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Part VII -- In My Life
“There are places I'll remember, all my life though, some have changed - Some forever not for better, some have gone and some remain - All these places have their moments, with lovers and friends, I still can recall - Some are dead and some are living, in my life, I've loved them all…” – The Beatles (“In My Life”)
As with many things that have happened, my next issue took me by surprise. It was a Friday evening and we were just about finished with dinner. I started to realize that my feet were hurting. At first it was subconsciously annoying me, but after a few minutes, I looked down and saw two of the largest ankles I had ever seen. My feet and ankles had swelled to at least twice their normal sizes. It was freaky. Clearly, it was a fluid build up, but I had no clue as to why.
I immediately called Sherman. He told me that it was probably due to the Norvasc© that I took for high blood pressure. However, he recommended I come in, just to be safe. Since I was due for my 6-month biopsy, I came in the following Tuesday. After the biopsy, the doctor felt that it was indeed caused by the medicine and changed the prescription to Clonidine©.
It was early March, and we started to prepare for the Jewish holiday of Purim. Renee and I have always loved this holiday and we were really looking forward to it. The only problem was that the biopsy came back as 3A rejection. The doctor prescribed 100mg of Prednisone© a day, for three days. Those who have taken this drug can attest to the changes it causes in someone’s demeanor and personality. I had never taken more than 40mg a day before and knew what that did to me. But 100mg? It was very scary.
Sherman scheduled a new biopsy for the following week. Unfortunately, the only day Dr. Greenberg could fit me in was Purim. I was very disappointed. One of the things I looked most forward to was celebrating Purim in New York. Driving around Boro Park, on this holiday, is a sight to be seen. Jews, everywhere, are dressed in costumes, handing out sweets and just having a great time.
But this year, I would have to miss it. Renee took the kids to Boro Park and I went up to the Bronx. My biopsy was scheduled for 8am, so I figured that with a little luck, I could be home by 2pm.
I figured wrong.
When I arrived at Montefiore, I went through my usual routine. I got undressed, put on a paper “robe”, laid down and waited. I had with me two Vicodin tablets, that I would take about 30 minutes before I went into the cath lab. Since I had had so many biopsies, in such a short time, they started to hurt more. Evidently, I was amassing a lot of scar tissue and it was causing me more and more pain, each time. I asked Dr. Greenberg to attempt to go through my carotid artery (neck), which he told me he might do this time. But he felt that he needed more time to determine if the block that I had, between the two ventricles, had opened.
At about 10am, I asked the nurse how much longer it would be. I knew that there are often delays, due to emergencies or other staff issues. However, the nurse told me that Dr. Greenberg’s partner (whose name escapes me at the moment), called in sick, and that Dr. Bernstein would have to fill in for him. On top of that, the ER sent him two new emergency patients, who of course, took priority.
At around 11:30, again the nurse came in and informed me that they would perform my biopsy today, but it would most likely be around 1-2pm. Beside the fact that I was now starving (no food after midnight) and thirsty, I was very concerned about missing the Purim Seudah, the holiday meal. It is supposed to begin before sundown, which would cut the time short. I sent a message to Sherman (Cassanova – the transplant coordinator), to see if I could be seen by Dr. Moskowitz there, instead of in his office across the street. That would save me a lot of time. Besides, if I didn’t get out of the cath lab until 5, he wouldn’t be able to see me today, anyway.
I was finally brought in to the lab, by 2:30. By 3:30. I was done, but since the entry was through my groin, I still had to lie down, at no more than a 30º angle, for two hours. Worse than that, because it was so late, Renee had to come up to the Bronx, to pick me up (my ride had to leave the Bronx by 3). As it was, we didn’t get home till close to 8, due to traffic.
The next day, Sherman called at told me that the Prednisone worked. My rejection was down to 1A, which is considered stable. It would stay at 1A for the next 6 months.
