Wisdom of My Father

Today “postmodernism” is de rigueur among intellectuals. It has become “sophisticated” to reject objective truths, immutable values; to sneer at a right and wrong rooted in something more than a politically-approved agenda drifting like a ship without an anchor. Everything is a narrative based on our own interpretation, and except for the narrative of leftists, everything is a narrative to “oppress the masses.”

In writing about my father’s life, I wanted to show that there is an objective morality that transcends time and place; that there is a way of viewing one’s obligations to self and others that is a commonality of all positive religious faith.

My father’s life was a testimony to the value of persistence, hard work. self-sufficiency, honesty, a good attitude, and a belief in something greater than one’s own personal desires—the very opposite of what postmodernism teaches.

I know, I know, all clichés. But what are now clichés to be mocked, became cliches because they were true. True in a way “intellectuals” today do not admit exists.

My father’s parents and siblings were murdered by the Germans during the Holocaust, and he orphaned at eleven. All he had was his character, instilled in him by good parents and traditional values. Nowadays, a victim mentality is a trendy one, but if anybody was a victim it was my father—and despite a very real disadvantage, he achieved success. Against tremendous odds, he arrived in the United States in 1960, with a wife and baby (me), but without a cent or a word of English. Fortunately he knew a profession—he was a watchmaker. He led a successful, self-sufficient, and productive life, and that is testimony to the worth of these “outdated” values.

My father died in 1996, not quite 70. A number of times in the year or two preceding his death, I yelled at him. I greatly regret this now, but now I understand why I did it. He was always a wise man and I relied on him. But a few years before his death, he started saying things that made little sense. Dementia was starting, subtly at first, but still there. He still worked part-time until the end, but he was not quite the same. I had a hard time accepting this change, and I could not deal with his decline.

Despite his losses and suffering, he was never bitter. He was always smiling and upbeat, and had a sense of humor. He was very proud of his service in the Israeli Defense Force, and saw bloody combat during the Suez crisis. He would jokingly say that he was the best soldier in the entire Israeli Army… until the shooting started.

In the early years here it was a struggle to make ends meet. My mother avoided restaurants because of the cost, compared to preparing food at home, but my father would occasionally treat me—he always tipped well. “The waiters have to eat too”, he’d say. Years of impoverishment didn’t make him stingy, and if anything, he was generous to a fault.

My father was meticulous in everything he did, as was befitting someone who was a watchmaker and military man; yet, he did not demand this high standard from others. Indeed, he was the rare man who led by example. He liked to say “rush slowly” and by this he meant to do things as fast as you can without any sacrifice of quality.

My father believed not only in honesty, but in never promising more that you could deliver. Back in the day when mechanical watches were all that there were, my father became sort of a specialist at repairing Omegas, but he would never open a Rolex. He felt that would not be fair to the owner, to have someone who was less than an expert play around with their expensive watch.

Both my parents were children in Poland when World War II started, when the Holocaust started. My mother was born into a Hasidic family, while my paternal grandfather was the first in his family to become secular.

Surviving the war, my parents both wound up in the newly free Israel, where they met and married; at the time it was a search for who was among the few who survived. Both being born in Krakow, they were introduced to one another, but because of their religious differences, if not for the Holocaust, they never would have married. 

My father had to, in effect, work two jobs for decades. He worked a nine-to-five for a timepiece company, but he also would go to 47th street in Manhattan to repair watches given to jewelry stores there. The people who owned these stores were mostly Hasidim. He would gently make fun of them, but had a deep affection for these people. He would say of ultra-orthodox Jews, “I don’t dress like them, I don’t act like them, but I’m one of them.”

My father believed in the importance of authenticity. Elgin was once a great American watch company when watches were made in the United States; back in the days where almost everything was domestically-made. The original Elgin went out of business in 1968, but the name survived, being sold and resold—a nice name to be put on Chinese quartz watches. He once had some business dealings with someone who sold these Elgins. He pointed to a 1950’s made-in-the-USA Elgin he was wearing, and joked to them “Those aren’t Elgins, this is an Elgin.”

Likewise, although he was not orthodox, he felt that reform and conservative Judaism lacked some authenticity. He would say “When I don’t want a rabbi, I don’t want a rabbi, when I want a rabbi, I want a real rabbi.”

My father died too young, but he was not afraid of death. More than once he said that death is part of God’s plan, that if people did not die there would be no room for newcomers.

I just became a senior, and I’m not well, so I do not know how much time I have left on Earth. I still have two young children. I hope when they are old enough to read, they can read this, and learn the caliber of the man that their fraternal grandfather, who died decades before they were born, was.

My father’s attitude toward religious observance and life could be summed up by something he once told me, “I’m not against ritual, but the most important thing is to believe in God and treat others well.”

Image: Free image, Pixabay license, no attribution required.