddly, however, Bubby Polly was only 39 years old. She was only 39 when I first innocently inquired as to her age 30 years ago and she was still only 39 on her last birthday two months ago today. Some might consider this just a minor vanity, but I think it reflected the state of grace of a woman who considered herself eternally in the prime of life.
Bubby Polly grew up in the shtetl of Zguritsa, in what is now the Republic of Moldova, with her parents Froika Garber and Miriam Brestowski, her brothers Abie and Max, and her sisters Rachel, Minnie and Sura. Theirs were not easy circumstances, and in 1927 she came to Canada. Most of the rest of the Garber family settled here, as well.
My grandmother was never afraid of hard work, to put it mildly. For many years after her arrival in Montreal, she worked long hours in a dress factory. On the job, she became friendly with a fellow employee named Fera Nachshen, and Fera introduced Polly to her older brother Jack Nachshen. Polly and Jack were married in 1931, and they remained devoted to each other until my grandfather’s death precisely one year and one month ago.
Polly Nachshen brought a quiet, efficient dignity to motherhood. She spared no effort in raising my father Sam and my uncles Larry and Brian. And when her sister Minnie died suddenly and tragically in 1946, she did not hesitate to take responsibility for Minnie’s two children, Jerry and Anita. When I consider the extraordinary bond she developed with Anita, I think it is fair to say that she considered Anita the daughter she never had.
A word now about food. It has become almost trite to speak highly of a Jewish grandmother’s cooking. In this case, though, even the most fulsome praise of Bubby Polly’s cooking would be an understatement. My grandmother poured her heart and soul into every Shabbas dinner, into every potato latke for Hannukkah and every hamentash for Purim, into the chocolate chip cookies she sent to cure my homesickness when I was working overseas in Taiwan, and last but surely not least into every batch of gefilte fish she painstakingly prepared for Rosh Hashanah and for Pesach. Truly, Polly’s kitchen was the pivot around which Nachshen family life revolved for decades.
My grandmother took tremendous pride in her family’s accomplishments, and she suffered terribly on the illness or death of a loved one. Both her pride and her suffering were suffused with that great dignity and exquisite grace of which I have already spoken, and left no doubt that she always, always put the concerns of others ahead of those of her own.
Bubby did have her lighter side. She had a long-standing weakness for Chinese food, and she and my wife Julie celebrated their common March 1st birthday on more than one occasion with a feast of egg rolls, pineapple chicken, and similar delicacies. My grandmother was also the last of the penny ante gamblers. There was nothing she enjoyed more than a hand of canasta with Fera, Tanya, and the other ladies on Macdonald Avenue or a bingo or kalookie game with all her friends at the Manoir Montefiore. Not to mention that she was forever promising to buy Eileen, Brian, Johanna, Mark, Jennifer, Julie, and me all sorts of wonderful presents when she finally won that Loto 6/49 jackpot.
Bubby Polly occupied a special place in the heart of every member of the family. This was true of her husband of 65 years, it was true of her three sons, it was true of her daughters-in-law Anne and Margaret, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nieces and nephews, and everyone else. It was a real honour and privilege for each of us to have known her, and I am sure I speak in the name of all of us when I offer profound thanks to all her caregivers in these last, difficult weeks and months. I would especially like to single out her companions, Susan and Prissy, and Doctor Judy Hagshi, our cousin-to-be, for their smiles and their devotion.
My cousin Jennifer would like to add a few thoughts of her own about Bubby Polly. Before she does, let me close this tribute with one final thought. John F. Kennedy once said that the ability to display grace under pressure was an ability to be prized like no other. My grandmother personified grace, she personified dignity, and we will all prize our memories of her.
Godspeed, and may your soul rest in peace.
Gary Nachshen
A few months ago, I went to my Bubbie’s house armed with a pen and some paper. My goal was to get her recipe for sweet and sour meatballs. Although she was eager to share her culinary secrets, we didn't get very far. She began by telling me that I would need some meat and a bowl. "How much meat, Bubbie?" I asked, "What size bowl?" She looked at me strangely and replied, "Some nice meat, and a good bowl."
This story reminds me of a movie I've seen in which the main character is a woman who expresses herself both artistically and emotionally through her cooking. After tasting a special dish created for a wedding, everyone asks the woman to reveal her secret ingredients. The only secret, she tells them, is that you must make it with much love. Anyone who has tasted my Bubbie’s cooking will tell you that she had a similar secret. Anyone who knew my Bubbie will tell you that she used the same secret ingredient in her approach to everything in her life. She did it all with much love.
