My grandpa was a living legend.
Head of the table.
The Godfather.
Never graduated high school but read the WSJ every day.
Fled a work camp and hid in the woods during WW2.
Came to NY at 21 with nothing.
Worked in a tie factory and somehow saved millions and sent his grandkids to college.
Was forced to retire at 90 (called it the worst day of his life).
Tried to un-retire at age 92 by volunteering as a grocery bagger at Publix (was denied).
Came to every family event, even when doctors urged him not to. Even during COVID.
Loved Israel.
Loved America even more.
Loved family most.
Lived on his own terms til 102 years old, when he took his last step, had a stroke, and finally fell.
He was 5’7, and even though his sons were 6’2, 6’3, and 6’4, he was larger than all of them.
Never complained. Never talked about how unfair it was that his parents and 5 siblings were murdered by Nazis when he was just 17. Spielberg even reached out to him about sharing his story in the early 90s. My grandpa declined.
When he finally did start talking about it, when I was old enough to understand, it wasn’t to complain. It was to deliver a message: Don't forget what the worst of humanity looks like. Don’t. Forget.
The worst of humanity shaped my family’s history, and yet it also revealed the best of humanity.
One time, my grandpa and his brother cornered a Polish farmer, holding a pitchfork to his neck while they took food. They were living in a hand-dug bunker in the woods, doing whatever it took to stay alive.
A Nazi walked in, mid hold-up, and said, ‘what’s going on here?’
The farmer jumped in, quickly: ‘these boys work for me. Thank you officer.’ The Nazi left, and my grandpa went back to hiding in the woods.
I think a lot about that moment.
He said his revenge on Nazis was having a big, loving family. 3 kids, 6 grandkids, 4 great-grandkids, and counting.
We will miss you, Abie Baby.
Eulogy
My eulogy, which I read at Abe’s funeral and purposefully did not not mention the Holocaust (because he was so much more), is below:
Kim often tells me that she married me for my grandparents — and fortunately, as of this morning, she has not yet filed for divorce.
I was so proud to be Abe’s grandson. He was tough as hell, genuine, and kind. Aunt Myra once told Kim, ‘Lermans are good,’ which was code for ‘you should marry in’ and that sense started with Abe.
One of my favorite memories of Abe came late in his life. After drinking Polish beer with David Lerman for years, I decided to apply for a Polish passport, and in the process, the lawyer we hired found some photos of his parents Wolf and Dvora in logs kept by the Nazis. When he saw the photos, he broke down crying — he had never seen pictures of them before. And even though my Polish passport collects dust, I’m happy he got that gift.
Despite all he went through, late in life, my grandpa seemed to find a sense peace and happiness in the simpler things. He enjoyed watching soccer, sweeping the garage floor, and of course going to Ben’s deli, which he called ‘Ben,’ as if it were on par with Jean George or Daniel. Except at those places you don’t stuff the extra bread into Clara’s purse and bring it back to your apartment.
One of his happy places was the Catskills, and man that place felt magical as a child. Everyone knew each other and spoke in an exotic accent, like in Lord of the Rings. And I was free to roam around, chase fireflies, and stare longingly into the swimming pool, which sat empty for at least a decade. And I’m pretty sure Abe died not knowing that the Bungalow colony was burned to the ground as practice for the local fire department. So we can now finally talk about that openly.
But nothing made Abe happier than family.
In 2018, when Kim and I decided to get married in Tahoe, I asked my dad if grandma and grandpa might make the trip, my dad said: ‘what are you talking about?’ which is his way of saying ‘good morning.’
He had a point - there were a lot of reasons for Abe not to come. He was 94, we were at 5,000 feet of altitude, and he had to travel for hours to get there. But when the doctor explicitly recommended against it, Abe quoted Ivan Drago from Rocky 4: if I die, I die.
He and grandma came, he did the blessing over the challah in his weird Yiddish sounding Hebrew, and in his honor we even created table #94, where he sat.
He did the same for Ashley’s wedding, which happened during COVID — and Abe showed up even when perfectly healthy 20 and 30 year olds were scared to, he was just tougher than them.
The last time I heard him laugh - Phoebe was on FaceTime, looking like Maggie from the Simpsons. ‘She’s so cute!’ he exclaimed, and then started cracking up.
It’s bizarre to think that yesterday was the first day any of us were alive
That Abe wasn’t.
But they say people die two deaths - one when their body dies and one when people stop remembering them
And I know for Abe that second death is at least another 102 years away.