Friday Aug 8


After supper at Netties
& services at the Synagogue
spend the rest of the eve.
promenading on Bridge
with friends.

———

Matt’s Notes

Below are a couple of Library of Congress photos depicting early 20th Century Brooklyn Bridge promenading. They’re not really from Papa’s era (the top is from 1903 and the lower is undated) but they’re fun to look at anyway.

[posted from Mexico]


“Types of Life on the Promenade, Brooklyn Bridge, N.Y.” Brooklyn Bridge library of congress # LC-USZ62-56629. Around 1903. No known restrictions on publication.


“New York City. Brooklyn Bridge on left and subway on right.” Library of Congress #LC-H823-1701-012. Publication restrictions not indicated.

Saturday Aug 9


During the day in the cool
ocean waves of C.I. In evening
I deserted my many friends
in whose company I’d spent the
day, to go the Prayer services to
say Kadish.

Tisha B’ab Eve

Thousands of years after the
destruction of Jerusalem a big synagogue
on the gay seashore of C.I. on a hot
summer night is crowded to capacity
bewailing the greatest disaster in
Israels history. Many removed
their shoes sitting on the floor,
Slowly the familiar mournful melody
of “Aichu” is read. Among them
I sat with eyes moist bewailing a
land which neither I nor my parents
or my great great parents ever saw
but still no near to me.

That is the miracle of Israels eternal life

—————–

Matt’s Notes

In a religious tradition with its fair share of sad holidays, Tisha B’Av is the saddest Jewish holiday of all. It commemorates the destruction of First Temple and the Second Temple, both of which occurred on the same date, as did a number of other subsequent tragedies. I’ve never personally worshiped during Tisha B’Av, though I know the mournful “Aichu” Papa refers to is usually written as “Eicha” and means “Lamentations.”

Religious faith is, as I’ve mentioned before, one facet of Papa’s character I cannot locate in my own — I am simply not a person of faith. Still, I’m touched by the intensity of Papa’s devotion, the image of tears in his eyes as a sad prayer is read, the sense of eternal connection he shares with past and future generations of Jews through the mournful ritual of Tisha B’Av. The sadness is a miracle to him because it makes the long-lost land of Israel almost tangible, and no doubt sustains his faith in the eventual success of his Zionist efforts.

This year, though, I’m sure deep spiritual contemplation of destruction and recovery is even more important to Papa since he is in the throes of his own violent personal change. His father’s death has, I think, wrenched away any thought he ever entertained of recovering the sense of belonging he felt with his family in the old country. As Papa himself has written, his father represented to him everything good in the world, and his death triggered a feeling in Papa akin to “lost paradise.”

In short: Papa had experienced, with the death of his father, the destruction of his own temple. His tearful awe over “the miracle of Israels eternal life,” maintained through mourning, must have touched him profoundly as he sought a way to maintain his father’s legacy. Perhaps Papa’s own efforts to help reinvent and rebuild a new, modern Israel inspired by ancient faith helped him realize that he, too, could build a new life for himself inspired by his father’s example. Was that understanding, not yet consciously realized, partly responsible for the tears in Papa’s eyes on this hot August night?

[posted from Mexico]

——————–

The guy who sold me the photo below claims they’re of a Coney Island synagogue, and while I don’t necessarily believe him, I am relatively sure they were taken in Brooklyn in the late 1920’s:

Here’s a closer look at the synagogue:

I wish I knew what the guy with the pushcart was selling. Looks like it might be ices of some sort:

Sunday Aug 10


Baseball game with friend
Julius just a poor way of
killing a beautiful day.

———-

I’m not sure of a better way to spend a beautiful day than at a baseball game with your good friend Julius, but Papa had been to a lot of games lately. More importantly, this entry is in keeping with a recently-emerged theme in Papa’s diary in which he describes his disappointment with his life through expressions of boredom, monotony, and stasis. Another day at the ball park is another day without significant change.

I would also wager he had a particularly “poor” day because he saw the Giants lose a double-header to the Reds, 4-2 and 5-1, at the Polo Grounds. At least, I assume Papa saw the Giants game — the Yankees were out of town and the Robins, a.k.a. Dodgers, took a double header from the Cardinals, 6-5 and 8-4, and I figure Papa couldn’t have seen their performance at Ebbets Field and felt his day was a total loss.

Then again, those of us so inclined know that when you tap a vein of dissatisfaction, it’s often difficult to keep away from it no matter where you are (ask my wife about my recent behavior on the pristine, perfect beaches of Tulum — I brought the cliche of the unrelaxable New Yorker to a new, glorious standard) but Papa’s eventual victory over the demons of stasis and his creation of a a new, ever-changing life remains an example of a lode worth digging for.

Monday Aug 11

It being a hopeless affair
although affection almost gone
I enjoyed this evening spending
2 hours with C. She asked me
to come out just as I thought
for a certain favor when she
made a party recently she forgot
about me

There will be nothing between
us, there being no other I
cannot resist the call [of her] so
it seems my heart is still
there.

—————

Well, well. It seems like an entire subplot has unfolded in Papa’s life without us knowing much about it. We do know “C.” is a woman named Clara — Papa mentioned her once before, on July 14, to note the hopelessness of their relationship — but that’s about all we’ve got. What “certain favor” could he have willingly let her use him for? His wording recalls his description of the “certain undertaking” he failed at back in June, so it must be something he considers embarrassing or inappropriate for even his private diary.

What is so compelling about her that Papa should tolerate her even though she keeps him on the sidelines of her social life? And when did he first succumb to her siren song? Is she an old love from the more distant past, or is she one of the many women he met this year through friends or a marriage broker?

Tuesday Aug 12

The letters and cards
that I receive from some
girls make me believe that
there is still something in
me that attracts them.

But what is it? I am so
lonesome.

—————-

Matt’s Notes

The long months of mourning and worry since his father’s death in May have taken their toll on Papa. He must feel burned out, used up, old. Why else would he talk about his attractiveness to women in the past tense and wonder how they “still” find him attractive?

Another question, too, is why, if so many women show their interest in him, does he dismiss their attention? Why does he find it impossible to see past his loneliness, imagine an end to it? Have his father’s death and his family’s struggles back in the old country made him feel like he’s committing some crime because he’s alive and active in a vibrant place like New York? Does he think a criminal such as he doesn’t deserve to be happy?

Wednesday Aug 13


?

————-

Matt’s Notes

For Papa to write nothing but a question mark obviously means more than if he left a page blank or wrote something simple like “nothing of significance” or even “dull.” It’s as if we’ve asked him how his life is going and he’s responded with a sad little shrug.

Thursday Aug 14

?

———–

Matt’s Notes

It’s late summer and the year is moving along, and Papa’s diary entries are starting to feel increasingly precious. I’m hungry for any shred of information about what he did on even the most ordinary day. But as he did yesterday, Papa looks at his life and questions whether there’s really anything worth reporting. Each day without monumental change feels uninteresting to him, adds to his sense of stasis, and therefore qualifies only for a quick, resigned shake of the head and a helpless-looking question mark on a page.

[posted from Mexico]