An Easter Sabbath
I grew up in a typical suburban neighborhood during the baby boom. In 1951 my Catholic/Lutheran parents decided that with their third child, unexpectedly on the way, it was time to move out of busy and noisy Chicago to the wilderness of Skokie, Illinois. Being practical adults raised during the first World War, the economy was always on their minds.
I do not know from whom they secured this geographic land of opportunity, or why they decided to buy a 1/4th share of a Co-Op apartment building in Skokie. Since so many of my friendships began and centered in and around Skokie, Illinois on a section of LaCrosse Avenue, I probably should take a few words to help you picture our little world back in the 1950s.
Each building had four apartments, in a two-story complex, with grass in front, grass on each side, a backyard, and an alley behind. Our building must have been a model originally. It had a beautiful white cross rail fence all around the long sides and back of the building. There was a large wagon wheel attached to the center section of the fence on the right side of the building. The wheel was covered with early June blooming red vine roses. Our four flat was also situated precisely in the middle of the block, which leads me to believe this particular Co-Op was the special model to sell families on the beauty and quality of a future home if they chose to buy one. My earliest memories of my life centered on this very odd square building.
The crowning feature of each Co-Op was a small, open, private back porch. I believe this was planned as the master bedroom as a large window and a locking door were leading outside to the private porch. Consider for a moment, eight of these square monsters spread out across one block. Now calculate four families per building, with perhaps six automobiles per building and you have a recipe for a cutthroat parking game on our little street. Perhaps only two spaces available in front of each apartment building meant 16 or more people had nowhere to park their cars. That was only our half of the street. Wars have been started for less than a contested parking place. We used to watch out our front window to see people jockeying and honking over parking places.
Located in the booming village of Skokie, Illinois this was my home for the first fifteen years of my life. The reason I question the logic of my parent’s choice of this place is that my mother was pregnant at the time with me. The third child, which allows me to wonder where the family planned to keep me?
Each apartment was laid out like a train. The front doors were either opposite or next to each in an inner hallway. These entered directly into the parlor, or “front room.” Next came the kitchen; with a sink under a large window, economically placed metal cupboards, a stove, and a refrigerator. On the other side of the kitchen was space for a table and chairs. Directly behind the head chair to the “kitchen table” was a very long hall, ending in a back door leading out to the stairs spilling out into the back yard and alley below. On the left side of this long hallway were two bedrooms with one bathroom between.
The crowning feature of each Co-Op was a small, open, private back porch. I believe this was planned as the master bedroom as a large window and a locking door were leading outside to the private porch. Located in the booming village of Skokie, Illinois this was my home for the first fifteen years of my life. The reason I question the logic of my parent’s choice of this place is that my mother was pregnant at the time with me. The third child, which allows me to wonder where the family planned to keep me? However, this small back porch was eventually converted into a bedroom for me.
We were not your typical American family. Our parents had known tremendous hardships. Our mother was raised without a father after her Hungarian immigrant father died in the 1918 Spanish Flu epidemic. This unbelievable misfortune occurred within 5 years of their arrival in New York. Grandfather Mihaly and my blessed grandmother Katie, had emigrated to New York to flee the atrocities occurring during the dismantling of the Austro/Hungary aristocracy.
During and after the tragic Spanish Influenza, the federal government started a program of removing indigent children and placing them in what they politely called an Almshouse. My mother was 3 years old and never
Fully recovered from the trauma of this forced separation.
Oddly enough, Skokie seemed to attract traumatized people, because it became one of the largest Jewish populated areas in the United States. I was surrounded by Jewish people of all shapes, sizes, backgrounds, and sects of Judaism.
I first met Renee when we were both about 18 months old. There are pictures of the two of us playing or swimming in a small backyard pool. Walking to school, birthday parties, celebrating holidays, even Trick or Treating on Halloween. Then eventually, when we entered early adolescents - we fell in love with The Beatles.
