Zionist Organization of America

Saturday Oct 4

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3rd dist

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“3rd dist” refers to the Third District, or chapter, of the Zionist Organization of America, which at the time encompassed Haddassah (the famed Jewish womens’ organization) and B’nai Zion (the fraternal order and mutual support society to which Papa belonged).

Papa worked hard for the Z.O.A., especially earlier in the year when he attempted to revive its moribund First District at the behest of a mysterious supervisor named “Blitz.” I don’t think these efforts were successful, though; in recent months he’s attended a few Third District meetings and one Second District meeting, but he hasn’t mentioned the First at all.

Meanwhile, Papa continues to write short, abbreviated passages in a spidery hand, as if some long struggle left him unable to do more than scratch out a few letters. I think this is because the anticipation of Yom Kippur, during which Papa will have to mourn his recently-departed father for the first time, weighs heavily on him. Whether he knows it or not, he is embroiled in a dramatic internal struggle to understand his place in a world without his father and all his father represented. It is probably too much for him to write or think clearly about, but it dwarfs his other concerns.

Sunday Oct 5

by

3rd dist & Cafe Royal

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I watched as Blitz engaged in a tremendous argument with Goldstein about Jabotinsky. Goldstein has grown impatient with Weizmann and upon learning of the Third District meeting commenced to insult our efforts. Blitz is passionate and slapped his palms on the table and my coffee danced and splashed in its saucer from one side to the other.

Just a small turn of my head and instead of the Blitz and Goldstein argument I could watch three actors from one of the theaters down the street, chairs pressed together on one side of their table, they leaned against each other and sang and smiled. They still had makeup on their faces and had the appearance of movie actors. One of them looked my way as he sang, his beard was black and his hand lay on a newspaper in front of him. He had small eyes, black and shiny, he did not seem to notice me but he sang the old song and knew every word and continued to sing even has his friends faltered and laughed and toasted with glasses of tea. I urgently wanted to join him at his table and also to get up and leave the restaurant, nervous now as if I’d just remembered something, or remembered I’d forgotten to do something like turn off the gas at home or bring Josele his medicine.

Blitz tugged on my arm and asked me to add my opinion to his discussion with Goldstein but I had forgotten what it was about and the man with the beard stopped singing and I knew if I tried to talk I would have choked on my words and wept. My coffee was half spilled now from Blitz’s exertions but I drank it all the same and happily I was able to swallow.

Thursday Oct 16

by


Attended membership
meeting of the downtown Z.
district. It certainly did
not turn out, the way I wanted
it to.

I feel a little apathetic
toward the membership work

My pep in this direction of
former years is gone.

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The “downtown Z. district” likely refers to “the First District,” or Lower East Side chapter, of the Zionist Organization of America.1 We learned back in January of the First District’s attendance woes when Papa, under the supervision of a mysterious figure named “Blitz,” spent several weeks organizing a membership meeting and pitching the Z.O.A. to various other groups and clubs around town. The results were disappointing, and we’ve heard so little about the First since then that I figured it had given up the ghost. Looks like it’s still limping along, though, and Papa is still involved with its care and feeding.

Despite the First’s discouraging difficulties, I find Papa’s harsh assessment of his own dedication to Zionism to be rather incongruous. He has spent countless hours attending lectures, receptions, talks and dances and running fundraising drives and meetings, and he would in fact remain an enthusiastic activist for the rest of his life. How could he say his enthusiasm of former years “is gone” when only nine months he could be found on the street giving out membership flyers when the weather was too brutal for even his closest associates?

I think, perhaps, the overall sense of loss Papa has struggled with in the wake of his father’s death — attenuated, at this time of year, by the intense mourning associated with the Jewish holidays — colors just about everything else in his life. It must be especially difficult when he deals with “dying” things like the Z.O.A.’s first district; why else would he speak with such exaggerated finality when, as we know, he was by nature such an optimistic dreamer?

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1 – The Z.O.A., formerly known as the Federation of American Zionist, had about 40,000 members at the time and counted among its affiliates Haddasah, the Jewish women’s organization, Keren Hayesod, the Zionist fundraising group, and B’nai Zion, the fraternal order and mutual support society to which Papa belonged.

