Weekend in New York

I took off in a plane heading to New York on the 15th of March with several goals in mind--to find my great grandfather Scherper's grave in Baron Hirsch Cemetery on Staten Island, to meet Morenberg and Scherper family members I have not yet met, and to go to 3 other cemeteries while I was there to visit family graves. Perhaps it was too much to wish for in 4 short days, perhaps it wasn't. But the day I booked the tickets it was 60 degrees in New York. The evening I got there, it started snowing and it snowed for the next 2-1/2 days, bringing the "feels like" temperature down to 10 degrees at some points. A little chilly for my I-think-50-degrees-is-cold south Florida blood.


My sister Cori and I braved the bone-chilling, damp snow on Friday afternoon, making our way through the slushy quagmire of the New York subway system to our intended destination in Brooklyn--Washington Cemetery--where my great grandfather Isidore Morenberg's brother Wolf (William) and his wife Dora are buried. I was awestruck as Cori and I stood in the above-ground subway station overlooking the cemetery grounds snapping pictures (all pictures for the weekend can be found here). We were directly above the cemetery and all that could be seen in any direction was headstones. Thousands of eerily-beautiful headstones. Headstones of different shapes, sizes and shades of gray. Headstones written in many different languages. Each headstone signaling the end of a Jewish life.


As we emerged at the bottom of the steps of the subway station, directly in front of us was the Washington Cemetery office, a building that to me appeared to originally have been a house, welcoming and unwelcoming at the same time. Cori and I were quiet from the sobering scene of headstones and chilled to the bone with winter winds whipping all around us. As we walked up to the reception window, up popped a younger gentleman looking to be an Elvis impersonator of some sort, sporting a jet-black pompadour with long, wide sideburns and a short-sleeve Hawaiian print shirt. Odd scene, indeed. As if the Elvis impersonation wasn't enough, his arms were covered from shoulders to wrists in tattoos. Nothing against tattoos here, just that tattoos are an odd thing to find in a Jewish cemetery as observant Jews are not supposed to tattoo their bodies. "Elvis" directed us to our intended destination and off we were. Back into the cold, whipping winds, trying not to get hit by cars as we crossed the odd 3-way street corner.


And finally there it was. It is the first headstone I've ever seen that has the name Morenberg on it. William and Dora Morenberg. William, originally Wolf, came to this country 4 Jun 1891; I'm not yet sure when Dora arrived. I believe they knew each other already in Jaroslaw as Ephrahim Wald arrived in Boston in November 1898 stating that he was going to his brother-in-law's house at 111 Essex Street in New York and he was from Jaroslaw. His brother-in-law was Wolf Morenberg. As I stood in front of the graves, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of struggles Wolf and Dora had been through. How scared they must have been. Not speaking English. Not knowing what hardships were in store for them. Yet they made it through their struggles, raised a family and here they rested together. Note the 3 rocks on the ledge of the joint headstone left there by loved ones visiting the graves to let Wolf and Dora know they had been there.

Saturday morning, Cori and I excitedly waited for the arrival of Burt Warner, Barbara (daughter of David Sherper) and Carl Warner's son, a cousin neither of us had met. He had contacted me about a year ago when he learned from his father that I was working on the family tree. Sophie and Max Scherper were our great grandparents and our grandparents were siblings; I believe that makes us first cousins once removed if I remember a lecture I just attended on relationship calculating at the Jewish Genealogical Society of Broward County correctly. I had invited Burt to meet me in New York so we could meet and look for our great grandfather together. And Cori was nice enough to allow me to invite a virtual stranger (but for a year's worth of emails and phone calls) to stay in her home. After Burt's arrival, we spent Saturday together walking around Manhattan and getting to know each other.


On Sunday, Cori, Ralph (Cori's husband), Burt and I took off for Staten Island and Baron Hirsch Cemetery. Baron Hirsch is similar to Washington Cemetery only in that it's a cemetery and there are thousands of old beautiful headstones. Because it's on Staten Island, Baron Hirsch is cut into the woods, so it's covered in trees, shrubs and vines. Unfortunately, because it was one of the earliest cemeteries in New York, it was almost full when the State of New York began governing its cemeteries and money allotment was based on new burials, not the upkeep of the already buried. Due to the lack of funding, Baron Hirsch's grounds upkeep is not what you might see at other cemeteries, but I believe they do their best within their monetary constraints. It's still a beautiful old cemetery and I think because of the foliage it is more warm and welcoming than other cemeteries I've been to.


Did we find Max Scherper's grave? You better believe it! Ralph and Burt were wonderful and determined, clipping and hacking away at hibernating poison ivy vines and tree branches. Cori and Burt were both great at helping me narrow down where Max could be by filling in the names of the headstones we could read near where he was supposed to have been buried. It took us a while to figure out that in the 1930s in an Orthodox synagogue the men and women were separated even in death. I had no idea. Once we figured out we were looking for the men's side, it was easy to narrow his location down to row 2 and grave 3, just where Pam in the Baron Hirsch office had said she thought he was buried. While I was quite pleased that we had found our great grandfather, a sense of immense sadness came over me as I realized we had to have been the first people to visit Max Scherper's grave since at least 1943 when my dad's family moved to Miami Beach. I wasn't ready to leave him alone again. I felt obligated to say Kaddish (the mourner's prayer) so that he would know I had been there and to show the patriarch of our branch of Scherpers respect.


Sunday evening I was ecstatic about getting to meet a branch of Morenbergs I had never met. My cousin Fred was kind enough to pick me up and take me to dinner at his son Michael's house where I was welcomed by 3 generations of Morenbergs--Fred (my dad's first cousin), his children Michael and Beth, and their children Jacob, Adam, Aiden and Olivia. I can't thank Michael and his wife Martina enough for making the evening possible and for feeding me such a wonderful meal. It was a fabulous evening and I hope to be able to reciprocate in the near future.


I think the highlight of my weekend came Monday at noon when I had the distinct pleasure and honor of meeting my grandfather's brother, Abe Morenberg, the oldest living Morenberg I am aware of. Though he has hearing and sight difficulties, Abe is 100% lucid and still lives on his own at the ripe old age of 98 (his 99th birthday being March 30th). I wish I had my camera ready as a smile filled his face when he realized that I was his brother's granddaughter. Abe, Fred and I went out to eat at a quaint kosher deli Abe likes to frequent. We had an absolutely delicious lunch filled with half-sour pickles, pastrami and tongue sandwiches, french fries, coleslaw and potato salad. Getting to meet Abe was the perfect end to a great weekend.

All in all, chilly wet snow included, my weekend in New York was fulfilling. I was able to meet relatives on both sides of my father's family (4 generations on one side) and while I only made it to 2 of the 4 cemeteries I wanted to get to, I feel like I accomplished most of the goals I set for the weekend. There will definitely be more trips to New York in store for me and I fully intend to be at Abe's 100th birthday bash.