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I’ve tried to make the
mass meeting a success
my efforts brought a big
crowd, the speakers were
brilliant and the Cantor was
wonderful but got only
a handfull of members.
I have worked it all single-
handed, but — I am not
discouraged, I will carry on

After the meeting I
spend a pleasant hour
at Shulem’s in the company
of Ab. Goldberg, Dr. Schechter
and Mr. Graf.

——————

Papa had been worried about the success of this meeting, which was meant to revive a flagging chapter of the Zionist Organization of America, for a while. He’d considered giving up on his efforts if the meeting wasn’t well attended, but I’m sure only the sight of a completely empty room would have punctured his idealism that decisively. (To chase a dream in New York is to deny its folly. So it always was, so it shall ever be.)

Papa passed his “pleasant hour” at Sholem’s with Abraham Goldberg who, as mentioned before, was a prominent member of the Z.O.A. I don’t know who Dr. Schechter and Mr. Graf were (for a brief moment I wondered if Dr. Schechter could have been Solomon Schechter himself, but since Solomon died in 1909 it would have been decidedly unpleasant, not to mention illegal, to spend an hour in his company).

It surprised me to read about the cantor’s presence at Papa’s meeting, but I know I really shouldn’t be. I also know I’m going to be surprised by this kind of thing again and again in the course of this project. I think it’s due to my own lack of spiritual attachment to Judaism (or anything else). While I’m aware of religion’s effects on people’s politics and daily lives, I know no more about what it’s like to be a person guided by spiritualism than I know what it’s like to be a dolphin guided by sonar. Papa was an observant, learned Jew, he saw himself as one of the Children of Israel and, accordingly, saw Zionism as a way home for himself and for everyone he loved. Zionism was an extension of his Judaism, so why wouldn’t he arrange for a cantor to sing at a Zionist meeting? But still…

If I seem to be struggling with something obvious, it’s because I’m so different from Papa in this way. It’s food for thought: Part of the reason I’m doing this project is to comprehend, as an adult, those qualities in Papa that seemed so transcendent to me as a child. But certainly Papa’s spiritual beliefs were greatly responsible for that transcendence, for the warmth he exuded, for keeping him intact throughout the trials of his youth. Whatever I find of him in myself, then, has at least some of its roots in spiritualism. Yet I’ve inherited only the effects, not the cause; spiritualism created what psychology perpetuated. Maybe it’s just another face of assimilation.

Update 1/28

I think there’s a parallel between the process of religious tradition giving way to inherited behavior and the evolution of the Jewish fraternal system, which I’ve talked about in other posts. The fraternal system provided a formal way to let immigrants cement their relationships, through ritual, on American soil with people from their original countries; they could take comfort in their old traditions while starting to build new ones. As the immigrant communities developed more home-grown support systems and found support in their new country’s agencies (labor unions, government services, etc.) the importance of ritual and fraternal bonding lessened. What older generations sought through the fraternal system — security, a sense of responsibility to others, a feeling of mutual support — remained, but in another form. Subsequent generations still pursued the qualitative equivalent of what their forbears taught them to value, only in different ways; what one generation pursued through ritual, another perpetuated through more secular means. Isn’t this a bit like what I was saying above about how my grandfather’s admirable qualities — his diligence, his respectful nature, his generosity — inspired by the spiritual side of Judaism, might make it to subsequent generations in the absence of religious belief?

Busy here and there
jumped in to [both] my sisters
for a moment.

I met again the good
girl at Malicks’s Rest.
and escorted her home

Certainly there are more
good ones but so rare

———

Matt’s Notes

I imagine the “good girl” is the same one Papa met at the Zeire Zion meeting the previous night, though whether he made a date with her or simply ran into her at Malick’s Restaurant is unclear. To escort her home was, I think, a gesture of intimacy for Papa (in a previous entry, he had unkind words for women who left a party with un-“gentlemanlike” men they’d just met) but he hardly seems smitten since barely mentions her before turning to speculation on what other women are out there.

