My Grandpa

My Grandpa passed away last week after living a very long and full life. His body had served him well, helping him to survive inhumane conditions during the German occupation of Poland during World War II, from 1939-1945. His body gave him the power to sing with the most booming, echoing voice from when he was a little boy until a couple of weeks before he died. (See the video below which barely captures it, from Hanukkah 2015). His body allowed him to play tennis until nearly 90 years old and have an active life until a stroke about a year and a half ago. Then, last Wednesday, it simply finished. His insides stopped working as they should. His breaths got farther and farther apart, and his body stopped living. At that moment he was literally surrounded by all 3 of his kids, my mom, me and Denise, his caring aid. He had waited for my Grandma to go and get dinner. She had literally been by his side nearly constantly for 71 years.

His life story is so insane - we should never forget what he and others at the time went through, because they were Jewish. The responsibility to keep his story alive feels very heavy, as there are fewer survivors left, including my Grandma, and their life stories are feeling farther and farther away from our current reality. Will my kids understand what it meant to be a Holocaust Survivor?

My grandparents' histories are a huge part of my identity and its formation. I have always felt the responsibility to LIVE as a Jew, given what happened to the rest of their families, and this has impacted my commitment to Jewish law (stronger at some times than others...), my choice of an observant Jewish summer camp, my major in college of Hebrew and Jewish Cultural studies and also many years of professional work in the Jewish community.

My Grandpa told stories constantly. We would joke about who had the best endurance to sit through hours and hours of stories. I did well in the 80s and 90s, and Matt took over in the '00s. He told us every detail we would listen to. Some of his stories were told through the lens of Coochie Boy, but they were all crazy details about what he had lived through during the Holocaust. Grandma NEVER talked about it. She would walk away when he started telling stories, and it was clear from when I was little, never to bring it up with her or ask her questions.

While studying at Hebrew University my junior year of college, in 1998, I decided to join a group trip on the March of the Living, where you go to Poland and learn about the Holocaust. I told my grandma on the phone that I was doing this, and she said, "Why would you go when it's so cold? Let's go together, in the summer." What? Ok...

(My Grandpa, mom and me by the front door of my Grandpa's apartment building in Czestochowa. My grandma, our guide, my uncle Mark, Mare and Kenny are on the street, on the right)

I did not go on the March of the Living, and two years later my mom had organized a trip to Budapest, Muncach (where my grandma is from), Cracow, Czestochowa (where my grandpa is from) including nearby Auschwitz (where my grandma was sent in 1944), and then Prague. My entire family went, along with my aunt and uncle and grandparents, and we saw the houses the lived in growing up - both of them. We saw my grandma's school and my grandpa's family's store. They told us stories after stories - both of them - and they saw their current life, in retirement in Florida with three successful children, 8 lovely (if I do say so myself) grandchildren - juxtaposed to their childhood homes that they had left with so much pain and suffering. I have thought of that trip so often in the years since, as this was my family's history, yet that life is so far away from what they/we have now. It was also one of our last family trips before my little brother died.

(my Grandpa, my dad and Kenny in Budapest - I believe it's Budapest)

Since I became an adult, we visited Florida nearly every year - even when we lived in Singapore - and saw my grandparents as much as we could. Sometimes we were also able to see them in Florida. Last year, they moved up to Michigan so they could be near their three kids as my grandpa's health had declined with his stroke.

We will miss my Grandpa, my kids' great-grandpa. Life already feels different without him.

Rabbi Joey Krakoff delivered an amazing Eulogy at his funeral last Friday. I have pasted it below, with his permission. What a life story.

I have also pasted below that the short remarks I shared at his funeral.

Hanukkah 2015

Cantor Joseph Birnholtz Eulogy; February 1, 2019
Dorfman Chapel/Clover Hill Park Cemetery
Rabbi Joseph H. Krakoff

Cantor Joe Birnholtz was a self made man who successfully raised himself up from the depths of evil perpetuated against him by the Nazis.  Through unwavering perseverance, a propensity for working hard, an intrinsic talent in music and art and a profound love of his Jewish identity, Joe created a truly beautiful life for himself and his beloved family.