Our friendship through the early years was an on-again-off-again friendship. Sometimes we were close, and sometimes I got cooties and became untouchable. Renee was a conservative Jew, and I was a pure Goyum, non-Jew or gentile. However, Renee’s parents were angels from heaven and treated me with so much acceptance and love, I adored going to Renee’s house. Sarah and Seymore were the most Yiddish Jews I know. But they accepted me, a gentile, with understanding and like any of Renee’s Jewish friends. I even attended Hebrew School with Renee a few times. I learned to dance the Hora, and also the times and traditions of Jewish worship.
When all my friends started having their Ba’i Mitzvahs and Bar Mitzvahs. I insisted that my mother join a church so I could be confirmed. That, however, is a story for another time. As I remember it today though, I wonder if the hunger, love, and devotion I felt to God the Father came from these devoted and loving people and how they worshiped and honored their God.
Renee had a little brother named Teddy and he was everything an annoying little brother could be! He was so slow and clumsy that he could not skip a rope, or act in any of our “serious attempts” at presenting a made-up neighborhood play held for a penny in the apartment’s basements. He was so distracted one time he twisted himself up in the bedsheet curtain tearing it down, to the horrendous laughter of our paid penny audience. Everywhere Renee went, Teddy went, and this got very old, very fast.
Almost at the same time, an absolutely beautiful little girl with gorgeous long ringlets moved into the apartment building between Renee and me. She also had a little brother named Douglas who was the same age as Teddy. Dawn, the gorgeous Barbie Doll, and Renee became “best friends,” and I quickly became the third wheel in this friendship. Oddly, Dawn was also a gentile, but I think I had complained so much about Teddy and kept trying to ditch him, Renee figured out fairly quickly, Dawn, with her little brother, was a much easier person to be with than I.
The dynamics of the neighborhood of our seven Co-Op’s placed my building exactly in the middle of the block. I started hanging around the older girls from the other side of the block. I developed a very close friendship with a tall, slender, creative girl named Judy. She was two years older than me and also a gentile, actually, Lutheran. I was a strawberry blonde Norwegian girl and Judy was a white-haired Swedish Girl. Her parents were very strict, but I made the approval cut being Norwegian.
Thus, began my immersion into Scandinavian customs and rituals. I had grown up surrounded by a large number of wild Norwegian cousins, aunts, and uncles, so it was not unfamiliar to me. Scandinavians tended to be very quiet and strict but loved their children, and unlike myself, the children were very obedient. Judy’s lack of rebellion did often irritate me, but she was a good friend. Through Judy, I made other girlfriends two to three years older than me. I had a cousin who visited us often named Gail Rasmussen. If you recall from your knowledge of ancient history, our distant relatives were Vikings. I only mention this because of the eventual gang war that took place in front of my apartment house somewhat later.
With my apartment in the exact middle of the block, the territory of the older “kids” was from my house to the end of the block on the right. Full of trees, bushes, empty fields to play in, and much better garbage to pick through for old toys to sell on the stoop in front. Dawn had become the leader of the little “kids.” Their territory began at the beginning of her apartment building to the end of the block on the left. Their added attraction was that some of the apartments were built on a sloop. This was great for both sliding down when it had snowed and rolled down in the summer. There was some mild envy beginning between the two halves of the block. Name-calling began between the two groups. Now looking at Dawn’s gang, it was all very little kids. My gang was all a head taller, older, and stronger, not to mention mostly Scandinavian. The situation escalated into threats and thefts, some swearing, it honestly got ugly.
All through all of this, I missed my friendship with Renee. I missed her wonderfully eccentric family and became very hurt by the vicious name-calling and rejection. I would cry and complain to my family after every negative incident between the two groups.
I honestly do not remember from where the idea of a rumble came. I suspect my brother Bill had suggested I punch Renee in the mouth, but I am not sure, and I am sure Bill would deny all and any knowledge of the planned flight. However, Bill was there the day the fight occurred. Curious isn’t it?
