Saturday Mar 8

by


Enjoyed, Cabaleria Rusticany
and Pagliacci at the opera

I found a message from
Lemus to attend the funeral
of Friedman’s wife.

Filled out my income
report according to the
counsel of my notary
public Mr. Wallinger

————-

Matt’s Notes

Whenever possible I listen to the music, read the literature, and see the films Papa discusses in his diary, and recently I had the good fortune to see, at the Metropolitan Opera, the same double bill of Pagliacci and Cavalleria Rusticana Papa mentioned above. Until now any encounters I had with opera were purely accidental, the last one coming when I was a wee lad of 23 and then only because the words “free,” “ticket” and “girl” were involved. Though impressed with the players’ effort, I was generally distracted and came away feeling like I had missed the boat on opera appreciation.

So, to join the evening crowds at the Met — deliberately, with my own nice wife, and on my own power — and set down to pay attention was something I might never have done if I hadn’t started this diary project. And, as is always the case with the arts I experience on Papa’s “recommendation,” I found myself unexpectedly and powerfully absorbed by the proceedings. I was amazed, in general, because the things I saw and heard were the very things Papa saw and heard. This timelessness is, I suppose, an inherent quality of anything classical or traditional; even though Giovanni Martinelli sang Canio in 1924 and Salvatore Licitra sang him in 2007 (to raves from the New York Times) there’s a certain thrill to knowing Pagliacci has been essentially unchanged for generations.

But, there’s more to it than that; when I attended I was entirely awash in the sentimentality and melodrama of the work, and not just because Pagliacci and Cavalleria are so sentimental melodramatic. When I was a kid I used to pretend that Papa was hovering over my shoulder — in school, at home, when I was playing outside — hoping he was there to make sure everything came out all right. Maybe I still hope so; maybe that’s why I want to see the things Papa saw and do the things he did. It makes me I feel a little like we’re sitting side by side for a few hours, silently enjoying each other’s company. I know he would be beaming, smiling — fulfilled, entirely, just to be near me, to see me with my wife, to know I was alive. Under those circumstances, any song of love or loss or melancholy floating up from the stage becomes something else, the music for my own little opera, my duet with a ghost who I can’t touch or speak to but who means everything to me.

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Additional references for this post:

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Update 3/12

Mom adds about Papa’s love of opera:

I think Papa went very often, but was only able to afford standing room at that time. When I was growing up, he listened to the Met broadcast on radio, hosted by Milton Cross, every Saturday.

Sunday Mar 9

by


The unexpected happened
Brother Friedman’s wife
died suddenly, and it was
my sad duty as a brother
of one camp to attend the
funeral, which depressed
me.

I spent the evening at
Jack Zichlinsky’s house

—————-

Matt’s Notes

As noted earlier, Papa was an officer in a new chapter of the fraternal Order Sons of Zion (a.k.a. B’nai Zion) though this is the first time he referred to a fellow member as “Brother.” Papa usually called his friends like Jack Zichlinsky (he of Sheepshead Bay) by name even if they were B’nai Zion members, so I wonder if Papa wasn’t quite as close to Brother Freidman.

B’nai Zion functioned in part as a burial society (the rest of their charter included Zionist fund-raising, teaching Hebrew and providing life insurance) so maybe Papa went to Mrs. Freidman’s funeral more out of official, “sad duty” than out of pure friendship. Jews require a minyan — a group of ten or more men — to say kaddish (the prayer for the dead) at a funeral. I expect B’nai Zion guaranteed such a quorum for the families of all its members, which may be the duty Papa refers to here.

Speaking of which, Papa noted the day before that he “found a message from Lemus” asking him to attend the funeral. This brings up a lot of little questions: How, exactly, did he find this note? Did Lemus slip it under Papa’s door? Did he stick it in a mailbox? And who was Lemus? Was he an elected officer of Papa’s B’nai Zion chapter charged with distributing notes under such circumstances? Was he the superintendent of Papa’s building? Did people like Papa, who didn’t have a phone at this time, typically communicate by dropping notes at their friends’ and neighbors’ apartments?