I mention this story, because it was very common for these situations to arise. Although there were some circumstances that worked out easily, for the most part, everything was a struggle. Between the doctor visits, the kid’s issues, money problems and concerns about insurance, it felt like we were just existing, with no plan in sight. We knew certain things needed to be fixed, but we hadn’t the time, or the wherewithal, to fix them. I was little or no help. Oh, I wanted to be. I wanted to make all of the problems go away. But I had little strength and was constantly exhausted. I rationalized my lack of physical ability on the sore on my foot. It still had not healed correctly (it was still an open sore) and was hampering my mobility. Also, I had noticed a lump in my stomach while I was in the hospital. It turned out the be a Hernia that was caused by the surgeon moving things aside, during my transplant. When I left the hospital, it was barely noticeable. But now, it was starting to grow. Dr. Garcia told me that I would have to wait 6 more months, before I’d be strong enough, to go through surgery. It wasn’t terribly uncomfortable (yet), and I just had to live with it. In addition, my left leg remained hyper-sensitive. The doctor had told me that if it did not improve within 6 months, it would be a permanent disability. Well, it’s been 6 months, so I guess I’m stuck with it.
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Around this time, I started to develop a desire to write. I had reacquainted myself with a lot of the websites I used to enjoy and found myself re-igniting my passions for Israel and politics. One site that I have always enjoyed was (is) the Jewish World Review, or JWR. In April, JWR sent out an email asking if anyone needed a place to go for the Pesach (Passover) Seders. Since we had no plans, I wrote to Binyamin Jalkovsky, the JWR editor, told him my story and asked if he could hook us up.
About a week later, Binyamin informed me that I would hear from a Rabbi Twersky, who lived in my neighborhood. I had met many Twersky’s in my life, but just assumed he would be someone I did not know. After speaking to the Rabbi, we were set up to go to a family who lived around the corner from us. It was at the Seder that I found out that Rabbi Twersky had lived previously in Denver and led an Orthodox synagogue there. Although I had a poor memory, I put two and two together and discovered that this was the same Rabbi Twersky who officiated (with my father – who was a Rabbi as well) at my wedding, 14 years earlier. The next week, I walked to his new synagogue and introduced myself. It was a wonderful moment.
As the weather started improving, I began walking a little more. The kids were at school all day and I started to get out more. What I really wanted to do was drive. The doctor had been hesitant because of the stroke, as was Renee. I had already been allowed to sit in the front seat and felt like I was ready. Renee was worried, though. Not only about my safety, but of other drivers as well. Clearly, my reflexes had diminished and I had a tough time with depth perception. However, I had improved dramatically in those areas and I promised that I would not go out of the neighborhood or on the highways.
In addition, Renee was having a difficult time managing getting to work on time and doing carpool. Plus any other errands that needed to be done. My driving would be a big help to her. Renee was able to secure busing for the twins, but Mayer and Rachel still needed to be driven.
There was another concern. Back in November, my car (a Nissan Sentra), was towed because Renee had parked illegally. She didn’t really, but in the city of New York, that means nothing. She actually parked in a legal spot, but her back tires “touched” (barely) a white school crosswalk line. While that is normally grounds for a fine, she had two things going against her. One, she had Texas plates and two, this was during a time in NY, where they began to “shake-down” regular citizens to help the cash-strapped city. There were many outrageous stories coming out about people who were ticketed for the most mundane reasons. One pregnant woman was ticketed for sitting on a step, halfway down a long set of stairs, in a subway station. She argued that she was 8 months pregnant and needed to rest. The policewoman simply didn’t care and ticketed her for blocking the stairs.
Another story in the press was about a young Israeli man, who fell asleep on a train, late one night. The train was practically empty and he was leaning against the glass divider. When he woke up, he discovered a ticket on his lap for taking up two seats on a train.
Many of these instances where indeed illegal. Some of the laws had been on the books for well over a hundred years. But, they had never been enforced before. In most cases, they had been outdated or simply forgotten. Now, Mayor Bloomberg decided that in order to take the city out of the red, he would make those who could least afford it, foot the bill. He accomplished two things. He angered his constituents and he drove people out of the city.
Getting back to the problem with the car, after it was towed, Mike and Renee decided to just leave the car in the pound for a while. The pound was located in the Mott Haven section in the Bronx, which is better known as “crack city.” It’s not Fort Apache, but it is the notorious “South Bronx.” Clearly not a place for Renee to travel alone to. We figured we would find a way to get it later and not add it to our daily list of concerns now.
29 days later, we finally decided to pay the ransom. The cost of the impounding was $15 a day, but with the cost of the ticket, plus the towing charge and administration costs (what the hell is that?), the total cost was over $600. We decided right there and then that it was time to sell the car. In fact, if we had waited two more day, we wouldn’t have had a car to sell. The official at the pound informed me that my car was to be prepared for auction in two days. Who knows how little the car would bring in that way.
