My friend Chave Gartenberg Heftler passed away on Ta’anit Esther one year ago.
We met as young girls the summer we turned 11. Chave’s parents, the Gartenbergs, owned a hotel, The Pioneer Country Club in the Catskill Mountains in N.Y. It was the most popular hotel for Orthodox Jews to vacation at. One year, my father, who never took a vacation, surprised us with the news that he had made a reservation at the Pioneer for two weeks in July. My mother and I were very excited. My little sister was too young to understand.
We arrived and checked in. We took our own tour of the place. It was wonderful, but I was wondering if I would meet any girls my age. As we entered the lobby, I saw a girl that looked to be about right, so I walked over to her and said hi. And so, Chave and I met. We were the exact same age and she was very friendly. I spent a lot of my two weeks with her and some cousins of hers.
Of course, Chave was at the Pioneer all summer, but when my two weeks were up (I thought that they had passed much faster than usual), it was time to say goodbye. I told Chave that I would write to her and she said she would also.
My parents also enjoyed their time at the Pioneer and their experience gave my father an idea. This was in the 1950s, before my parents started The Jewish Press. My father had a printing press and he published printing jobs for small papers and a small one of his own, The Brooklyn Weekly. He had an idea, and he presented it to Leo Gartenberg: Every week he would publish a four-page newspaper, The Pioneer News, which would have loads of pictures of guests enjoying all the facilities. And Mom and Hindy and I would spend the summer there, while Dad came up on Friday with the bundles of papers. This was a win-win arrangement. And the next summer, when I turned 12, we went to the Pioneer for the summer.
Thus began my lifelong friendship with Chave.
In the beginning, we were summer friends. Possibly we exchanged a letter or two during the year, but when summer came, we embraced each other, so happy to be together again. By now, I knew her cousins and also other guests who returned each year. The Pioneer News was a big hit. Everyone wanted to be in it. There were the golf tournament and the baseball games and the tennis ball matches, and then there were the shidduch matches. Everyone had their picture in it.
When Chave and I were teenagers, we would try to match some people up. We were once talking to a very nice young woman from out of town and Chave pointed to a young man and asked her what she thought about him. She blushed and said she really didn’t know him, so I said, “We can introduce you,” but she laughed and walked away. I said, “Let’s go over to him now,” but Chave wouldn’t let me. And that was the end of our matchmaking.
The Pioneer had a beautiful lake down the road. It was next to what was known as the Victoria house, where some families stayed and some of the help also. Chave knew everyone. So, we went to the lake and she taught me how to row. I was a little afraid to get into the boat because I didn’t know how to swim. Chave couldn’t believe that. She was a very good swimmer. She promised me we wouldn’t tip over. The lake turned down a narrower part and I was afraid we would get lost. She pointed to a lot of berry trees and she said the next time we came, she would pull the boat ashore and we would pick berries. We went rowing at least once a week and that is how I learned how to row. We never did pick the berries – Chave said they might be poisonous.
During the week, my mother would interview guests for The Pioneer News. People came to the hotel from all over the United States and all over the world. There was a family from Venezuela with a 17-year-old son. At that time, I was 16. The mother approached my mother and told her that she would like to make a shidduch between me and her son. My mother said that I was only 16, but she said that was no problem. I couldn’t wait to tell Chave. After we both laughed, Chave said that she knows who she will marry. “Who,” I asked her? She wouldn’t say. But she did say that I should remember that she said that. When she became engaged, she reminded me of that conversation. Mel was always the one.
The wonderful summer years passed, and Chave got married to Mel Heftler on the beautiful grounds of the hotel. (Many years later my sister would also get married at the Pioneer.) The wedding was very special and full of simcha, even with the devastating death of Mel’s father that same Sunday morning. (Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, who was the mesader kedushin, ruled that the wedding had to go on.) Chave looked like a princess. Her gown was so pretty that a few years later I borrowed it for my wedding. Mel was an outstanding, special person. He proved himself on that very day, when he wanted Chave to have a very special wedding even when his heart was grief-stricken.
We were in touch a lot. By that time The Jewish Press was in existence and my father hired Mel to be the head of the advertising department. He was so good that my father said to my mother, “I wish that all my employees were like Mel Heftler.”
One day I got a phone call from Mel. Chave was going to become a United States citizen and they needed a witness who was not related to come and state that I knew her. Mel said that I had known her longer than anyone who isn’t a relative. I felt very honored. Chave answered all the questions, and she became a citizen. I think she knew more answers than I did.
I married, and in 1971 we moved with our children to Israel. When Chave and Mel made aliyah, we had them over for Shabbos many times. Those were fun times. Almost like being back in the Pioneer, I joked.
The years passed and I was back in New York, helping my father with The Jewish Press. Whenever Chave and Mel were in New York, they came to visit me. And whenever I was in Israel, I visited them in their lovely Bayit VeGan home.
It seems like a lifetime has gone by. Very sadly, Mel passed away unexpectedly while undergoing a medical procedure nine years ago. Chave was bereft and I cried from far away. Mel had been her world, together with their wonderful children. It took me a few days before I could even call her.
Eventually, Chave sold her apartment and moved to the assisted living residence Beit Tovei Ha’Ir in Jerusalem. The next time she visited me, I was in my apartment in Rechavia. Chave agreed that it was very nice, but she tried to convince me to join her in her new residence. I wasn’t ready. Over the next two years, she invited me for two Shabbatot to her apartment. It was much smaller than the home she had left, but it was really beautiful. So much was going on and I could see why she was very happy there. I just wasn’t ready to make the move.
I finally moved to Beit Tovei Ha’Ir last January. “I’m here!” I excitedly told Chave, but it was too late. Chave wasn’t well, and she was just able to whisper something to me. I went to my apartment and cried bitterly.
A few weeks later, on Shabbat, I went to her apartment and her daughter told her that I was there. She came out of her room briefly and promised that next time we would have a real visit and she blew me a kiss. It wasn’t to be. Chave returned her holy soul to HaKadosh Baruch Hu on Taanit Esther. She was finally joining Mel and her beloved parents, and she was also going to meet her birth parents who had been murdered in the Shoah.
Goodbye, my dearest friend. You have left a beautiful family – children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, following in the path you and Mel set for them, of Torah, Avodah, and Gemilus Chassadim. There is no better tribute to you than that, and there is no better inheritance for them than that. Rest in peace, dear Chave.