I’m trying to figure out what Malick’s restaurant might have been like and what Papa would have eaten there. According to “New York Jews and Chinese Food: The Social Construction of an Ethnic Pattern” by Gaye Tuchman and Harry G. Levine, Jewish restaurants never got much fancier than the “gourmet delicatessen with formica tables” (an ambivalence toward Diaspora food could be one reason why Lower East Side Jews wandered into nearby Chinatown for culinary solace) so Malick’s was probably a crowded little ground-floor eatery with pickles on its tiny tables and blintzes on its menu. More to come about this, I hope.

————–

Updates

2/6 – My mother adds:

Reported to Blitz the result
of the meeting.

On my way home I bumped
into Mr. Novack of Coney Island,
he held me back for more then
an hour, trying to induce me
to join the P.D.C. and
telling me the whole story
(his version) of the Weitzman
Brandeis-Mack break.

I listened to all impatiently as
I was hungry and anxious
to get into some eating place.
However it was interesting
He certainly is an interesting
type, he found the wrong
customer for the P.D.C. I sympathize
with them but physical
and financial ability to join
them also.

————

Again the mysterious “Blitz” materializes. And then, poof, he’s gone.

The P.D.C. is, I think, the Palestinian Land Development Company, another Zionist organization devoted to purchasing land in Palestine. I like how Papa admits to being too hungry to listen to Novack’s speil. Did he shift around from foot to foot, glance down the street as if something caught his eye, remark on how crowded the sidewalk was, or say things like “well, anyway…” hoping that Novack would pick up on his impatience?

Novack probably couldn’t have been distracted if he was talking about the “Weizman Brandeis-Mack break.” (Chaim Weizman and Judge Louis Brandeis, the respective leaders of the European and American Zionist movements, differed on the management of investment in Palestine and fell out over Weizman’s establishment of Keren Hayesod in 1921.) It must have been a subject of passionate debate, so I’m sure the conversation would have lasted more than an hour if Papa hadn’t been so hungry.

A verse by Heinrich Heine

Ein Jüngling liebt ein Mädchen,
Die hat einen andern erwahlt;
Der andre leibt eine andre
Und hat sich mit dieser vermählt.

Das Mädchen heiratet aus Ärger
Den ersten besten Mann,
Der ihr in den Web gelaufen;
Der Jüngling ist übel dran.

Es ist eine alte Geschichte,
Doch bleibt sie immer neu;
Und wem sie just passieret,
Dem bricth das Herz entzwei.

———————-

Matt’s Notes:

This is Heinrich Heine’s poem “Ein Jüngling liebt ein Mädchen (A Young Man Loves a Maiden).” Here’s one translation I found:

A young man loves a maiden
But another she prefers,
The other one loves another,
And ties the knot with her.

From spite, the maiden marries
The first who comes along,
And happens `cross her path;
The youth must rue it long.

It is an old, old story,
Yet still forever new;
And every time it happens,
It breaks the heart in two.

Though he’s been busy the last couple of days, Papa is still clearly affected by the events of January 31, when, after a wistful visit to an old flame, another woman he hadn’t seen for eight years approached him on the trolley and confessed her undying love for him even though she was engaged to be married. Is the poem Papa quotes here — a woman marries a man she doesn’t love because the one she loves doesn’t love her — a reference to his breakup with the old girlfriend, the encounter with the woman on the trolley, or a little of both?

Heinrich Heine lived in exile for many years and wrote passionately about heartache and loneliness, so I see why Papa, displaced and heartsick himself, might have reached for his Heine poems at this time. Did Papa, frustrated by the lack of privacy he wrote about the day before, pore over his poetry books in secret after everyone else in his apartment had gone to bed, hoping to find the words to express what he didn’t have time to write himself? Or maybe, since Heine was a Giant of German letters, Papa might have known Ein Jüngling liebt ein Mädchen by heart (especially since it was put to music in one of Schumann’s more famous song cycles, Dichterliebe) and he was going through it in his head before he sat down to write.

In any event, if you read through the Dicheterliebe verses and other Heine poems (I’ve listened to the Schumann songs, too, which strike me as oddly chipper considering their turgid lyrics) you can see why they appealed to Papa’s Romantic soul.

—————–

Additional notes:

One other thing I find interesting about this entry is the contrast between Papa’s English and German handwriting. Check out the difference at the top of his entry:

At first I thought his German penmanship, though quite nice, seemed less clear to me because I don’t speak German, but even my German-speaking friends have trouble with it. I think he probably wrote more deliberately in English because it wasn’t his native language, while his German writing flowed more quickly and therefore looks more slashing and spidery.

