The house in which I grew up in West Los Angeles had walls filled with B’nai Brith plaques honoring my parents who both served as Presidents of Crescent Bay B’nai Brith Chapter and Lodge and as long-time advisors to BBG and AZA chapters. My father was also editor of the Lodge monthly bulletin for decades. In addition, the walls were filled with large wooden-framed pictures of Great Grandfather Silverman, Great Grandfather Mitouer, Grandpa Mitouer as a young, handsome man, plus assorted other wedding and family pictures. My mother’s family, the Horowitz-Margareten family was pictured not on the walls but in the 1955 H & M Directory and Genealogy publication prominently displayed among the many books that filled our home. I know what all my great-great grandparents, uncle and aunts looked like. That awareness of the past and the ongoing connection to family, to being part of the Jewish community through observance, service to others, and respect for tradition, also included a belief that God was a presence in our lives.
Therefore, I have the sense that in the beginning there was God. I have no proof, but I do believe in a higher power that helps us navigate whatever complex world into which we are born. We describe God and relate to God anthropomorphically because we need concrete concepts to aid our comprehension of an all-powerful unknowable essence, a spirit that gives us a sense of acting morally, behaving ethically, and seeking justice. Judaism gave light to the world with the promulgation of belief in one omnipotent God, forbidding idol worship or graven images, an enlightened and challenging concept. That makes Judaism more meaningful to me because God is not some plastic or clay figure but an abstract aura that allows both a personal, spiritual connection and an intellectual understanding that encourages study and discussion.
Believing in God seemed very natural perhaps because historically, traditionally, and religiously I am fortunate and honored to carry on Jewish religious practice and observance from both sides of my birth family. It is a privilege and an obligation to recognize the strength of family and realize that I am part of a continuing chain that goes back through the centuries. I feel connected not only to my extended family, but also to Jews around the world. When I lived in Italy and attended the University of Rome, one of my best friends there was Gabriella Bacchi, a Roman Jew whose family left for Palestine in 1936 as Fascism was overtaking the country. The Italian government was now paying for her university education as a response to what her family endured. When I briefly lived in London, I met Felicia Jacob, a Jew from Calcutta, India who invited me to her home for interesting discussions with many young internationals. Despite growing up in different circumstances, we had an immediate bond.
That bond extended to the Refusniks in the Soviet Union when, in 1987, Marty and I went to Moscow for an international meeting with a list of names and contact information on Russian Jewish scientists. After conference sessions, we would take the Metro and be met at a pre-determined stop and escorted to homes for dinner and conversation. There we met additional Refuseniks who then invited us to their houses. Meeting with Westerners was a form of protection because it indicated to the Soviets that outsiders were aware of their predicament. I felt an immediate connection to these bright, accomplished people, forced to endure indignities yet remained resolute. Most of them did make it out of the USSR.
Another connection was with the Jews of Riga, Latvia. In the 1980’s, in response to the number of Jews refused permission to leave the Soviet Union, Jewish Community Relations Councils throughout the U.S. developed sister-city relations with Jewish communities in the Soviet Union. St. Louis was paired with Riga. At the time, I was a JCRC vice-president and chair of the International Relations committee. It was a precarious time in 1991 when the three Baltic countries declared their independence from the USSR. Riga returned the Soviet hospital, formerly the Jewish hospital, Bikur Holim, back to the Riga Jewish community. This gesture was not without difficulties as the hospital was in disrepair and the Jews still left in Riga were old and barely surviving. It is a wonderful story how the Jewish community of St. Louis bonded with the Jewish community of Riga to help restore the hospital, providing it with more modern equipment and medical expertise, and to help the Riga Jewish Community Center thrive, providing meals, medications, socialization, and celebrations of Jewish events.
We made three trips to Riga with the Jewish Survivors of Latvia group. It was a an opportunity to help make a difference, to pray in the synagogue that is still standing, to dedicate a memorial at the site of the Gogol synagogue, the great shul that was burned to the ground with 300 Lithuanian Jews trying to escape Nazi terrorism, to feel the connection to those who perished and to those who survived and to appreciate that we are part of a chain that is unbroken regardless of circumstances.
