I remember the day we met – in September 1980 – as if it were yesterday. My childhood friend, Robin Gottdiener, and I had both given birth at Sinai Hospital over the three-day Yom Tov of Rosh Hashanah. Since we were staying in separate rooms, we decided to get together in hers so we could take turns watching our newborns while we davened.
We happened to be
shmoozing when we heard an energetic knock on the closed door. After Robin
said, “Come in,” a jubilant voice announced, “It’s Bubby Broder time!!!” and a
bubbly, blonde-sheitel-clad,
much-too-young-looking bubby bounced in. As she turned around to close the door
behind her, I had just enough time to whisper to Robin out of the side of my
mouth, “Who is she??”
I later found out that this selfless neighbor
of ours walked approximately three-and-a-half miles roundtrip each Shabbos and
Yom Tov – if need be, with the aid of one of her many decorative canes! – in
rain, sleet, snow, and even blizzard, to visit any hospitalized Yid.
* * *
Born in Pittsburgh
in 1933, Mrs. Broder lived in Baltimore since the 1960s. She was a teacher her
entire life – formally, in the elementary classroom for decades in both Bais
Yaakov and Torah Institute, and informally at every opportunity she was given.
Little did I know
that “Bubby Broder” was about to become my surrogate mother. Just days later,
at the bris of our firstborn, Shimon,
her role became evident when I felt her motherly arm around me in anticipation
of the baby’s imminent heartrending cry. My parents, who lived in Connecticut,
could not participate in our simcha.
My mother was terminally ill and bedridden; my father was taking care of her.
Bubby Broder, no doubt, knew this and came to the rescue.
She soon morphed
into the additional roles of very close friend and confidante as well as a fun
partner in “crime.” As a baby boomer born into a family that addressed even
younger cousins with the prefix “Cousin,” I couldn’t bring myself to call such
a close friend who was over 20 years older than me by her first name. It felt
equally unnatural to call her Mrs. Broder. So, I decided to call her “Lucy”
instead. It seemed only fitting since she reminded me of the frum version of Lucille Ball, of “I Love
Lucy” fame. Besides, I seemed best cast in the role of “Ethel,” Lucille’s timid
sidekick, in our innumerable adventures.
And boy did we
have madcap adventures, literally – like the time I ended up taking Lucy to the
Sinai ER after her “automobile” accident. Spotting fragments of glass on her
scalp, the attending physician left the two of us behind the curtained-off
cubicle to get some equipment to clean it out. While he was gone, Lucy took off
her sheitel and gave it a vigorous
shake. When the doctor returned, he was astonished to find that no glass was to
be found.
Then there was the
time we visited patients at Kennedy Krieger. We obviously made the wrong turn
when leaving their rooms because for a couple frightening minutes we found
ourselves in a locked-down corridor of a psych ward with some big tough-looking
guys and no mental health counselor in sight.
Another scary
incident happened on the way home from a shiva
call. The hard-packed snow started coming down fast on her little white Chevy
Nova, and as we were skidding home on Western Run Drive, a few adolescent
mischief makers threw snowballs at us. Ever the teacher, Lucy immediately
stopped the car, got out, and lectured them on throwing snowballs at someone
who could have well been their grandmother. They felt so remorseful that they
looked down at their shuffling feet and mumbled their apologies.
One summer, on the
way home from a different shiva visit
– on Yeshiva Lane – we decided to get something to eat at the now-defunct I
Can’t Believe It’s Yogurt. We were taking our sweet time (literally!) indulging
in our frozen yogurt treats, when our always-interesting conversation was
interrupted by numerous loud sirens. Our curiosity was piqued, and we went
outside to see what was happening at the intersection of Reisterstown and Old
Court Road.
It turned out to
be a drug bust, complete with K-9 units and multiple police officers
surrounding a man. We naively wondered why they asked the suspect to remove his
multi-pocketed vest. We soon realized that it was hiding little plastic baggies
of illegal substances. The scariest part of this adventure, however, was
not the actual arrest scene but the scene that awaited us when we returned to
our respective homes at approximately 1:00 a.m.
Long story short,
we had gotten so engrossed in this adventure that we had lost track of time. We
realized that our husbands might be worried about us but concluded they were
fast asleep. (This was back in the days before cell phones and texting, mind
you.) How were we to know that when my husband – dubbed “Fred” in our adventures
– realized I had never come home he would call and wake up Lucy’s husband,
“Ricky,” looking for me? When Lucy was also discovered missing, they were both
terrified to think of what might have happened to us. They were just about to
report their missing wives to the police when we came home. Let’s just say that
it wasn’t necessary for us to tippy-toe into our front doors, as planned.
I can go on and on
with our adventures – like the time Ricky was out on NWCP patrol protecting our
neighborhood, while his own house was about to be broken into. Of course, Lucy
called me to come to her rescue, which I did. It only took a couple
minutes to get my shoes on and drive around the corner, but by the time I got
there, the suspect was sitting handcuffed on Lucy’s front lawn, and Ricky had
just pulled up.
* * *
I will sorely miss
my legendary friend and our escapades – her contagious laughter, our loquacious
conversations, and the look of sublime delight on her face when I would walk in
with her favorite Purim mishloach manos hotdog
lunch. But I take solace in knowing that the life lessons this crackerjack
educator so naturally taught will live on in me – and in all those fortunate to
have known her.
I will fondly
reminisce about her extraordinary simcha
for others, as I picture her jumping rope at weddings. And I will recall her
selfless devotion when she traveled, in December 2013, in a harrowing
nationwide blizzard and ice storm to get to my son/her student Dovid’s wedding
in Chicago. Because of the multiple flight delays, she slept on a bench in
Dulles airport – and this was when she was 80 years old!
When I interviewed
Lucy about this for my Mishpacha
article, “Pulling Heavenly Strings,” she told me, “The wedding was so worth it.
I would have traveled twice the amount of time or even more, as long as I knew
I could get to the wedding. When I was leaving the plane, after finally
arriving in Chicago, I asked the stewardess, ‘Are you sure this isn’t
Australia? It took me 24 hours to get here.’ She answered, ‘Ma’am, are you
traveling with a companion? Do you know where you are? This is Chicago.’
“I have to admit
that I did waver for a millisecond, in Dulles, when I saw someone I knew from
Baltimore and had a chance to catch a ride back home. I decided against it.”
Finally, I will
never forget Lucy and Ricky’s inimitable hachnasas
orchim. As a young mother raising an
all-boy family, baruch Hashem, I
routinely took refuge and respite from an intense week at the Broders’ warm,
welcoming Shabbos dinner table. No matter how long our own seudah took, I would inevitably show up while their dinner guests
of all ages, stages, and walks of life were in the middle of the main course.
With the Broders’
incomparable cuteness and charm, this Shabbos table experience – complete with
personalized porcelain place cards, laughter, camaraderie, weekly parsha question quizzes, Lucy’s
delectable chocolate cake, and her zany stories (which Ricky, aka “Zaidy Sam,”
regularly joked never happened) – was beyond! Sam and Leni believed that
singles should not eat alone on Shabbos or Yom Tov, and many of them thankfully
became regulars.
Most of all, I
will remember a heart – as wide and vast as the ocean – on which I’ve
figuratively etched, “I Love Lucy.”
May Chaya Zelda bas Mordechai’s neshama soar higher and higher and be a melitzas yosher for those who loved her,
for those whom she loved, and for klal
Yisrael!
