c. 1997 Religion News Service

(Rabbi Rudin is the national interreligious affairs director of the American Jewish Committee.)

UNDATED _ They were the five Rosenbloom children of Pittsburgh’s North Side: my mother and her four younger brothers. Sadly, the recent death of my 85-year-old uncle, Dr. Meyer Rosenbloom, the last surviving sibling, closes an important chapter in my family’s history.

But Uncle Mike’s long life also represents a microcosm of the American Jewish generation that made such an extraordinary transition to the United States.

Mike’s parents, my grandparents, were born in late 19th-century Eastern Europe, where they _ along with millions of other Jews _ encountered persistent anti-Semitism, political instability, and meager economic opportunities.

Louis Rosenbloom, Mike’s father, and his future bride, Fannie, immigrated to Pittsburgh as teenagers with no financial capital, no knowledge of the English language, and no formal education. They followed the familiar path of many other Jewish newcomers: They opened a clothing store and started a family.

Mike, their fourth child, graduated from high school just as the Great Depression began in 1929. Despite the grim economy, Mike became the first in his family to earn a college degree: an M.D. from the University of Pittsburgh. A few years later, Mike’s younger brother also graduated from the same medical school.

But it was not easy. Mike had to overcome serious monetary problems and one other difficult hurdle: During the 1930s, many U.S. medical schools imposed an abhorrent anti-Semitic quota _ usually 10 percent _ on their student bodies. Admissions committees feared there would be too many”doctors of the Hebrew persuasion,”an ugly euphemism frequently employed then.

That bitter memory of exclusion and discrimination helps explain the Jewish community’s strong opposition to quotas. It also explains why most American Jews are deeply committed to a fair merit system for university admissions and professional advancement.

Before long, Mike married Helen Litman, whose family owned a Chrysler dealership. Their first child was born in 1939.

In 1941, Mike, along with my father, a dentist, entered the U.S. Army for what was to be a one-year tour of duty. As a young man, my grandfather feared being drafted into the Czar’s army for a 25 year stint, but how proud he was of his officer son serving in the U.S. Army. That was something different.

The brothers-in-law blithely assured friends and patients they would be back by early 1942. But after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, they missed their expected return: Neither Major Rudin nor Captain Rosenbloom returned to civilian life until 1946.

I vividly remember the anxiety that gripped our family following the attack on Pearl Harbor. We feared Mike, whose whereabouts were termed a”military secret,”was aboard ship in submarine-infested waters between California and Hawaii. Worse yet, some feared he had been killed during the raid. The family was filled with dread until receiving word that Mike had arrived safely in Honolulu a month after the attack.

As it was for many others, World War II was the defining life event for Meyer Rosenbloom. This was especially true of his experiences as a doctor during the bloody battle of Iwo Jima. Mike often told me of seeing thousands of American dead”stacked like cordwood.” Just like in the movies, Mike returned to home and hearth following the war, resuming his life as a civilian. Daughters Margie and Susan were soon born, and as the decades swiftly flowed by, I frequently saw Uncle Mike and Aunt Helen at many family functions.

Mike outlived his wife by eight years, rejoicing in his granddaughters, continuing to practice medicine and cheering for his beloved Pirates and Steelers until he entered the hospital for the last time. At his death, Mike’s three children and several nephews and nieces were present.

I saw uncle Mike for the final time last April. And even 52 years after Iwo Jima, he still spoke of the painful military memories that shaped his hatred of death, but ultimately, accepting of his own.

Now all five Rosenblooms are gone: Beatrice, Jerome, Howard, Stanley, and Meyer. Sleep well, Uncle Mike, you lived your long life well.

MJP END RUDIN