We stood on opposite sides like we were going to play “red rover, come over,” someone yelled go and we all ran at each other. I hated fighting, but for some reason, I went berserk. Maybe I descend from a Berserker? I don’t remember the fight at all. I recall my brother pulling me away from Renee and holding on to me to calm me down. When I opened my eyes, all the little kids were gone and only my group was dancing around victoriously.
It was a silly thing to do, but all the verbal nasty stuff stopped. I had gained respect in the neighborhood, and unbelievably, Renee became my friend again. It wasn’t until years later that she told me I had broken her nose. She bares the bump from that broken nose today. Given the grace of Renee’s loving personality, she often laughs about the fight, showing me the size of the stack of washcloths her mother had to use to stop the bleeding. Renee and I love to reminisce about growing up together. Our friendship has continued all these years and at 67 years old I could call her, and it feels like no time has passed. I love this friend, and always will. We were intimate friends all through college and shared the hardships of the beginning of our marriages. I knew I was not her best friend and she was not mine. But, do you still talk to your childhood best friend? Or your high school best friend? What makes a soul connection between two friends so strong that time apart never diminishes it? It is a mystery that only those who have been lucky enough to share this connection understand.
I called this An Easter Story, and haven’t mentioned salvation, or being saved, but I do have a story to share. It begins with a rather nasty friend who lived right next to me. Her name was Peggy. She had long black hair that she wore in pigtails. She was the bane of my existence through 3rd grade.
The subject of heaven came up between us as we were killing and then burying ants. Sorry, it’s a kid thing! We would sing a dirge while carrying the poor ants to their final resting place. Peggy mentioned that she was Catholic and only Catholics were going to heaven to be with God.
As I said previously, I felt close to God all my life. As a child, nothing was as important to me as someday living with God. My Jewish friends never excluded me from their prayers or faith.
Shortly later, I went to visit my cousin Gail in Oak Park, which is a long
Drive from Skokie. The adults said there was a vacation Bible school at the church around the block and Gail and I would enjoy going there. I know the adults wanted us safely out of the way for a while, but I didn’t mind. Gail and I got to walk past a famous gangster's house on the way to the church, which made it feel dangerous and exciting.
I remember walking into the church and very little else. Something must have happened there because I kept asking my mother about Heaven and God and how to be saved. I drove her crazy with questions. The questions did not stop after we came home. She told me I could not play with Peggy anymore, because I would certainly be allowed into Heaven.
All these issues were weighing on my young mind as I wandered down our alley. I found myself at Renee’s back gate. She was playing on her swing set and invited me to come inside her yard. I joined her on the second swing and as we flew as high as we could on the swings, making the poles bounce out of their sockets, I began talking to Renee about Christ and Heaven and how to make sure you were going to live with God forever. I vividly remember Renee stopping her swing and saying, “Ok, then I will have to believe in Christ even though I am Jewish. I want to live with God too.” Whatever we talked about or did after, I have no recall. We were two seven- or eight-year old’s contemplating eternity with faith and assurance that it was as real as the swings we were on.
I’ve never forgotten that moment with Renee. Our lives continued to follow a similar track. We both married and stayed married to one husband through thick and thin. Trust me life has thrown everything it could at us to discourage and lead us to despair, but when we get together, no time has gone by. We are eight and swinging again, or garbage picking, or playing some silly made-up games. I break her nose again and we laugh at her bump on her nose. She has spent her life a devout Conservative Jew and I have spent my life trying to diligently follow Jesus. I can’t imagine eternity without Renee, but I trust in God’s wisdom and faithfulness. I refuse to be a “Peggy” excluding everyone who does not believe exactly as she does. Yet I believe God’s Word. Do you think Renee at eight years old made a statement of conversion to Christ? I continue to pray for her and expect to see her in Heaven someday.
It is Easter Sunday, He has risen…. I wait for His Return.
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