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Just Kieve
Whether you know mama loshen or not, you’ll catch the poig
nant “neshooma” o/ this material. The author has achieved a
precious poignancy about a subject who seems to portray a
prototype in many a Jewish congregation. —The Editor
By ADDIE M. LEVY
“What about Elul with Kieve not
there to make an F,1 Molo Rach-
mim? And when the High Holidays
come, w'ho will blow the Shofar?’’
We knew we’d miss him. He’d been
part of us for thirty years, for a
generation. It was always he to
whom we turned in sickness and
in grief; to Kieve, sexton of Con
gregation Beth Israel, Cambridge,
Massachusetts.
“Tillim, Kieve, Tillim,” we cried
when a dear one was so very sick.
We believed in his prayers, in his
sincerity, in his religious goodness.
We felt that God believed in him,
too.
When death visited a home in the
community, someone ran for Kieve.
Kieve could take charge, could be
such a comfort. And it was so easy
to talk to him, to ask him, “Why?”
He told us what to do during Shiva,
and what not to do, and when the
time was up, he raised us from our
seats of mourning and showed us
how to take that little farewell
walk with our dear departed. “Ba-
laaten dor neshooma,” he called it.
To those of us who were too
busy to go to Shul before Passover
to sell our hamez (leaven), Kieve
visited m our places of business.
Before the wondering eyes of our
customers, he’d hand us an end of
his kerchief to bind the sale. That
was "Kinyan sudar," or “purchase
by kerchief,” an old, old custom.
During Succoth, the Harvest Festi
val, he brought the lulav and esrog.
He saw to it that we never missed
a thing.
He was with us in our simchas,
too; our births, our bar mitzvahs,
and our marriages. The organiza
tions that met in the vestry, the
men’s, the women’s, and the chil
dren’s, all Lienefitted by his kind
and helpful presence. Especially,
the children’s. Kieve loved young
people.
It was B’nai B’rith girls’ meeting
night, during July, 1944, and a few
of the girls had come to him for
the key to the synagogue. He looked
at the small victrola in the arms of
one, and shook his head. "No, no,
mi torr nit! You mustn’t!” he said.
“It’s Tish b’Av."
“Oh, Kieve," begged the young
president, “we’re only having a
little party for one of our girls who
has joined the WAVES. See this
piece of luggage? It’s for her. for
a going-away present. Let us have
the Shul, Kieve, please. There won’t
be any boys, only girls.”
"But the music," he argued weak
ly, "I’ll hear it next door.”
’Oh, no you won’t, Kieve. You’ll
take a couple of aspirins, and you’ll
go right to sleep. You won’t hear
a sound. Please, Kieve?” A smile
played upon the man’s lips and
there was a twinkle in his eye as,
tugging at his iron grey beard, he
surrendered the key.
Rabbis came and went at Congre
gation Beth Israel, but he was al
ways there. He was the Shul, but
we hadn’t known it. He’d always
been so quiet, so humble, so un
assuming. On the High Holidays,
dressed in white, large cashmere
tall is covering him from head to
toe. and praying so earnestly, he
made us feel the holiness of the
occasion. He had a beautiful voice;
so powerful, so moving.
There was May, 1948. We had
come together to thank God for the
new State of Israel, to help cele
brate its Declaration of Indepen
dence. The joy of Kieve’s beaming,
round face that night, the bright
ness in his eyes, in his very being,
made our hearts feel tight.
Two months later, another Tish
b’Av, when the Arabs were still
attacking and the Jews were being
slaughtered, the congregation be
came conscious of a thickness in
Kieve’s voice as he recited aloud
the Priestly Blessing just before the
silent prayer, the Amidah. When
he came to the last line, Boruch
At oh Adoshem Ha-M'vorech es Amo
Yisrael Ba-Shalom (Blessed art
thou. O Lord, who blessest thy
people Israel with peace), he wept
aloud. The congregation cried with
him.
Kieve had one child, a son, whom
he adored. Years ago, when Mincie.
his wife, took the little boy to Re
vere Beach, Kieve followed and
watched from the sidewalk. He
was afraid the waves might swal
low his little Avromele. We watched
the child grow to splendid man
hood, and on the High Holidays re
cently passed, he stood as an honest
reminder of his sainted father.
There was a time, a year ago.
when the Shul had given a grave
for a woman, a stranger in this part
of the country, a stranger with no
money and no kin. The congre
gation had gathered at the cemetery
for the service. There was a chill
in the air, and the clouds hung
heavy in a grey sky. But when
Kieve chanted the El Molo Rach-
mim, when the song poured forth
from the very depths of his heart,
when the prayer seemed to rise
higher and higher, we looked up
toward the heavens, and there was
the sun. A few months later. Kieve.
himself, passed away.
The rabbis paid great tribute that
day. They called him the Reverend
Kieve Tekezener. But we’ll remem
ber him as just Kieve; Kieve —
SHEM TOV — good name; Kieve —
LAV TOV — good heart.
(8)
The Southern Israelite