A. L. Kaplan

Tag: Hebrew

  • The Barnett Menorah

    The first day of Hannukah sounds like the perfect time to share a small bit of my family history. I remember the beautiful silver menorah pictured above from my great grandma Celia Barnett’s apartment. Fast forward several decades, and the menorah made its way to my parent’s home. Last winter this little treasure came home with me.

    Thus began the great mystery.

    When I removed all the tarnish, I discovered an engraving on the base. Luckily, I happen to know someone who speaks both Hebrew and Yiddish fluently. They were able to give me this translation:

    From the board of directors
    of Machzikei Talmud Torah of Boro Park
    to Ahron Tzvi Barnett for his efforts for the good of the institution. 5684

    That puts it circa 1924. Machzikei Talmud Torah of Boro Park was founded in Brooklyn in 1908 and closed in 1941. Their focus was the Jewish religious education of children. They were located at 1319 43rd st., Brooklyn, NY. There is an article that mentions him being a Gabbai at the school.

    The menorah was manufactured by Victor Siedman Mfg.Co. Inc. (c. 1920-1934) of Brooklyn, NY. The same company that made the silver candlesticks given to Celia on her 25th wedding anniversary in 1926.

    But who was Ahron Tzvi Barnett? According to the family tree, Celia Barnett (1881-1978) married Isaac “Ike” Barnett (1876-1958). But her father’s name was Harris Barnett (1856-1944). Yes, a Barnett married a Barnett. No there was no family connection. So was the menorah given to her father, Harris, or her father-in-law, Marx “Max” Barnett (1855-1933). Neither of those names matched Ahron Tzvi Barnett. A bit more sleuthing, and a lot of help from friends and family solved the mystery.

    Tzvi is Hebrew for deer – Hirsh in Yiddish also mean deer

    Hirsh – got Americanized to – Harris

    The menorah belonged to my great great grandfather Harris Barnett.

  • A Pesach Story

    Recently I was asked to share a favorite Passover story. Dozens of memories flashed through my mind, most of them involving matzo, like the year we went to Seder at my brother’s house and their dog, Bert, stole the Afikoman while we ate dinner. Then there was the time with my husband’s family where the kids hid the Afikoman for the adults. After much searching, a dozen people announced that they had found the hidden matzo and held up napkin wrapped fakes. The looks on the kids’ faces were priceless. Of course my husband loves to tell the story about when his aunt moved and they found an old Afikoman hidden behind a picture. I’m sure many people have stories like that in their family.

    Our engagement was also announced on Passover. Saturday morning we drove from Maryland to NJ and told our parents. After an early Seder (and meal) with my family, we drove to my future husband’s family gathering. Forty people packed the townhouse where he announced “I’d like to introduce my fiancé.” That night we drove back to Maryland. It was a wonderful but exhausting day.

    Even with all these delightful Passover memories, there is one that stands out in my mind and it’s the one I shared. When I close my eyes I can still see it: the little apartment in NY, a piano on the right hand wall near the kitchen, my aunt, uncle, and cousins from my dad’s family. I loved visiting with my cousins and listening to my grandpa chant the prayers in Hebrew. Then the meal would come. I think there may have been pot-roast somewhere on the table, but the plate of steaming sliced tongue was what I reached for every time. Tongue must be a NY/NJ kind of delicacy. It’s hard to find here in Maryland. When I do find it, I’m always reminded of my family, and the occasional sing along with Grandma playing that piano I mentioned.

    Do you have a Passover memory you’d like to share?