The author's maternal grandfather, Morris Hoffzimmer (top, left), as a young man with his family in New York, circa 1912. Also pictured: Morris' parents, Herschel and Sarah Leah, his younger sister, Pauline, and his older brother (center), Mark. (Photo courtesy Alan Feiler)

Back when I was a hopelessly clueless high school student in the vast suburban wilderness of Randallstown, reading “The Great Gatsby” made an enormous impression on me. Like generations of readers, I was enchanted by the novel’s poetic language, intriguing characters and profound commentary on American life.

Among my favorite quotations is the book’s final line, which is etched onto F. Scott Fitzgerald’s grave marker in a small Catholic cemetery in Rockville, just about an hour from here: “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

The past is always with us, like it or not. That inescapable point – and that famous Fitzgerald quote – recently came to mind when I heard the actual voice of one of my deceased family members for the first time in decades.

Allow me to explain. On a wall in my home hangs a framed black-and-white photograph. It’s a formal portrait of my maternal grandfather, Morris Hoffzimmer, as a young man with his family in New York, circa 1912. In the photo sits my zayde with his parents, Herschel and Sarah Leah, his younger sister, Pauline, and his older brother, Mark.

Like most family portraits of that era, the subjects are dressed impeccably and look quite dignified. As immigrants from a shtetl in Poland’s Galicia region, they must’ve felt great pride having their portrait taken in the goldene land, a symbol of success in the New World. Mark’s face alone betrays a sense of confidence, self-assuredness and optimism.

I’ve known this family image all of my life, since it was displayed in my childhood home. Today, it hangs in my dining room to remind me and my children of where we come from. Every now and then, I pause for a moment to study the faces, contours and details of this beloved timeworn image. These people, though long gone in this world, still live on because they inhabit a sacred space in my heart and consciousness.

Alan Feiler's great-uncle Mark
Close-up detail of the author’s great-uncle, Mark Hoffzimmer (Photo courtesy Alan Feiler)

The other night, I examined in particular the handsome face of my great-uncle Mark, who I only knew as an elderly man. The memories are a bit hazy, but I remember him coming to my bar mitzvah here in Baltimore (at Moses Montefiore-Woodmoor Hebrew, to be precise) and later on visiting him in Jackson Heights, N.Y. He was a sweet, spry old guy, slightly resembling Pope John Paul II, and my father and I could scarcely keep up with him while strolling along the bustling streets of Queens.

On a whim, after recently looking at the family portrait, I decided to type my uncle’s name into a search engine, just to see if anything popped up. Initially, I found precious zilch. But then, I spotted something referencing a “Mr. Hoffzimmer” — not a common surname — on an archive for an immigrant labor oral history project affiliated with New York University.

It mentioned the interviewee was born in 1896 in Poland to a Jewish family that moved to the Lower East Side. He worked in the millinery business and belonged to the United Hatters of North America. The notes mentioned he had a wife, daughter and grandson. (He also appeared to be a socialist — wow! — and lived for a spell in Mexico for business reasons. Who knew? I knew he spoke Espanol, but I figured that was due to Jackson Heights’ growing Spanish-speaking community.)

All of this information indicated to me that this was quite possibly my Uncle Mark, but I remained skeptical until noticing a link to an audio interview conducted in April of 1973 for this oral project. Clicking on, my heart skipped a beat or two and the decades melted away as I heard my great-uncle’s unmistakable voice — soft, halting and with an East European accent – discuss the ups and downs of his life in America. I was stunned, and euphoric. Somehow, I recognized that voice right away, and there was no doubt in my mind. What a gift from the universe.

Fitzgerald was right. The past has a way of sneaking up on us. In Judaism, we’re taught the past should never define who we are, but how we interpret the past determines our identity and future. As we prepare to celebrate Purim and Pesach, which commemorate seminal moments in our long, tumultuous history, let’s vow to always honor the sacred memory of the past without being shackled or defeated by it.

Sincerely,
Alan Feiler, Editor-in-Chief

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