The memories are magnificent:
I remember Zaidi being called to Memphis on a matter of kashrus. We were told he was known as the Czar of Kashrus throughout the South.
As I write this, I am looking at a picture of me next to Zaidi, on his wonderful porch, at my birthday party on Glenwood Ave, in 1949, where, by the way, the oldest Maple tree in the state of Ohio resided for close to a century.
I loved Zaidi’s house. It had a beautiful plaque on the outside with his name. Inside it was lovely. One large room on the second floor was my favorite. It was Zaidi’s library and study, lined with books from floor to ceiling, all the way around. There were easily 1,200 books in that room. I can still remember the special smell of that room. It smelled smart.
Zaidi’s writings and commentaries were plentiful. This was also the room people came to from all over the world to have disputes settled. What fond memories I have of the Washington Ave. Shul. It had a beautiful balcony for women, and whenever I reached my seat in the first row, I had immediate eye contact with Zaidi.
I remember the enormity of my pride when people stood in respect as he entered or left a room, or finished making a speech.
After all that, he was still my Zaidi!
Historians opine that Zaidi will go down in history as a primary rescuer of his people during and after the Holocaust. He is personally credited with saving at least 10,000-plus Jews and their offspring-well over 100,000 today.
What you alone did was the stuff of miracles!
Three days before Yom Kippur in 1943 you assembled and led 400 rabbis on the Grand Rabbis March to protest FDR’s lack of intervention to save Europe’s Jews.
As you led the delegation to the Capitol and White House, you were prepared to see the president who had other ideas.
FDR had the evidence in hand about the deaths of millions of Jewish innocents, including 1.5 million children in the most savage barbaric ways, in mankind and history’s darkest hours.
There was nothing on his official calendar that afternoon, but FDR snuck out of the Oval Office’s back door and went golfing (as usual seated in his wheelchair).
FDR’s Court Jews, with the exception of Morganthau, advised him not to meet with the rabbinical delegation.
I felt pride when told of his encounter with Simon Wiesenthal at his DP camp after the war. Wiesenthal questioned how a G-d could let the Holocaust happen. Whatever Zaidi’s response was, the following morning Wiesenthal davened (prayed) for the first time since his bar mitzvah.
I shall never forget his own family doctor telling him that it was a miracle he never got ill. He traversed postwar Europe carrying all of his food with him in his briefcase.
How can I ever forget taking Zaidi to the farm in Dent, Ohio, to get his milk? Or to Winton Place Train Station for his many trips to N.Y., Washington and all over the country in behalf of his people? The porters and other train employees all knew him!
Zaidi brought me back a beautiful blouse from Egypt. He also went to Cuba.
I recall his sense of humor: He told Dad there was a dent in the roof of his ‘55 black Olds because the person cleaning it washed too hard.
Or the time a colleague called Dad to tell him that Zaidi was staying in the pilot’s quarters overnight at Cincinnati Airport as Shabbos quickly approached.
Or, him walking down Reading Rd., reading the daily newspaper, almost oblivious to the surroundings.
Can I ever forget how he blew the shofar? Or, how he sucked out eggs and made our Sukkos decorations? Or, that he always visited the fifth night of Chanukah and we played dreidel and heard marvelous stories.
I still have one of the dreidels and see his sparkling eyes!