In years past, there had been no secondary school for Jewish kids in Skala. Only a few of the most gifted would go on to gymnasium in Czernowitz or elsewhere, and these boys were much fussed over. By my time, there was a private two-year high school open to both Jews and gentiles who had academic promise but could not afford school out of town. 

Jacob Herzog was a landsman from Skala who had come to New York as a young man many years earlier. He was the son of Yosel Herzog, an elder tinsmith in Skala who had helped my father get started.

Jacob had met Tateh on several occasions when he came to Skala on trips during the 1920s and ‘30s, visiting his family and bringing community funds on behalf of the New York Skala Benevolent Society, of which he was a leading member. Thanks to those meetings before the horrors began in Skala, the two shared a bond that crossed time and distance.

For a while, it seemed that Susan was not going to be a part of it. As the youngest child and only girl, she  was the only one of the kids who wanted to go to college. Her first love was fashion design and she studied at the Fashion Institute of Technology, which is a very prestigious school for the fashion trade in Manhattan.

Simonia invites us inside and we stand in her modest living room. Speaking through the interpreter, we search for words to say to each other. She remembers my father by his first name, Shulem.

Why didn’t he come to ask for food, she asks. Why did he always send me? That was the same callous remark that I recall her mother uttered on that night more than half a century ago, when she sent me away hungry and forced my father to risk a visit himself. 

My grandfather, Schloma Peretz Engelbach, was a famous figure in Skala, since he was the shammes of the Chortkover house of prayer. A shammes is a non-ordained clerical administrator, something like an English sexton. Actually each of the various smaller prayer houses in town had its own shammes, but Schloyme Perets, as he was called, was preeminent among them. 

Among his many duties, my grandfather witnessed weddings, births and circumcisions, and managed the Jewish cemetery. He was the one guy in town who really knew where the bodies were buried. 

Ronnie was sixteen and still in high school when he started working with me in a serious way, and he got credit for the work through the school’s vocational program. He would go to school early for a half day, then work afternoons until sundown. 

Besides the roofing work, I also involved the boys on the customer side. Ronnie started making comeback calls, drumming up return business from customers we had previously serviced. At the time, he was the youngest salesperson licensed by the New York City Department of Consumer Affairs. 

“Loyf meyn kind.” Run, my child. “Maybe you will be the one of all of us who makes it out alive.” 

Mameh had given me her blessing! Without it, I could not have attempted escape. But she freed me to make my own choice and to set my own course.

What a brave thing my mother did to bless me in this way! She knew that I could have been caught or killed in my attempt. Even if I succeeded, she and I would be separated during the uncertain days ahead. Quite possibly, even likely, she would never see me again. 

My dear wife and I were always very aware as we started our family and our roofing business that we were entirely on our own, without family to turn to for support if things went bust. 

We were ready to work hard for long hours because, come what may, we were determined to ensure that our children would have easier lives than we’d had growing up. Florence held up her side of the bargain, shouldering most of the responsibilities of parenting.