Yehuda Beinin  יהודה בינין 

Frances was not afraid to die. She was ready for it, desirous of an end. Just last Sunday, in the nursing home, in a somewhat formal speech, she admonished Warren and me to take care of each other, and then informed us that she would like to commit suicide. In her last years she was fond of saying "I've been loved," and she had been loved. She was lucky twice, with my father, and then with Clinton. But she was a stubborn Beinin, determined to be independent. We all encouraged Frances and Clinton to accept help, but they struggled through their last years. Ilana had a serious conversation with Frances a few weeks ago and called me quite excited. She had gotten Grandma to accept help! Linda Edelstein had researched agencies, I had called some Jewish agencies and I went down to NY to review plans with Frances and choose a health aide for her and Clint. She looked at me as if I was crazy and said she did not need anyone to sit and stare at her all day long. I protested that she had agreed to all of this with her granddaughter. Her answer: "Ilana is such a dear, such a lovely person." I responded: "But Mom, you agreed to her suggestions." She fired back at me: "Oh, I did that just to shut her up."

Frances was known for her bustle, her enthusiasm, and her dedication to her children and grandchildren. She is the last of four Beinin siblings to pass. It was a blow when her youngest brother Duddy died, and another blow when her younger brother Ben Zion died, and it was a terrible blow when her oldest brother Irving had a stroke and suffered for a while before finally passing. May all of their memories be for a blessing. But Frances was fortunate to have many friends. She and my father were very good friends to many people, and my father performed funeral services for some of his friends. Frances has some friends who have passed, and some who are still alive and wept on the phone yesterday when I told them of my mother's passing. Her oldest friend is Ada Tanzman Goldstein, a high school friend who, through relatives who knew my father, arranged for a blind date between Frances and Bernie. One of the luckiest blind dates that ever took place. USO dances ensued and finally a wedding. It was a difficult beginning. They did love each other very much, but my father came from an orthodox background. His father was a cantor/reverend, and my mother came from a secular/socialist/Zionist background. Ben Zion had moved to Palestine to study at the Technion, Duddy had journeyed from Italy to Palestine by land and was a pioneer founder of Kibbutz Sasa. Irving had chosen not to go to Palestine, but travelled to Chicago where he ran for mayor of the city on the Socialist party ticket. It was my mother who stayed home, took care of her mother, and kept the family business going before she handed it over to my father to run. When my father passed I found two important documents. One was a note from my mother to my father, written two years after their marriage, where my mother declared her independence and unwillingness to just follow my father's lead in important decisions to be made for the family. The other was the incorporation papers for Zicklin and Fischer Roofing and Sheet Metal. My mother saw to it that her family business became my father's business without any doubt at all. In fact, it was not until I was an adult that I had any idea that Zicklin and Fischer was once Joseph Beinin's sheet metal shop. My mother, in caring for my father during his last few months, revealed to all of us a compassion and tenderness that showed that their early struggles had resolved into an enduring loving bond.

The business brought my parents new friends, Murray and Eve Rosenberg. Murray sold roofing supplies to my father and they became fast friends. Eve has the same verve for life that Frances had. She told me yesterday: "Your mother and I would just get up and go. We asked anyone to come along, but if they said no we went anyhow!"

Vacations at the Medoff bungalow colony in Monticello brought my parents Ralph and Molly Rothenberg, who were co-owners of the colony. Molly and her parents were in Yiddish theater and Molly Picon came to the bungalow colony. The accomplishment my mother liked to boast about the most was that I was so cute that Molly Picon wanted to adopt me. Molly Rothenberg and Eve Rosenberg, like my mother, lost their husbands at an early age, and the three were very important to each other.

The earliest family argument I remember was about which school I would attend. My father advocated for the Solveitchik Yeshiva, my mother for the local public school. My mother won that argument, and I started a school career that featured the best of NYC, diversity and culture: Public School 169/128, Jr. H.S. 82 in the Bronx, Music and Art High School, City College, and Hunter College. I left NYC for Harvard and, although I love New London, I think I have never really left NY completely.

In my starting public school my mother and father found new friends, Anita and Manny Fluxgold. Anita and my mother were the foundation of the Parent Teacher Association at PS 169/128 and remained very close until Manny, and then Anita passed. When the Fluxgolds moved to Queens we journeyed there for holidays and special occasions. And I think my parents harbored hopes for me to marry one of their daughters. The funniest meal scene of my life occurred in their home in Queens. Anita said to Manny: "Take out the soup and warm it up." Manny took out a container that certainly looked like chicken soup (Anita made great chicken soup), poured it in the pot, heated it up, and Anita served it. We all lifted spoons to our mouths in anticipation of another great meal, and then, stone silence. Anita, who had not yet tasted the soup, asked: "What?," and then shouted "What!", and my mother said, meekly: "The soup tastes a little funny," and then Anita tasted it, and bellowed: "My god, Manny what did you do?" and raced to the refrigerator. Manny had poured the whiskey sour mix into the soup pot. We waited another 15 minutes before the real soup was ready, but I think those were the longest 15 minutes in Manny's life, and my mother pointed out that the two liquids did look remarkably alike, and Manny should not be blamed. But from then on it was always "Bernie, taste the soup before you heat it up," even after whiskey sours ceased to be a popular drink.