Now, as I am standing here, I wonder what I can tell you that will truly express my feelings about my Bubbie. There are moments that I remember that seemed unimportant then, but mean so much to me now. The only way that I can think to tell you about my grandmother is to let her speak for herself, through the stories and anecdotes about her life as they are remembered by myself, and by others.
About a week ago, I sat by my Bubbie’s bedside with my mother and my cousin Anita, who were having a lively discussion about the original colour of Bubbie’s hair. I asked Bubs to settle the argument. "What colour was your hair?" I asked. "It was a good colour," she told me. "We want to know what colour it was," I repeated . "My hair was the colour you remember it to be," she answered, not allowing either my mother or Anita to be wrong. She always wanted those around her to feel good. The answers didn't matter, as long as everyone was happy.
My Bubbie always saw the happiness of others as being of the utmost importance. She always had a compliment for everyone she saw. And she was so very interested in other people. She always wanted to hear about new grandchildren, a special trip, or a good bargain. She reveled in other people's happy times. She was also one of the most generous women I have ever met. When I visited her one day, I was wearing a ring that I had bought myself. She decided that she liked the look of it, and thought that it reminded her of one of her own. Before I knew it, she had found her ring, and wouldn’t take no for an answer when she asked me to have it. Another time, I came over to model a new dress that I had bought for my graduation dance. She liked it so much that she would not let me leave without her sparkly evening purse, which she felt matched perfectly.
Bubbie couldn't stand to see anyone unhappy. I remember that whenever I caught a cold or the flu she would call me and tell me: "I wish that I could be sick for you, so you wouldn’t feel it." She was also an expert worrier. Years ago, my mother had a friend who was having a baby. She went into labour while my mother was at work. My mom phoned Bubbie, and asked her to help her out by worrying for her. Bubbie agreed. She called my mom a few hours later and asked if the baby had been born, and could she stop worrying. The baby was born healthy, so I guess Bubs did a good job.
I will remember that my Bubbie was kind and generous. I will also remember her strength. She raised a family during a difficult era, and was years ahead of her time in her efforts to combine work and family. One of my Bubbie’s biggest regrets was that she never had a formal education. She certainly derived a great deal of joy from our achievements. I remember that whenever I found success, Bubbie was always the first person I called.
It is just as important that I remember some of the littler things, that made Bubbie the person she was. I will remember how she loved sour candies and that she liked her sweaters not too long and not too short. I will remember how she would always ask for just a quarter of a glass of beer at family dinners. After she took a couple of small sips, she would laugh and joke to us that we were making her drunk (shicker). I will remember how babies and children, especially her great grandchildren, could light up her face with a smile, even on her most difficult days. I will remember how she greeted with me with kisses, and then immediately checked to see if she had left lipstick marks on my cheeks.
I will remember that her secret ingredient was to do it all with much love.
I will remember my Bubbie, and I will miss her.
Jennifer Nachshen
Unveiling - Polly Nachshen - Z"L
Our gathering here today in not a formal "unveiling", which in itself is merely to show that a monument has been erected over the grave of the deceased.
Elie Wiesel once said that, "whenever Jews get together, it is a celebration." The word "celebration" is immediately associated with some festive marking of an occasion. However, as the Oxford English Dictionary points out, it means also to "perform publicly a religious ceremony." In my view, in this case, it is more of a commitment on the part of those gathered, to mark the place where a dear and beloved person has been buried, and we are here to commit ourselves to remember her and to remember the. person she was.
Also, I think, it is important for people to know how much love and respect we had for the deceased, and it is our commitment to always remember. As well, for future generations to know of the life of the deceased and how much it meant for her family and friends.
My aunt Polly was a person who cared. She cared for her family, and she cared about people. In the hard times of her life, she was always in there, "pitching", and always with a strong demeanour and an encouraging smile.
During her many trials and tribulations, she was always there with a smile and an encouraging word. Especially in the last years of her life, her devotion and concern were always evident, even through pain and suffering. She was always concerned about her family and the family.
When I saw her for the last time, shortly before her death, she would not come out of the room until she was properly dressed and her hair combed, even as we could see the suffering and pain.
As we now formally unveil the place of her burial, we and future generations, will know that here was a woman, a mother, a grandmother and a loving person, who cared and was concerned for us.
A Philosopher once said, "ritual is a means for unifying a family through time." This ritual that we are today performing, is for the living; by bringing the dead into our lives and to live better lives.
The five Hebrew letters on the tombstone mean " that her soul may be bound up with the living for evermore."
A good person, a wonderful Aunt, and a great human being.
Shalom.
Issie Nachshen
October 5, 1997.