Nadine Feldman, Author

celebrating strong female characters and whatever else strikes my fancy

genealogy

Catching Rainfall in my Hands

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Remember the movie Big Fish? It’s one of my favorites. For those who didn’t see it, Edward Bloom has lived a life filled with wonder. Problem is, his son Will has no idea what stories were true, and which were tall tales. Edward is dying, and Will wants to know the truth. The movie is a joyride through the vivid imagination of Edward Bloom, and Will discovers some surprises along the way as he works to reconcile with his father before it’s too late.

My great-grandfather, Hugh Stein, was a real-life Edward Bloom. Though I never met the man, I have been on a Big Fish-style discovery to sort out truth from fiction. As some of you know, this journey is about to take me to Scotland. In the interim, I took a side trip to Illinois to interview my parents. The more information I have, the more effective I’ll be with my research.

In order to start the conversation, we watched…you guessed it…Big Fish.

The next day, I went through popcorn tins and boxes filled with treasures. Included were letters from my great-great grandfather, who died in 1915, describing the early days of World War I. There were letters from my grandfather to my grandmother during World War II. My father even shared the many poems he’s written for my mother over the years — before now, I would see them hanging, unannounced, on the side of the refrigerator, but this time my dad offered them eagerly. In fact, he handed me the most recent one, saying, “I think this is one of my best.”

Who knew I had a great-great grandmother named Franziska Pokorney who would go on to marry several times? Who knew I had a female relative who was a wealthy, successful career woman in the 1920s, when women didn’t usually do that sort of thing?

I spent the bulk of the day scanning stacks of materials as relatives I never knew came to life.

We visited graves of relatives who lived in Hanover, Illinois. My sister drove us back home so Mom and I could sit in the back. So many details emerged, stories I’d never heard, about my parents, teenagers when they married, and how they built their family.

After 64 years of marriage, there are too many stories to tell in one sitting. Too many to tell no matter how many more times we get to talk. I am realizing how little I know, and time is fleeting. Gathering them, I feel like I’m trying to catch rainfall in my hands. It’s impossible. All the interviews, all the documents, and all the historical context cannot reconstruct a life, or generations of lives. And yet I continue, because something inside demands that I do so.

I cannot capture all the rainfall, but I will hold the drops I can.

 

 

 

 

 

In Search of Jane

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Last week, I wrote about a book I recently read called The Family: Three Journeys into the Heart of the Twentieth Century. I met David Laskin at the Chuckanut Writers Conference in Bellingham, Washington. In this post, you’ll see why the timing of our meeting is so interesting.

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Sometimes, a casual conversation with my mother changes the entire trajectory of my life. One such conversation in 1998 resulted in my first book, When a Grandchild Dies. That book, and the personal transformation that resulted, propelled me into a life I could never have imagined.

A few months ago, we had another one of those conversations. I’m unsure as to where it will lead, but I know now to get ready for a new and exciting journey!

Hubby and I had decided to plan a long trip. Most of our travel lately has been to visit family, and our feet are itchy for new adventure. Where to go? Bronte Country in England is on our list, so that seemed like the place to start.

Then I looked north on the map, to Scotland. My great-grandfather, Hugh Stein, grew up there, emigrating in 1896 at 21. I’d always planned to go. Why not now?

So of course, I called Mom to give her the news. Was there anything in particular she wanted me to see?

“No one knows where my great-grandparents are buried,” she said. “It would be nice if you could find their graves.”

“I’m on it,” I said. Then I hung up the phone and thought, what have I gotten myself into? I had no experience in these matters…not that this has ever stopped me.

Within a day, though, with the help of the Internet, I found the graves — sort of.

Yes, I found the graves of Robert and Maggie Stein. I also learned, however, that Hugh Stein had a different mother — Jane Thorburn, a woman whose name I had never heard before.

Ten months after giving birth to Hugh, Jane died of typhoid fever at 26. Robert married Margaret a few years later, and she became the only mother Hugh knew. Jane vanished into the ethers of history until my search resurrected her. But was it true? Had I found correct information?

“He always called himself Hugh Thorburn Stein,” Mom said, “but he was such a storyteller we thought he just made it up.”

I had found confirmation. Naturally, the curious writer in me whispers, what other stories are there? I’m currently researching a probable connection to an innovative but scurrilous whisky dynasty.

Soon we will pay our respects to Robert and Maggie Stein. But what about Jane? Most likely, my sources tell me, she is somewhere in an unmarked grave, but local records will tell the tale. The “kirk sessions records,” kept by the local parish church, may also offer clues. Those are not online, so I will go to them.

Hugh Stein was given his father’s name at birth, so we know the family acknowledged him. We know he grew up to be a fine man, a loving husband, and someone who cared about his community. We do not know about the mysterious woman who brought him into the world, and I hope to change that.

This upcoming trip to Scotland will be unlike any vacation I’ve ever taken. These are my people and my roots. And perhaps, somewhere and somehow, we will find my great-great grandmother Jane, and welcome her back into our family. She’s been invisible long enough.

 

Back to Work

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It’s hard to believe that nine months have passed since my last blog post. I intended to take a short break, and it grew. I have kept in touch with some of you in the meantime on Facebook and blogs, but every now and then the still, small voice inside says, “When do we get to blog again?”

This morning, I knew: today is the day. I knew it as soon as I closed the last page of The Family: Three Journeys into the Heart of the Twentieth Century by David Laskin.

Laskin’s book came to me as part of a series of curious events, which I’ll write more about in a separate post. Let’s just say that adventure is afoot, and life has led me yet again down an extraordinary path. But today, I want to tell you about Laskin’s book, because it is incredible, and I want to sing its praises wherever I can.

Like me, Laskin’s quest to learn his family history started with bits and pieces of information that grew into a larger story. He knew, for example, that his great-aunt, Ida Rosenthal, founded the Maidenform Bra Company, an incredible achievement for an immigrant woman. As he went deeper, however, he learned of three separate family stories: the American immigrants, early Jewish settlers in pre-Israel Palestine, and, sadly, those relatives who stayed in Europe and endured Nazi atrocities.

Having seen the breathtaking beauty of Rosh Ha Nikra, where his relatives first entered Israel, I could almost picture their journey, though I could not imagine their hardships. Through Laskin’s book, I also gained greater understanding of the lives of Polish Jewry at the time my husband’s grandmother left for America…and a more personal sense of the Holocaust.

Prior to reading The Family, I had been reading a novel that just didn’t work for me, to the extent that I didn’t finish it. As a writer who wants to respect other writers, I usually muscle through and hope things will get better, but I finally had to give up. A few paragraphs into The Family, though, and my faith was restored. It is as exquisite, exciting, and gut-wrenching as any novel I have read, and I invite you to add it to your stack.

If anyone is still out there after my long absence, I would love to hear what you’re reading! As for me, I’ll try to not stay away so long.