(Special thanks to the folks at Fleisher’s Grass Fed and Organic Meats in Kingston, N.Y. for helping me with the German in this post.)

———–

Update 4/9

See the April 9, 2007 post for another mention of “A Young Man Loves a Maiden”

——————-

Additional References:

Heinrich Heine’s biography at Wikipedia

Collected Heine poems at Henrich-Heine.net

Dichterliebe at Amazon.com

Loves Secret

Poem by William Blake,

Never seek to tell they love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind dot move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart;
Trembling cold, in ghastly fears; —
Ah! She did depart.

Soon after she was gone from me
A traveler came by,
Silently, invisibly:
He took her with a sigh

——————–

Matt’s Notes

For the second day in a row, Papa quotes famous poetry about women who remain out of reach or who turn away from declarations of love. The events of January 31 are still with him, affecting him with a quiet, helpless longing. I wonder if he seems distracted at work, when talking to friends and family, when walking down the street.

This is my first eve. at
home. (my own)

Visited friend Stenis house
Enjoyed evening there with company.

—————–

Matt’s Notes

As far as I know, this is the first time Papa has ever lived alone in New York. As lonely as he’s felt lately, moving into an apartment by himself might not be exactly what the doctor ordered (perhaps that’s why he spent the evening elsewhere).

Practically unimportant
Spent day & eve here and
there among friends
Slept late.

(My birthday according
the English date.)

—————–

I guess Papa wasn’t that excited about this birthday, since he characterized the day as “practically unimportant.” I think he meant it in the literal sense, too, as in “I derived no practical benefit from this day, and besides, I only pay attention to my Hebrew calendar birthday, not this one.”

I certainly know what it’s like to be less-than-thrilled about a birthday when I don’t think things are going my way, and in thinking about Papa’s last few weeks I can understand why the he’s in no mood to take stock of his life or gear up for a milestone. Let’s take a quick inventory:

• On Papa’s Hebrew calendar birthday, he spent the day thinking about “blasted hopes” and “bitter disappointments” and at night cried with homesickness
• He worked hard for weeks on a meeting to revive a lagging chapter of the Zionist Organization of America, but the meeting wasn’t what he’d hoped
• He had a truly upsetting romantic episode that intensified his loneliness and had him quoting poetry for days
• He was installed as an officer at B’Nai Zion, a positive development but perhaps enough celebrating to suit him for a while
• For much of the previous few weeks, the entire country watched and waited while Woodrow Wilson, one of the most historic figures of Papa’s time and someone he admired greatly, took ill, clung to life, and finally died
• He capped it all off with a move to a new apartment, which, I think, intensified his feelings of loneliness

With all this going on in the heart of cold New York winter, it’s no wonder he feels unwilling, perhaps even too tired, to face his birthday head-on.

At least that’s how this all feels to me, which brings up a personal point: I am far from objective when I interpret these entries, and in fact I don’t want to be since I’m pursuing this project for personal reasons, to understand and pursue the warmth and quiet I felt around Papa, a sense of ease I haven’t known for thirty-five years. When Papa doesn’t write much for the day, when I have fewer facts to research and details to write my own posts around, the only way I can continue the pursuit is to fill in the blanks with my own experience.

As I’ve noted before, I am comforted by Papa’s youthful ordeals because I know he weathered it all and ended his life happy, capable of inspiring others. But I wonder if this makes me too willing to find trouble in his light entries when my own worries are more pronounced. For example, I hate this time of year and can barely remember how to smile on some days; is that why I think Papa felt the same? Similarly, I feel convinced that the moments in Papa’s life I listed above really did make him ambivalent toward his birthday, but maybe I just have milestones on my mind because I just started a new job, a job I deliberately took to shake myself up. The type of work is unlike anything I’ve done, the culture is new, the business itself is highly specific with its own unfamiliar rules and language and style. It’s interesting; it’s a big change; it’s stressful. It’s hard to imagine that this change from my old familiar work life to something so new isn’t why I’m so focused on the effects of Papa’s milestones, his disorientation, his homesickness, his change to a new apartment, his installation as an officer in a new organization.

And that’s not all…

So who am I really talking about? What part of me is part of him? How will I know?