Thursday Oct 23

by


Attended a beautiful
reception meeting for
David Yellin from Palestine
at the Astor, where I met
countless friends.

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Matt’s Notes

The parade of Zionist all-stars at the Hotel Astor continues. Papa was there when the influential Rabbi Joseph Silverman announced his long-withheld support of the Zionist cause, and he also was on hand when Chaim Weizmann was the honoree at a Keren Hayesod banquet. David Yellin was a leader of a different sort, a Jerusalem-born educator who was instrumental in the modern revival of Hebrew. According to the Jewish Agency for Israel Web site, “his legacy includes a number of textbooks on Hebrew grammar and language, as well as translations from Arabic and from European languages, including translating Dickens into Hebrew.”

Lots of native Hebrew speakers who visit this site say Papa’s Hebrew and English penmanship are equally impressive, and while I know Papa would have learned to write Hebrew as part of his traditional religious education (and in his childhood home life, too, since his father was a Talmud Torah teacher) I wonder if he owned or admired any of Yellin’s books. Perhaps Papa felt about Yellin like my wife, herself an educator, feels about someone like Jaime Escalante. Then again, Papa’s need to say that Yellin was “from Palestine” might mean he wasn’t such a well-known figure in the U.S., even if he was, in 1924, a visiting faculty member at the Jewish Institute of Religion on Sixty-eighth Street and Central Park West.

Papa doesn’t say whether the reception meeting he went to was associated with B’nai Zion, the fraternal order to which he belonged, but the modern incarnation of B’nai Zion has a strong relationship with the David Yellin College of Education in Jerusalem. This may just be incidental, of course, though Stephen Wise, then the acting president of the Jewish Institute of Religion, was also involved in B’nai Zion’s parent organization, The Zionist Organization of America. Papa was active in both B’nai Zion and the Z.O.A., so maybe that’s why he saw “countless friends” and, judging by the tone of this entry, enjoyed himself so much at the Astor that night.

hotel astor

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References for this post:

  • David Yellin biography at the Jewish Agency for Israel Web site
  • LEGISLATORS ENTER ON THEIR LAST LAP; Assembly Rules Committee Takes Charge of Pending Measures Tonight. (The New York Times, March 31 1924; this archived record also contains a small piece on David Yellin and the Jewish Institute of Religion)

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Image sources:

Tuesday Oct 28

by


A membership comitte
meeting at Down Town dist.

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Matt’s Notes

Much of Papa’s activist energy went toward the Zionist Organization of America, a large group that, as we’ve discussed before, had its headquarters at 114 Fifth Avenue (near 16th Street) but also had numerous chapters, or districts, scattered around the city. The First District, located in downtown Manhattan, had suffered from low membership all year despite Papa’s recruiting efforts, and I assume the meeting of the membership committee he refers to in this post had the revival of the First on its agenda.

It can always be surprising to examine the history of a project or pursuit and realize how long it can really take to get things done, to see how many worries arise, how many plans unfold, how many trails go cold along the way. Individual participants in a large-scale movement, examined day-to-day, can appear to have little effect even as numerous participants’ collective efforts lead to impressive, noticeable progress.

This isn’t a news flash, of course; it’s the whole point of grassroots politics and political activism, but it feels like a fresh thought to me as Papa again brings up this stubborn little Z.O.A. subplot. In the history of the Zionist cause, the fate of the First District of the Z.O.A. probably didn’t matter much, and Papa’s efforts to support it were, I’d wager, less productive than much of his other work. He had, in fact, started writing about the First District’s troubles back in January, and as far as I can tell its situation didn’t improve at all, and maybe it never did.

I find this touching, at this moment, for some reason. Why? Perhaps I’m flooded with a sentimental appreciation for the power of individuals to propel common causes. Or maybe it’s because it’s late October and I know this entry may be Papa’s last about the First District, and though it’s so unremarkable and offhand it becomes, by being last, something bigger, a poignant reminder of how few entries are left, and how scarce and precious Papa’s remaining words really are. Or maybe it’s because Papa, who played such a small part in the Z.O.A., is somehow the same man who plays such a large part in my understanding of happiness, my definition of a life worth living. Perhaps its because the very qualities that allowed him to keep working and believing and dreaming regardless of how small his accomplishments might have been are the very qualities that made him seem so wise and true and patient, so capable of turning a small moment with me, barely worthy of notice, into something so real and memorable and perfect, into something that would survive whatever happened next, into something very much like a victory.

