Friday Sept 19

by


A pleasant evening
at Jack Z’s house

—————

“Jack Z.” is, as my legions of readers know, none other than Jack Zichlinsky, Papa’s lifelong friend whose name was legendary in my family. I’m not sure where Papa visited him on this day; the 1924 and 1925 New York City Directories list a Jacob Zichlinsky at 24 Hart Street in Brooklyn’s Bed-Stuy neighborhood, but I don’t think that’s our man. (Jacob was a leather worker and likely owned his home, as indicated by the lower-case “h” in front of his address in the Directory. Papa’s address, 94 Attorney Street, in the same book is preceded by a lower case “r” to signify that he merely resided there. Anyway, I’ll add Jacob’s address to our map of Where Papa’s Been just in case.)

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Update

Since writing this post I’ve deduced that Jacob Zichlisky was, in fact, Jack Zichliskly. The October 10th post has the thrilling blow-by-blow account of my investigation.

Saturday Sept 20

by


Passed day with almost
nothing visiting some
relatives

1.P.M.

Just came back from
1st Slichoth, the first is
always very impressive to me

Even now in my house
I can hear the echoes of
the worshippers in the
synagogues surrounding
my house, they’re still
at it.

It brings back old memories
when I and my father (olam haba)
went after midnight to
worship.

Those never to be forgotten
days.

————-

I think Papa meant to say he came back from the synagogue at 1 A.M. rather than 1 P.M., because the first Slichot — that is, the first in a series of penitent prayer services leading into the Jewish New Year — traditionally begins around midnight on the Saturday before Rosh Hashana and goes well into the wee hours. I’ve never participated in nor even known until now about this ritual (in fact, last Saturday night I spent first Slichot in a karaoke bar singing “Cracklin’ Rose” and “Gin and Juice” after a friend’s wedding reception) but I understand it to be one of the more moving, compelling services of the year due to its incongruously late schedule and the introspective, mournful nature of its prayers and chants.

Papa, of course, would have found the first Slichot especially wistful this year, his memories of attending services in the old country all the more bittersweet due to his father’s recent death. His lovely account of the Lower East Side’s atmosphere on this night, with sounds of prayer issuing from its myriad synagogues into the cool night air, the murmurs and chants cascading over its sidewalks and surrounding its lampposts and street signs and motionless carriages, leads me to question if, in fact, such a thing ever really occurred in New York City. Did those sounds really accompany him as he wrote this entry at his little table, or were the echoes he heard those of of his lost childhood, his father’s voice, the world he was only just now realizing he would never know again?

————

Update 9/24/07

Cantor Robert Applestone, a friend of this site who has been in the business of singing Jewish prayers for 50 years, has been kind enough to let us record him singing a slichot prayer. Perhaps the echoes Papa heard sounded something like it:

[2024 note: Unfortunately, this audio has disappeared and I’ve been unable to recover it. Here’s some Selichot audio from Archive.org to tide you over.]

——————–

References:

There are a couple of informative summaries of Selichot at Wikipedia and Judaism 101.

Sunday Sept 21

by

[no entry today]

———————–

In my dream I have a beard and I can see it while I look down to read. I read out loud from the prayer in the book before me. I can read the words but they are not Hebrew or any language I understand.

I see now my father is watching me. His beard is gray. He asks me if I’ve lost my book. I look down and my book is gone and my beard has grown to the floor. It is attached to the floor by something. My father asks me to find my book and I see now I am in the schul in Sniatyn, but unlike the schul too because it is a round room and so dark I cannot see across it. I see only the curved wall disappearing into the blackness.

The voices of the congregation echo in the air as I walk to find my book. My beard is attached to the floor but still I walk and the eyes of the congregation follow me. They sit and look at me and stay very still like the photograph of my brother and sisters. My father stands and watches me as I walk around the edge of the room but I cannot see him well and soon he is but a shadow.

I follow the walls of the room and continue to circle but I see no congregation nothing but the walls. A few more steps and there are chairs and beds in little alcoves in the wall, and I want to sit or rest but I must find my book and bring it back to my father. I hope he has not moved because the only way I can find him is if I follow the walls back to where I was.

Monday Sept 22

by

[no entry]

————-

Matt’s Notes

In my dream I study with my father (olam haba) in his classroom at the Talmud Torah. I feel privileged to be with him as I always do when we are alone together. “Today I would like to try something different,” he tells me, and now I see a girl sits on the bench beside me. We sit at a table in the kitchen of a stranger’s house. My father tells me we are still in his classroom and we have been here before and he asks me to read out loud. I read carefully and try not to make any mistakes, I read for hours and I want to know my part perfectly because the girl is listening.

When I am done he asks the girl to read, instead she talks about the neighbor’s wedding and the cold weather and she gets up and stirs a pot of soup on the stove. She tells me the name of the soup but I cannot pronounce it. Now I see another girl is in the room and my father is angry with her because she was not supposed to be there but he invites her to sit down and have some soup anyway. She fills a bowl with soup and takes it out of the house and tells him she is going to share it with the whole village. I stand up and watch her leave and realize I cannot remember her face or the name of the village. I turn and sit back down to eat but my father is already walking away from the table. “New York is still outside,” I tell him. He feels his empty pockets and looks for something on the floor.

