Monday Sept 15

by


Found both Nettie’s
children ill, and coughing
badly.

I pray constantly for them
Oh Allmightly, heal them
and restore them to perfect
health, and may they be
a blessing and a source
of happiness to their tried
parents. Amen.

—————-

Matt’s Notes

Though Papa has struggled with his fair share of personal, emotional and financial difficulties this year, his sister Nettie’s life has, at least from what we’ve seen, described a bleaker version of tenement life, an immigrant experience dogged by disease and unemployment and casual cruelties. Her daughter, Ruchaly, has been ill all year; her husband, Phil, has been in an out of work and kicked around by the unscrupulous headmaster of an English-language school; and, in one of the strangest episodes of the year, she gave birth to a new son just as Papa received word from overseas of their father’s death, though no one told her for ten days while she convalesced.

Papa’s prayer for the health of Nettie’s children is typically heartfelt and touching, but there’s nothing melodramatic about it. New York’s infant mortality rate had been on the decline for years, but it was still, at sixty-six deaths per thousand, ten times higher than it is today. With tubercular neighbors wandering about and fresh air at a premium, the sound of a child’s cough was terrible to hear. Unfortunately, the shadow of future unhappiness hangs over this entry, for we know Papa’s plea to the Allmighty went unanswered in the end; Ruchaly was destined to die of meningitis, and Nettie, years later, gave in to a long emotional deterioration and took her own life.

Still, I suppose Papa’s capacity for prayer and hope is partly responsible for the resilience and resourcefulness with which he faced his own trials. Among other things, the difficulties of immigrant life, the death of his sister and the devastation of his family during the Holocaust all gave him ample reason to grow bitter as he aged, but he chose not to. He defined his life by what he had, not by what he’d lost, tallied up his gains, and not his deprivations. It sounds simple, but: How?

—————-

Papa wrote his prayer in English but also concluded this entry with a Hebrew phrase. Alas, I can’t make it out and neither can Stephanie, who is both my wife and my go-to for Hebrew translation. If you can make out what this says, please drop a note or comment:

———

Update 9/17/07

As we subsequently learned, the Hebrew at the bottom of this entry reads “Avraham Zvi, son of Joseph, the Cohen.” It seems to be a kind signature through which Papa conveys to the Allmighty his name, his father’s name, and the fact that he’s a Cohen, or member of Judaism’s high priest caste.

Tuesday Sept 16

by

the children Yosef and Rahel
are still ill

Oh, Creator of worlds, bring
them back to health

Avraham Zvi bar-Yosef, the Cohen

——————-

Matt’s Notes

Another day, another prayer for the health of Papa’s terribly ill niece and nephew. He’s written both of their names in Hebrew, and concluded this passage with the same Hebrew phrase he used yesterday. Thanks to our friend Inbar, we now know it’s a formal signature of sorts that reads “Avraham Zvi bar-Yosef, the Cohen,” or Abraham Zvi, son of Joseph, the Cohen. (Papa was a Cohen, or member of Judaism’s high priest caste, so perhaps he used this signature as a matter of course.)

Wednesday Sept 17

by


Ruchale is feeling
a little better, but
Josale is still coughing
much.

May the Allmighty speed
p boths recovery

———

Matt’s Notes

This is the third day Papa has discussed the illnesses of his sister Nettie’s children, Ruchale and Josale, and prayed for their recovery. He doesn’t mention what they had, but a 1924 New York Times article on childhood mortality rates cites measles, scarlet fever, whooping cough and diptheria among the most fearsome (it also credits “Schick testing and the injections of toxin-antitoxin to approximately 500,000 children” with a sharp drop-off in diptheria-related deaths).

I expect Papa was most worried about whooping cough or tuberculosis, but if you know more about this subject please drop a comment.

Thursday Sept 18

by


A reception to Leibel
Tcubes a legendarie
figure of the old country

———

Matt’s Notes

Papa’s schedule of banquets and Zionist meetings slowed down over the summer, but it looks like a new social season is starting to kick in. While the previous Spring did not, as he wished, “renew hopes” for better days — in fact, it ushered in one of the most difficult periods of his life thus far — perhaps a busy, purposeful Fall will help him to be happier.

————

Meanwhile, this entry contains the name of the honoree at the reception Papa attended, but I absolutely can’t read it. His first name is clearly Leibel, but what’s his last? It’s obviously Eastern European and I assume Papa has either spelled it correctly or transcribed it phonetically. It looks like “Tceiebes” or “Keubes,” but I really can’t tell. Any ideas?

————

Update 10/18/07

Looks like Shiri at the Museum of Jewish Heritage has nailed it:

..here is my best guess for the “legendary figure”…Could the last name be Taubisz, possibly spelled without the z? I found a listing for a Leibel Taubisz who ran a newspaper that, among other things, printed the first songs of Nachum Sternheim, who later became pretty famous…

The name of the paper was the “Wachenblatt”. More research is pending, but I think we have our man.

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.)

———–

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.

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