Friday Feb 22

by

This is Washingtons birthday
which reminds me that his
courage and sacrifice is a
source of inspiration not only
to Americans, but to people
the world over.

After brief visits to both
my sisters this evening,
I listened in to a radio
adress (sic) given by President
Coolidge to the occasion
of Washingtons birthday.

————–

Matt’s notes:

For Papa to make a note about George Washington’s example in his private diary again proves how sincerely he believes in America and in the merits of sacrificing oneself for the greater good. Coolidge echoed these sentiments in his radio address (the transcript is in the New York Times archive) but they feel more genuine coming from Papa (who knows, maybe Coolidge was sincere — I’ve just lost the capacity to be impressed by Presidential speeches after decades of grotesque national politics, and particularly after the last six years of Presidential lies and opportunism.)

As it did for Coolidge’s radio address a few weeks prior, the New York Times reviewed the clarity of the broadcast, reported on atmospheric conditions, and described the logistics associated with carrying the speech to various American Telephone and Telegraph Company radio stations in the Northeast. I mention this just as a reminder of how novel it still was, in February 1924, to hear a President’s voice on the radio.

———–

Update 3/8

Dina writes:

Reading Papa’s thoughts about Washington reminded me that my Zeide, my Dad’s father, also had great American heroes. He admired Lincoln, Helen Keller and I think Walt Whitman! I wonder if it was characteristic, for men of our grandfather’s generation, to hold these historical figures in such high regard because they represented, for them, what was best about America. i will have to ask my Dad if he remembers why Zeide loved these individuals so much.

Reading your grandfather’s entries and your comments has caused me to remember things about my Zeide. He like your Papa loved the theater but I don’t believe that he attended many shows. He did however read plays and as a teen ager I borrowed anthologies from him and read many well known and obscure plays from the 1930’s. My grandfather too was an ardent Zionist but probably less left leaning than Papa. I’ll try to dig up some info on his activities. It would be interesting if their paths crossed as I believe they were more or less contemporaries.

Saturday Feb 23

by

Visited the Goldsteins
(Eve) family in the Bronx
in the afternoon. —

In the evening went to the
Sniatyner ball.

Just once a year this annual
dance affords me the opportunity
to meet my country people my
schoolmates etc. —

How everything has changed
between the old and new worlds,
Like a miracle I’ve seen
almost the whole town of my
early youth before me, —
Men, women old and young
are eager to meet again and
talk of days gone by.

A real renunion. —

——————-

Matt’s Notes

I’m often amazed at how Papa conveys so much emotion in so few words. Even his cheerful account of the Sniatyner ball quietly hums with wistfulness and homesickness, each bright note enfolded in a low, minor chord. He may be sentimental, but his prose style can be a real study in economy.

The Sniatyner Ball was most likely organized by a Sniatyn-oriented landsmanshaft, or mutual aid society geared toward immigrants from the same place (I wrote a bit about landsmanshaftn, and the ways they provided health care, burial services and credit to their members, in an earlier post). I think Papa relied mostly on his fraternal order, B’nai Zion, for these kinds of services, but the Sniatyn landsmanshaft obviously played a part in his life.

Interestingly, the landsmanshaft appears to have survived in the form of the United Sniatyner Sick and Benevolent Society, which still provides benefits and holds regular gatherings for descendants of Sniatyn Jews. (If you want to know more you can write to its president, Michael Steinhorn, at msteinhorn ‘at’ comcast.net.) I’m grateful to them for recently pointing me toward a copy of Papa’s 1917 draft registration form at ancestry.com. Check it out:

photo of Papa's Draft Registration

Some highlights include Papa’s 1917 address (136 Rivington Street) and his workplace (Majestic Neckwear at 44 Walker Street, no doubt where Papa met Tillie, the woman who declared her love for him on the trolley a few weeks back). The form is hard to read so I’m inferring a bit, but it looks like Papa, who was a pacifist, may have courted a bid for ineligibility by pointing out that he had “bad feet” and was the sole supporter of his sister Clara. One family story even has him losing lots of weight before his draft examination so he’d appear sickly and weak, but it’s hard to confirm. Stay tuned.

Sunday Feb 24

by


4 am
The dream is over, yes it was
like a dream to meet all my
old home folks, Perhaps in the
pursuit of action yesterdays
dream will be forgotten before
the day is over,

Spent the Eve. at the
Zaer Zion and Youth
of Palestine Clubs.