Tuesday Sept 23

by


[no entry]

—————-

No entry from Papa today, but here are some articles from the September 23rd, 1924 edition of the New York Times that might have caught his eye:

Giants, Robins in Virtual Tie; Yanks Trail Senators 2 Games – 1924 has been called baseball’s greatest season — at least by the guy who wrote Baseball’s Greatest Season, 1924 — and the Times’ accounts of the race’s final days show why. With only a handful of games left to play, the Senators appeared to have unseated the world champion Yankees at last, while in the National League the Robins (a.k.a. Dodgers) New York Giants and Pittsburgh Pirates were all within a game and a half of each other. The Giants would eventually lose to the Senators in the “world’s series,” as the championship was called.

RADIO FAIR DRAWS OVERFLOW CROWDS; Opens With 225 Foreign and Domestic Manufacturers Represented. — As an early radio enthusiast, Papa would have liked any news about radio innovation, and this article about a Radio World’s Fair at Madison Square Garden and the 69th Regiment Armory (a precursor, I suppose, to the Consumer Electronics Show) confirms that radio is here to stay. “The sensational growth of radio which has raised the industry from a feeble experiment a few years ago to a $400,000,000 enterprise today was reflected in the 225 exhibits…The novelties were in the shape of refinements of existing types of radio equipement, indicating that the experimental stage had been left far behind.” This article also notes the novel presence of two Japanese radio manufacturers.

NEW LABOR SYSTEM IN GARMENT INDUSTRY; R. Sadowsky, Inc., to Begin Specialization Program Today, Giving Year-Round Work. — Papa was out of work for several weeks during the summer due to the garment industry’s “slack season,” and the resulting idleness made him notably anxious. I wonder if the proposed changes to the industry this article discusses really put an end to such down time.

M’ADOO BACK, URGES US TO JOIN LEAGUE; Says Trip Abroad Strengthened His Belief That America Should Help to Prevent War. — Papa believed in the League of Nations, and hoped the United States would fully endorse it, but it wasn’t meant to be. “M’adoo” refers to William McAdoo, one of the key players in the 1924 Democratic Convention‘s embarrassing deadlock that all but guaranteed a Republican victory in the general election.

WILSON SHRINE PLANNED.; Cathedral Evidently Will Be His Permanent Resting Place. – Papa’s enthusiasm for the League of Nations went hand-in-hand with his respect for Woodrow Wilson’s legacy, so he would have been interested in any article about Wilson, who died earlier in the year.

THE SCREEN; A Dog Hero. — According to this article, Rin-Tin-Tin is an up-and-coming screen hero whose chief competition was a dog named “Strongheart” who starred in a series of silent adventures. We know how that story ended. I’m not sure if Papa would have been especially interested in dog movies, but he was a movie fan and probably read this article.

Wednesday Sept 24

by


[no entry today]

———–

In my dream I am in the bed I shared with Isaac when I was a boy. It is bigger than it really was, even if I stretch my arms out I cannot touch the sides. Gittel and Ettel are there and they pull the blanket tight over my body. It is warm but I cannot move. They smile and coo and they walk around the bed and with pins they fasten the blanket to the mattress. I try to tell them to remove the pins to let me
stand up. They smile at me and laugh because no words come out of my mouth, only ridiculous sounds.

They stand beside Isaac and I see now he wears a military uniform with a tall hat and bright colors like those they had before the war. I ask him why he is dressed this way and he understands my question. He answers “I am able and I will fight without you.” I ask him what will happen to our mother but now the bed is floating above the water and drifting out to sea and Gittel and Ettel are crying for our father. Isaac says he must continue his work. He stands in front of a radio bigger than a cabinet and he tunes its dials and knobs.

The bed spins and drifts on the water. The pins hold fast and the blanket feels safe but it keeps me from moving it keeps me from paddling or looking around. There is no wind. I now remember someone told me there is a flotilla nearby and I ask if the Aquitania will be there.

Image source:

Aquitania – Library of Congress #LC-D4-22833

Thursday Sept 25

by


Maccab. m.

—————-

Matt’s Notes

Papa hasn’t written anything in his diary for the past four days, and today he manages only to squeeze out two abbreviated words: “Maccab. m.” conveys, in as few letters as possible, his attendance at a meeting of his chapter of the fraternal order B’nai Zion, which goes by the nickname “The Maccabean.”

I think his recent silence, including today’s spare effort, reflects a reluctance to dwell on his private thoughts more than he has to, an exhaustion, perhaps, with his ongoing sadness and chronic longing for change. These feelings have likely become attenuated due to the approaching High Holy Days, a long stretch of contemplative milestones during which observant Jews meditate on repentance, stock-taking, and mourning. Papa really doesn’t need much help in any of these departments, and as a spiritually devoted Jew he must have found this stretch of 1924 almost too much to bear, or at least too much to write about.

——————–

I performed my duties and played my part at the meeting as ever. We discussed the collection of dues and Jack gave a report on our progress with the credit union. After that it was as if I had used up all my words. I lingered and watched as the boys put on their coats and hats and hurried off, eager to reach their homes, alight with burning candles and the bright faces of their wives and their children. To write letters home so everyone overseas can know of their good fortune.

To what do I hurry? To whom should I write?

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