Mama was born in Azaritz, a Russian hamlet (dorf) where only one Jewish family was permitted to live. A hamlet is a little cluster of houses, with perhaps a general store, in farm country.

At that time there were many migrant Jews going from hamlet to hamlet, looking for a place where they would be allowed to stay. They were poor, bewildered, often dirty, very much like our own migrant workers in parts of California. The word sped swiftly that in "Sholom's dorf" they could find a haven.

Sholom was Mama's father. He was a pious Jew who felt that in helping Jews poorer than himself, he was doing God's work. He was the trader and man of business for his community.

At the age of twelve, Mama lost her own mother, but her father's hospitality persisted and it was the young girl who now waited on the ragged, tired travelers. Never knowing how many would be at the evening meal, she became accustomed to preparing food in quantity. The sin of inhospitality would never be Sholom's. And so, early in life, Mama learned the joy of seeing eyes light up and sagging shoulders straighten after the comfort of a good meal gladly given.

Often when we were little, and, like all children, com­plained about our food, she would say, "Ach, give me hungry people to feed. They like everything."

But the joy of sharing was not all that Mama taught us. Though she would open her cupboard to anyone, Mama was also frugal, and the waste of a single morsel of precious food was a terrible sin. To this day I cannot bear the sight of good food left uneaten.

Here is one of my favorite stories about Mama. I once asked her why it was so dreadful to throw away a piece of bread that nobody else would eat even if I didn't finish it.

"You think this is just a piece of bread?" Mama re­torted. "Let me explain to you what this bread means."

"When you live in a 'dorf as I did, you see how the peasant tills the land, then plants the seed, then reaps the harvest. You see how he frowns in bad weather and how he smiles when the sun and rain help his crop. You see how he brings the wheat to the mill to be ground into flour, and you smell the good bread baking when the housewife puts it into her great oven. Count up how many hours of human labor, how many dreams, how many sacrifices go into one slice of bread, and you will see that it is not merely a commodity, but the story of a life. That is why it is a sin to waste even a single slice."

So Mama's frugality was not really a contradiction of her generous nature, but only an expression of her deep reverence for life and the labor that gives it worth.

And so this is the legacy that Mama left us—kind, hard-working, independent, standing always protectively over her aloof Talmudic husband, who let her bear more of the burden than either of them realized—the joy of making a home more than a haven for the immediate family, but a place of warmth where others might come to renew themselves, to eat, drink and be merry. What­ever their personal beliefs, they kept their faith in the old Jewish concept that the enjoyment of the fruits of life is a reverence toward God.

Once, at a gathering of friends and family, when we were full of food and affection toward each other, my sister Rose, getting up from the table, said, "Honestly, Sadie, sometimes I think you're just like Mama."

A nicer thing, no one could ever say!