————-

Matt’s Notes

Those of us who are inclined to feel can understand why Papa needed to grab his diary at 4:AM to write about the Sniatyner ball. The ease and sense of belonging he knew among his landsman must have been a rare commodity for Papa, who longed so keenly for his family back home, for a family of his own, for something other than the loneliness of his little apartment. Even the happiness he felt during the ball had a bittersweet edge because he knew it would be short-lived; perhaps that’s why his previous day’s account is so wistful.

By 4:00 AM, though, as the approaching day brought with it the usual “pursuit of action,” Papa knew his good feeling would end, knew even his sweet melancholy wouldn’t persist against the bustle and struggle of the Lower East Side. “Yes, it was like a dream” he writes, and like all practiced dreamers he did what he could to keep it going a few moments longer, denying the dawn, scratching into his journal whatever he remembered of his dissipating comfort.

Comfort, of course, was what Papa provided so readily for others. I think even his Zionist activism stemmed from his pursuit of others’ comfort, a need to build a place where Jews like him could finally feel they belonged. For his whole life he had lived in ghettos by the grace of fickle governments, settled for fleeting moments of security among friendly clubs and organizations and reunions. For Papa, Zionism stemmed from a real, visceral desire to make sure his descendants wouldn’t need to sit awake at four in the morning, wondering if they’d ever feel safe again.

Wait: as I picture Papa in bed, wishing away the dawn, I remember why I think I’m so familiar with his bittersweet feeling.

When I was a kid I used to experience something I thought of as “the summer feeling,” a sudden rush of warmth, unpredictable and intense — but I know it always washed over me when I was especially comfortable with my surroundings or the people I was with. This feeling, though, was equal parts joy and melancholoy, because I knew it would not last. Even as I felt it I mourned its inevitable passing. I thought it happened to everyone once in a while; I think it happened to Papa after the Snyatin Ball.

But why did I invent the “summer feeling?” Why would I pine for it?

This picture was taken in the summer of 1971. Papa died two months later. I can’t be wrong about this, can I?

Monday Feb 25

by

Received a letter from
home, My dear father
had a serious accident, he
slipped and fell and is
confined to bed.

I am greatly worried
I pray for his speedy
recovery

—————-

Matt’s Notes

Here are Papa’s parents, in the only photo I have of them. The photo is mounted on an oval ceramic base with a gold border, hence the curved edges of the picture:

photo of Papa's parents

Papa was the youngest of six children, so his father must have been over thirty years his senior, or at least in his sixties, by 1924. He also had a paralyzed arm, so while he may not have been old enough for falls to be really worrisome (then again, he may have — I don’t yet know when he was born, and life expectancy for Eastern European men of his age was in the low 50’s at best1) any accident may been that much more dangerous for him.

Remember, too, that Papa could only communicate with his parents and siblings on the other side through mail (and not airmail, which was in its early stages in the 1920s) and the occasional telegram. While Papa obviously had no other expectations, we have to remember that an undercurrent of anxiety over his father’s condition, attenuated by separation and slow communication, will run through Papa’s life from this point on.

photo of Papa's parents

————-

References for this post:

1 – This is average, so it’s skewed by high infant mortality rates. From “A New Estimate of Ukrainian Population Losses during the Crises of the 1930s and 1940s by Jacques Vallin; France Meslé; Serguei Adamets; Serhii Pyrozhkov. Population Studies, Vol. 56, No. 3. (Nov., 2002), pp. 249-264.

Tuesday Feb 26

by

Received another
letter from home, father
still sick but not dangerous

Deep in my heart and
thoughts I am praying to
the Allmighty to spare my
dear parents and protect
them from any ills or worries

————–

Matt’s Notes:

I forgot to mention yesterday that Papa’s father’s name was Joseph Scheurman, though back in Sniatyn it was spelled “Szojerman.” Here are Papa’s parents once again:

Here’s a glimpse of where they lived, courtesy of the Sniatyn page at jewishgen.org:

Wednesday Feb 27

by


When I went up with Philip
to the School to pay for him
$2.00 the owner called him
out of the class and told me
and him that we would have
to pay the balance of 50 dollars
at once and when I told him
that I cannot do it besides
we have last week made up
for $2.00 a week, he sent
Philip and myself home,
saying ‘you can go home
Good night, good night’

I think it is an outrage
the way that school man
acted, I intend to take
action I will consult Sat.
Counsellor Levine about it,