Saturday Nov 8

by

At Down Town Zionist
meeting at Jewish Centre
where Maurie Samuel and
Mr. Zeldin Spoke.

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We last heard from Maurice Samuel in January when Papa booked him to speak at a meeting of the Zionist Organization of America’s First District, one of its downtown chapters. The First District was having membership woes at the time, and Papa expected Samuel, a noted writer and activist, to be a draw.

Since then, Samuel’s stature had increased considerably with the September release of his book You Gentiles, a provocative examination of the differences between Jews and non-Jews, which Samuel considered irreconcilable. (As we’ve previously noted, some consider Samuel’s later work to be more important, though anti-Semites like to recirculate the more strident passages from You Gentiles as evidence of Jewish aggressiveness and implacability.) No latecomer to Samuel’s party, Papa is comfortable enough with him by now to call him “Maurie.” (Could Papa be showing off a little? That doesn’t seem like his style.)

I’m not sure how well Papa knew “Mr. Zeldin,” though I think I know who he was: Morris Zeldin, a Russian-born Zionist leader who would go on to help found the United Jewish Appeal of New York. According to Zeldin’s 1976 obituary in the New York Times, “he was a close associate of many national and international Jewish leaders, including Chaim Weizmann, who became the first President of Israel in 1948.” But wait: If his friends referred to him as “Maurie” as well, wouldn’t that have let to many mildly comic moments when he appeared at the same event as “Maurie” Samuel? Do you think Papa ever tried to get Samuel’s attention by calling out “Maurie,” only to find Zeldin turning around instead? And what if Zeldin didn’t like being called “Maurie?” Would he have gotten mad at Papa, and forever thought of him as “that guy who kept calling me ‘Maurie'”? Important questions.

Meanwhile, I’m still not sure what happened to the First District or whether it’s the same Z.O.A. chapter that Papa refers to in this, and other entries, as the “Down Town Zionist” district. The Jewish Centre he mentions here could be the same “Downtown Zionist Centre” on St. Marks Place that we discussed a few days ago; I’m going to take a gamble and say it is, so I’ll add it to the map of Where Papa’s Been.

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Note: I’m missing the scan of today’s diary page (and yesterday’s as well) so I’ve stuck a sketch of Papa that we found among my grandmother’s photos in its place. I’m not sure if this sketch is a self-portrait or not, but in any event I love it and think it would make a great tattoo.

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New York Times References for this post:

Wednesday Nov 12

by


District

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Matt’s Notes

It’s taken a while, but I think I’ve finally figured out what Papa means by “District.”

Earlier on in Papa’s diary, “District” appeared as the official term for a neighborhood chapter of the Zionist Organization of America. Papa wrote accounts of his recruiting efforts for the flagging “First District” of the Z.O.A., he wrote separately about the Second and Third Districts, and in one case reported on a “rather stormy” meeting of the “3 down town districts at St. Marks Pl.”

As we’ve recently learned, the “St. Marks Pl.” meeting most likely took place at the Downtown Zionist Centre at 52 St. Marks Place, which Papa mentioned by name in his November 2nd entry. Now I’m starting to think that all of Papa’s “District” meetings took place there. In fact, I’d wager he identified the Centre so closely with District meetings that he just started to call it “the District” for short. So, at this point in the diary, I think any mention of “The District” or “District” refers to the offices, meeting hall, or whatever kind of space was there at 52 St. Marks.

Since Papa doesn’t describe a meeting or event in today’s entry, he probably just dropped by “the District” after work to say hello, plan his recruiting efforts, or see if anyone needed help with anything. What did it look like inside? Was it filled with boxes of files and membership lists? Did volunteers cluster in a corner around a mimeograph machine, cranking out fliers, stuffing envelopes, and sharing cigarettes? Did they all wear coats because they kept the heat turned down to save money? Did Papa linger there because it felt like home?