Over the next couple of months, we contemplated the choices we had. We brought it to a number of dealers, who only offered 30% of the bluebook wholesale price. The car was a 2000, only two years old, loaded with extras and low mileage. It had no structural or body damage and drove very well. The bluebook wholesale value was considered to be between $9,500 to $10,000. I figured I should be able to get at least $7,000. However, I didn’t want the hassle of selling it off the street. I wasn’t physically strong enough to deal with strangers coming over and wasn’t cognitively strong enough to not be taken advantage of.
Finally, I decided to sell it to Car Cash. I didn’t get as much as I hoped for, but it wasn’t too bad. Plus, it was easy and stress free. Ethan followed me there (it was in Manhattan – I hadn’t driven there yet – and I needed a ride home) and the whole thing took 30 minutes. The money was a welcome addition, but like always, it was gone before you know it.
Now that I was finally able to drive, I looked forward to driving carpool. I would take the kids while Renee took the bus to Boro Park. She actually preferred it that way. It gave a chance to walk a little and not have to find parking. It seemed like a win-win situation (note – seemed like). I’m not sure exactly when I began to remember how much I hated driving in Brooklyn, but I did. It was awful. If I had to just the simplest of errands, I still had to find parking close enough to walk from. To just go to a store on Avenue J and the teens, I would have to figure on no less than an hour. It was unbelievable. It may have been better if I was driving the Sentra, but the Quest (minivan) was harder to park.
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The Seders were very nice. We got to know a lot of our neighbors and started to feel more a part of the community. A few weeks later, I took Rachel and Mayer to a couple of bonfires, in celebration of the Jewish holiday of Lag B’Omer. Rachel saw a couple of her friends at the first and I saw Sheri and a couple of other former NCSYer’s I knew from Pittsburgh. It was nice getting out and I was quite pleased that I was able to walk to each one. I hadn’t really pushed myself and wasn’t sure I had the strength to go so far.
Then, I received another scare.
One Saturday, I noticed that I was having a particularly difficult time breathing. It wasn’t that it was difficult, it was just more noticeable. On top of this, my sinuses started to act up. I didn’t want to overreact, but I have a history of sinus infections, and now having a suppressed immune system, I didn’t want to take any chances. That night, Renee drove me to Maimonides. It was the first time I had been there since my heart attack. This time, however, I walked in on my own.
As soon as we entered, Renee recognized one of the paramedics who had saved my life. When she told him what was wrong, he then took over and made sure I was being taken care of. Boy, did that get them moving! Renee found the triage nurse and registered me and I was immediately brought in to a private area (away from germs). Without delay, they gave me a nitroglycerin tablet under my tongue and then oxygen over my face. I have to admit that I did start to feel a little better. I knew I wasn’t having another heart attack, but I knew something wrong.
The nitro kept me a little wired and my head began to ache, so the nurse gave me some Percoset©. It took a little while, but I soon started to get sleepy. The doctor had told Renee that I would have to be there until they would be able to get in touch with Dr. Garcia. While Maimonides calls themselves “One Of The Best Heart Hospitals in America” (it says so on a huge banner outside the building), they had no clue about treating a transplant recipient. I was pretty certain that I would have to stay a couple of days, but I really wanted to be able to stay there. Instead, the next morning, I was sent by ambulance to the Bronx and Montefiore.
I was wide awake in the ambulance and I was trying to visualize what the trip must have been like, when I was first brought there. My memories of the first week still had not returned and I was fearing that they never would. It wasn’t that I wanted to relive those days, but I am a naturally curious person and it really bothers me that I have a 4-day lapse in my memory. Renee reminded me that I was happy and excited about the bypass. I’m guessing that the stroke probably caused the memory loss, although it may be more than that. I sometimes wonder if the fact that I was so hopelessly optimistic - about finally getting to the root of many of my problems – and then waking up to find even worse problems, caused my brain to bury the memory altogether.
