UNFORGETTABLE (Part Two)

Although my parents had applied for United States citizenship, their paperwork had not yet been processed. So, as much as he wanted to, Dad could not get a commission in the military. However, he became a civilian chaplain at the Army/Air Force Base where they trained all the radio operators for the Flying Fortress bombers. Dad joined three clergymen to travel to various installations to speak to the troops.

On May 7^th, 1945 Germany surrendered to the Allies, but we were still at war with Japan, so the whole 8^th Army/Air Force was transferred to Sioux Falls expecting to go to the Pacific to fight the Japanese. Thousands of additional troops were coming to Sioux Falls. Three additional Jewish chaplains came with the Division as well as Christian clergy. Our home was a welcoming place for all clergy and many priests, rabbis, ministers as well as soldiers walked in our doors that were always open. One solider from the South came regularly to take a bath, which was a luxury not afforded him at the base. On August 6^th, 1945, the Enola Gay dropped the atomic bomb, named “Little Boy” on Hiroshima, Japan. Three days later, another bomb was dropped on Nagasaki. The war was over and we celebrated VJ Day on August 15^th.

Being the only Rabbi in South Dakota meant that Dad flew hither and yon when called upon by an isolated family in the hinterlands. Called to Deadwood to conduct a funeral, he was flown there in a small plane by Joe Foss a wartime hero and ace, who shot down twenty-six Japanese planes and was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. He later became the Governor of South Dakota. Naturally, it was snowing in Deadwood when Dad arrived, and he had to don hip boots, and trudge through the snow, past the graves of Calamity Jane and Wild Bill Hickok at Boot Hill, to reach the Jewish Cemetery.

When he returned home he had a call from the President of Augustana College who said, “Our French Professor had a nervous breakdown. Can you fill in for her?” Dad told him, “I studied French when I was in high school.”  “Good enough!” said the President.  So, a rabbi from Germany, who recently learned English was teaching French at a Norwegian Lutheran College. Where but America?

Finally, my Father was notified that his citizenship papers had arrived, and went to pick them up. However, in true governmental fashion, there had been a glitch in my Mother’s paperwork and hers would not arrive until the following year. Naturally, she was very disappointed, but she said to Dad, “Now that you are back, I need to go to the grocery store. Could I have ten dollars please?”  Dad responded, “That’s the trouble with you foreigners, you are always asking for money.”

I loved Sioux Falls, but my Father had been offered another pulpit in Michigan City, Indiana near Chicago, so it meant starting over again.  I asked him, “Dad, will it be difficult for you to move again?”  And he responded, “Not as long as I have my books. My books are my portable homeland.”

Esther Blumenfeld---(To Be Continued)