This week's GBE2 has offered us a picture prompt. Wow! How in the world did Beth choose my grandfather's uncle? It's a small world after all.
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| Courtesy of http://www.morguefile.com/. |
I'm sure most of you are familiar with the novel Fiddler on the Roof by Sholom Aleichem or the wonderful movie that brought the story to the silver screen. For most people, it's a delightful tale of Tevya the milkman dealing with his adult daughters straying from family traditions. For me, Fiddler on the Roof is mishpacha or for those Yiddishly challenged, "Family."
My paternal grandfather was a first cousin by marriage to Sholom Aleichem and the story that this author told was based upon the family he had married into, ie. my grandfather's Uncle Tevya, Aunt Golde, and the five daughters who were his first cousins.
If you're familiar with the tale, you may remember Hodel, the second oldest daughter who married a man with radical ideas. That man was Sholom Aleichem, the author himself.
Although my family no longer follows the strict traditions of the people of Anetevka, the flavor of the culture still runs through my veins. When my grandfather left Tsarist Russia circa 1904 to escape the harsh treatment of Jews, he brought his religion and lifestyle with him. Grandpa Paull was one of the younger siblings of many and spent an entire night listening to his brothers tell him why he was foolish to leave Russia for America. After all, my grandfather didn't speak the language nor did he have money.
The next morning, he chose not to listen to his brothers as he boarded a boat for a new life in America. However, he was not entirely alone because two of his older brothers were already settled in the new land.
Once in America, Grandpa landed in Ellis Island, moved to Chicago, and then eventually traveled further south with his new wife. Grandpa Paull started a successful business in St. Louis that became Fair Mercantile Furniture Company.
While in the states, communication from home was tough, but he did receive a letter from one of his brothers. The letter said, "I wish I would have come with you." That is the last word my grandfather ever received from his family.
Years later, someone from a subsequent generation traveled back to Russia in search for the family roots. The relative found the spouse of one of the brothers who reported how the pogroms had wiped out most of the family. Russian soldiers barred the door to a synagogue and set it on fire while my great grandparents prayed. Not a pretty picture for my family, nor my usual funny post.
Enjoy this video from The Fiddler on the Roof.
