This is a letter from a 78-year-old mother to her son:

October 6, 2011

To My Dearest Son,_________,

At the age of 78, I am writing this letter to you to share a little bit about our family history and my legacy to you. I hope these stories and insights enhance your life and those of your offspring. Perhaps my life can provide a roadmap to help you avoid some potholes I wasn't able to avoid. My intention is to let you know my thoughts and feelings about the life I have lived, to honor the relationships that have enriched my life, and to express my gratitude for the opportunity to share my life with all of you.

First, let me tell you a little about your roots. I wish I knew more, but what I do know will give you a feel for what it was like to live in Europe in the beginning of the 20th century, and the life of a few of our lucky ancestors who were able to escape the hardships and poverty in Eastern Europe.

My father's family came from a town near Kiev and Minsk. My grandfather was a woodsman and he had five brothers. They lived in the woods outside the city, chopped down trees and were "rough around the edges."

They learned about Maurice (Zvi) de Hirsch, a German-Jewish philanthropist who was donating money for European Jews to resettle in rural, agrarian areas around the world. A major destination was Argentina, but as luck would have it, our family settled in Massachusetts. Today, one of your cousins, Bernice Jensky (Aunt Sarah's granddaughter), lives in my Aunt Toby's house in Sandisfield.

I am not sure how, but they landed in Frankfort, Germany, in 1906, where my grandmother gave birth to my father, Moishe, (known as Morris in the U.S.) in a Catholic monastery. The story goes that the doctor who delivered the baby had no children, and he and his wife wanted to buy the infant. My grandparents had no money. Nevertheless, they opted not to sell the baby. From Frankfort, the passage was paid by the Baron deHirsh fund. There were several members of the family already in Sandisfield.

Not all of our relatives were upstanding citizens, I'm afraid. My grandfather, Benjamin Jensky, was a yeshiva buchor, someone who spends his time in the synagogue studying, but he gambled and philandered as well. "He was married before in Russia; was handsome; chain-smoked; had a tic, and was a pain in the ass," according Ruth Jensky, my mother. There is the possibility that he also married someone in Baltimore, making him a bigamist. He never worked, so in the beginning, the family moved a lot, especially when they ran up large debts.

My grandmother, Buzzeh Pinsky, held the family together, by taking in boarders. She was a strong, loving, family-oriented woman. I tried to emulate her. They lived in Winsted, Ct, and Sandisfield, Ma. I have particularly fond memories of the old stone farmhouse in Sandisfield. It was filled with writers, artists, actors and intellectuals. Both the farmhouse and Aunt Toby's house, down the street, were magnets for heated political discussions, social repartee, and great Jewish cooking. My grandmother taught me how to cook Jewish food. My love for nature and animals probably began in Sandisfield (also referred to as Montville).

My spiritual belief is based in nature. I'm not a religious person, but I am a spiritualist. I believe everything has life and a spirit. You see it in the trees. You see it in the plants. They come and go. That's life. I embrace my Jewish culture that I was brought up in, but not organized religion.

To this day, many of your family have special memories of Montville. There is a book called, Sandisfield Biography of a Town, written by my cousin Anne Hoffman. Aunt Toby is buried in the old Indian cemetery on the hill in Montville. The brook across from Toby's house and the cemetery are both spiritual places, and well worth a trip, especially in the peak of autumn.

Despite the gay atmosphere during my grandmother's boarding days, there was also financial struggles. My father, Grandpa Morris, got his clothing and shoes from a dwarf who lived up the road. His toes were all misshapen from the wrong sized shoes he wore as a child. The family was very poor. One by one, the children, as they reached maturity left Sandisfield, and moved to an apartment in the Bronx, NYC. Charley and Morris went into the fur trade, nailing down the furs so they wouldn't shrink.. Jack ( I don't remember what he did for a living). Sam got a job at Crown Thread, a sewing spool company.

Aunt Toby was a working woman before it was fashionable. She was a nurse at Mount Sinai Hospital. She had a crusty exterior, but a heart of gold. Like my parents, she had strong social and political convictions, and joined the Lincoln Brigade in the Spanish Civil War. The Lincoln Brigade was a group of young U.S. citizens who decided to go to Spain to fight fascism, before the U.S. was officially involved in World War II. Aunt Toby was included in a book and a documentary about the Lincoln Brigade, called The Good Fight.

My hero and my protector was Uncle Jack. During World War II, Uncle Jack became a fighter pilot. He was too old to get into the Air Force in the U.S. so he joined the RAF in Canada. My most thrilling experience in my life was when Uncle Jack took me up in a bi-plane and a cabin plane. We flew over the Empire State Building, the tallest building on the planet at that time. When I was little, I was considered an uncontrollable kid; a round hole in a square peg. I was curious and inventive, and some of my relatives sat on me, but he didn't. My Uncle Jack was shot down over Germany. His death left a huge hole in my life.

