Happy Birthday Grandpa
My grandpa, Arthur Mendel, was born on this day in 1900 in Aldekerk, Germany. Aldekerk is in Western Germany very close to the Netherlands border. He said that he wore wooden clogs when he was a kid. He was the eldest of four sons: Arthur, Otto, Erich, and Karl. The family business was cattle—buying and butchering. The Mendel family lived in a solidly built brick house near the center of town. I have been lucky enough to visit there a few times.
The first time I visited Aldekerk was somewhat unplanned. Jonathan and I had just dropped off the girls at the Frankfurt airport for a visit to Colorado for a couple of weeks. The plan was to take our time getting back to Berlin. As we mapped out our trip back to Berlin something propelled me to visit Aldekerk. As I got off the train, it was easy for me to imagine my grandpa living there. The streets were narrow, with low brick houses, and little shops along the way. I saw my grandpa walking down the streets, chatting friendly with the shop owners, filling his grocery basket, stopping for coffee at a neighbor’s house. It brought back memories of him.
I spent most of my early childhood with my grandpa. Although he lived in a Los Angeles suburb he made it feel like a small town. The two of us would head out the back gate and walk down the alley, usually grabbing the shopping cart that he left behind from the day before. The alley was meticulous with citrus branches hanging over the freshly painted fences. Sometimes the smell of chlorine drifting from backyard swimming pools. We would walk to a strip mall that looked just like all the hundreds of others placed on every major LA corner, but going there with my grandpa made it feel like a quaint European downtown. We would first stop at the butcher where he haggled with workers. Usually, he would end up behind the counter cutting his meat. Then to the big chain grocery store where he knew the produce guy and the check-out ladies, it was his place. One time I remember walking around the neighborhood where he would knock on peoples’ doors to introduce me—“This is my granddaughter, Wendy.” I remember the love in his eyes. I usually got a little something, one time I remember a neighbor giving me a carousel music box.
On that first visit to Aldekerk, I had no idea which house was the Mendels’. I guess I was too embarrassed to ask around for fear of making someone feel uncomfortable by bringing up the past. Even though the past seems so far away, the Mendels were one of two Jewish families in the town. They were successful, the first family to own a car. I couldn’t imagine that an older person wouldn’t have heard their story. When my grandpa died in 1982, my grandma received a letter from the Aldekerk Catholic Church letting her know that a mass was given in his name and that there was a memorial plaque. Jonathan and I went to the majestic church and found a small plaque that listed the names of the Mendel family that perished in the Holocaust:
Andreas Mendel (my grandpa’s dad) Adel Mendel (my grandpa’s mom) Erich Mendel (my grandpa’s brother) Karl Mendel (my grandpa’s brother), Frieda (wife), Vera (daughter 12) and Richard (son 10)
This was the first time I heard about Vera and Richard. From that moment, these two children are constantly in my heart and are memorialized during our Passover Seder every year.
Fortunately now it is easier to find the Mendel house because of the Stolpersteins. These small memorials are placed on the sidewalk in front of the house with descriptions of the family members. In 2012, we watched the artist insert the stones which was my last trip to Aldekerk.
Whenever I think of my grandpa, I smile and feel his gentleness. Happy Birthday.
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