That last trip to Riga was in Spring, 2001. So, there I was with Latvian Jews and Israeli Jews were dealing with the Intifada. I was president of BSKI at the time and the Intifada was devastating Israel’s economy as there was essentially no tourism, not to mention the trauma of living under constant alert. To show solidarity with Israel, U.S. Jewish organizations banded together to form a Presidents’ trip to Israel in September 2001. There were about 12 of us from St. Louis representing agencies, organizations, and congregations joining over 300 other leaders. Many were afraid to make the trip, but it was important to connect, to support our Israeli cousins. We were in Jerusalem, in the Old City, in a house overlooking the Western Wall, the afternoon of 9/11 when reports came in as the morning’s catastrophe was unfolding in the U.S. The Israelis were so supportive. They did not say “Now you know what we are going through.” They said, “We understand.”
Can I still believe in God when atrocities continue to occur, and we can’t control the suffering? I have to say yes, because that acceptance of a divine power allows me to be willing to move forward, to accept risk, to welcome a challenge, to not be afraid, to offer comfort and assurance, to look at adversity and see if there is a solution.
I come from a family of rabbis, scholars, educators, entrepreneurs, civic leaders and leaders in the Jewish community including outstanding women role models who were strong, intelligent, independent, determined leaders while still being excellent cooks! Being involved was and is a given. It is the way I can connect to the past, the present, and the future. I can only trace back four generations on my father’s side. On my mother’s side I can go back at least nineteen generations to Catalonia, Spain.
My mother’s family is well-documented as I will discuss later, but I do know some about my father’s side. My paternal grandmother was born in Zhitomir, Ukraine. She was an intelligent, independent, determined woman who should have been a rabbi—the local Yentl who wanted to study Talmud. When the Silverman family started making plans for a schiddoch to some Jewish lad she had no intention of marrying, she left. Her uncle Zeus lived in the Detroit area and offered her a place to stay. She left her parents and at least two younger sisters and arrived in the New World by way of Canada. Over the years she tried to contact her family, but Russia returned to sender all U.S. mail. Finally, when my other grandmother was on a European trip in the mid-1950’s and she was able to mail a letter from Switzerland to one of her sisters and that was received. Life was difficult there, but they were alive and had children. One of the sons was an engineer who was able to make Aliyah to Israel and subsequently contacted my father, his first cousin.
My paternal grandfather came from a fairly well-to-do family in Latvia, from the city of Mitau, in the historic German Kurland region. Under Soviet rule the name was changed to Jelgava and it is still a prominent section of Latvia. I am told my great-great grandfather was mayor of Mitau, hence my original last name of Mitouer. It should have been spelled as the more Germanic Mitauer but as often happens with new immigrants, the name was written down incorrectly. I don’t know the reason my grandfather and one of his brothers left Latvia, but he also came to Detroit via Windsor, Canada where my grandparents met and married about 1915. Grandpa Mitouer sold jewelry and Grandma Mitouer was the supervisor of a bevy of seamstresses in a factory. While grandpa was not religious, Grandma was an observant Orthodox woman. She was always a vegetarian, back when it wasn’t the “in” thing to do. I remember eating her own veggie version of hamburger that was very tasty! My guess is she chose to eat a non-meat diet to avoid worrying about milkich and fleisich and separate dishes. This was the women who would have been a Jewish scholar, but she knew it wasn’t her place. She read Yiddish newspapers cover to cover, she knew prayers backwards and forwards, she wouldn’t turn on or off a light or light a match during Shabbat.
My father was born in 1917, the eldest of four children and the only son. My grandmother tried to live her Jewish life through my father. He was a regular yeshivabooker, observed every holiday, major and minor and did his mother proud. I remember her sitting next to him at Seders, making sure he didn’t miss or mispronounce a single word. They conversed in Yiddish, but she also spoke and read English and Hebrew. For years, she talked about making Aliyah because she envisioned Israel as the holy place where she would be among many religious, observant Jews, not just a cluster of Orthodox Jews gathering in small shuls along Fairfax Avenue. So, in the late 1960’s my independent, determined 70 plus year old grandma made arrangements to live with her niece Jenny in Israel and off she went, planning to live out her days in the Promised Land. Unfortunately, at the time, Jenny and family lived in Netanya, land of beaches and bathing suits, not exactly Jerusalem. Many Israelis she met were not religious at all and her dream of Israel was shattered. After a year or so she returned to Los Angeles. But I always admired her spunk and willingness to try new experiences, to test the unknown and to move forward. I know that’s where I get my sense of confidence and independence to try something different, to take on new challenges, to not be afraid of failure.