Spent rest of the Evening
at hom adjusting my correspondence

—————

Matt’s Notes

This is a continuation of a saga involving Phil, who was Papa’s brother-in-law, the Success School, where Phil took English lessons, and Papa, who was paying for Phil’s lessons on an installment plan he’d arranged with the school’s headmaster. As I noted earlier, I think the headmaster wanted to kick Phil out in favor of a student who could pay in full. I don’t know why he needed the $50 so badly, but since he gave Papa so much grief I’ll take license to say he was an opium addict who’d promised Phil’s seat to one of the many prostitutes he owed money to. Poor guy. It’s hard to think straight when your brain is scrambled by syphilis and you’ve sold all your children to cover your gambling debts.

“Counsellor Levine” was, I expect, on retainer with one of the immigrant-oriented mutual aid societies Papa belonged to, most likely the Order Sons of Zion or the Sniatyn landsmanshaft. This would be a perfect example of why the services provided by landsmanshaftn were so important to people like Papa. He never could have afforded representation on his own, but for a few dollars a year in club dues he knew he could talk to a lawyer when jerks like the Success School’s headmaster tried to shit on his family.

—————-

Additional Notes

Sometimes little details in Papa’s entries really do a lot to illustrate the texture of his life in the 20’s. In this case, the headmaster’s bullying phrase “you can go home, good night, good night” (I can’t help but think of how Gene Wilder dismisses Charlie and Grandpa with a tight “I said good day sir…I said good day!” in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory) and Papa’s mention of “adjusting my correspondence” feel especially Edwardian to me. We shouldn’t forget, either, that Papa wrote this entry in a clothbound journal by gaslight, probably just before bed and just after using the communal toilet down the hall. The concerns of his life — political work, romantic adventures, sick parents, nasty school masters — were timeless, but his day-to-day experiences were, of course, strictly 1924.

Thursday Feb 28

by


Visited Sister Nettie
I am so worried over
Ruchalys illness, I love the
child so much oh lord
help this child to come back
to normal health and bring
a little more happiness to her
unfortunate parents,

Another letter form home
father is still confined to bed
May the next letter bring me
the news of his renewed health.

Attend meeting of Maccabean
Camp the rest of the
Evening.

Got a letter from brother
Isaac criticising me for
not helping him, It hurts
me that I cannot help every-
body that wants such a thing
from me.

—————

Matt’s Notes

Four paragraphs, three of them filled with dread and anxiety. I suppose an optimist might see the glass as one-quarter full instead of three-quarters empty, but by most standards I’d say Papa had a really bad day.

Ruchaly’s illness is not fatal in this case, though she did eventually die of meningitis at age 11. It’s hard not to think about this, or the permanent emotional collapse Nettie suffered as a result, when Papa brings her up. It’s like a spectre hangs over her every mention.

Still, the letter from Isaac stands out as the day’s unkindest cut. Isaac probably thought the streets of America were paved with gold — this would not have been uncommon back then — did he honestly believe Papa was holding out on him? The accusation must have really stung Papa because it was so insulting to his character (consider how he was trying to untangle a problem for his brother-in-law just the day before) and came at a time when Papa already felt awful about his inability to see or help his ailing father more.

I want to tread lightly on Isaac’s memory, partly because I’m named for him (my middle name is Ian) but mostly because I know he died in terror, chased into the woods and shot by Nazi soldiers along with the other Jews of Sniatyn. I also think his angry letter to Papa is, to a great extent, just an expression of his own helplessness in the face of their father’s illness. Still, it couldn’t have been his finest moment.

As my mother notes, it’s difficult to think about how “Papa suffered for his family…He was so good and wasn’t getting much happiness in return.”

But later, Papa, this was you:

————–

Update March 1

My mother writes:

It occurs to me that Papa never held a grudge in his life. When he had to pick of any of his relatives to name you after, he chose Isaac, who apparently had given him such grief.

Do you know the people in the photo? Of course you know the back line [my grandmother, a.k.a. “Nana”; my great grandmother, a.k.a. “Nannycoo”; my mother; Papa – MU]. In front were sister Fula, who escaped to Israel [from Sniatyn before the Nazi occupation], her second husband, Mr. Abramowitz (I never heard him called anything else) and our cousin Moishe who was Papa’s nephew via sister Gittel. I always thought that he was a high government official in Poland, but [cousin] Jeanie says it was France.

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