A goodbye letter to Saba Aharon, the cantor of Amsterdam

My grandfather had an amazing sense of humor and always had great jokes and stories. When his wife passed her driving test and received her license, he told her to come outside.

By JOSH ARONSON

OCTOBER 29, 2019 19:32

The writer, Josh Aronson, is blessed by his grandfather, Aharon Aronson (photo credit: COURTESY JOSH ARONSON) — The writer, Josh Aronson, is blessed by his grandfather, Aharon Aronson

(photo credit: COURTESY JOSH ARONSON)

I was sitting on an El Al flight from Amsterdam to Ben-Gurion Airport. The stewardesses passed by with the duty-free trolley, which had whisky, and my eyes started welling up with tears.

It reminded me of my dear saba (grandfather), Aharon Aronson, who was in a coffin in the cargo en route to Jerusalem for burial.

Just a week before, I had called him and excitingly said, “Next week for Rosh Hashanah, I’ll see you in Amsterdam. Never in my wildest imaginations did I think that the next time I saw him, he wouldn’t be alive.

After 80 years as working a cantor, Saba Aharon passed away in an Amsterdam hospital on the eve of Rosh Hashanah, Sunday, September 29, at the age of 100. I will always remember him as an honest and straightforward person – a mensch – who helped everyone he could, modestly and calmly.

He had intended to be the cantor in the local synagogue on Rosh Hashanah, as he had done every year. But he collapsed in his home on Shabbat and was taken to a nearby hospital. Every year for the past six years, I had flown from Israel to the Netherlands to spend the holiday together. I was looking forward to once more hearing him lead the services in synagogue on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and hear his fascinating stories of life in Holland before the Holocaust.

He was born in Amsterdam in 1919. During the Holocaust, he managed to escape with his brother and father to Switzerland. His mother had died when he was 16. Just after Passover, he was on a train when he met the person who later became his wife and my grandmother, Bracha Aronson.

They married and had three children: My uncle, who still lives in Amsterdam, my aunt who lives in Israel and my father who lives in England.

My grandfather had an amazing sense of humor and always had great jokes and stories. When his wife passed her driving test and received her license, he told her to come outside.

“I bought you a present,” he said.

While thinking he bought her a car, she was surprised to see him point at a bicycle.

“Enjoy!” he said with a wry grin.

A sentence he used to say often was, “I always drink two glasses of whisky one after another, because after drinking one glass, I feel like another person – and another person is allowed to drink.”

Until the age of 100, he was clear-headed and would fly everywhere. including Israel. He always had a good word to say about everyone, and people from all cultures and backgrounds knew and appreciated him.

He played a big role in bringing refuseniks from the former Soviet Union to Israel via the Netherlands and was involved behind the scenes in secret contacts leading up to the Entebbe rescue on July 4, 1976.

Israeli singer Ehud Banai relates in his autobiography that during his visit to Amsterdam, he met an elderly man with a pleasant voice. That was my grandfather.

Rabbis of all denominations, ambassadors, politicians and ordinary people all knew him and sought his advice. His memory was phenomenal and he even helped Yad Vashem identify people in pre-Holocaust videos from Amsterdam.

My grandfather was one of the leaders of the Jewish community in the Netherlands following the Holocaust, and would visit his family in Israel every year for Passover and Sukkot.

He always was proud of his family. When I started working at Keren Hayesod-United Israel Appeal, I was surprised to find out that in 1950, my grandfather had been a board member and a big donor.

At one stage Keren Hayesod decided to give my grandfather an award for his contribution to the organization, but he declined, saying he didn’t need it. He proudly called me “my grandson, the journalist.”

We – his children, numerous grandchildren and dozens of great-grandchildren worldwide – will always cherish him.

May his memory be blessed!