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Generation to Generation – Dor l’Dor
When my younger son was about twelve years old, a few months before celebrating his bar mitzvah, we were sitting at Shabbat services behind Beyla Ginzberg. Mrs. Ginzberg was an older woman who had immigrated to Minnesota from the former Soviet Union. Rabbi Allen often called children who were near bar mitzvah age to come up to lead the end of services. My son was not all that comfortable with spontaneous situations – he tended to get flustered and upset. When Rabbi Allen pointed to him, indicating that he should come up to lead, my son panicked.
Mrs. Ginzberg saw his reaction. She looked directly at Rabbi Allen, smiled at him, and then pointed to herself as if to say, “Who, me?” She immediately got up and led the end of services.
After that, my son felt a special relationship with Mrs. Ginzberg; he would make sure to greet her and shake her hand whenever he saw her. When she died, he asked to go to her funeral, one of the first he ever attended. He felt connected, across the generations, across the language barriers. They were part of each other, a community. They were Beth Jacob.
Lydia Schultz
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