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Friday, September 09, 2005

Where 80 Is Young, All Friends Are Old Friends

It is, in a sense, not entirely surprising that the few remaining Catskill bungalow colonies to have held out against the influx of Orthodox Jews would be made up of Holocaust survivors. As colony after colony has yielded to the Hasidic men who pay hard cash, places like Silver Gate, Pleasant Valley and Four Seasons Lodge have held on - their residents, well into their 80's and 90's, determined to enjoy summers alongside others who have lived through the unimaginable.

"We get offers all the time," said Henry Himmelfarb, an Auschwitz survivor and president of Silver Gate, an immaculately maintained 52-unit bungalow colony in South Fallsburg. "Two million dollars. Can you believe it?"

Paradise, Sunshine and Cutler's Cottages, colonies dominated by men and women with tattooed forearms, have sold out in recent years, their ranks too diminished, too exhausted to hold on. Hyman Abramowitz, the volunteer manager of Four Seasons Lodge, says it may be next. Surrounded by piles of unpaid bills, he explained the difficulty of finding a decent plumber, the stress of organizing the Saturday night extravaganza, the cold fact that 43 of his friends are no longer around.

"Listen, the youngest guy here is 80," he said. "An ambulance came here six times this summer. We have a brand-new heated pool, but no one goes in." He sighed and looked away. "Like I said, the youngest guy is 80."

The possibility that their beloved community might be coming to an end is not reflected in the merry din that fills the Four Seasons social hall, where everyone gathers each night for coffee, Bundt cake and raucous card games, the banter a jumble of Yiddish, Polish and English.

Taking a break from mah-jongg, Linda Mandelbaum, 79, explained the deeply felt camaraderie, how so many survivors ended up marrying one another, and why outsiders do not always feel comfortable in their midst. "Because we all lost our families, we have become each other's families," said Mrs. Mandelbaum, who survived a series of concentration camps. Almost everyone is a New Yorker or Floridian born in Poland. "We understand each other," Mrs. Mandelbaum said, "and we always talk about what happened to us." American-born Jews are not always eager to hear the horrifying details of loss, she said, and besides, she added with a sad smile, "none of them lifted a finger to help us when we were in hell."

On Saturday nights, there is a sumptuous meal in the casino, followed by dancing, and a live show that sometimes runs until midnight. The men arrive in suits, the women in dressy outfits, the infirm ferried over by golf cart. The place has the comforting aroma of coffee, whitefish and perfume.

When the show is over, people are so reluctant to leave that Mr. Abramowitz is often forced to shut off the lights. "Go home already," he shouts, and the women stick out their tongues. Finally they stroll off arm in arm, giggling like children, the beams of their flashlights receding into the night.

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/09/08/nyregion/08ink.html?adxnnl=1&adxnnlx=1126230808-bwiOM0VBKq1pP4u8wpHzow&pagewanted=login

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