In every community there is a small number of special people captured by the adjective “colorful.” They attract attention not because they try to but because of who they are. They do not fit a mold. They light up their surroundings, not just by what they do but by how they do it. Their personality catches one off guard, and delights or informs everyone around them in unexpected ways. When they depart — when they die — their loss strikes one in the heart because much of it has been filled with the color they put there.
Our community lost one such person last Shabbos with the passing of Hermine Blau. She came from France, married a Holocaust survivor from Poland, and embraced the city of Denver. Perhaps it was her cross-cultural perspective that saw things differently from most of us. How colorfully she could express what she saw and thought!
One never knew what would be on Hermine Blau’s mind. Whatever it was, it was offered with vivid description, pointed observation, keen insight, an unveiled light that broke through the routine.
What would be on Hermine’s mind? Her youth in Nice, France? Her husband George’s commitment to skiing the Colorado slopes well into his eighties? The latest ripples that one of her son Reuven’s influential news reports caused in New York City? Would it be her admiration for her late neighbor Mrs. Prenzlau? Would it be her joy over an animal that found its way to her backyard and the food she left outside for it overnight? Maybe it would be an insight into a critical new twist in real estate practice in Denver. Maybe it would be her relief at having snagged some wonderful help for the house. Whatever it was, Herminemagnetized you with the way she told the story, the way she made it come alive.
Literally every interaction with Hermine was wonderfully unpredictable. Would it be for two minutes or two hours? Would it be her unblinking observation on an ethical matter, or a new strategy to get some food or other help to a person who resisted accepting help? Would it be about the business climate in Denver generally, which her shrewd eye knew well? As often as not, it would it be about her latest tweak in her chicken soup recipe.
Her chicken soup was not just for the Shabbos table. It was for people around Denver, Jewish and non-Jewish, of any race, whom she somehow discovered needed help. It would also be for her neighbors and friends. Hermine showered them with the delicacies hand-produced in her own kitchen.
Speaking of . . . out of the blue there would be a knock on our front door. It was Hermine’s son Dr. Shimon. What’s this? Hermine just knew we would like her latest kokosh cake, or challah, or chicken soup, or a scrumptious cheese danish that her daughter Judy hit upon in New York and brought to Denver.
Even when we protested that our children were grown and living away and we were the wrong address for all this delicious food, before we could finish the current batch Hermine would dispatch her son to deliver still more. Hermine was very good at absorbing and analyzing facts, but there was one exception. When it came to her determination to make more food for more friends, if they said they didn’t need it right now, Hermine didn’t hear. Had we eaten all of her delectable kokosh cake and other goodies in the short time she allotted — that is, before her next batch arrived — we would gain 20 pounds! So we froze it and savored it over many weeks.
Hermine was not content to make phone calls to friends, near and far, she just had to lavish on them the fruits of her own hands.
When we called to thank her, we were treated to the unpredictable. Strong opinions. Not run-of-the-mill cliches foisted upon us via popular media. Why was Jewish Charity X renting out a Donald Trump venue in Florida to hold an event? She knew the cost, and when she said she knew the cost, she knew it, down to the dollar. This would have to be dealt with. When she said she loved the Intermountain Jewish News, we knew she read it down to the last page. When she had read a new book on the Torah, she drew on a lifetime of thinking about these matters to embrace the book, or the opposite. There was no deference to “expert” opinion for Hermine Blau. She thought for herself. At the same time, she had a great capacity for friendship with people very different from her. She painted rainbows.
Hermine knew all kinds of things. You need a plumber? In her business, she had tried them all and knew the best. You needed to know something about Poland before the Holocaust? Husband George, a survivor who came to the US without the language and managed to earn a PhD from Columbia, had filled her in. You wondered about some person who lived in Denver long ago? Hermine had the current data. She was definitive.
Speaking of her husband George, I am led to what I would call Hermine’s motto, “And His mercies are showered over all of His creatures” (Psalms 145:9). Hermine’s mercies were not only for the strangers, neighbors and friends outside of her house. She was not one of those out saving the world as her own hearth collapsed. Quite the contrary. The more George needed, the more Hermine gave. Day in and day out.
It is sometimes hard to catch the signs. People don’t talk about these things. A person at Hermine’s stage, well of course she would want to tie up various business affairs. It’s only natural, right? Hermine had a right to relax. She had worked hard all of her life. So she went about the task methodically and comprehensively. She told me some of the details, but I couldn’t follow. All I knew is that she was determined, as always. No person knows his or her time, but in retrospect perhaps Hermine was intent on leaving a last gift, except this time it was not delicious kokosh cake, not something for the animals, not a phone call. It was her desire to make sure that no one who came after would be burdened with things they shouldn’t have to figure out.
My wife Elaine and I will miss all those times we spent with Hermine. I’ll miss trying to deliver some flowers to her, a disproportionately small return gift. It was a battle. I barely succeeded getting the flowers past the front door as she meanwhile was filling me in on . . . something unpredictable.
I’ll miss Hermine telling me, “I’ll get through it.” Ultimately, no human being ever does. We can only accept the decree from Above and be thankful for the unique opportunity to have known Hermine Blau, to have enjoyed her colorful personality, independent opinions, love of family and her abiding concern for others, in and out of her community, however they came into her life. “His mercies are showered over all of His creatures.”
May her memory be a blessing.