Ironically, I was placed in the same room I occupied in November. I recognized some of the staff, but this time, it was a much better situation. I was able to read, see, walk, feed myself and not have a “suicide watch” sign on my door. The one thing that didn’t change was loneliness. Because I was only there for three days – Drs. Garcia and Moskowitz diagnosed me with simple sinusitis, although my blood pressure rose dramatically – I had no visitors. I did receive a couple of phone calls, but even Renee had to work now and the kids needed her. I wasn’t mad. I had other things to occupy my time and my mind, but it was lonely.
Over the following weeks, we started thinking about retrieving our furniture that had been stored in Dallas. A number of people had recommended we just sell it all and start over again. In a small way, this was very appealing. After all, we went this long without it, maybe we didn’t need it. But after considering it, we decided we wanted our stuff. These were things that were our lives for the past who knows how many years. We really didn’t have a lot that had much monetary value, but all of our memories were in those boxes. It wasn’t if everything we owned was crap. We have a number of very nice items and we knew some of those things could and would never be replaced.
Getting the furniture was a challenge. We got estimates from a number of movers and concluded that the best way, financially, was to do it ourselves. The idea of driving a truck from Dallas was both scary and exhilarating. I felt strong enough, as long as I could find someone to travel with me. Renee had resigned to the fact that I was hell-bent to do it, so she just went along. Many of her friends felt that I was basically incapable of making a decision, much less making the trip, but they had no idea how liberating it is to drive on the open road. Most of them have only driven to the Catskills and consider that a long trip. However, since I first got my license, when I was a teenager, long distance driving became my most enjoyable activity. Since 1983, I had driven cross-country (at least 1,000 miles per trip) every year, often two or three times per year. It’s something I inherited from my Dad and it calms me when I’m stressed.
On a number of my journeys, Ethan (Miner) would accompany me (at least until I got married). He and I have driven to Houston, San Antonio, Nashville, New York, Atlanta and Miami together at different times. They were some of the best times of my pre-married life.
Naturally, I called Ethan and asked him if he was interested. Ethan had been divorced for a little while (since remarried) and loved the chance to get away. For old times sake, he agreed to accompany me. We decided to go at the end of May and stay in Dallas over a weekend, before heading north. That weekend was the Jewish holiday of Shavuot. This gave me a chance to visit Mike and his family and to see some of the people who generously help me financially.
We flew down on Friday. The flight was a little difficult. My legs were stronger, but sitting in one position took a bit out of me. I spent the afternoon with my nieces, Deena and Sara, and my nephews, Arye and Nachie. Arye was the youngest for about 12 years before Nachie came around. Although he has slimmed down since, Nachie (who will probably hate me for this, if he reads it when he’s older) was one of the fattest little guys I have ever seen. But, he is adorable, nonetheless.
The holiday began that evening. The walk to the synagogue – the next day - was too much for me, so I didn’t go. However, the next day, Mike brought me in a wheelchair. It wasn’t easy for him, but he looked at as a good workout. It gave me the chance to see people I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to see, had I stayed home.
Looking back now, I’m not exactly sure why I wanted to see them at all. Yes, a number of them did donate to the fund Mike set up, but being seen in the condition I was in (being wheeled) and feeling that most people were glad it was me - and not them, seems odd to me now. I was never particularly well-liked, growing up in Dallas, and had very few connections there. In fact, we strongly considered moving back there, after I was discharged and realized there was nothing there for us, besides Mike. My other brother, Bruce, and I did not have a close relationship. We are really from different eras. When he was 13, my father sent him to Memphis to study in Yeshiva. I was 1-years-old at the time and never really developed that connection – like I had with Debbie and Mike.
While there, I began to feel more and more out of place. Most of the folks there were very friendly, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I was looked at with pity. Even if they were, I suppose I should have expected it. Human nature takes over even the most selfless people. For me, it was as if the guy voted most likely to fail in life did just that. I know I shouldn’t feel that way, but the idea was so powerful, it really made me glad I lived elsewhere. For the first time in my life, Dallas no longer felt like home.
On Sunday morning, Mike took me to the Penske dealer, where I picked up the truck. Then we went over to the storage bin and started loading up. Actually, Mike, Deena and Deena’s friend, Adina Hirschberg did the loading. It turned out to be a bigger job than any of us thought. Additionally, we couldn’t fit everything in, so I had to rent an additional U-Haul trailer.