Jenny’s story is special. She was the daughter of my grandfather Mitouer’s younger brother who stayed in Latvia, possibly because he was too young to join his older brothers when they moved to North America. He was very successful in Riga, Latvia, had a large home with servants and money to travel to the United States to visit the relatives. My father’s family was not as prosperous as his uncle in Riga and so uncle Henry confidently returned to Riga, knowing life in the U.S. was okay but the streets were not paved with gold. In fact, it was the time of the Great Depression and in 1931 my 14year-old father drove his parents, three sisters, and a cousin from Detroit to Los Angeles. They settled in the Boyle Heights area of Los Angeles, at that time a vibrant but modest Jewish area. A few years later, things in Europe were ominous and life in Riga was problematic. The Maccabees came through Riga and the decision was made to dress Jenny as a Maccabee and send her off to Palestine with the troupe. Two older sons were sent to family in the U.S. while my great uncle and great aunt and the two youngest children remained in Riga and died in the Shoah. I have a book listing all the Latvian Jews who perished in the Holocaust including my relatives. Does that shatter my belief in an all-powerful God, a God of Mercy? No, it does not, because what happened was the result of human deviant behavior that should have been contained by people of good will if they had had the courage to do so. God gave us free will and we have allowed hatred and bigotry and callous disregard for the plights of others to triumph. I cannot blame God, but I do blame ruthless leaders and blind followers who seek to subjugate others and trample on the human spirit.
While I was raised in a more Conservative environment, many family members were and are Orthodox. As a result, being female, there was no thought of preparing me for Bat Mitzvah. I was the eldest of three and it wasn’t until the youngest, my brother, was born that suddenly ritual and study became an important aspect of life in the Mitouer household. My sister and I were taught how to make challah, bench licht, dress nicely for the holidays, listen to Daddy pray and that was it. I was aware that religion played a key role in our family as I went to Sunday School as a kindergartener at Verdugo Hills Hebrew Congregation in Sunland California, a rather non-Jewish area of Los Angeles, that my maternal grandfather built for the small Jewish community there, and I participated in holiday celebrations like marching around on Simchas Torah at my paternal grandmother’s Orthodox shul in Boyle Heights, at the time an active Jewish section of Los Angeles, but there was no thought to educate me or address my spiritual side. I didn’t know Aleph from Bet, but I knew prayers by rote. Even without a formal Jewish education I grew up in a solid Jewish environment. My maternal grandfather, Louis Ellenbogen founded Ellenbogen of California, a women’s casual clothing factory in downtown Los Angeles but his real love was the land and being a gentleman rancher. He created Sholem Ranch with a big wagon wheel at the entrance to vineyards and fig trees, to citrus trees, avocado trees, walnut trees, and so much more. It was the gathering place for the whole Horowitz-Margareten clan from seders to succahs to weddings. When I went to Israel for the first time, it felt like home as the landscape and the produce were so similar.
I’m named after the family matzoh business, the Horowitz Margareten Matzoh factory whose by-line was “the matzoh with the taste”. My grandfather named me Margaret for Margareten and Ellen for Ellenbogen, the name of my great-grandfather who married Betty Horowitz. My Hebrew/Yiddish name is Bluma after my great grandma Betty. The Ellenbogen aspect of my name traces me back to the 16th century Rabbi Meir Katzenellenbogen of Padua, Italy. “The Unbroken Chain” by Neil Rosenstein notes that Meir Katzenellenbogen “was the ancestor of Felix Mendelsohn, Karl Marx, Martin Buber, Helena Rubinstein, David Halberstam, three chief rabbis of the British Empire, the kosher establishments of Horowitz-Margareten of matzoh fame and inventor Benjamin Hirschhorn.”
