In memory of Abe and Zoia J.
For decades Zoia joined Abe
for every office visit,
the two a unit.
Despite short stature,
the elderly couple
projected the strength of giants.
Both had survived the Shoah
as youngsters,
fighting Nazis with partisans
in frozen Polish woods.
Zoia always arrived with a gift
of her freshly baked mandelbrodt,
the shetl biscotti equivalent,
sweetened by apricot jam,
its outer crispness
balanced by inner softness—
a taste so special I reserved it
only for Shabbat dessert.
Mandelbrodt, a special payback
for my care of Abe.
Her routine persisted
until Abe died.
Zoia followed him months later.
Treating Abe’s scarred heart was easier
than dealing with scars of his past.
He could never assuage the pain
of family loss.
Forever burdened with grief,
he still enjoyed retelling
his survival stories
of youthful courage.
I listened rapt,
like a child on his knee.
Unlike Abe,
Zoia required prompting
to retell her harrowing past.
I stood at both their open graves
and recited Kaddish with the family.
The taste of mandelbrodt
lingers on my lips.