The next day, I went to pickup Ethan, who was staying at his mother’s house (just like old times) and headed out Interstate 30. It had been a few years since I last drove from Dallas to New York – the last time being in 2001 (when we moved to NY, we went to Chicago first), a month before 9/11. That trip is etched in my mind now because of a comment I made to Renee. We were in Long Beach, standing at the edge of the water – on the bay side – looking at the Twin Towers in the distance. I turned to Renee and said, “It would be so surreal if the towers came down.” I remember looking at them and the thought just popped in my head. Remember, this is from a guy who told Renee that if she ever moved me back to New York, I’d have a heart attack! No fooling. I really said that, many times in the past.
The trip through East Texas was pleasant. Driving out of Dallas, you first come to Lake Ray Hubbard, which is a large reservoir along the Dallas County line. At the end of the lake, the road rises and you have a magnificent view of the city in the distance. The first stop was Texarkana, on the Texas-Arkansas border. Texarkana is actually two cities, one in Texas and the other, larger one in Arkansas. The main post office was built on the border and serves both cities.
From there, we traveled northeast, passing Hope, birthplace of Bill Clinton, and then to Little Rock. I was feeling better that I had in a long, long time. However, I began to notice my legs were very swollen. I figured it was from the driving, so we decided to take a long break. We went to a Wal-Mart (I drove in a disability cart). It was the first of many Wal-Mart stops along the way. After a couple of hours, we pressed on to Memphis, Tennessee.
As we approached the Mississippi River, the sun was setting behind us, setting up a very pretty view of the city. I had traveled to Memphis many times had had some wonderful times there. My wife, Renee, was born there had had spent her first 13 years there. It was exceptionally nice to see the “Welcome to Tennessee” sign as we crossed the river. I was born in Knoxville, on the other side of the state, but even though I left before my 7th birthday, Tennessee always “felt” like where I belonged. It’s a very strong emotion, but one I’ve had ever since I left.
After Memphis, we pushed on past Jackson and stopped for the night in a town called Wildersville. It’s a small rural town, about have way between Memphis and Nashville. We thought about pushing on to Nashville, but figured it would be less expensive in this town. So we found a Best Western and called it a night.
The next morning, our drive took us over the Tennessee River, past a town called Bucksnort. Once you cross the river, the land starts to gently rise. As you make your way into Nashville, it becomes quite hilly. We detoured into the city, in order to find Kosher food. As an observant Jew, it’s all I’ll eat. There is a grocery in town that I had been to a couple of years earlier, so we rested there. After a short break, we headed for Knoxville.
Many people I have spoken to have told me that there is a certain place where they feel truly at ease. Whether it’s certain beach, park or even another country. For me, it’s Knoxville, Tennessee. It doesn’t matter that I hardly know anyone there. I see my old street (and house) and I just melt. In the synagogue, across the street, there are pictures hanging on the walls of all the confirmation classes, from over the years. My father is in 7 of those, as well as my brothers and sister. The corridors have a musty odor that sends me retreating to the 1960s. Even the walls of the sanctuary, that was built just before we moved (the congregants still refer to it as the “new” sanctuary), drips of memories of my childhood. If I could, I would never leave. I’m absolutely drawn to it. We drove down Cherokee Boulevard (to see some of the beautiful homes on Cherokee Blvd – click HERE.) to watch the Tennessee River flow past and then headed out Neyland Drive, where the Tennessee Volunteers play football. Then it was off towards Virginia.
There are many wondrous places to see in the United States that are often overlooked. If by chance you have the opportunity to drive up Interstate 81, northeast of Knoxville, and do so late in the afternoon, you will understand my point. As the sun sets in the west and the haze of the Smokey Mountains start to intensify, it is as peaceful a place as I’ve ever had the good fortune to be. Once you enter Virginia, in Bristol, the mountains begin to increase. We went looking for a Wal-Mart and drove on for quite some time before stopping for the night in Lexington, at a Howard Johnson's.
We left early the next morning. I was starting to really tire. Because of insurance issues and having to tow the trailer behind the truck, I drove the majority of the way and I was beginning to feel the strain. Thankfully, the weather stayed nice throughout the trip. By the time we arrived in Brooklyn, it was around 6pm. I had stressed over the idea of trying to park the truck in my neighborhood. It was hard enough to find one space near the apartment, but the truck and trailer took up 3-4 spaces. However, Renee had the foresight to realize that this would pose a dilemma and arranged to block off enough spots for me.
