Memories of Grandma Rose

Today marks the fifth anniversary (on the Jewish calendar) of my grandmother Rose Aptaker Dubnick’s death. My cousin Erica Bauman wrote this piece to honor her memory. 

Erica, a single working mother living in Cincinnati for the past six years, is originally from the East Coast. When not running around town with her kiddo, Erica is at a local coffee shop putting her dreams to work on some writing venture. You can find some of her work on her website and (recently published in the Lifestyle/Improvements and Beauty sections of), as well as a review on

Rose and Herman Dubnick wedding

Rose and Herman Dubnick wedding

“Have you talked to your mother? When was the last time you called her? What is she doing? How is she? I called her already, yesterday, do you know anything? What about your brother? Where is he? Is he working? How’s Kayla? What are you doing today? How’s your diet? Why aren’t you talking? Hello? I didn’t call you to hear myself talk…”

We spoke once a week and sometimes more. There were often stretches of time where we did not speak for weeks. That always caused an issue. She would track me down, through other family members:

“Have you heard from Erica?”

“Ma, she’s fine. She just doesn’t talk sometimes, I don’t know. It’s the way she’s always been. You know how she gets in those moods.”

“No, there’s something wrong. I can tell. What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know MA, you’ll have to ask her.”

“ASK HER?! I can’t ask her! She hasn’t called me back so I’m asking you! Why don’t you know anything? Did something happen?”


Her intuition was magical. She called me out on fears and failures, including the ones I did not want to talk about just yet. While it was always entertaining to discuss the latest fashion trends, great movies, and her recent travels to visit our family (which was spread across the U.S.), it was her vulnerability that moved me most.

I hated when she embarrassed me by speaking her mind over a cold plate at a restaurant or about an inaccurately rung up item at the cash register, or when she forced me to step out into the open area of a dressing room so that she could fuss over the fit of clothing on my body (or the random stranger who dared to walk out after me). However, her guilelessness also meant that when it came to my talent in parking too long at the points of my life I needed to move on from, her keen sense and blunt form were met with my everlasting gratitude.

Grandma Rose loved her family. They were her pride and joy. Staying connected via phone calls, email, skype, and mailed out greeting cards were high priority. She had to be “in the know,” with the family. She mediated arguments and stand-offs, and sometimes she started them…all from love.

Grandma Rose grew up at a time when families were all crammed in one house or living on the same street. She transitioned very well from that time, keeping family connections intact. She did that thing that grandmas do, asking about everyone, nagging us to call each other, making sure we attended each other’s special events, and correcting us for unnecessary exclusions. What I did not realize until now, was the depth of that quest. Her family was her life. She lived vicariously through our stories and took great pleasure in passing them on. Grandma Rose was the glue, and she “kept us going” in regards to family connection and legacy. She was not conscious of her effort, but she acted like it was everything, to disconnect was almost unforgivable.

When she passed, what was glued seemed to slip. The family, physically distant, began to feel fractured. We are not discontent, just disconnected. There are moments were we thrive; in efforts like the studies ongoing for Oaks and Roots, in the recipes shared on Seasoning for Every Palate, smatterings of social media conversations, the passing of pictures, and the stories we beg each other to share. It is there that we still hear Rose, and continue to add fresh glue to our family connections. We rely on our internet connection and text messages to allow our legacy to take residence in our homes. This is how it’s done nowadays.

I hope, for the memory of our Grandma Rose that we continue to have the conversations she now cannot. I hope that we can remember to disconnect from our daily grind enough to take advantage of moments like this, where we remember her and lend focus to each other’s lives for a moment in exchange for one more puzzle piece to be added to our legacy, and that we continue ask the questions that she would ask, seeking to continue to know each other, being full of nerve and breaking each other’s barriers, celebrating victories, asking hard questions, and retelling old stories. That is how she taught me to lead a family, through endless conversation. I miss having those with her, and I feel her memory revived when they take place. In this way, she lives on.


Rose Dubnick. Posterized photo by Randa Dubnick

Rose Dubnick. Posterized photo by Randa Dubnick

Posted in family trees

Motherhood in Another Era: Life before Antibiotics

My cousin Bob Fitterman has written a fascinating account of the tribulations that my great great grandmother Rebecca Steinreich Maltz and great grandmother Fannie Maltz Zagon encountered when raising their large families:

The effects of medical progress are certainly evident from one generation to the next!

