From Russia with Love
13
Anecdote from Grandpa
Growing up in a Jewish household, my grandfather was expected to have his Bar Mitzvah when he turned 13. My grandfather’s parents faced a dilemma: in Blaine Lake, Saskatchewan, the Jewish population consisted of 4 people; my grandfather, his sister, and their parents. My grandfather’s family was left with no choice but to send him to a Jewish boarding school in Winnipeg.
When my grandpa turned 12, he packed up his belongings, said goodbye to his family and friends, and boarded a train bound for Winnipeg with his father, Isaac. The instant he set foot in the building that was to be his home for the next year; a look of displeasure crossed my grandpa’s face. Isaac dragged my grandpa behind him as he was introduced to the headmaster and taken to his dormitory to meet his new roommate. After settling in, my grandfather’s dad gave him a hug goodbye, and left him with ten dollars in the event he got homesick, and needed a special treat.
When the dinner bell rang, Grandpa rushed down the stairs, eager to dig into a delicious dinner after his long and eventful day. He took his seat at a table with a few other boys, and waited for the food to arrive. A large, sour looking cook went from table to table, slamming plates of greyish mush in front of the children. When a plate of the cement like goo was hurled at him, my grandpa thanked her for the food, and begrudgingly took a bite. If the aesthetic of the dish looked unappealing, the taste was indescribable. My grandfather winced as he tried to choke down the inedible mash. As the aftertaste lingered on his palate, thoughts of his mother’s warm, crisp potato latkes entered his head as he remembered the scrumptious meals he enjoyed back home. His new reality hit him like a ton of bricks; this would be the first night in his life he would go to bed hungry. Quite distraught, my grandpa decided he had two options: Starve to death, or escape.
After dinner, my grandpa began devising his escape. He grabbed his 10 dollars and stomped down the staircase into the headmaster’s office. He quietly knocked on the door, and put on his most convincing sad face.
“What can I help you with, Leon? Is something wrong?” the headmaster probed in a sympathetic tone.
“Well sir, since this is my first night away from home, I am feeling a little homesick. I was wondering if I could run across the street and buy a classic comic book. I think that would make me feel much better.” my grandpa responded.
“All right, I suppose you could. Just come back quickly.” The headmaster had bought my grandfather’s act.
“Thank you, sir! I’ll go as quickly as I can!” My grandpa exclaimed in a gleeful tone.
Wearing a smug smile, he returned to his room and made his roommate swear to not to blow his cover. My grandpa proceeded to stuff all his clothes back into his bag, and hurried out the door. He was free! After a few minutes on the run, panic consumed him as he heard the whine of a police siren. He began to sprint away from the noise until he reached his relative’s house. He scrambled up the steps, and began ringing the doorbell in a frantic fashion. He was greeted with a large embrace followed by a scolding for worrying the headmaster and his father. From that night on, my grandpa continued his Bar Mitzvah training at an after-school Hebrew program while living comfortably with his aunt and uncle, and most importantly, eating well.
Above: Great great grandparents,
Eta Kanee and Avrum Rabinovitch
Below: Boys at a Bar Mitzvah