Histories

Introduction

For the benefit of family members who did not get to go to the Sydney Reunion and who did not have the pleasure of meeting Edna Wilson, Edie is 89 years old and is one of those lovely and amazing women who stays active and sharp and engaged through the years. She and Neryl have a close relationship, and her detailed account of her family's history follows:



PORTRAIT OF A MAN: ISADORE DOMOWITZ

My father was Isadore Domowitz from Lomza, Poland. In around 1896, not quite 21 years of age, he married my mother, Lena Selansky who was 18 years of age and from a wealthy orthodox Jewish family in Kaunas (Kovna) Poland.

They didn't know each other until the day they married, via the 'matchmaker'. My parents told me how everyone was standing outside the morning after their wedding as the ceremonial sheet was hung out for everyone to see that she was a virgin!

To escape the Czar's army where Jewish boys were taken off the streets and killed, with the help of my mother's father, they sailed from Bremerhaven, Germany on the Grosse Korfa for Sydney, Australia. He the eldest son, she the eldest daughter. My mother had a brother and another family member here.

Isadore learnt English on the ship while my mother struggled despite being fluent in Polish, Russian, German and Yiddish.

Isadore gained a position with an established jewelry business in the city of Sydney before opening his own manufacturing jewelry business, a workshop right near The Great Synagogue where they were members and eventually a store in the heart of the city. He created beautiful pieces of jewelry and some of the diamonds are still with the family.

My father, Isadore, was a fun-loving man who was always joking, laughing, crazy about animals and forever bringing home stray cats and dogs!

He was a very affectionate husband and loved bringing home gifts of fine hats and pieces of clothing for my mother. He liked to see her looking good. My mother took their two elder children when they were very young back to Poland to visit the family and records showed letters my father sent that were signed "my pillow is wet with my tears for missing you". My sister, Maizie (Neryl's mother) was born nine months after her return to Sydney and I was born ten years later. They proved that Fiddler on the Roof wasn't just a film without substance.

Isadore was a wonderful father - very strict but fair. He used to take my sisters to parties in the Jewish community in our Eastern Suburbs, which was a long way on the other side of Sydney Harbour from where they lived on the North Shore of Sydney. It was long before the Sydney Harbour Bridge was built so he took them by train/boat/train and then a hansom cab to their house! (We all became members of National Council of Jewish Women and W.I.Z.O.)

He loved his garden of fruit trees (my mother preserved the fruit) and vegetables. He kept all the Jewish High Holidays and how well I remember the ritual for Passover of the searching for the Chomitz when he'd search every corner for a possible crumb of bread. Our Seder nights were marvelous. He had an outstanding tenor voice and the Passover service remains strongly in my memories. He always had a non-Jewish guest at the Seder table. He was an ardent member of Jewish Masonic Lodge, taking my mother to dances and balls and loved politics. He always took me as a little girl and of course the youngest of four children, to hear 'soap-box' speakers and had a political viewpoint. He loved brass band music and insisted that we all learn to play piano and/or sing.

The Depression changed my parent's lives irrevocably. No one wanted diamonds or jewelry of any kind. The house had to be sold and one can only imagine, not for much money at all. No one had any money. The furniture had to go as well for practically nothing. They moved into an apartment in the Eastern Suburbs and were at the mercy of their young elder three children to support them. Their pride was shattered. However, my mother was always resourceful and did the best she could in the circumstances.

My father on the other hand, tried to gain extra money by gambling - going to the races with his 'mates' and playing cards. The opposite occurred, sadly, he lost more than he could have gained.

His health was suffering and during WWII he was operated on at a large Catholic hospital for a goiter in his throat that proved to be a very delicate operation. He wasn't expected to survive the operation. Sydney was being bombed by the Japanese at this time and he couldn't be moved to a safer area. The nuns stood by his bed and prayed for his recovery. He called them white angels as indeed they were.

My father continued smoking and his lungs just couldn't cope. His health deteriorated so much that he was taken to a nursing home and tragically for us, passed away just a few day's later and just before the end of the war on 19th June 1945.

Signed: Isadore Domowitz's youngest child, Edna. Born 8th June 1918 at their home in Chatswood, Sydney, Australia - and like Johnny Walker's Black Label Scotch - Still Going Strong!!


P.S. For whatever reason, immigrants who came to Australia from Europe changed their names. It was commonplace. They either shortened, changed a letter or changed it completely. My father changed his name to Adams.

My mother, Lena, didn't see her family in Poland again. They perished at the hands of Nazis in Auschwitz except for one niece who survived miraculously and through the Red Cross after the War, found her family here and was brought to Sydney. My mother passed away in May, 1963.

When Neryl went to live in Canada in 1959 and met Uncle Sol Domowitz in Rochester, she wrote in a letter I felt that I was looking at my grandfather - Little Pa.



Ilene Janchill Klass Palum Kline

And in the beginning...

there were our grandparents, Isaac and Esther Domovich. We take special pride in recognizing Isaac (otherwise known as Yitzruk, the Schreiber), the patriarch of our family. In those days, first names were followed by the "persuasion" of the individual. Hence, our grandfather was known in Lomza, Poland, as Isaac, the writer. His reputation was that of a leader, a tsadik, a highly talented man, and one who was especially trustworthy.