Posted in family history, Maltz, New York, Steinreich, Zagon

Grandma Fannie’s Afghans (Guest Post by Mindy Fitterman)


Editor’s note: This guest post, contributed by Mindy Fitterman, my first cousin once removed on my mother’s father’s side, is about my great grandmother and Mindy’s grandmother Fannie Maltz Zagon (1888–1972).

IMG_3408 IMG_3409

It’s probably my earliest textile memory: considerable weight, the pungent scent of wool, and beautiful colors. Grandma’s afghan is large enough to cover a full-size bed but mostly I remember my mom pulling it out when someone was cold. The color combinations held endless fascination for me. When I went to college, I took it with me…a colorful reminder of home and family. This year, for the first time in a long time, I pulled it out of my blanket chest and put it on my bed. There is was again: the weight, the scent, the colors – my own little blanket of many colors.


My maternal grandmother, Fannie Maltz Zagon, made dozens of these afghans from old family sweaters – enough to give at least one to each of her seven children. She even made two small afghans for my dolls.



Most of the afghans had a single unifying color around all the granny squares and the outer border. My mom had one with gray borders, but she had another one that looked different from all the rest; the borders on the squares were different colors. It looked like Grandma used leftovers, and yet she achieved visual unity because of the layout and a framing border of white with green scallops. Matching squares were arranged in stripes of varying length. The stripes were arranged almost symmetrically, but not quite – just enough to keep your eye moving.


Whenever I look at it, I can almost hear Grandma thinking about the colors and the symmetry. Her tight precise stitches speak of determination, strong hands and an exacting eye…and I remember my mother’s cousin Rose telling my mom, “Your mother ran a tight ship.”


Growing up, Grandma was in New York and I was in Colorado, so I never saw these projects unfold. I wonder who got the idea to make the afghans? Were they creative fun or busy work or a little of both? Was anyone else involved in the designs?



Grandma’s life was not easy. She lived in poverty most of her childhood. As a teen, she left school to support the family after her father’s death, and later survived the Great Depression with seven children and an alcoholic husband. As the children married and left home, Fannie faced psychiatric issues and treatment. For years, she moved from the home of one child to another. When I was ten, she lived with my family for a few months, and she taught me to knit and crochet. Eventually, Grandma was institutionalized; the details of that decision are few and far between.



Often, my mother told me that Grandma’s proudest achievement was the survival of all seven of her children….a true accomplishment in her time. (Fannie also inspired future generations to make afghans of their own.) The afghans now scattered among her 14 grandchildren are testament of Fannie’s industry and creativity. Spotting one of the afghans in a cousin’s home is like affirming clan membership. Did Grandma know we would treasure them all these years later and that they would remind us of her? 

IMG_6286IMG_6288IMG_6297 (1)IMG_6289rotated

Picture 043


Mindy Fitterman has been playing with color, paper, and cloth since forever. She is a retired public health nutritionist, now enrolled in the Art Cloth Mastery Program. View her Flickr sets at with photos that link to her blogs.

Posted in Brooklyn, family history, family trees, guest posts, heirlooms, Maltz, New York, Zagon | Tagged , , , ,

For Yom Hashoah: Book Recommendation by Randa Dubnick (Guest Post)

It is Holocaust remembrance day (Yom Hashoah). The Holocaust has always felt very personal to me because our friends the Sussers, who lived around the corner, were Holocaust survivors and their son has been my friend since we were playmates in elementary school in Pueblo, Colorado. Lili Susser has written a book about her story as a child during the Holocaust, available on Amazon:…/…/0966302605


Editorial note: Lili also recounts her return to Europe in “Our 1974 European Tour,” portions of which are available at the Lodz Kehilalinks site at JewishGen:

Posted in family trees

A Family Tragedy Unearthed in Newspaper Archives

Last week, I decide to search for instances of the surname Dubnick in the available online newspaper archives at I was hoping to shed some light on the lives of my great grandfather Jacob Dubnick and great grandmother Rose Finkelstein. I have very little information about them, other than a number of census records, a marriage certificate indicating that for some reason they eloped in Waterville, Maine,[1] and a death record for my great grandfather, who died in 1936 at age 39.[2] Other than that, their lives are a mystery.

