"Kind in Thought, Generous in Deeds - A Profile of My Zeyda"
by Dylan Tate-Howarth, 2005 MWS graduate

This is the loving inscription written on my Zeyda's gravestone. But much happened in his 86 years of living that is not captured in these words. It was only after he died, a year and a half ago, that I started to realize that I did not really know that much about my Zeyda's life. So I chose this as my Bat Mitzvah topic so that I could learn more. There are many wonderful and interesting things that I have discovered about my Zeyda's life - and I will try to share some of them with you now.

My Zeyda, Harry Tate, was born in Toronto on June 22, 1917. He grew up at Broadview and Gerrard, living on top of a store on Gerrard Avenue, with his large family. He had ten brothers and sisters, some who were half-brothers and half-sisters, as his parents each had children from previous marriages.

His father was Samuel Tate. Well, his original name was Tatlebaum. Samuel was born in Poland and moved to England as a teenager. Some years later he left his family and moved to Canada. Samuel lost touch with the English relatives until many years later, when my Zeyda was stationed in England at the beginning of the Second World War, and rediscovered this half of the family.

Samuel had a first marriage that produced three children before he was divorced and then married Zeyda's mother, Sarah Davidovich (later changed to Davis). Sarah was born in Apt, Poland and moved to Toronto in 1912. She had a daughter, Betty, from her first arranged marriage, before getting a get, a Jewish divorce. She then had her second arranged marriage to "Mr. Tate," as she always referred to him. Together they had seven children. My Zeyda was the oldest.

My Zeyda went to Riverdale Collegiate, and graduated from Grade 12. He also went to the River Street shul. He loved to explore Toronto and often recalled happy moments that he had playing in the woods of the Don Valley, before it became a parkway.

I have learned a bit about how my Zeyda experienced anti-Semitism in Toronto as he was growing up. He wasn't allowed to apply for certain jobs, even minor ones, such as bagging groceries at the local store. It seems unbelievable today that someone, just because they were Jewish, could not apply for a job. But he did manage to get a job delivering fruit once, and was paid for his efforts with as many watermelons as he wanted. I never noticed, later at family picnics and barbeques, but he ate so many watermelons that day, that he could never eat another one in his whole life.

My Zeyda met my Bubbie through a mutual friend named Herbie Schaffel. They first met at Clinton and College Streets, and later Herbie asked them if they wanted to go on a double date and that was basically it. All through his life, my Zeyda was very good friends with Herbie. Every Tuesday night, they got together with others to play poker. They are now, coincidentally, buried right across from each other in the cemetery.

My Zeyda and Bubbie married on March 7, 1941. They had 62 years together. When the Rabbi who conducted my Zeyda's funeral mentioned to my Bubbie that they had 62 good years together, my Bubbie replied, "It wasn?t enough, I wanted more." And due to his years of service in the Second World War, they did spend a number of those 62 years apart.

Did you know that close to 17,000 Canadian Jewish men enlisted in the Second World War? And when the war broke out, it didn't take a mandatory conscription to get these young men to enlist. They did so voluntarily.

The total population of Jews in Canada in 1941 was 168,600. Considering the age of those who enlisted, approximately 16 to 30 year olds, it works out that almost half of the young Jewish men living in Canada served their country during this war. My Zeyda enlisted in the Dufferin and Haldimand Rifles of Canada on the 9th day of August 1940. He served throughout the war and was discharged September 26, 1945.

A little over one month ago, the world celebrated the 60th anniversary of V.E. day - the day the war ended with Victory in Europe. As part of the memorials on the day, I noticed that the citizens of the Netherlands made a particular point, as they do each year, of commemorating the allied armies, and Canadian troops in particular, who liberated the Dutch people that day. My Zeyda was one of those soldiers, and he never forgot the jubilation and gratitude expressed by the Dutch people that he met then.

It is sad that my Zeyda did not have a chance to return to Holland for the amazing 60th anniversary celebrations of V.E. day. But he was able to return to Europe forty years after the war, and he visited with people that he had met and had kept in touch with over all those years. He even reconnected with some Dutch boys who had been in their early teens when my Zeyda had marched in to help liberate Holland. They were so thrilled to see him that they took my Zeyda and Bubbie under their wings and showed them all around.

My Zeyda was overseas in the war for over three years. During this time he mostly drove a truck, delivering supplies to the soldiers on the front lines. He fought in France, Belgium, and most memorably, in Holland. This was probably the part of his life that I knew most about. He told us many stories and even came to my Grade 4 class around Remembrance Day to share his memories and stories with my class.

There is one story that my mother has told me that really stands out. My Zeyda would sometimes have to sleep by the side of the road when he couldn't finish his trip with supplies during the day. He always had a partner in the truck with him. On one of these trips, when night fell, they stopped to sleep. My Zeyda went into a trench dug on one side of the road and his partner, a young boy from Saskatchewan, lay down across the road. His partner had been very nervous and scared and was away from his family for the first time. This boy got up after a few minutes and asked my Zeyda if they could switch places, since he was taller than my Zeyda and the trench that he was in was too short. During the night, my Zeyda heard bombs exploding nearby. In the early morning a troop of soldiers walking by woke my Zeyda to the news that one of the bombs had killed his buddy. Forever after, thinking or talking of this moment would bring tears to my Zeyda?s eyes.

After the war, my Zeyda returned to Canada to rejoin his wife and begin raising a family. They had three children together. My Zeyda supported the family by driving a cab. He was very busy driving many hours each week, but was always home on Sundays, a day that he said was "for the family."

My Zeyda also dedicated his time to supporting his community, and always tried to help out others in need. He was involved in helping to form the Jewish congregation Beth Am; he supported the Judean Benevolent Society, and was an active member of the Jewish Veterans. He volunteered for Meals on Wheels, spent many hours tutoring students, and talking to classes for Remembrance Day.

And he was always reading. He especially loved to learn and talk about history, including the history of Toronto's Jewish communities.

As my mother concluded when she wrote a eulogy for my Zeyda, he was not a man who was famous or rich, and he was not a macher - but he was a fair and honest man, and most especially - a mentsch.

There are many more wonderful things that I could tell you now about my Zeyda, and I am so happy to have this knowledge as a result of preparing for my Bat Mitzvah today. You can learn a bit more about him by looking at the scrapbook I have prepared on his life. And now I will always have those pictures and stories in my mind, and more, as I remember him for the years to come.