Lucia Weinberg

Our mother, Lucia Weinberg, survived the Holocaust as a young woman, together with her father and a young aunt. She survived – to raise three daughters, to hug 8 grandchildren, and finally, to love 5 – now 6, great-grandchildren; missing the birth of the newest grandbaby by only 10 hours. She survived – to meet and fall in love with her cousin, our dad Elliot. Together they founded three generations. Please G-d, may there be many, many more.

While we were children, our mother took pains to expose us to art, music, and theatrical performances.  She and our dad nurtured our talents with music and art lessons. They took us to concerts, art museums, plays and restaurants. We traveled, drove cross-country, visited National Parks and European cities and of course, Israel. We all laughed a lot, sang songs in the car, and created good memories. Most importantly Mommy made sure we knew who we were, that we loved our legacy and history as Jews. We lit candles every Friday night, observed Jewish holidays, and loved Israel wholeheartedly.

Lucia spoke many languages: Polish, Yiddish, Hebrew, Russian, Ukrainian, German and English. Her English was beautiful and fluent, without a trace of an accent.  As we grew older, she took the opportunity to brush up on the Russian language. She audited classes at University of California Riverside and earned the admiration of her professor.  She went on to use this skill to help new immigrants from the Soviet Union, first volunteering, then working full time for Jewish Family Service as an interpreter. In her work, she accompanied former refuseniks to their medical appointments, communicating their symptoms and concerns, and making sure they understood their physicians’ advice.  Her home was filled with Russian handicrafts, the gifts of appreciative clients who soon became family friends.  She loved entertaining and was a fine cook. She opened our home to her friends and to ours, inviting them for home-cooked meals, conversation and games of chess and backgammon, and making sure everyone felt welcome.

My mother was a gifted seamstress. She sewed nearly all of our clothes, often inspired by the designer clothes she had examined minutely in the best shops. Her gifted hands provided us with smart wardrobes of fine fabrics.  For a time, she was employed by a well-known French couturier at a Beverly Hills boutique.  

Indeed, in 1950, just before Lucia’s departure for America, she had two dresses custom made by a dressmaker in the Deportation Camp. At 20 years of age, she envisioned herself sailing glamorously past the Statue of Liberty. Not for her the designation, “war refugee.”  Her arrival in New York would be accomplished with elegance. She intended to make an entrance.

Finally, our mother exemplified acts of chesed.  She visited relatives when they were ill. When a dear neighbor became elderly and frail, she and our dad did whatever they could to help. Lucia collected baked goods from a bakery to bring them to the local food pantry. She cared for our dad lovingly during his illness. She provided generously to her children and grandchildren. She and our dad donated regularly to their favorite charity, the Weizmann Institute, where their son-in-law Ruli, Alav Hashalom, was a professor, as well as to other Jewish institutions. 

Mommy, you taught your daughters to maintain high standards in all that we do, to love and appreciate beauty, and to provide help and hospitality whenever needed. You taught us to love our heritage, to light candles, and to love Israel. You demonstrated hospitality to newcomers fleeing oppression from more than one country. You and Daddy surmounted early trauma and  loss, yet you remained cheerful, positive, strong and wise.  You never lost your sense of humor. At the end you clung to life with strength, determination and courage until you could no longer.

Please give our love to Daddy, Grandpa, our grandmothers, and all our “lost” loved ones. Mommy, we will miss you terribly. We already do.