I find it very puzzling that my great grandparents got married in Maine. They both immigrated from the Russian Empire as youths and spent most of their lives in Brooklyn; our family has no known connections to New England. Perhaps there was a family connection in Maine, or perhaps they were seeking to start over as farmers to escape the city.[3] According to my aunt, Rose had worked as a maid in Jacob’s family’s house, and his parents disapproved of the marriage, so perhaps that drove them to run away to start a new life. Regardless of why they went to Maine, they weren’t there for very long.

I now know that they had returned to Brooklyn by 1922 because my newspaper archive search turned up a horrific tragedy that occurred in 1922: three children, reported to be 5, 3, and less than a year old, were trapped in a fire. The two older children escaped the fire. The article gave their names as Bessie and Hyman Dubnick, my great aunt and my grandfather.[4] The youngest was a four-month-old baby boy named Morris, whom I had never heard of before. He burned to death in the fire. Eighteen other families had to be evacuated.[5] According to another article, by the time the firemen were told that there was a baby still in the building, it was too late to save him.[6]

Because the ages of the two older children were reversed in order, and given the fact that I had never heard about a sibling named Morris before, I initially thought perhaps this was another family that happened to have similar names. But by looking up the baby’s death certificate, the details of which were available at, I was able to confirm that indeed, Morris Dubnick was a child of Jacob Dubnick and Rose Finklestein; he was born in 1921 and died in 1922.[7]

I continued to search and found a number of articles in newspapers published in New York, Illinois, and Pennsylvania; the story made the national wires. The details varied. All of the article said that Mrs. Dubnick, referred to as Rose in only one of the articles, left the children alone, either to run to the store or to help another tenant (she was apparently the “fanitress” of the building).[8] One article speculated that the older children had been playing with matches, but the others mentioned no such thing.[9] A more detailed article explained that over the next day several more people died from their injuries resulting from the fire.[10] Oddly, none of the articles mentions the whereabouts of the father, or even his correct name. At this point, I can only speculate where he might have been. What I can state with certainty is that Rose and Jacob had three more children. As I mentioned above, Jacob died quite young, in 1936,[11] and according to family members, Rose only lived a decade or so longer; at this point I do not have the exact date.

I am glad to have discovered this information, as sad and disconcerting as it is, because I know so much less about Jacob and Rose Dubnick than I do about my other great grandparents. Otherwise, their lives remain, for the time being, a mystery.


[1] See marriage record. Maine, Marriage Records, 1713-1937 [database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Operations, Inc., 2010.Maine State Archives; Augusta, Maine, USA; 1908-1922 Vital Records; Roll #: 17.

[2] “Index to New York City Deaths 1862-1948.” Indices prepared by the Italian Genealogical Group and the German Genealogy Group, and used with permission of the New York City Department of Records/Municipal New York, New York, Death Index, 1862-1948 [database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Operations, Inc., 2014.

[3] For general information about why Jews relocated to Maine, see the website Documenting Maine Jewry at

[4] “Three Children Trapped by Fire,” The Decatur Daily Review (Decatur, Illinois) · Fri, Jan 27, 1922. Downlaoded Apr 7, 2015 from

[5] Ibid.

[6] “Baby Dies in Fire, 18 Families Saved,” The Brooklyn Daily Eagle (Brooklyn, New York) · Fri, Jan 27, 1922. Downloaded Apr 7, 2015 from

[7] “New York, New York City Municipal Deaths, 1795–1949,” index, FamilySearch ( : accessed 7 April 2015), Morris Dubnick, 26 Jan 1922; citing Death, Brooklyn, Kings, New York, United States, New York Municipal Archives, New York; FHL microfilm.