We all know that behind every good man there is a woman...and so Esther (matriarch of the Domowitz Family) comes into the picture. She bore him ten children, only one of whom was a female (my mother, Bertha (nee Toby), the ninth offspring and only daughter. As you would imagine, she was very special, particularly to her father. He called her his bossahidaleh" (his adored daughter). My Mom would tell me that when people came to their house, he would set her on a table to entertain them with songs.

His early demise from gangrene that settled in his arm left Esther a widow. Of the 10 children, 3 died during infancy and seven survived. The oldest son (Avrum) remained in Poland and was editor of the Lomza Shtimmer (he perished during the Holocaust); another son (David) left for Argentina to avoid conscription; son (Isadore) emigrated to Australia following his marriage to Neryl's grandmother; a fourth son (Tevya) left his wife Havey and daughter, Ida, in Poland, emigrated to the United States and were reunited within a year or two thereafter.

As was the custom at the height of emigration in the early 1900s, Tevya worked hard, saved his money and sent it to Havey and Ida for their passage to the United States.
My grandmother, Esther, had a brother and two sisters already living in the United States who assisted in financing passage for other members of the Domowitz Family, my Mom, Bubby, and two brothers, Benjamin and Sol.

Bubby's two sisters (Aunts Frieda and Rica) and brother, Yakker, had disassociated themselves from their Polish ancestry to become new Americans. They were dissatisfied with my Mom's name, Toby, and tried to convince her to change it to Tillie. My mother's response was that if they called her Tillie, she would not turn around. They settled on the name, Bertha, and we certainly wish they had left well enough alone; we loved the name, Toby.

I have provided the preceding information as a backdrop to the years that followed my Mom's arrival in the United States. She was a woman described as "before her time," self-educated in night school who, through her 93rd year and prior to her stroke, was so proud of the fact that she never missed an election.

Her mind was literally fed by my brother, Leon, who was a historian and in the process of writing the history of Europe from the late 1890s thru the 1940s.

My mother loved her children without reservation and was devoted to her brothers and their families. We were "poor" but rich in family life...my father's favorite admonition was "honesty is the best policy" and he would check our papers from school to see whether we had any "extra" sheets. His favorite words, I recall, were "be careful" and when I would tell him that we only learn from our mistakes, he would respond, "why should you be hurt when I can spare you." He was a most protective man who adored his children. He was determined that none of us would ever work in a factory (as he had) and continually stressed the need for education.

It was no surprise that my brother had graduated from college suma cum laude and my sister magna cum laude. He earned a scholarship to Yale University and, eventually, she her doctorate from Columbia University. Both were social workers who devoted their lives to the betterment of humanity. My brother's life is a chapter unto itself. Suffice it to say that he was an advocate for the poor, for families, for all who needed representation and a Director of Social Services in New York City for many, many years. He too had a wonderful sense of humor and adored his nieces and nephews. On occasions of their visits to New York City, he literally went wild to take them to his favorite museums, the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building; nothing was too difficult, too far, or too expensive. He was the indefatigable Uncle Leon who knew no limits in reaching out to his family.

While he loved New York City, he was also able to travel to Europe extensively through accumulated vacation time. He was in love with the antiquity of Europe, literally scoured cathedrals and museums and brought them to life for all of us who were unable to travel. Through his exposure to Yale University, he gained access to libraries and private collections for cataloging. He was described as having a photographic memory and would record this information on index cards in the tiniest handwriting (we have hundreds of these stored for future use...by whom, we ask ourselves, since he is no longer with us). Upon retirement at the age of 66, he lived for perhaps a six-month period and then died of a heart attack, a loss we are strill struggling to accept.

My mother had a wonderful sense of humor, and she would respond extemporaneously to any given situation in the most remarkable way.. She was a people person. She loved life and considered herself a child of G-d. My earliest recollection is that of my Mom lighting Sabbath candles in Bubby's candlesticks and reciting the accompanying prayers. When my Mom passed away, I inherited those candlesticks and light them each Friday night with the awareness that I am the third generation to do so. I find myself lost in thought on these occasions and grateful to be able to perpetuate this meaningful rite. I am very proud of my Jewish heritage as are my children, Ellen Linda (named for Bubby), Karen, and Rick.

My wealth lies in having 10 loving grandchildren, seven of whom are directly related, and three by marriage to them. My future holds the promise of reaching great-grandmotherhood when my granddaughter, Jodi, gives birth in December 2007. What more can I possibly ask of life?

In reaching back into memory, I can hear the gratitude for both life and family expressed by my Mom. She was ever mindful of our good fortune (as we all are) in being spared the horrors of the Holocaust.

I could go on and on ad infinitum, but I know I must limit myself (and all of you as readers). I am aware that I have vacillated from one topic to another, but recall comes quickly once it escapes the retention of the human mind. I an grateful to you, Autumn, and to all family members who have taken it upon themselves to gather the thoughts and life experiences of members of our precious Domowitz Family and bring them to life through the publication of Generations.

Submitted with love,

Ilene Janchill Klass Palum Kline...will the "real Ilene" please stand up and be recognized?

(I ask this of myself because my life has gone through a series of changes, G-d made and man-made. My soul mate and love of my life, Hy Klass, passed away in 1976; may his memory be for a blessing forever.)