A Mother’s Legacy: 16 Years of Reflection

Today marks sixteen years since my mother passed away in 2008, at the age of 82. Margot Wasser (née Kraft) was born in 1926 in Tauberbischofsheim, Germany, where my grandfather served as the president of the synagogue. They were part of a close-knit Jewish community. My grandfather traded hides for a living, and my mother was very close to her own mother, a warm and sympathetic figure.

Life in Germany was peaceful until the rise of Hitler shattered their world. My grandfather, urged by members of his community, realized that this threat was different from past political unrest. After several years of corresponding and struggling to find a U.S. relative willing to sponsor him—since sponsors were required to be financially responsible for the emigrants—he secured the necessary sponsorship in 1940. By then, it was incredibly dangerous and nearly impossible for Jews to leave Germany, and my family’s escape was among the last possible routes. My mother, 14 at the time, left behind her home and school in Frankfurt, where she attended the Philanthropin, a renowned Jewish high school. The family spent a brief period in Italy before boarding one of the last boats out, eventually arriving in the United States.

In America, they initially settled in New York before relocating to Washington, D.C., where my grandfather found work at Woodward & Lothrop, a large department store. Although they managed to buy a home in Washington, their financial situation was extremely tight. To make ends meet, they rented out rooms to boarders, a necessity that brought its own challenges, as these arrangements were often uncomfortable and strained. Meals were modest, often consisting of day-old bread, and every corner was cut to save money. Coming from a family of means in Germany, the drastic shift to abject poverty in the U.S. was a deeply difficult adjustment for them.

My mother attended public high school and worked part-time. It was at a JCC dance that she met my father, who had fled Vienna after being expelled from medical school in 1938 following the Anschluss, when Jewish students were barred from continuing their studies. Together, they built a life in Washington, D.C., with my mother supporting my father through dental school and the early years of his practice. Eventually, they moved to a more comfortable home-office in Silver Spring, Maryland.

My mother’s deep faith became central to her life after her brother’s death. From that point on, she never missed a day of synagogue, attending Minyan every morning. This religious devotion was in contrast to my father, who wasn’t observant at all.

When Adele and I married and started our family, my parents thought we had taken on too much, especially with eight children. Raising a large family on the west side of Manhattan while managing a medical practice and a dialysis center was certainly demanding. My parents also wished we lived closer to them in Florida or Maryland, but we felt that New York was the right place for our children’s Jewish upbringing. Despite the challenges, we built a strong life there.

In 2002, during the Second Intifada and after 9/11, we made the decision to move to Israel. My mother thought it was a dangerous choice, but it turned out to be the best decision for us. Each of our children has thrived, embodying the values she instilled in me.

Sadly, in her later years, my mother became ill. She had been sick for many months before we realized she had lung cancer, and it was too late for surgery. She passed away six months after her diagnosis in 2008. I sometimes wonder if being closer might have led to an earlier diagnosis, but my mother had always said she didn’t want to outlive my father, whom we cared for until his passing in 2012.

Now, both of them rest in Har HaMenuchot in Jerusalem, buried close to one another. We visit my mother’s grave before the holidays, on her yahrzeit, and during other significant times. Sixteen years may have passed, but it feels as if she’s still with us. My children remember her fondly, and her legacy continues to live on in the family.