Must…learn…more…

Monday Mar 10

by

Sister night & Movies
& home & radio

—————–

Matt’s Notes

Movies Papa might have seen that night include:

And here’s Papa listening to the radio at home:

Tuesday Mar 11

by

Visited brother Friedman
with brother Stern

This was a terrible weather
night, deep slush rain
and snow a biting wind.

———————–

Matt’s Notes

A bad night to be out visiting, indeed. Temperatures were just above freezing and New York had gotten over an inch of precipitation, half of which was rain and half snow. Plus, “the worst gale in 20 years,” according to the Times, hit the East Coast that day, delaying the arrival of the Aquitania in New York and resulting in the deaths of several people (two were hit by cars when their umbrellas obscured their views of oncoming traffic, one slipped and fell under a freight train, and one was killed by a toppled billboard).

Of course, “Brother Freidman” (so called because he was a member of Papa’s fraternal order Sons of Zion) probably wasn’t too concerned with the weather, as he was as in mourning for his wife who had died less than a week ago. Papa, and presumably “brother Stern,” had attended her funeral two days earlier, and were now paying a shiva call. According to Jewish tradition, Brother Freidman would have been unshaven, seated on a box to deny himself comfort, and wearing torn clothing. All the mirrors in his apartment would have been covered to relieve him of vanity, and his rooms were likely filled with friends and family, his table set with food brought by visitors to make sure he could focus on mourning.

Papa had found himself depressed at the funeral, and probably felt even more out of sorts at the shiva call. He idealized marriage and desperately wanted to experience it for himself. Under other circumstances, a married friend’s home might have filled him with quiet longing. But what about now? Brother Freidman had already known, and already lost, exactly what Papa wanted for himself. Where did such a jarring variation fit into Papa’s view of domestic life? Did he think, on this bleak and miserable March night, that he would have preferred even the pain of lost companionship to his own unending loneliness? Would he have traded places with Brother Freidman?

———————

Additional references

Wednesday Mar 12

by


Attended massmeeting
at the Hotel Astor marking
the opening of the 1924
$1,500,000 Keren Haysod
drive in NYC

Gladly I listened to the
speeches of the baalei teshuva
Dr. Silverman (Rabbi) and
Mr. David A. Brown.

All the enstranged Jews
are bound to come back
sooner or later.

Light must triumph over darkness.

————–

Matt’s Notes

This entry contains the Hebrew phrase baalei teshuva (the plural form of baal teshuva) which refers to Jews who have strayed from Judaism and returned to the fold.

In this case, Papa adapted the phrase to describe Jews who rejected Zionism and later came to accept it, specifically Rabbi Silverman and David Brown. Silverman was the Rabbi Emeritus of Temple Emanu-El, an influential Reform (or progressive) synagogue in New York, and for many years he had spoken out against Zionism. As reported in the Times, he returned from a trip to Palestine with a different point of view, and his speech at the Astor marked his commitment to “devote the remainder of his life to the cause of Palestine.”

As Papa crowded in with the other 1,000 attendees at the ball, he would have smiled to hear Silverman say:

Any Jew who willfully hinders the movement to rebuild the Jewish homeland is injuring his people and his faith. Any Jew who remains aloof from the movement at this critical period in our history lays himself open to the charge of indifference to the fate of a large part of Israel.

Papa has indicated his disapproval of non-Zionist Jews before (I’d almost say he held them in contempt, but I’m not sure he was capable of such feelings) but he has also indicated his willingness to rejoice in their “repentance.” My mother says he “never held a grudge in his life,” and after reading this entry I wonder if his capacity to forgive, to expect, in fact, people to turn themselves around, had spiritual roots in the concept of baal teshuva.

(Thanks to my wife, Stephanie, for the Hebrew lesson.)

———————-

My father, Sy Unger, died eleven years ago today. Here he is, around 1960, seated between Papa and my mother. How would Papa have told me to remember him?