We had pre-arranged movers to arrive around the same time as me. However, from the very start, there was a huge problem. The first thing they unloaded was our sofa. We bought it new about a year ago and really liked it. However, it seems the front doors in Dallas are wider than in Brooklyn. After 20 minutes of trying, we realized there was no way the couch would get in. It was very depressing. Someone had given us a couch a few months earlier, but it was in horrible shape and wasn’t very appealing. We were really looking forward to having our couch back. But, we had no time to sit around and cry about it, so Renee called a friend of hers and offered it to her. Her friend and their family had recently moved to Bensonhurst and did not have the money for a couch. Since we had been given so much, she felt it only right to help someone else.
When the movers finished, we realized that there was absolutely no way we would be able to sort through the mass of boxes and furniture. We decided to use Rachel’s room as a dumping ground and tried to find the things we needed. Little by little, we would get through it all.
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Surkey had arranged camps for all of the kids. Rachel was set to attend BYA Day Camp in Flatbush, Mayer was going to Camp Simcha, in Far Rockaway. Mendy was set for a backyard camp around the corner and Elisha was going to HASC. It worked out for Mayer and Elisha, but Mendy did not like it as all and Rachel refused to go after the second day. In normal times, I would have forced her out the door. However, I didn’t have the energy to deal with it on a daily basis. Also, I liked the idea of having her home. She helped me a great deal – going to the store, walking Mendy to and from camp – so I just let it slide.
With the kids at camp, Renee and I had an opportunity to discuss our goals. We wanted to stay in New York, but it was apparent that I wasn’t ready to go back to work. We simply could not afford the rent we were paying and knew that because we had four kids, we really would do any better. We made the decision to look at different communities. We really never considered living in Brooklyn. When we were planning our move from Dallas, we left it wide open. Our initial thoughts were Long Beach, Kew Gardens and Far Rockaway. We had lived in Brooklyn years earlier and knew a lot of people in Boro Park, so we used it as a place to stay while we looked. But then I got sick and, well, you know.
We first looked at Kew Gardens. We liked a school that would be perfect for Mayer. But we decided against the community as a whole. We knew no one there and felt that moving there would be a little daunting. We looked at a townhouse in Bayswater, as well as a couple of apartments in Far Rockaway. The Bayswater place was very nice, but too inconvenient. Besides, the rent was no different than I was paying already. One apartment in Far Rockaway was perfect, except it was not in a real good section of town. The other one was too expensive and a dump.
David Jarcaig had floated the idea of us moving into a two-family house that he was buying, but the sale never went through. He ended up buying elsewhere, after we left.
When all was said and done, we decided we had to make a final decision. Our lease would be up soon and we still had no school for Mayer and Elisha. There was absolutely no way that I would send Mayer back to his previous school and Elisha needed a special school as well. Torah Temmima, the school he and Mendy attended last year, was very accommodating regarded Elisha, but we recognized, as well as they did, that he needed more individual attention. They were simply not equipped to take him on another year.
Renee and I spent the next few days consulting with friends and confidants as to what our options were. Ideally, we would prefer everything to work out in New York, but all of the signs pointed elsewhere. One thought we had was to go back to Texas. However, the reasons we left there in the first place had not changed, although they did start a new Jewish day school. But even then, the new school was not for my kids. Additionally, Dallas was no longer home. It’s hard to explain the feeling. I adore my brother and his family, but I have always felt inferior to both brothers. Mike never treated me that way – far from it. My thoughts are clearly internal. However, the emotion is real and it was enough to decide against going back.
We started contemplating where we had lived in the past. Our lives have been a series of moves and transfers. In fact, at one point, we had lived in more places than years we were married. That started to change when we moved to Detroit. We looked at that move as if it were permanent. We liked the friends, the job and the community as a whole. With Rachel just a toddler and Mayer an infant, we truly believed that this was it. We even started looking to buy a house. But, once again, G-d had other plans. Three years after we moved to Detroit, we were back in the car – heading for Chicago. No house, no job and what appeared to be – no future.
After three years of struggling in Chicago, I took an opportunity in Dallas and ran with it.
That lasted just three more years.
