Dear Friends,

    I had a dream last night that I was being trained to hand scribe my first kosher mezuzah scroll in Hebrew and it was dedicated to the memory of my grandpa Arthur Kleinhandler.  I woke up thinking about him-- realizing that the 2 year anniversary of his death is approaching-- July 29th, so I have decided to write.  

    My grandfather (my mother's father) was a kind and gentle soul, generous and honest to a fault.  Although he did not teach me how to work with metal, being a tool and die maker himself, he passed on his tools to me-- and better yet his values.  He always said "try to make it perfect, just try....."  I think of him a lot in the studio, his sound words of advice ringing in my ears as I hold his hand tools.  When I feel his presence with me in the studio he always seems pleased to be with me working in the shop.  Here is his picture and the obituary that was published shortly after his death.  I have also added in the eulogy my Dad wrote to honor his memory.....  RIP grandpa -- I MISS YOU!


June 9, 1913-July 29, 2006

ARTHUR KLEINHANDLER. 93.  Holocaust Survivor born in Chmielnik, Poland on June 9, 1913. Master tool and die maker. Died peacefully on July 29, 2006 in Los Angeles.  Beloved husband of 64 years to Mary Kleinhandler, devoted father of Henriette Kleinhandler and Susan (Mitch) Golant, loving grandfather of Cherie Golant (Ron Gutierrez) and Aimee Golant (David Casella) and proud Papa of Julia (z’il) and Rose Golant Gutierrez.  Also survived by brother Moishe Kleinhandler and sister Bluma Gozdzinski in Israel. May his integrity and strength be an example to all of us.  Donations may be made in his memory to The “1939” Club, Inc. 8950 W. Olympic Blvd., #437, Beverly Hills, CA 90211.  Funeral services on August 2, 2006 at 11 AM.  Hillside Cemetery, 6001 Centinela Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90045.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
For Arthur Kleinhandler (By: Mitch Golant)

August 2, 2006

     Arthur Kleinhandler and I were friends. This is a memorial of visibility and invisibility—the seen and the unseen.  When does a person become truly visible to you and how does that happen and when do machatunim (in laws) become friends and when do friends become perhaps something more.

     So I want to talk about the period of time when these aspects of our relationship changed. I remember the moment of illumination.  It occurred at his 91st birthday party we were at the Bel Air Hotel.  Why his 91st birthday and not his 90th Birthday? Well, context is everything.  In June, 2003 Arthur was 90 years old.  Between Spring, 2003 and Summer 2004 so much had changed…we as a family had experienced loss—Julia our first grandchild had died in utero at 35 weeks, two of my best friends Alan Barry and Alan Gross had died, I survived unscathed a near-head on collision and by the end of 2004 my mentor and friend, Harold Benjamin, The founder of The Wellness Community had died.


     At first, it was the little things. At Arthur’s 91st birthday I notice that none of his clothes fit.  His shirt is too big, his pants are hanging on him, and his belt had multiple notches well past the manufacturers design—the belt strap hung like an exhausted tongue down his thigh.  I put my arm around Arthur and say My God Arthur You’re Shrinking. I tease that pretty soon his going to be this big.  He giggles. I say to him, I’m going to take you shopping.  You see the thing is that it wasn’t the taking him shopping that mattered. It was for the first time that I saw him.  He mattered to me and that I wanted to care for him.  He was no longer invisible to me. A week later we picked up the outfits—one a black with grey pin stripe cashmere and wool suit that I teased Arthur—Who are you marrying? A younger woman? He says, Of course!  So we rush home and he can’t wait to try on the suit and show it to Mary. I help him dress and we walk down the hallway to the dining room and kitchen…and as we walk he is humming “Here Comes Bride” and I am whistling.  He turns the corner and sees Mary for the first time and says How do I look? She says Gorgeous! They turn red, pause, hug and kiss each other on the lips. I love you she says. Who are you going to marry a younger woman? We all laugh.