I have a real sense of belonging and a desire to contribute much as my ancestors did in their time. I always had a sure sense of who I am, and yet both Jews and non-Jews assume I am not Jewish. I’ve been told on multiple occasions that I don’t look Jewish, asked if I am a convert, been told I must be Irish, heard shopkeepers say, “here comes a shicksah”, and others who are sure I sang in their church choir or think Margaret isn’t a Jewish name. I find it amusing because I am a descendent of a long line of believers, including many rabbis and scholars, who preserved Judaism through family ties, tradition, and tzedakah. On my mother’s side, I am at least the 19th generation of Jews who believe in the power of the Almighty Spirit to give us purpose, to guide our decisions, and to help us act humanely, binding us one generation to the next. I can trace my family roots to Sholmo HaLevi in Gerona, Catalonia, Spain (1020-1080). His son, Shem Tov HaLevi was born in 1050 and died in 1110 in Barcelona. Shem Tov was a student of Nachmonides and wrote a theological treatise entitled “Renovation of the Temple”. I have the family tree that specifically dates me to Moses Halevi, born 1440 and his son Isaiah Halevi, born 1465, who became Isaiah Halevi Horowitz when he moved to Prague following the Inquisition. Isaiah Halevi Horowitz is the first Horowitz (Number H1) on our branch of the Horowitz tree. To keep track of all the relationships, each member of the family has a designated number based on birth order. Reading the number from right to left, my number on the Horowitz side is H117431 meaning I’m the first child of the third child, of the fourth child of the seventh of the first child of Isaiah. So, my branch of the tree is from the first child of Isaiah Halevi Horowitz, but I have “kissing cousins” who are related to the second child of H1! The Margareten branch is more recent with the founders being Rabbi Isaac Zvi Margaretten (1808-1850 and wife Rachel Leah Schlessinger Margaretten (1811-1890). My number there is M125131. My grandfather was a Horowitz and my grandmother a Margareten, so I’m related to everyone! I am a Levite who doesn’t count since it came from my mother’s side of the family!
I have a difficult time dealing with the fact that traditionally women don’t really count. I prepared countless Shabbat and holiday meals, but I missed not having any formal Hebrew education. It wasn’t until my children were in Sunday School at Brith Sholom Kneseth Israel that I had the opportunity to learn basic Hebrew. BSKI offered a beginning Hebrew class for adults during Sunday school hours. After that year, I continued studying with the Jewish Community Center’s Hebrew program. It paid off because in 1984 we had a family trip to Israel, and I could read words and speak enough Hebrew to casually converse. That planted the seed about studying for the Bat Mitzvah I never had. It took several years, but in 1997 I felt like I was a youngster again about to accept the responsibility of an adult Jew. I had studied trope with the hazzan, discussed with the rabbi and I did my own HafTorah, invited my relatives and friends from California, and it was an entire weekend of celebration from Shabbat dinner to kiddush luncheon to evening dinner party with Ha Shemesh playing, to Sunday brunch. It was great being almost 13 again!
The Horowitz-Margareten Family Association formed in New York in 1921 and my great grandfather, Fred Margaretten, founded the Southern California branch of the H & M Family a few years later. The first Directory and Genealogy of the Horowitz-Margareten was published in 1929. That small blue book and an updated book published in 1955 are both at the New York Public Library and the Jewish Theological Seminary. There was a 1995 edition and now we have an H & M family on-line connection.
“Hinei ma tov u ma naim, shevet achim gam yachad.” Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together in harmony”. This was the Horowitz -Margareten Family Association motto that appeared on every newsletter that went out monthly. Long before I knew this song from camp or synagogue, it was my connection to family, to tradition, to celebrating our heritage, to remembering the relatives who perished in the Nazi concentration camps and to helping survivors of those camps rebuild their lives through financial and moral support.
While we finally joined a shul when my brother started his Bar Mitzvah studies, our religious life revolved around family events. The H & M Family Association met monthly to socialize, to celebrate and to discuss issues of the day. There was always a huge Hanukkah party at a rented American Legion Hall to accommodate everyone. There were gift exchanges among the children, a talent show, and of course latkas. While we weren’t shul goers, we lit Shabbat candles every Friday night, we never ate any pork products or shellfish, my father davened at home for the High Holidays where many neighbors dropped in to pray together. We observed two days, unlike most of my friends, and I dressed nicely and listened to the prayers. When I was older, my sister and I would attend BBYO services that I found inspiring. Of course, it was only young males leading the services in those days! I was active in BBGs as Chapter president, as Los Angeles Council President, and served on the Southern California Regional BBG board. This gave me the sense of Jewish community beyond family and prepared me for future leadership positions. For whatever I do, I don’t do it alone. There is something beyond our control that allows us to move forward and I call that spirit God.