How could he take responsibility for them when he had failed with Beirish?

My father remembers it vividly. It was 1955. Uncle Beirish, Bobba’s brother, was visiting from Galveston, an island city on the Gulf Coast of Texas. Uncle Beirish was in the furniture business and had come to New York for a trade show. My father was 16 at the time. His family lived in Crown Heights, on the second floor of a two-family home on Montgomery Street. His grandparents, Zeida and Bobba Rosenblatt — my great-grandparents — lived downstairs.

Uncle Beirish rang the doorbell. Bobba opened the door and welcomed him. Zeida, who had suffered a massive stroke years earlier and was paralyzed on his left side, was in the living room, resting on the large chair he favored. When Zeida heard Beirish’s voice, he pulled himself up and, with his cane, dragged himself out of the living room to the kitchen. Zeida would neither look at nor speak to Beirish.

Anger had stewed between them for decades. Back in 1910, Zeida had been invited by landsleit to be a shochet and rav in their small heimish kehillah in Galveston. Two years later, Zeida brought Beirish over to join the family and help in his meat business.

The family was from chassidish stock. Bobba’s father, Velvel Shochet, was a chassidishe Yid. We have one photo of him wearing a shtreimel on Erev Shabbos. Zeida had promised to take achrayus for Beirish. Unfortunately, while he was able to keep his own seven children frum in Galveston, he was unable to keep Beirish in the fold.

Had Beirish remained frum, Zeida would have brought over the rest of his siblings from Burshtyn, Galicia. They would have joined the small, growing kehillah in Galveston.

But when Beirish became frei, Zeida refused to bring over anyone else. How could he take responsibility for them when he had failed with Beirish? Better they should remain in Europe. The years 1910 to 1914 were when Zeida could have brought over the family. The world was at peace, his siblings were young, and America welcomed immigrants. And his successful business put him in a position to help them.

But then the world went mad. In the summer of 1914, World War I broke out. Europe was engulfed in flames. Travel to the US was impossible. And when the war ended in 1918, the opportunity had passed. Beirish’s siblings were older, married, and traumatized. Moving was not easy. Also, the US had changed its immigration policy and it was difficult to get a visa.

In 1925, after 15 years in Galveston, Zeida realized there was no frum future for his family on the Island. He moved to New York, where he opened a butcher store. Beirish, who had married a local Jewish girl, remained in Texas. Over time he became a leading member of the Galveston Jewish community, part of the synagogue led by Zeida for so many years, which left Orthodoxy and joined the Conservative movement. Bobba and most of the children maintained a relationship with Beirish, the young uncle they knew and loved growing up in Galveston.

The 1930s were difficult years for all. Then World War II began and the Nazi beast destroyed Jewish Europe. Tragically, most of Zeida’s siblings and their children were slaughtered. Only a few survived. A brother settled in France. A nephew moved to Israel, another to Brazil. Zeida was devastated. In 1948 he suffered a massive stroke that left him unable to work. My grandfather, his oldest son, took over the butcher store and, in time, moved into the upstairs apartment in Zeida and Bobba’s Crown Heights home.

That was the backdrop of Beirish’s 1955 visit. It was a full 30 years after the family left Galveston, seemingly the first time they were seeing Beirish. And Zeida would not look at him.