My dad wore his coat for 86 years. His coat had numerous tears and had to be mended on several occasions. It weathered many storms, but it also saw its share of sunny days. It was a well worn coat, but at some point at around 8:00 AM on Monday, 12 April, he had to leave that coat behind for good.
Not many people get to be blessed to take off their coat the way he did, in the comfort of his own home; all too often it is in an institutional setting, with tubes and wires connected, with monitors beeping and people in scrubs milling about. My dad was sitting in a chair in the living room, listening to classical music with headphones on. Music was very much a part of his life; for over 50 years he served as a Hazzan, a cantor, in synagogues around the world. I learned so much of what I know about leading any synagogue service simply from listening to him practice and sing around the house. I had no interest in following in his professional footsteps, but I have always taken great pleasure in stepping up to the amud (lectern) of the synagogue and serving as shaliach tzibbur (emissary of the congregation) to lead any service.
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| Early childhood, Frankfurt am Main |
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| First day of school, Frankfurt am Main |
He also remembered playing with an older kid named Heinz, whose father, Mr. Kissinger, went to school with his father.
When he was 14, he had a severe case of empyema that kept him hospitalized for months. Years later, he saw a doctor who treated him at the time, and he was told that it was a miracle that he survived that illness. But there would be more miracles to follow.
My dad painted a vivid picture of Kristallnacht, the massive, state sponsored pogrom of German Jews of 10-11 November 1938. His synagogue, a large, impressive building, was burned down, but the shell took days to destroy. It had two towers that, after that night, made him think of two arms reaching upwards towards heaven, crying out to God. He spoke of the woman who was the superintendent of the building in which his family lived. They thought that this brusque woman would certainly turn them in to the Nazis, but to their surprise, she faced the Nazis, blocked the entrance to the building, saying that there were no Jews to be found there, knowing that there certainly were Jews in her apartments.
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| With his mother, June, 1938 |
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| Portrait, December, 1938 |
He was fortunate to get a scholarship and visa to travel to the United Kingdom shortly after Kristallnacht, to study at the Yeshiva in Gateshead, England. It got him out of Germany, but his stint at Gateshead didn’t last very long. Two weeks after arriving, he packed his bags and left without telling anyone. Coming from the broad minded Breuer Kehillah (community) of Frankfurt, he could not tolerate the intolerance of Gateshead, which did not allow listening to radios or reading of newspapers. He left for London, knowing not a soul, except for his elderly grandmother. He took numerous jobs, finally landing one in the publicity department of Twentieth Century Fox, an opportunity that allowed him to meet many celebrities. He also participated in the civil defense of London during the Blitzkrieg, watching for enemy planes from rooftops and rescuing people from bombed buildings (he once delivered a baby during an air raid). He also served as the German voice of the BBC for a short while.
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| At 20th Century Fox Film Studios, London, 1943 |
For most of the war, he had no idea if his parents and two younger sisters were still alive. His elderly grandmother had no doubt in her mind that she would not die before she saw her daughter, his mother, again. They did survive, making the trek from Frankfurt to Belgium where they found a place to hide, in the same way Anne Frank’s family did, in the home of a righteous gentile. When Belgium was liberated, his father sent him a note through a British soldier at the last address he had for him, and luckily my dad received it. The note, written in French, told him that everyone survived, and they all signed their names to it. My family had the good fortune of surviving the war, though it had its share of narrow escapes. As for his grandmother, she did live to see her daughter once again. She died three days later.
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| With his mother and sisters in Brussels, September, 1946 |
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| Rachel Peters, the woman who sheltered his parents and sisters in Brussels |
I believe it is fair to say that the very existence of the Mulgay family today is something miraculous, considering the odds of a family surviving the Holocaust intact were probably quite slim.
Within a few years, they all came to America, settling in the Boro Park section of Brooklyn. Having an interest in music, he studied cantorial arts under some of the best known cantors of the day. He was drafted into the US Army and served “overseas” - on Governors Island in the New York Harbor. He met my mom one Shabbat through their mutual friendships with the siblings of Jackie Mason. My dad was not as close with Jackie, but one day they ran into each other on the Subway, and Jackie told him that he had decided to become a comedian. My father remembered thinking to himself that was the funniest thing Jackie had ever said; I guess Jackie got the last laugh there!
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| On the porch of his parents' apartment in Boro Park, Brooklyn |
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| Wedding Portrait, June, 1958 |
My dad chose another route. Already in London, he studied voice at the London College of Music, and he held a position of Cantor for a synagogue in Manchester, where he also taught in its school. After coming to the US he held other cantorial and teaching positions, mostly part time opportunities. He went into the cantorate full time after he married my mom in 1958, when they moved to Des Moines, IA, but that proved to be a disappointing experience. He returned to New York, from where he would take holiday pulpits over the following years. I remember, when I was very small, how he would sometimes go away for holidays while mom and I would stay with my grandparents. He returned to the full time pulpit in 1967, when I was 6 years old. We moved across the country, to Portland, OR, for one year, followed by Peekskill, NY, for two years, and then Bayonne, NJ, for five. In all these pulpits, my dad not only led services, but also taught Jewish music in the synagogue schools, served as advisor to teen groups, taught boys and girls for their becoming bar/bat mitzvah, visited sick congregants in hospitals, and entertained residents in nursing homes. While hospital and nursing home visitations were not contractual obligations back then, they were things that he felt he needed to do because it was the right thing to do. I remember going with him to the nursing home in Portland on occasional visits.
