My uncle was born in Siret, Romania, in 1896. He was the older sibling of my father. Although my father was considered very wise and competent, my aunt Hedi always said that it was really Zigmund who was the smart one. But during the time I knew him, no one saw him that way.
I met my uncle in Israel in 1949. He was living in a rented room in the center of Tel Aviv. He had a suitcase full of fabric samples that he toted from one fabric store to another and tried to sell. He came to us every Saturday and got shouted down by my father because yet again he didn’t do something logical, or he complained about a splitting headache that for sure predated a brain tumor.
With me he played chess, and we tried to speak German or English. Both of which I spoke barely, and Hebrew was not an option as my uncle was incapable of mastering the language.
He did have some social contacts. There was a Mrs. Gordon, who had a husband, and the three of them would sit in coffee shops to catch the breeze. I saw Mrs. Gordon once. And definitely thought that she looked like the proverbial witch in my books: long narrow face, huge earrings, painted hair.
I never heard a good word about her at home. After Mrs. Gordon died of cancer in 1956, my uncle announced that he would return to Vienna. Vienna?
My parents said, “This is the Vienna that you barely escaped in 1938. This is the Vienna where you had a fiancé and a factory of fabric, and you lost it all.”
But my uncle went back to Vienna. Because he spoke German. Because he didn’t find his place in Tel Aviv. He rented a room, he had his suitcase with fabrics, and he imported his Tel Aviv new way of life to Vienna.
I didn’t see it as a young person, but I do see it now that my uncle was a broken man, who lost his life achievements and his place at the age of 42, and never really regained them. And when I told this story to an American friend she commented: “What a loser this man was! Why couldn’t he learn Hebrew? Why couldn’t he find a wife? Why did he return to Vienna where he was harassed and nearly killed?” Her comments left me speechless. I felt that my poor uncle’s reputation was soiled again. I thought to myself that I should be very careful in choosing a listener for my stories.
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