With all the right intentions, we moved to New York. Now, after just one year, we faced another move. Most of our friends and support system wanted us to stay in NY, but they understood that we had little choice. The only viable option was to find a place that offered the schooling we needed and was affordable. Another criteria was that it had to have a strong Jewish community. After reviewing all the facts, the most logical place was Chicago. We still had friends there, the schools are great and we were very familiar with it.
However, before we made any decision, we had to visit it. Things have a habit of changing quickly and for the first time (it seemed), we were going to go with our eyes wide open. We decided to go the last week of August and to make sure that if we did move there, everything would be in place. For the weeks leading up to the trip, I spent a lot of time researching what the city offered by way of jobs, costs and medical facilities. Additionally, I needed to ensure that my health benefits would not suffer.
I contacted Sherman and asked him to get me a good cardiologist in Chicago. Then, I contacted Illinois Public Aid regarding health insurance. After going over all of the numbers, the conclusion was that we fit within the guidelines for Medicaid, for each of us.
Ah, if I only had in writing.
However, at this point, everything was full steam ahead.
Then, the lights went out.
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It was a little after 4:00pm when it happened. At first, I thought it was just my kitchen light that went out, but I soon realized that there was no sound coming from my stereo either. Renee had not yet come home from work and my first reaction was that I hadn’t paid the electric bill. I was going to call ConEd, but for some reason, I decided to go outside and see if it was just us. As soon as I got downstairs, all of our neighbors came out to find out if anyone else had power. We all assumed that an electrical line came down, but were a little concerned because for some reason, all of our cell phones went dead as well.
Within a few minutes, the rumors started spreading around. For some reason, everyone “knew” what was going on, yet no one had the idea of listening to a car radio. I left Rachel in charge of the twins and sat in the car. It wasn’t hot out, although it wasn’t very comfortable either. The radio was tuned to WABC. We loved listening to Curtis and Kuby every morning and Sean Hannity in the afternoons. WABC announced that there was a widespread outage – throughout the entire region – but felt that the power would be back that evening.
It was quite fun though. Usually, you wouldn’t see that many people hanging around outside. From the stories we had heard about the 1977 blackout, we were worried about what might happen when the sun came down. Except for the owner of the sporting goods store, at the corner of Nostrand Avenue and Avenue I, where he parked his SUV right in front of his door, there wasn’t any cause for concern. Perhaps it was the continuing effect from 9/11, but this time it seemed the people in New York really came together.
By the time we went to bed, the prediction had changed. It was now estimated that most of the boroughs would be on by late morning. But, as each hour ticked away, it was getting more and more nerve-wracking. Renee and I were concerned with not having food ready for Shabbat. We learned that parts of Boro Park had power now, so we drove there and picked up a few things. But as the hour was getting late, we decided that we didn’t want to chance being stuck home in the dark another (warm) night. Although the cell phones were not working in Flatbush, they were in Boro Park. So, I called my friend Jeff, who lives in Livingston, NJ, and because they got their power from Maryland (go figure), his power never went off. So, we quickly packed up and spent the weekend with the Minsky’s.
Livingston is a very nice, quiet New Jersey community, west of the city. The homes are pretty and the people friendly. In another life, perhaps Renee and I would have lived there. Jeff and Debbie (and their daughter, Maya) really seem to enjoy it. Aside from a paper cup shortage, we had a very nice time.
We stayed over Saturday night also, but left early Sunday morning. Evidently, the lights went back on sometime Friday evening. But, it was fun being a part of it all. Spending the weekend with Jeff and Debbie just made it better.
During the weekend, Renee and I discussed Chicago in more detail. There were still a number of concerns that needed to be worked out, but we decided that we needed to take a trip there, before going further with our decision. Renee notified her office that she would be taking a few days off and because school was starting in a few weeks, we figured that this would be the best opportunity to go. Renee called our old friend (she’s not old, we’ve just known her a long time) Edie Bogoff. Edie and I have known each other since high school. We had not seen each other in years, but when we started apartment shopping in Chicago the last time we lived there (1996), we bumped into her. We ended up moving right across the street from here and her family. Rachel and their daughter became really good friends. In fact, after we moved back to Dallas, their oldest son, Shlomo, boarded with us while he went to school there.
After making arrangements to stay by them, we packed up our suitcases and got ready to go.