[8] “Mother Away, Baby Boy Dies in Flames,” The Evening World (New York, New York) · Fri, Jan 27, 1922. Downloaded Apr 7, 2015 from

[9] “Baby Dies in Fire, 18 Families Saved,” The Brooklyn Daily Eagle (Brooklyn, New York) · Fri, Jan 27, 1922. Downloaded Apr 7, 2015 from

[10] “Mother Away, Baby Boy Dies in Flames,” The Evening World (New York, New York) · Fri, Jan 27, 1922. Downloaded Apr 7, 2015 from

[11] “Index to New York City Deaths 1862-1948.” Indices prepared by the Italian Genealogical Group and the German Genealogy Group, and used with permission of the New York City Department of Records/Municipal New York, New York, Death Index, 1862-1948 [database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Operations, Inc., 2014.


Posted in Brooklyn, Dubnick, family history, family trees, Finklestein, genealogy, Maine, newspaper archives

For TBT: A Bunch of Roses

This week I was surprised to learn from my Great Aunt Edy that my maternal grandmother Ruth’s original name was Rose Marie, but that her mother decided to change it early in my grandmother’s life to Ruth Margaret.

This struck me as quite amusing, because on the other side of the family, the name Rose appears very frequently, making searches for genealogical records a bit confusing. In fact, my grandmother, great grandmother, and great great grandmother all had the married name Rose Dubnick. And I have found a record for at least one other Rose who married a man with the last name Dubnick, although I do not yet know whether they are related to my family. It’s very strange to be searching for such an unusual surname and to find that there are many different people with the same combination of first and last name.

More than anything, this indicates the popularity of the name Rose among Jewish immigrants to the United States in the early twentieth century. According to Warren Blatt’s essay “Jewish Given Names” in the Avotaynu Guide to Jewish Genealogy, Rose ranked #13 in popularity for women’s name among “Most Popular Given Names for Jewish Immigrants in U.S.” (Blatt, table 3).[1]

Among men’s names, Hyman ranks #13 in Blatt’s list. Hyman is my maternal grandfather’s name, and he generally went by the nickname “Hy.” My paternal grandfather’s first name was Herman, but he also went by “Hy” (his Hebrew name was Chaim). So if my great grandmother hadn’t decided to change Rose to Ruth, both sets of grandparents would have gone by “Hy” and “Rose.”

Herman and Rose Dubnick wedding

Herman and Rose Dubnick wedding


Hy and Ruth Zagon wedding

[1] Warren Blatt, “Jewish Given Names,” in Avotaynu Guide to Jewish Genealogy, ed. Sallyann Amdur Sack and Gary Mokotoff, p. 37.

Posted in Aptekar, Citron, Dubnick, genealogy humor, Kates, Katz, name history, names, Zagon

Circular Genealogy, or Self-Discovery Through Social Media

An amusing anecdote: A number of genealogy groups now have Facebook pages. In some of these groups, people post the surnames they are seeking and the locations where these families lived. My mother’s mother’s family is from Pueblo, Colorado—also my own birthplace—so I joined the Jewish genealogy group in Colorado.

I now live in Massachusetts and can only participate virtually, so a few weeks ago I posted the surnames I was looking for on the groups Facebook page. A kind member of the group, a woman I’ll call G__, offered to put me in contact with a friend of hers in Denver, a man I’ll refer to as L__, who was originally from Pueblo and knew the Jewish community there well.

Yesterday, I received a Facebook message from G__ reporting that L__ did indeed know a family with these surnames, and that he happened to run into a couple from this family at the park. When he told them someone was looking for people with a family name shared by them, they were very excited. G__ mentioned that the wife’s mother was still living, and that I should get in touch with her, as she remembered a great deal about the families

But when I read the couple’s names, I could only laugh… G__ must not have told L__ my name, or he must not have relayed it to the couple, because I’m sure that if he had, they would have told him that they knew me, and that the wife had in fact grown up in the same household as my mother, her first cousin, and that my grandmother and her mother had lived either in the same house or next door to each other until my grandmother’s death in the 1980s. As it turns out, L__ was well acquainted with my grandmother and even knew my mother.

The moral of the story: Even on social media, it’s a small world—at least, if you are talking about a Jewish family from Colorado.

Postscript: I was sorry to disappoint my family, so to soften the blow, I called my great aunt right away to tell her that I was the mystery relative.

Posted in Colorado, family history, family trees, genealogy humor