SARA GRINBAUM
Part 1, January 2025 - Exodus Issue 267
Tell us about your family’s Jewish background
On my father's side, the last religious person was his grandfather, my greatgrandfather, Faivus Zusman. He was the shammash (religious assistant) in the synagogue of the small Ukrainian town of Novgorod-Seversky. His family was very poor. They lived in a house with an earthen floor, and in the winter they even brought the chickens into the house so that they would not freeze. My father often said that, despite the poverty, they lived very happily.
Until the age of five, my father lived in his parents' house. He often recalled how his grandfather Faivus, with a shining face turned upward, wrapped tefillin in the mornings and sang a prayer to G‑d. Despite the terrible poverty in which my grandparents lived, they were ashamed of their son (my grandfather) Boruch, who later became Boris. He was a factory director, a communist, and lived in a large mansion. Boruch often visited his parents and brought them a large wad of money, but they always refused, saying: “You sold your holy soul to the communists.” He would leave the money and go, but Faivus and his wife Dvora never used this money.
My mother's family on her father's side belonged to the famous dynasty of Gur Hasidim from Poland, founded by Rabbi Yitzhak Meir Rotenberg Alter, the author of the famous work “Hiddushei HaRim.” It is interesting that my ancestors on my father's side spoke Lithuanian Yiddish, and on my mother's side spoke its Polish dialect. Another curious detail: in my mother's family, the names Yitzhak Meir and Aaron Nachman alternated from generation to generation.
The women in my maternal grandmother's family were deeply educated in Judaism, and passed on their knowledge to Jewish women. Family legend has it that they even had knowledge of Kabbalah (which was very uncharacteristic for women of that time).
My great-great-great-grandmother, one of the representatives of this family, taught Kabbalah to Catherine II's maid of honor. In gratitude for this, she received two diamond rings as a gift, which had previously belonged to the Empress herself. These pieces of jewelry became a family heirloom and were passed down exclusively through the female line. Today, one of the rings is with me, and the other is with my sister.My mother, although she was a communist, always remained a religious person at heart. On Passover, we always had matzah. My brother, with fears and difficulties, bought it from the synagogue on Arkhipov and carefully - because matzah is very fragile – took it to the Moscow region by train. Before moving to Israel, my mother did not light Shabbat candles, as she told me, out of fear that someone would find out about it. But, despite this, she always lit memorial candles on Yahrzeits, hiding them in a large wooden bookcase with glass doors. My father was constantly worried that she would accidentally start a fire.
During her stay in Israel, my mother became friends with Rabbi Yitzchak Dovid Grossman, a famous rabbi who founded a school and orphanage for Jewish children in Migdal HaEmek. They often communicated, speaking Yiddish. I could see that the topics of their conversations were important to both of them, but unfortunately, I did not understand what they were talking about. My Yiddish is limited to a few phrases, because my parents did not teach me and my siblings this language, and used it only among themselves when they did not want us to understand them.
When we found ourselves in New York in 1991 without documents or money, my mother insisted that I go to an audience with the Rebbe. She told me about this many times, each time adding that meeting the Rebbe would change our lives. Unfortunately, I did not follow her advice, and now I regret it very much.
How did you come to begin observing Jewish traditions?
When my daughter was 18, she became religious and started going to synagogue. One day, she invited me to join her, and that was a turning point in my life. The rabbi at the synagogue said that every Jew needs to have a Jewish name. Frankly, I never felt a connection with my name Olga — it didn’t resonate with me on a deep level. I chose the name Sara because it was the name of my paternal aunt, the woman who raised my father. I loved that synagogue, but my heart was still closed. Until we came to Toronto, where I had a momentous meeting with Rabbi Yoseph and Chiena.
To be continued…