Remember, if you ever feel like an oddball; be proud of it. You come from a unique family of very smart oddballs. Too many to include in this letter. These oddballs accomplished a lot in their lives. For example, my Uncle Max, Uncle Sam and Uncle Charlie were one of the first students to attend City College in NYC. They were all Phi Beta Kappa, receiving the highest grades at the college. My father was a painter and sculptor. My sister, Ricki is an amazing artist as well.

My Aunt Jenks (Ida) was a painter and a writer. Jenks took me to a field next to the farmhouse in Montville one day when I was a child, and showed me how to focus on a particular scene by putting my hands like a square and peeking through. She encouraged me to express that scene through words or paint, and taught me how to tap into my ability to look at something and see its form, its identity, its shape, its beauty. As it turned out, I could never express much in written words or in paintings, because I was inhibited, but I applied this principle to my life many times in other ways.

When I traveled through America in the RV with Jerry, I would often stop to focus on the specific scenes before me. I collected rocks, investigated local history, art and culture. When I was an early childhood schoolteacher, I would focus on the needs of each impoverished child despite all the distractions and complications around that child.

I took great pride in going back to school; getting my undergraduate and graduate degree and using that degree to help disadvantaged children; to encourage them to go beyond their circumstances.

Aunt Jenks and the other women in our family, are all noted for their cooking, so you have no excuses in not becoming a good Jewish cook, too. I have included a few of our family recipes at the end of this letter for you to try and pass on to your children. Remember, as my mother always said, "Don't be afraid to burn the outside of the pot roast before you start cooking it. It keeps in the juices."

Unfortunately, I do not know much about my mother's side of the family. My mother, Ruth Markman, and her siblings were born in the United States. Their relatives were from somewhere near the Poland Russian border. I don't know how they came to America. I know there was one brother. His name was Aaron. He was the patriarch. My mother had three siblings- Sammy, Gertie, Max. Max was a hunchback and died when he was young. My mother was very attached to him and heartbroken when he died. She would protect him from the bullies when he was alive. She was a tough, gruff and not considered the most sensitive person, but she was a good sister.

The following is a letter from the family left in Russia, written about 1918 according to Aunt Jenks. I have no idea if any relatives survived. The letter was translated from Yiddish by Aunt Jenks.

I hope this letter from 1918 can give you insight into how lucky and blessed we are to be in America.

Now let me share a little more about my life. My father came to America with his four brothers. He met my mother Ruth, while he was on a soap box preaching the values of socialism and communism in Union Square, NYC. Both my parents strongly believed in egalitarianism.

Despite his public speaking, my father wasn't a very demonstrative person, but he gave of himself in every way possible, and I felt love from him. If someone needed help he was there. One of my second cousins was developmentally disabled, and he lived in an institution. Every week my father would drive the mother a great distance to see him.

I felt love from his mother, my grandmother, Buzzeh Pinsky. Both my father and grandmother demonstrated an effortless kindness; that you should share what you have, you should be fair and just and you should give of yourself. He believed in justice, fairness, honesty, and integrity. My father was the embodiment of all that. These are important principles to our family. If you adhere to these principles, they will always steer you in the right direction. Try not to be discouraged by moral failings that might surround you. You shouldn't jump off the Brooklyn Bridge just because everyone else does.

Throughout my life, I have taken pleasure from what I learned from my father; that it's better to give than take. I take pleasure in giving furniture, mementos and things that are important to me. I feel I can do good, by giving to someone else.

My mother would be the first to say that her temperament was not ideal for motherhood. She was much better suited to working outside the home. She worked full time as a bookkeeper at New York University.

Our relationship was less than ideal, but I took the negative and turned it into a positive. In essence, my mother taught me what not to do, instead of what to do. I had low self-esteem, but through therapy and hard work, I discovered to like and accept myself, to become a human being, not a human doing.

I learned from my mother to think before you speak because words can be injurious as a knife or gun. Try to say loving words, because you can't take back hurtful words.

Although I was considered ugly as a child, I grew up like the ugly duckling, and became and felt attractive. I made a mistake when I was young woman, and used my beauty as a tool to escape my house. I got married too early and for the wrong reasons. My first husband, Bill, and I got married to get out of our family homes instead of for love. A marriage cannot work with that kind of beginning. Before you get married, know yourself well, and question your motives for doing something because you shouldn't get married to escape something. You should move towards something. I discovered that in my second marriage. Jerry taught me real love. I think being a good spouse comes from genuine love, and not just the need for love.

The most important thing I can tell you is to love and everything flows from that. I think happiness comes from finding out your own needs and acting upon them so you feel comfortable. The next part of happiness for me, is seeing your children and grandchildren happy.

If I were saying "good-bye" to you today for the last time, I would want you to know how proud I am of each one of you, and how much I love you. My hopes and wishes for you are that you maintain your close family ties, your health, and that you accept each other's strengths, and weaknesses. The is a magnetic plaque on my refrigerator which states A PARENT KNOWS WHO YOU Are, understands where you've been and accepts who you've become. I hope you take it to heart as your family grows older and expands.

Lovingly,

Mom