My mother's mother came to America long after the rest of the family, because she remained in Yeketreneslav to nurse her ailing father who had been seriously wounded in a pogrom. When my grandmother needed a place to stay, with her sons in Israel and Chicago, she moved in with my mother. Five of us in a two bedroom apartment in Washington Heights, with grandma having her own room. My brother and I shared the other bedroom, and my parents converted the living room into their bedroom. Frances still has a friend, Claudia Sundby Wynne, from that apartment building, and many others who long ago passed. It was a remarkable place to grow up. My father, a WW II veteran, and three survivor families, one from Berlin, one from Greece, and one from Vienna, all lived in that building. My cousins and I would ride our tricycles, scooters, and bikes down the long hallway during Passover seders. And I'll never forget meeting my cousin Chava, and my Uncle Duddy and Aunt Dottie for the first time, as they arrived from Israel, came out of the elevator, and we rushed down the hall to welcome them.

The neighborhood has changed from a predominantly Jewish neighborhood with Harlem on the other side of Broadway to a Dominican neighborhood, but my parents remained for a long time after everyone else had fled to NJ or Queens. They stayed in part because my mother could never pass the driver's test to get a license. After the 6th failure, the driving school refused to take any more money from her. She remained in Manhattan, a dedicated walker and bus and subway rider. She was the beacon of culture and excitement for the family, and for her friends, and my friends. Nothing made her happier than showing NYC off to her grandchildren, nieces and nephews.

Our house was a musical hubbub—piano, clarinet, cello, trumpet, flute, string bass, guitar, harmonica, and recorder. Evenings of opera singing. An LP record player, a Wollensak tape recorder. My grandmother singing lullabies in Yiddish to us. I tried to sing them to my mother as she lay dying last week. My mother was an early supporter of Young Audiences, and was determined to give her children "culture." She was thrilled to hear us play our instruments. But she was also quite a good cook, and this was my undoing. Mr. Marienhoff, a history teacher at Music and Art High School, had an after school seminar. If you were lucky enough to be selected for the seminar, you were told that it practically guaranteed you a place in a good college. The seminar travelled to the home of each student and met over dinner. When it was my turn I was anxious to prepare a really good question (Mr. Marienhoff was interested in good questions, not good answers). I thought I did well, and when the group left I was hoping to hear "Great question, Jerry, good job." Instead I heard "Great supper Jerry. Your mother made the best meal yet." And she kept that reputation for the rest of the year. My question was forgotten.

My mother thrived in NYC, in the tension, the turbulence, and the drive of the city and its people. She and my father gave us and our children the best of the greatest city in the world. She was an honorable woman, who came from a large family, cared for her mother, and had close friends. It is not surprising that I married a woman with a background so similar to mine, and who is also honorable and loving. It is surprising that I met Chris through my cousin, Chava, just as my mother met my father through a relative. But life is full of surprises, and most of them are good.

Clinton was certainly a surprise. Frances and Clint fell in love over the course of a 10 day trip to Israel for Gabe's Bar Mitzvah. My youngest cousin, Jakey, who went through Israel riding on Rabbi Astor's shoulders, was the first to notice it. He would crow: "Frances loves Clinton".

At the very beginning of the reception for Gabe's Bar Mitzvah in Jerusalem Clinton knocked on the door to our suite. It was filled with about 15 relatives from Israel, plus some Israeli friends. My mother rushed to the door, and then turned to get her purse and started to leave. I said: "Hold on Mom, where are you going?" She told me that Clint had invited her out to dinner and she had said yes. I said: "You're not going. You have 15 relatives here and a bunch of friends." She said, again: "Clinton invited me out to dinner and I'm going." I actually physically blocked her and then Ilana, all of 15 years old, rushed over and said "Dad, you have to let her go. This is her first date since Grandpa died." After some arguing with my daughter I finally relented. As Ilana ushered Frances out the door she said, "Grandma, have a great time, and use protection!"

Clinton bought Frances a ring on the Cardo in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City of Jerusalem. I still walk by that shop, and eat falafel at the corner stand where he gave her the ring. It will always be a special place for me because of that moment.

My mother, and her life, and her friends and relatives will always be special to me. She and my father were great models for me and my brother, and I think we have, despite the difficulties and challenges, lived up to their expectations. She adored her two grandchildren Ilana and Gabe, and their spouses, Josh, and Annya, and was thrilled to be a part of almost every major event in their lives—she was so proud of them and never hesitated to let others know how special they are. My mother is the last of her siblings to pass. And the only one left of that generation in our family is my Aunt Shush in Herzliya, Israel. Dottie was the first sister-in-law to go, Mimi the second, and now Frances. Shush said to my cousin Lisa, "There is so much history that I cannot even begin to talk".

The family goes on, more history will be written, the struggles of WW II and the creation of the State of Israel will be replaced by new struggles. But the Beinin-Fischer family will be there, making their mark and giving my mother and her brothers and sisters-in-law, and her friends, something to be proud of. Zichrona and zichronam l'vracha. May her memory, and their memories, be a blessing for eternity.