We left the apartment at around 6:30am and after a not-so-quick stop at Dunkin’ Donuts, headed out over the George Washington Bridge to Jersey. The weather was really nice until later that evening. By the time we passed Sharon, PA, dark clouds started to grow very quickly. We pulled over at a grocery store to buy some supplies for the night and it stated raining. Renee and Rachel ran in to the store and I stayed with the boys. Suddenly, lightning struck. It felt like it hit within 20 feet of us. Right after that, I was certain I heard a siren. I tried to find some news on the radio, but there wasn’t. By the time Renee and Rachel came back, the worst part of the storm past. We had considered stopping in Cleveland to eat, but instead drove on.
We drove for a while longer and pulled over for the night just outside Toledo at a Howard Johnson’s. The motel was nice and we got a decent nights sleep. We left early the next morning and decided to take a short detour through Amish country in Ohio and Indiana, before arriving in Chicago at around 4pm. Our first stop was to a Hebrew day school in Hyde Park, on the south side. From there we went to the Great Chicago Food and Beverage Company, one of our favorite restaurants. Then it was off to the Bogoff’s, where I simply crashed.
Over the weekend, we set up meetings with various schools and organizations. On Saturday night, Renee and I went to visit with Rabbi Shmuel Fuerst, who had been our Rabbi for many years. We laid it all out. We discussed the issues with the kids, finances and health. The pros and the cons. He told us that he saw no reason not to come back to Chicago, that our instincts were good and we should make the move back. Based on that response, Renee and I decided that should any of the schools accept the children, we would go.
On Sunday, Edie told us about an apartment that was for rent a block away. We had decided that we didn’t want to live in the neighborhood we lived in before (the Bogoff’s bought a new house in a better neighborhood a few years earlier), so we called the landlord and set up a time to see it. It happened to be the same day that the street had a block party, so there were a lot of kids running around, riding bikes and playing. Although it was kind of rainy, it was really nice. We were introduced to the landlords, Aviva and Yaakov Lopin, two of the most incredible people we have ever met (and I don’t just say that because he reads my story). The Lopin’s have 5 children – all under 10. I was concerned with the noise that our children generate, but here was a family that not only was used to it – they didn’t mind it.
The apartment was nice – definitely ready to be moved into (with a couple of repairs). It did not take much convincing to want to rent it. However, until we spoke to the schools, we couldn’t commit. Ironically, Aviva is the daughter of the principal of one of the school’s we liked. It seemed that everything was working out. The next day, Renee took Rachel to the school she had attended before we went back to Texas. However, Rachel is not the same child she was 5 years earlier and it did not appear to be a good fit. She was heartbroken. It wasn’t that she wanted to go to this school so badly. However, she had been rejected by a very close friend of hers and now felt unwanted by the school. It was very, very upsetting. But, we weren’t going to let that stop us from doing what needed to be done.
On the day we arrived in Chicago, we visited a school that we thought would be perfect for Mayer. Although it was a mainstream school, they have a reputation for servicing kids with certain special needs. It was almost like a “therapeutic” day school. However, after being in the car for two days, Mayer was completely out of sorts. Based on his interview, the school declined. I understood their reasoning, but I thought the were being unfair. It was not a normal situation. Beside the trip, the stress of being interviewed caused him tremendous grief. I begged them for another chance, but they simply were not interested.
We still had two more schools to go. We didn’t think we would have any problem getting Mendy and Rachel enrolled anywhere, but Elisha and Mayer were a challenge. We decided to put our situation in G-d’s hand. If we were meant to live in Chicago, it would work out with one of these schools.
Our next meeting was with Rabbi Charles Abramchik, at Sephardic Hebrew Day School. Rabbi Abramchik is the father of our possible landlord. In my head, it just felt like it had to be fate and not just a coincidence. After meeting with us, and seeing Mayer, he determined that he felt he could accept our children (except for Elisha, but we didn’t expect him to). We were thrilled. In fact, Renee kept asking me if I was certain I heard him correctly. While he doesn’t really deal with the financial side of education, Rabbi Abramchik felt confident that we would be able to receive enough of a scholarship, in order to attend.
That evening, while packing to return to Brooklyn, I called Yaakov and Aviva and rented the apartment.
Perhaps now, life would begin to be normal.
Go to Chapter 8