     Next I took to calling him Sir Arthur. Just like that.  The first time I did this was in Junior’s Deli…I had taken him for a haircut with Angela in Brentwood and we needed to get lunch.  We’re in Junior’s and I say to the waiter a cheery college student.  This is Arthur…but I call him Sir Arthur because he’s nearly 92 years old and he’s a Holocaust survivor and he’s the most noble and honorable person I have ever known.  Now these words just come out of me.  I don’t think them.  So I explain Arthur’s story and how nearly everyone in his family survived, He shakes Sir Arthur’s hand.  He serves us with great dignity. Now, I find myself cutting Arthur’s food which, when together, I did from then on.  And Arthur says to me in an aside, Why did you say all that, and I say, I want the world to know who you are and how important you are to me.  He says, But why did you say that I’m almost 92?  Well, I say, I wasn’t saying that for him. I was saying that for you.  I want you to think about living another year especially because there is so much to live for since Cherie is pregnant and who knows maybe Aimee will get married to David.  He says to me, Hmmm…that’s pretty smart. We giggle.  You see we had an easy way with each other.


         Each month I would go to pick him for a haircut. The first thing I would say. “Geez Arthur your getting old.”  Without a beat, he would reply, What do you mean getting?  I say You have a point.  We would giggle. 
 Another little exchange we would have was the challenge of getting in and out of the car.  Part of our outings together was that I would pick him up in the Porsche and he would tell me the story of his riding a motorcycle and the fantastic Mercedes he drove in Germany.  But he also liked the Porsche because it was easy for him to get in and out and he could actually look over the sleek hood.  So, when he would get out of the car we would count to three and as he was making an effort to get up he would say Hey Shoop.  Our exchange was that I would say Are You Standing? He would look around at the sky, at the trees check out his feet and say I am standing…then we would walk to wherever we were going. 

         Now these are micro-moments but you have to understand what this all meant to me. We were friends…I could tease him and we could play together.  For this person of exquisite integrity and dignity to relate to me in such an easy way was the imprimatur of trust.
 
    You see something else was happening…when we were in the Porsche together he would tell me stories…some of which you’ve heard from Rabbi Mischeggia, and Henriette…but sometimes they would have a profound element. Mitch…you know I didn’t sleep very well last night. Arthur, I say, What happened? I had a dream. What was the dream? I was being chased by the Germans again.  Arthur why do you think you had that dream?…I don’t know…I say (ever the psychologist)…did anything happen yesterday or the day before to trigger the dream.  He would think….you know I’m worried about Mary…she had an episode with her diabetes and I couldn’t help her.  I always tried to help her…even when the German’s tried to hurt her I would step in front and take the blows. When there was food I always gave her the bigger piece. Now he is crying.  I’m not able to help her anymore in the same way.  Well…you’ve got me I say.  He says, Thank God.  He reaches out and touches my hand.   We sit in silence until we arrive at our destination.  This became our ritual.  You know Mitch in order to save our father during the forced march at the end of the war…Moshka and I carried our father between us because his feet were bleeding and we didn’t want the German’s to see that he couldn’t walk. I ask, How long did you do this? He says, Six weeks. We sit in silence the rest of the way. 
 
    The last story occurs on his 93rd birthday dinner. Just six weeks ago.  We are at La Cachette.  It is Mary, Henriette, Susie, Aimee and me.  We notice that he is teetering on his cane struggling to navigate to the table. He looks exhausted. It had been a difficult day. He had lost his balance while trying to tighten his belt and fallen. He wasn’t injured but badly shaken.  We’re all sitting at the table and the first thing he says to everyone.  I want to bestow my fatherly love on all of you and I am grateful for all of you being here to celebrate.  We are animated and honored that he is blessing us.  He stops us by saying…and I am not finished…there is silence…and I want to thank Mitch for treating me like my father.  Aimee, Susie and Henriette try to correct him…oh you mean Mitch treated you like his own father…but I understand what he means.  What he means is that I was treating him like he treated his father.  I had carried him like he had carried his father. 

     I don’t say this to anyone because I am crying.