time marching

In the early days of the 50’s the Braff/Katz family in Pittsburgh was a group of people that must have ranged in the 100’s. The first immigrants settled in Youngstown Ohio, moved to Detroit Michigan and after two of the three uncles found semi fame and fortune in Pittsburgh, their other brothers, sisters’ sons and daughters followed. At the age of five I can remember having at least 5 cousins named Blanche 7 named Hannah, 12 named Hymie and a handful of Charlie’s Claire’s and Irving.

Jewish holidays were divided between certain families and in most cases certain aunts owned the right to first refusal in housing the rest of the family for the occasions. I suppose one day in the annals of history there was a meeting of my great aunts and their daughters dividing up the Jewish holidays and who would “make” the holiday”, such as the Pope divided up the Spanish speaking portion of South America versus the Portuguese portion of that continent. When it came to American holidays, there was little argument as somewhere in the Constitution there was an amendment stating that immediate families should only invite immediate family members. The only exception to that rule was the Fourth of July and my mother was crowned the Betsy Ross for the day and she was given compensation from the Grandma’s of the family to make her finger licking good fried chicken, exceptionally sweet Romanian potato salad, and her extravagant chocolate cake with coconut icing. She would make this for about 50 adoring fans.

It seemed that during the months preceding the holidays, gossip was common and sometimes ran rampant. Someone was rumored to be a ‘shicker’ (a Yiddish word for alcoholic), a ‘schtooper’ (fooling around with either his secretary or worse the wife of a neighbor who was not Jewish), a putz (stupid person doing stupid things), a shyster (stealing money or doing under the table transactions), or a schmuck (just pure evil to anyone in his/her company). During Maj Jong, Canasta games, family poker night’s innuendo would boil like the steam from a witches caldron and hearsay, and fabrication would rise to the top like a batch of fresh made cream. No more then a sentence needed to be said to actually sentence the cousin to some punishment he/she may have never committed or the rolling of the eye or an Ahf Tsores (in trouble) gurgled with gritted teeth with a brief poo-poo spitting off the tongue added for good measure. Some times the accusation were true, many times they were magically created out of nothing but jealousy, anger and imagination.

But no matter how great the suggestion of wrong doing by some or the misdeeds by others or how unfortunate their actions might be, when the holidays arose, there was a laying down of the swords and all were welcome for the gathering and the meal. Of course there were some consequences and ground rules such as preferred seating, how big the Matzah Balls would be in the soup and how big the portions of seconds could be or even if they could have seconds. My family back in the 50’s had a great love hate for one another. They wished each other well, but at the same time wished better for their immediate band of children and parents and more of an okay for the rest. But they were family and even in the worst of Romanian curses, none would ever find a family member alone.

As time moved forward, some family members got richer and more successful. Some family members struggled and their incomes stayed stagnant or worsened. Some family members held on to memories and some forgot their past. As time moved forward, the holidays were no longer a family event, and families moved away and smaller enclaves of family existed inclusion less a priority and exclusion the norm. By the mid 60’s the Braff/Katz Families were scattered in geography and intimacy.

It seemed our roots were no longer strong and whatever had held us as a bond was non-existent and lost. We had the same genealogical similarities but more than that was not important. In Pittsburgh there is a cemetery called the New Light Cemetery, about 90% of the Braff/Katz family is buried there. That place it seems is the only recognition of the families that once thrived and relied on one another. Perhaps the resting place after life is still the family poker night.

I believe to spend the time to understand our present condition we must spend some time on our past. I believe that moving forward is contingent on how we traveled to this current position in our life. There is much to learn from the past, much to never repeat and much to emulate because there was some good. It seems that much that occupies my current 61^st year of life is involved with the politics of this nation. I am a student of history and often times find great value in reviewing the warnings and wonders it presents. It seems like the Braff/Katz family which once thrived on the energy of inclusion and acceptance for all its members, like the United States also grew strong from its family. It seems like the Braff/Katz family successes, failures, lack of involvement with cousins, selfishness has also begun to isolate this nation separating us into too many groups, too many segments, too many we vs. them. The joy of beginnings disappears.

My nuclear family, where once I could count 100 people no longer exists. I am sure the generations of offspring since the 50’s would find that number to have quadrupled, but I know very few of those relatives or have interaction with them. Is that what has happened to America. Have we isolated ourselves from one another, defined our differences as more important than our similarities? Have we forgotten we are family?

But then the adage that ‘time marches on’ rings loud and clear and I wonder if in that marching of time we must give up all that we come from?