Born in Czesktochowa, Poland- close to the German border- Joe was the devoted son of Bernard (Baruch Pinchas) and Miriam (Mindele) and the dear youngest brother of Chaim, Manya, Yaakov, Dovid, Menachem and his twin Doris- and I note that there was a significant span of twenty-two years between Chaim and Joe.

By his own account, Joe’s earliest childhood years were very happy- his parents were in the clothing business for many, many years and they owned both a department store and an apartment house.  Bernard and Miriam had a lot of people working for them and did quite well for themselves.  The family was very cultured and Joe grew up speaking Polish and Yiddish, taking piano and showing an early interest in the opera.  Joe so enjoyed going to shul with his father every Shabbat and when it was discovered that he had a melodic, strong voice- Joe began studying with the Cantor.  At just five years old, they would literally put Joe up on a chair in the synagogue and watch him sing- and Joe continually recalled how much he loved those days.

Sadly, this joyful, idyllic childhood changed rather suddenly on September 1, 1939- the war broke out, his town was invaded and everyone was forced to live in a ghetto.  Soon after, the Germans gave an order for everyone to take their belongings, weighing no more than fifteen pounds at most, go outside in the streets and line up. 

Joe’s parents gave him a backpack for his clothing and to put jewelry including gold chains, watches and rings to sell for bread when he got hungry.  Joe made it through the segregation line with his parents and sister Doris but then, all of a sudden, a German SS officer pulled Joe away from his parents and demanded he throw is jewelry in a suitcase on the ground or be shot.  Joe’s parents wee sent to Treblinka, two of his brothers were killed and Joe was taken to a Labor Camp in Czesktochowa with his pajamas being Joe’s sole remaining possession. 

From 1940-1945 Joe did all he could to stay alive, but many days he really thought it would be his last one on earth.  In the work camp there were beatings every day.  He had to walk to work during the winter months with snow on the ground, about five miles each way with no socks, wooden shoes and just rags for clothes- no sweater, no coat, no hat- Joe almost froze to death. 

Joe worked at an airport where they had to dig long lines of ditches in the frozen ground about five feet deep and fourteen inches long to install narrow pipes for water drainage.  They also had to run around the entire airport repeatedly in the snow to crush it down so the planes could land.  A usual workday was often 5am to 6pm and the Jews were not allowed to talk to each other while working or they would be instantly beaten or shot dead.

At the HASAG camp, Joe also described the interminable work of building barracks and machine shops, loading cement, work with heavy hammers and air compressors, cleaning empty bullet shelves and shoveling coal from the trains which got in his nose, ears and eyes- and if the train was not fully unloaded by 5pm, they would be shot. 

It was on the night of January 16, 1945 that Joe was liberated by the Russian Army after which he joined a kibbutz in Poland because his brother Chaim wanted him to get a solid education, which included learning math, history and religion and studying opera.  It was during this time that Chaim taught Joe how to walk on the sidewalk because until then- all the Jews were forced to walk in the street like a cow. Chaim also took Joe to a restaurant and showed him how to properly hold a spoon and how to eat with the acceptable table manners. 

On May 12, 1947 Joe arrived in America on a ship called the ‘Marina, Marina’.  As the story goes, Joe’s sister Doris was in line right in front of him at Ellis Island where she single-handedly decided to make herself a year younger by saying she was born in 1926 instead of 1925.  So as a twin, Joe knew he had to follow-suit exactly- and he made his birthday February 23, 1926 - which was fine at the time… although later in life- this split second decision cheated him out of an extra year of social security.

Now here is where the story gets significantly better.  From New York, Joe came to Detroit and began attending evening classes to learn English readying himself to become an American citizen.  And this is where Joe met his beloved Edith, who sat in front of him and Joe loved playing with her hair.

Edith, you recalled how you and Joe were the first ones in school to get engaged and it actually came as a huge surprise- to both of you! 