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| Newspaper clipping, 1967 |
We left Bayonne in 1975 and moved to Summit, NJ, where he served the Summit Jewish Community Center until his retirement in 1991. Bayonne’s aging Jewish demographics no longer demanded a full time cantor, and it was a good time for making a move, as I was about to start high school.
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| My Bar Mitzvah, December, 1973 |
Of all his cantorial duties, I think his favorite was working with bar/bat mitzvah students. Unlike many cantors, he refused to teach them in a class setting, preferring to work with each child individually, knowing that each one came with his or her own strengths and needs. For some, he had to teach them how to read Hebrew from scratch, even though the student may have spent years in a synagogue school. He developed relationships with each child individually, using his sense of humor to make them feel at ease. He would often joke that if a kid didn’t practice on his own, he would have to use the whip hidden in his office. One of his students, while on vacation, brought him a souvenir that she came across on her travels: a bull whip! His methods produced results, and he was always proud of his students, many of whom would occasionally be called upon to read Torah or lead services at other times subsequent to their day in the sun.
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| Honored at retirement from Summit JCC, 1991 |
He loved being around people, and he was always himself, unpretentious, never interested in the spotlight. He always seemed comfortable in his own skin, and most people tended to appreciate him for the person he was.
Last year, he was informed that he would be honored by the Jewish Theological Seminary of America with a Doctor of Music, honoris causa. The diploma arrived, coincidentally, on the day of Ari’s bar mitzvah last June.
After his retirement, he and my mom decided to move close to me. For many years they would enjoy the benefits of the Boston area, visiting the Museum of Fine Arts, taking day trips along the North Shore, and attending local concerts. But the best benefit of the move was to be around when their grandsons, Noah and Ari, were born, and to play an active part in their upbringing. In his final years, as various ailments got the better of him, nothing would bring him as much joy as they could; his face would light up when they entered the room. As Noah’s eclectic interests in music started to include synagogue music, he told Noah that he could have his collection of cantorial music books that Noah found of interest. And he took a special pride as he would watch both Noah and Ari daven, bentsch, or sing zemirot.
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| From trip to Frankfurt am Main, June, 1999 |
In 1999, my dad received a long awaited invitation to visit his native Frankfurt, part of the city’s program to bring back its refugees from the Holocaust era. My father looked forward to this trip for a long time; he never harbored ill will towards the people of Germany, and he was anxious to return to the home of his youth. It was a meaningful trip for him and my mom, something I wish I could have participated in myself. He spoke of that experience often, remembering it even days before he died.
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| 83rd Birthday, with Noah and Ari, August, 2006 |
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| 84th Birthday, with my mom, Noah and Ari, August, 2007 |
Shortly after that trip, his health started to wane. The coat that lasted through many difficult times was starting to show signs of wear and tear. He developed spinal stenosis that affected his ability to walk. His hearing declined. He suffered from other anomalies, and had several bouts with congestive heart failure. But he retained his mental acuity to the very end, reading the daily newspaper, maintaining an intellectual curiosity that he held throughout his life, and always with an opinion on what was going on in the world. He always had books open, among them always a book of Jewish interest. Despite his poor hearing, he could listen to music with headphones on, something that brought him much comfort. And it was while listening to music that he died, peacefully, drifting off to sleep, his eyes closed. It was a death that seemed like a blessing to a man who lived through so much.
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| 84th Birthday, August, 2007 |
I learned so much from my dad, inheriting many things that cannot fill one’s pockets. He taught me a love of davening from my earliest years when I would watch him put on his tefillin in the morning, to learning how to conduct every possible service simply by listening to him practicing at home. He gave me a love of books and of learning, of intellectual curiosity and open mindedness. But most important was his ability to not allow the past to become a hindrance to the future, his ability to forgive past wrongs, to not hold grudges or maintain anger when it might have been much easier to do so.
My son, Noah, wrote the following poem shortly after he learned the news of his Zady’s death. I closed my words at the funeral with his poem, which he has allowed me to share openly here.
For you, I would give all.
Would that I were not so young
Would that I’d nothing to live
Would that I were alone
That there were something I could give
That I could still see you
Speak with you
Not merely remember you
Would that you were here still
Even if it were that I could only say good-bye
To Albert Mühlgay, 1923-2010
Beloved Husband, Father, Grandfather, and Friend
To all who knew you, you shall be missed.
יהי זכרו ברוך לחיי העולם הבא.
May his memory be a blessing for him for a life in the World to Come.
Mark Mulgay, 6 May 2010
Photos:
Early childhood, first day of school - Frankfurt am Main.
With his mother, June 1938. Portrait, December 1938.
At 20th Century Fox Film Studios in London, January 1943.
Rachel Peeters, the woman who sheltered his parents and sisters in Brussels. With his mother and sisters in Brussels, September 1946.
On porch in Brooklyn apartment, undated. Wedding photo, June 1958.
Newspaper clipping, 1967.
Photo from my Bar Mitzvah, December 1973.
Honored at retirement from Summit JCC, 1991.
Trip to Frankfurt am Main, June, 1999.
83rd birthday, August 2006. 84th birthday, August 2007.
Undated portrait.