Thursday Mar 13

by


Attend Maccabean camp
meeting.

———————-

Matt’s Notes

Earlier in the year, Papa co-founded a new chapter of the fraternal Order Sons of Zion (B’nai Zion) and persuaded his fellow members to nickname it the “Maccabean” camp. As previously noted, the Maccabees were legendary Jewish warriors, so the nickname carried with it a certain combative edge, a deliberate challenge to the caricature of Jews as physically inept and resigned to bad luck.

Papa may have had another inspiration for his camp’s nickname, too: “The Maccabean” was the flagship publication of B’nai Zion’s parent organization, the Federation of American Zionists (FAZ). My research here is a little muddy, but it looks like the FAZ became the Zionist Organization of America (ZOA) around 1917. In any event, the FAZ/ZOA spun off B’nai Zion in 1908, partly to provide health insurance to its members but also to “help the Zionist Congress in the work of obtaining for the Jewish people a legally secured, publicly assured national home in Palestine.”1

I’m sure Papa had a lot to report at his Maccabean meeting that day, because the night before he’d attended a major event at the Hotel Astor (pictured below) at which a prominent rabbi declared his support for Zionism after years of ambivalence. Papa had felt discouraged in the course of his activist work over the winter, but with the weather warming up and his beloved cause making strides, his spirits must have brightened considerably.

—————-

Additional Notes

I didn’t say much about the Hotel Astor yesterday, but here’s what I know: It was a 500-bedroom, 300-bathroom beauty that rose ten stories above Broadway on the block between 44th Street and and 45th street.

hotel astor

The wall between its two ballrooms could be moved to accommodate large functions like the one Papa attended, though when it first opened in 1907 1904 the Times got most excited about its thermostats:

In each [room] there is a “temperature regulator.” The ordinary method of turning the radiator valves is supplanted by an automatic device enabling the guest to set a pointer upon a clocklike figured scale at a degree of temperature desired.

The building came down, temperature regulators and all, in 1967 to make room for the office tower known as 1515 Broadway, where Viacom now resides. Nyc-architecture.com mourns its passing with a typical, and justified, howl of agony.

(Image source: Library of Congress call number HABS NY,31-NEYO,72-.)

————–

My mother adds:

Lots of people, including yours truly. would meet their dates at the Astor (under the clock). I think this is mentioned in Salinger or is it Fitzgerald—and I’m sure many other books. I’m amazed that Papa allowed his priceless
treasure to go “into the city” to meet rapacious young men, but I did nonetheless. Relationships were more proper in those days and my dates always took me home.

———-

1 – Quoted from B’nai Zion’s 75th anniversary historic review pamphlet.

Friday Mar 14

by


Visited sisters and friend
Mike Weinreich there
spending all evening

Am greatly worried,
For 2 weeks I haven’t
received word from my
parents

————————

Matt’s Notes

Papa was probably used to going a week or two without word from his parents in faraway Sniatyn, but his father had suffered a dangerous fall three weeks earlier. At last report he was still ill, perhaps even bedridden.

No matter how busy Papa kept himself, the intervening weeks must have been increasingly difficult (I speculated yesterday on whether his spirits were starting to brighten, but hidden anxiety would have undercut even his best days). I wonder if Papa’s heart jumped when he found a note slipped under his door, or if his pace was quick and urgent as he walked to his sisters’ apartments. What if Clara opened the door in tears, or Nettie, clutching a letter from the other side, was unable even to speak? He must have composed himself before he knocked on their doors — brushed off his coat, straightened his hat — knowing he needed to be steady for their sakes.

Did his friend, Mike Weinreich, detect his growing anxiety? Did Papa lose himself in reveries all evening, seem uncharacteristically quiet? Or did the solemn, intense gaze he inherited his father, the air of serenity and composure, prevent anyone from knowing how he felt?

And after he got home, after he wrote in his diary, how long did he stare at the one photo he had of his parents? Did he wonder what they looked like now?

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