By Rabbi David Avigdor

Esther Avigdor, formerly of West Hartford, passed away the day after Rosh Hashonah at the age of 85. For many years, she served faithfully as “rebbetzin” of the United Synagogue of Greater Hartford, whose spiritual leader was her husband, Rabbi Isaac C. Avigdor z”l. At the time of her passing, she was matriarch of a family that includes four sons – all rabbis – and numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Here, Rebbetzin Avidgor’s eldest son, Rabbi David Avigdor, shares thoughts about his mother.

Mom was born on Manhattan’s Lower East Side on Dec. 10, 1929, the last of eight children and the only one born in the United States. Her parents hailed from Rishe, Poland. Zaide Moshe came over to the United States first and only after he was able to earn enough money to transport the whole family to the U.S., did they come to New York.

Those were not easy times. They lived through the Depression, poor living and health conditions, and occasional lack of heat, running water and electricity. The fridge was fed with ice blocks. “The Iceman Cometh”, was a happy occurrence, because that meant fresh milk and cheese for the week. Recreation was sleeping on the fire escape in the back of the building and waving hello to your friends who were also trying to escape the oppressive summer heat in their apartment.

Public school with a Talmud Torah afterschool program constituted secular and religious education. Zeida Moshe was the president of the shul, so everyone had to know how to daven. Basic kosher skills and Jewish laws and practice Mom learned from her mother, Bobba Gittel.

Mom learned shorthand stenography and got a job in the local yeshiva — Yeshiva Rabbi Shlomo Kluger. My paternal grandfather was installed there as dean in 1947.

My father, Rabbi Isaac C. Avigdor z”l was executive director of the school. Despite a nine-year difference in age, my parents got engaged to be married. Zeida Moshe was thrilled to have the rabbi’s son as a new member of his family. My grandmother, Bobby Gittel, was less sanguine with Mom’s engagement to a “greener” (immigrant). Bobba Gittel said, “Mir zol zein az mein tachter zol nisht hungerrin” – “Make sure my daughter does not starve!” What a start!

There were whispers in the family that my father married Mom because of her typing skills. As an immigrant, whose livelihood as a rabbi depended on public speaking, he always had his speeches typed by Mom. Always. When he eventually felt comfortable with the English language, he stopped the daily typing routine and did that only for major addresses.

It may have been a rumor, but Mom’s typing skills were most certainly a factor in their getting together. After all, they were a team. Ultimately my father learned to speak English fluently. This is a major feat for anyone, but Dad, who was supremely talented in languages skills, was fluent in Hebrew, English, Russian, Italian, Yiddish, Polish, German, French and Spanish. In addition to being a rabbi, he was a writer, poet, painter, architect, diamond cleaver and designer.

My father created and crafted a special piece of jewelry for Mom, and hid in it the name ‘Esther’ written in Hebrew. She was so proud of this brooch, because it was a special gift from her loving husband. She often kidded with us, that after she passed she wanted this brooch to go to the first grandchild named after her.

When my parents moved to Hartford, my father’s years of service as a clergyman began. Five synagogues merged into one and became the United Synagogues of Greater Hartford. From the Garden Street shul to United Synagogues at N. Main St., a tradition began. With Dad becoming a rabbi of the shul, Mom became rebbetzin.

As a rebbeitzen, first and foremost her job was to support and encourage her husband, the rabbi. Next came raising the children, David, Morty, Merril and Yanky — no small job. After that, came supporting the Yeshiva of Hartford, the mikvah and Bikur Cholim; then there was Hebrew school teaching, involvement with the ladies auxiliary and the cemetery board, and preparing shul’s Shabbos kiddush. She assisted Dad in monitoring the community’s kosher standards and joined him in counseling mourners, rejoicing with the synagogue’s newlyweds and those celebrating circumcisions and bar/bat mitzvahs.

Mom’s most impressive trait was the graceful way in which she carried herself. She was friend and confidant to all, and an excellent listener. No one spoke ill of her.

New York’s Congressman Stephen Solarz z”l, once told his friend – my brother Mordechai — that he had, at one time, considered entering the rabbinate and becoming a man of the cloth but decided at the last minute against it because there were too much politics involved.

Indeed, being a rebbetzin for 55 years, takes a lot of political skill and discretion. Discretion, of course, is the better side of valor, and a woman of valor she was.

I remember the constant stream of visitors to our Shabbos table. From young and old, wealthy and poor, the lost and confused — they came from all groups. One wintery night in the middle of a snowstorm, there was a knock on the door in the midst of our Shabbos meal. We opened the door to find a veritable snowman covered in ice. He was a Sabbath observer who got stuck at sundown in downtown Hartford and had walked five miles to our house for kosher food and a proper Shabbos. When he started to explain himself, Mom quietly pulled him in and said “Forget the story, let’s get you dried up, changed and fed. Then we’ll hear your story.” Chicken soup solves the world’s problems.

Mom loved children and treasured being a teacher. Salaries, compensation packages and vacation time were things unimportant to her. To Mom, the reward was the work itself. She was helping form a child into a healthy, productive and loving member of the community. She also enjoyed gardening, fishing, swimming, reading and singing. She loved studying the Torah. Mom was wonderful at making new friends. She found beauty all around her and close friends wherever she went.

When my father took ill and she needed additional family support, Mom made a sad transition from her beloved Hartford to New York City. Although she left Hartford, Connecticut capital city remained forever in her heart. For four years she tended to my father in the Sephardic nursing home in Brooklyn. Every day, for hours on end, she kept him company. A faithful wife indeed.

When my father passed some five years ago, she began to have time to enjoy her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She started to rebuild and reshape her life with close friends in the neighborhood senior center. She attended classes in Torah. She exercised and took computer training. She enjoyed a hot lunch, took trips with friends. Mom made a sweet name for herself. Everyone loved her.

I prefer not to think about how Mom passed, but rather about how she lived. Still, there are lessons to be learned from that period as well.

When Mom took ill this past May, her sons committed themselves to two promises. To make sure she was not in pain and to give her the pleasure and solace of seeing her loved ones whenever she opened her eyes – 24 hours a day, seven days a week. (Unless she chased us away.) Sons, daughters-in-law, cousins, nieces, grandchildren and friends….we were always by her side.

A wise man once said,” The most painful of deaths is loneliness”. Mom was never lonely. When her health declined, her grandchildren gathered around her to pray and pour out their hearts in love, affection and devotion for their beloved Nana.

Mom passed away Sept. 16, the day after Rosh Hashana, with a kind heart and a good name.

On the 20th day of Tishrei 5776, the third day of October 2015, my niece, Zeldy Mandel, gave birth to a baby girl. My new great-niece’s name is Esther. She now owns a beautiful gold brooch with her name on it.

I pray she carries it with grace.

Rabbi David Avigdor lives in New Haven where he is spiritual leader of Congregation Bikur Cholim Sheveth Achim.

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