Max

Max and Leo stuck together, sharing apartments in the Bronx and traveling to Israel together in their 70's. I guess they were used to being city people. I never asked where my mother stayed when she first came to the U.S. Probably with them.

Insert passport picture of Max 

Max believed in peace. Papa was the fiery one. Max would take me out of the apartment (rescue me) when tensions were high. We didn't have one word to say to each other, but I was grateful for the escape. We both were. He had gentle vibes.   

We'd whisk away and, still without talking, gobble pizza or some other unhealthy food. We both enjoyed the air...room to breathe. We both liked walking and felt like we were escaping. It was a slightly devilish feeling. I remember him fondly for it. I'd hear my grandfather and Max battling about Max eating spicy food. I hear the word spices like a swear word issuing forth from my grandfather's mouth with disdain as he held his nose. Max also ate Vicks cough drops as candy and Papa kept arguing they were medicine.

They would also argue because Max would eat Ex-Lax like candy. Max slept on the couch in the living room, while Papa occupied the only bedroom.

The story goes that he was in love with a non-Jewish girl, but because his mother forbade it, he gave the girl up. I have a little peep show picture that you look at with one eye, a tiny red telescope/spyglass fit for a keychain. It features a woman with long red hair, naked from the waist up. I wonder if looking at this reminded him of his lost love. 

He died of a heart attack while celebrating at the Israel parade in NYC. I sat next to Papa, while his sister Yetka pointed out loudly that I was crying, to everyone's dismay. We buried Max on my 17th birthday in the rain. 1969.