At a gathering of students during the Thanksgiving holiday, the women came out of the kitchen where the men were standing around asking Joe what he thought of you.  When he said he thought you were nice, without warning, the two of you heard the following words: "Lets everybody get up, drink a ‘l’chaim’ and say 'mazel tov’ to the couple that just got engaged--Edith and Joe."  Neither of you knew what to say but Joe said ok and so did you- deciding to go with it.  And just like that, you were actually engaged.  You were married a few months later on March 6, 1948 at a small shul on 12th Street.  Joe even got one day off for a honeymoon.  Ten months later Sandy was born at the rest is history.
The two of you shared so many special interests throughout the years- going to the theatre, having season tickets to the opera, playing cards and singles tennis until he was 89 years old- even in the midst of the noon heat in Florida- albeit the sign on the court read that singles was not allowed between 10am-4pm.  Perhaps the only thing you did not do together was play pool- a game he took up when he turned 75 and played religiously even after his stroke at age 92.

Edith, an example of your closeness was that you and Joe were actually shared one pair of reading glasses.  And you knew what he liked to eat, so whenever meal time came around, he would invariably say: Edith, what do I want to eat?”  When you would tell him, he would always be so grateful.  You sang in the choir with him and you especially looked forward to the duets you would perform together.   Whatever it was you never said no to him, he always wanted you by his side and even if it was only to watch television- Joe was always the most content when he was holding your hand.

When Joe first came to Detroit, he used his Polish to make connections in Hamtramack.  Among the earliest opportunities that came Joe’s way was to wash windows- but they were up on the 22nd floor- and Joe was clear that he did not come to America to fall to his death- so he understandably turned that job down.  Then, Joe was given the opportunity to paint a sign on a truck.  Joe painted with watercolors only to discover that his beautiful work quickly washed off in the rain.  It was only a minor setback, as Joe utilized his creativity, artistic talent and steady hand to meticulously craft window signs for stores.  Joe was proud of how he once decorated a bar in New Boston for Christmas and one year, he even won a prize for the best Christmas display at Northland- the most perfect recognition for a nice Jewish boy who was also a Cantor.

In the realm of window trimming, Joe dressed mannequins, using his great sense of fashion to decide what clothes to put on them.  And this meant that not only was his basement used for silk screening signs but it also held the random body parts for countless mannequins.

Joe liked to stay busy all the time so while working as an artist, Joe took a job at B’nai Moshe when he was hired by Cantor Katzman to be a soloist.  He sang with several Cantors including Cantor Louis Klein who taught him the ins and outs of being a full-fledged Cantor.  At first, Joe would play the piano, sing in the choir on the holidays and give recitals.  Before long though, he started traveling to other cities each year to conduct Seders and High Holy Day services. 

Joe’s first part-time job as a Cantor was in a rented church in Livonia where he helped cover all of the crosses and lead services in the basement. 

Then, Joe got a steady position for five years at Gemilus Chasadim a German synagogue on Greenfield between Seven and Eight Mile.  Joe also worked at Beth Aaaron with Rabbi Gorrelick after Hazzan David Bagley left. 
It was in 1982 that Cantor Birnholtz relocated with Edith to Louisville after he was hired for the job on the spot- much to the surprise of Mark who came home from college and found out that his parent’s had moved from Michigan.  Joe worked there for thirteen years until he retired for the first time in 1995 and moved to Florida.  But in the realm of shul hopping, Joe and Edith found an upstart Temple in a shopping mall in Boynton Beach.  When the rabbi heard how Joe’s voice was clear and booming, the Rabbi hired Joe right away and he became their inaugural Cantor until 2005.

Throughout the years, Joe wrote and arranged music and trained hundreds and hundreds of Bnai Mitzvah students who loved him and in whom Joe took such great pride in their accomplishments.  For all that Joe achieved in his career, he was aptly honored by the Jewish Theological Seminary with a Doctor of Music degree.

And while that recognition was very special, there was nothing more special than being the dear father and father in law of Sandy (Sue), Marilyn (Michael), Mark (Paula), loving grandfather of Jeremy, Melanie (Matt), Bryan (Mandy), Ashley (Craig), Jordan, Matt and Eric and the late Kenny of blessed memory and adoring great-grandfather of Samara, Elie, Koby, Sydney, Adelyne and Harrison.

As a father, he looked forward to taking you on family vacations and you went to New York once a year.  You loved his playfulness and how he taught you everything from how to drive to the fundamentals of tennis and Ping-Pong including how to perform his famous slice shot. 

Speaking of Ping- Pong, he made you a table out of plywood- but you could never put your hands down on the table because it was anchored on a pair of sawhorses and if you leaned on it, it could definitely flip up and injure you. 

