Somewhere Over the
Eastern Seaboard, 1946
Rabbi Groh was on the edge of his seat as David Peled recounted his grandfather’s story. He got the sense that Peled was not in the habit of sharing his family history. He’d appeared reluctant to even begin the conversation. Nevertheless, the rabbi wanted Peled to know that just because he lived in the United States, he cared as deeply about the fate of the Jewish people as Peled did.
“You know, David, we have a lot in common, you and me,” he opened.
“How do you mean?” Peled challenged.
“Well, a simple twist of history and my family could have ended up in Palestine, or yours in the States. Both our families fled Europe, and I’m sure if I’d ended up in Palestine, I’d be doing everything I could to help build a state, just like you’re doing.”
“Could be, Rabbi,” Peled said. But in his mind, he couldn’t help thinking, “Rabbi, until you make aliyah, you are not nearly as invested as I am.”
The rabbi could sense Peled was not convinced. “You’re right. I’ve never faced Arab bandits at night attacking my kibbutz, but I’ve been doing everything I can to support those who have. Really, it’s all I ever talk about,” Rabbi Groh said. Peled smiled and focused back on the papers resting on his lap. For a moment the rabbi wondered whether he was trying to convince Mr. Peled that he was doing all he could for his people or whether he was trying to convince himself. This was a struggle that had dogged him ever since the Nazis had come to power. For the rabbi, the story of the Jewish people was unfolding across the seas, and he was nowhere near the action. True, he raised money as often as he could. He attended every Zionist event that took place in South Florida. But there was only so much you could do from the rich dining halls of Miami’s hotels and convention centers. He was immensely grateful for this opportunity, and it was important to him that Peled understand the depth of his commitment to his people.
“It was a pretty smart move of your grandfather, wasn’t it? I mean he had real foresight to just pick up like that and move to a whole different part of the world. The Galilee must have seemed like a different planet after living in Poland his whole life.”
Peled once again made eye contact with the rabbi and answered honestly. “It was, but he never looked back.”
“Do you ever think where you would be if your grandfather hadn’t decided to leave Europe?”
“I’d be in the same place as every other Jew from Lomza: in a mass grave or a pile of ash.”
That answer gave Rabbi Groh pause. He leaned back in his seat and peered out the window as Peled focused his attention back to his paperwork.
But before he let Peled completely off the hook, the rabbi had one last question. “Tell me, David, how did Pildowsky become Peled?”
Peled smiled, obviously proud of the sacrifice his grandfather had made to immigrate to Palestine. “It is not uncommon for new Jewish immigrants to Palestine to Hebraicize their family name. My grandfather took the name Peled because it sounded similar to Pildowsky, but also because it means steel in Hebrew—which reminded him of the will of the new Jewish community in Palestine.”