Truth be told, plywood was one of Joe’s favorite materials to use- and out of it he built a giant Hanukkah menorah- that he covered with foil and special Christmas lights.  Whatever you wanted or could think of, your dad would happily create it for you.  He was a devoted father and father in law who always wanted the best for his family.

Joe loved to play chess with his grandchildren and draw with his great grandchildren- Joe would just find a random napkin and start drawing or sketching and his pen drawings of his years in Poland were so powerful and thought provoking.  All of you at one point heard his stories of Coochie boy that were admittedly so scary you couldn’t sleep for hours afterward.  You loved when he made his funny face and looked forward to making funny faces back at him.

When you were babies, he would take off his ring, watch and glasses- put them in his pocket- so as not to scratch you until they fell out of his pocket and well, did scratch you! 
As you got older he would excitedly call you up to the bimah to recite Ashrei- and then parade you around and show you off to congregants and friends.  He treasured all of you and his concern was truly for your safety and your happiness.

Friends, Joe was a survivor who by celebrating his Jewish identity and clinging to the traditions of Jews throughout the generations- built a wonderful new life here in America.  In Joe’s words:  “in the concentration camp many times we would ask: "Where is God?" We used to question.  But I am proud to be Jewish and really believe that God saved me because there were so many times I could have been shot. 
I don't know why God saved me.  My sister told me that my zeyde was a very pious, righteous man but there were a lot of people that were righteous.”

Joe never forgot where he came from- how could he- and all of the unthinkable horrors he experienced firsthand.  And despite it all, he was never bitter but instead- Joe was eternally grateful- able to find great beauty in the world- in people- in loved ones and constantly appreciating everything- even each meal which he regularly said was ‘the best he ever had’.

Even as his body slowing down, Joe really enjoyed going to the Brown Center and he so loved his amazing caregivers- Denise, Ashley, James and Jackie, and the devoted staff at Heart to Heart and Jewish Hospice.  Over the last many months Cantor Gross and I have been visiting Joe and singing with him- from Israeli songs to Jewish liturgy- and our lasting memory will also be how Joe out sung us all- holding on to the last few notes as long as he possibly could- with that booming voice that I know will continue to resonate in our minds as we continue to think of him and celebrate his life.

Having lived a life filled with yiddishkeit and mentschlekeit, surrounded by his loving family, Joe quietly slipped away late Wednesday afternoon, entering the Olam HaEmet, this highest world of truth and tranquility.  And now, as we gather in his memory we pray, may the precious soul of our beloved Cantor Joseph Birnholtz, HaChazan Yosef ben Baruch Pinchas u’Mindele, rest in peace, now and forevermore.  Kein Yehi Ratzon.  So may our prayer be God’s will.  And let us say: Amen.


Words I shared at his funeral:
Grandpa always said he would live forever. He said no one could live through what he lived through and seen what he saw and not.

After his experience losing so much of his family in the holocaust and so so many terrible and scary experiences as a child and teenager, he came to America with very little eduation and absolutely nothing and built a whole new life. We went back to Poland with him and saw a glimpse of what his life was like, and it was quite different than Detroit, and he had to navigate it all while dealing with the trauma.

He met my grandma and then had a partner forever.

He worked hard – doing whatever he could with his artistic skills, in both visual art with his painting and also with his singing – and he and my grandma together completely built a life.

He was so proud of what he accomplished. If you went to his house, it seemed like in every corner or drawer there was an award he had received, or a message about him in a newsletter that he wanted to share with you or an honorary degree to celebrate. He wanted to share it with anyone who would listen (and we did).

He was also so proud of all of us. I remember after Shabbat morning services, at Kiddush in Kentucky, he had to introduce us to everyone. I mean everyone.

And we were proud of him too. I have so many memories of sitting in shul and thinking “that’s my grandpa who leads all of this and has that amazing, booming voice.”

Often, I sit in my privileged life with my privileged struggles and I think about how he and my grandma got to where they got and all that they had to overcome to do it. It inspires me in the way I live my life.

He passes to me a strong identity of the legacy of the holocaust and a responsibility to continue to build this family and carry on the traditions that came with him to America.

So it turns out he will indeed live forever.