Wednesday Sept 17

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.

Tuesday Sept 16

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.)

Monday Sept 15

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.

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.

Friday July 25

Had supper with Nettie
and all evening at home

----------

This is Papa's second dinner in a row with his sister Nettie, which is slightly unusual but really only notable because he received news the day before of their family's troubles in the old country. At first I figured Papa and Nettie might have talked about it the previous evening and gotten together again to continue their conversation, but on second thought I'd be kind of surprised if this was the case. Unless Nettie got her own distressing letter from Europe, Papa would have protected her from such worrisome news -- with two sickly children and a husband who had trouble staying employed, she had problems of her own. (Papa had kept bad news from her before, most notably back in May when he decided not to tell her their father had died just after her son was born.)

So why two dinners in a row? Maybe Papa just felt the need to see Nettie a little more since the siblings he couldn't visit were on his mind. Then again, I could be trying to dig too much out of this entry. They might have gotten together the second time for no real reason or because she happened to have some extra soup on the stove when he stopped by. Sometimes a dinner is just a nice dinner.

Wednesday July 23

I had supper with sister
Clara, and after a visit
to sister Nettie I spent
the rest of the eve. at home

-------------------

For those of you just joining us, Clara and Nettie are two of Papa's five sisters, and lived near his Attorney Street apartment on the Lower East Side. His other three sisters, Ettel, Gitel and Fule, plus his only brother, Isaac, still lived back in Papa's Austro-Hungarian home town of Sniatyn.

Clara and Nettie never got along too well, so Papa rarely saw both of them at the same time even though they all lived near each other. Both sisters had relatively newborn babies for Papa to play with. Clara's son, Julius, was born on May 28th, surprising Papa with his early arrival. Still, the circumstances surrounding the May 20th birth of Nettie's son were far more unusual: When Papa wired home news of the birth, the response he received informed him that his own father had just died. Papa and Clara, now in mourning, kept the news from Nettie during her 10-day postpartum hospital stay. They didn't even tell her the news when their mother requested that the baby be named Josele after their father, whose name was Joseph. (Jews traditionally don't name their children after the living.)

Papa's reputation among my family's younger generations was stellar -- he impressed us all with his gentle, comforting vibe, born in part, no doubt, of the genuine pleasure he felt to see his family well-established in his adopted country. Still, I wonder if Papa found it hard to be around Josele since he was tied so closely to Papa's father's death, or if, especially in 1924 when the wound was still raw, Papa's behavior and countenance darkened ever so slightly when he visited Nettie.

--------------

My mother adds:

I think Papa was able to keep these things separate. He loved all his nieces and nephews very much, and was very devoted to Aunt Nettie, especially since she had such an unhappy life.

I never saw his face darken, except for the bad news during and after WW2 and anything unfavorable to Israel.

Sunday June 1

Death (by Walter Savage Landor)

Death stands above me whispering low
I know not what into my ear;
Of his strange language all I know
Is, there is not a word of fear.

Remark

(Not thoughts of suicide prompt
me to write the above poems on death
I want to live and have no death plans,
But death claimed my father my
dearest friend and adviser,
so I copied the poems from my
book of lyrics.)

-------------

Here Papa gives us another look at the deep and complicated process unfolding within him. Since his father died, feelings of despair and resolve, self-defeat and self-preservation, have sloshed back and forth in his head, combining to create something new, unfamiliar, and volatile. In the last few days, we've watched him slowly separate the mixture and attempt to put its more destructive components back where they belong, though in the process he is often surprised by their potency.

Papa's need to deny any suicidal interpretation of his poetry choices is one by-product of his efforts. It never would have occurred to me to think he has "death plans," yet he goes out of his way to assure us he doesn't. Perhaps Papa doth protest too much? Did he, in transcribing poems that acknowledge the seductive temptations of eternal sleep, briefly think he'd prefer it to living with his own sadness? Was the notion so shocking and therefore so obvious to him that he thought it could not but occur to his readers as well?

Several days ago, Papa had a quick brush with pessimism and bemoaned his own bad luck and helplessness in the face of the world's unfairness. Moments later, though, he recovered himself and vowed to keep his mother and family safe in his father's absence, thus regaining a sense of command over his own life. I think the same kind of thing has happened over the past few days. He quoted Donne and Landor's poems as rallying cries against death's potential power to ruin our lives with fear and sadness, and in so doing forced himself to look at his own fear and sadness, to test himself against it.

The wording he uses toward the end of this entry -- "I want to live and have no death plans, But death claimed my father my dearest friend and trusted adviser, so I copied the poems" -- demonstrates a growing mastery over his grief. Not only does he literally say he wants to live on, it's almost as if he says it as a counterpoint to his father's death: "My father is dead, and though I loved him, I must remember I'm still alive." It's another demonstration of how he learned to steer himself through dark and unfamiliar waters by the light of his essential optimism and resolve.

Saturday May 31

Death (by John Donne)

Death be not proud though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:
For those whom thou thinkest thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do go --
Rest of their bones and souls delivery!
Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, Kings and desperate men
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we woke eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death thou shalt die!

--------------------------

Matt's Notes

Papa has tilted back and forth over the past few days as the urge to give in to despair over his father's death has attempted to erode the integrity of his essentially optimistic, altruistic character. He has written, movingly, of his last moment with his father; he has suffered a bout of self-pity, but he has also countered with a surge of resolve; and today, he shows the clearest sign yet of his desire to master his grief, exploring and challenging death itself with the help of John Donne.

I don't pretend to have any scholarly knowledge of Donne's work (when I saw the T.V. adaptation of the memoir "Death Be Not Proud" in the 70's, I thought the phrase was a statement of fact -- "death is not proud," whatever that would have meant, as opposed to a direct challenge to death's pride -- and even though I've since learned otherwise I've never been able to shake my "wrong" impression) though I certainly do think the famed poem above indicates a mixed relationship with the idea of death; does Donne truly mock it or does he kind of want to give it a try himself?

In any case, I think Papa reads Donne's poem, at this moment in his life, as a rallying cry, paying more attention to its final line "Death thou shalt die!" than to its more ambivalent sentiments (the sure, bold hand with which he transcribes the poem conveys a sense of assertiveness, too, as opposed to tearful midnight weepiness.) While Papa is certainly not done mourning, this entry is a good sign, and shows us an interesting moment in his struggle to grieve without giving in to despair. He is deciding, bit by bit, that the best way to honor his father's life is to live his own life well, and he's letting us watch.

Tuesday May 20

Took Nettie home from
hospital, She is suspicious
that our father is no more
but for the present I'm
trying talk her out of it.

I hired a woman for
a week to attend Nettie
at home.

Last night and tonight I
said Mishnayes at the
Synagogue across the street
I'm broken in spirit.

------------------

Matt's Notes

Papa's efforts to keep his sister Nettie from learning about their father's death continues to be a strange subplot in this story. Nettie had already, at their mother's request, named her newborn son Josele after their father (Joseph) and traditional Jews don't name children after the living -- there's absolutely no way their mother would have suggested it if their father were alive. So, I'm not sure how Papa explained their mother's wishes to Nettie, unless he told her some other relative -- a distant cousin in the old country with a similar name, perhaps -- had died.

Still, if she was "suspicious" she must have asked Papa flat out if their father was dead, so it's hard to imagine how he could "talk her out of it," especially since he was feeling so disoriented. Maybe they had a mutual understanding (he knew that she knew that he knew, etc.) and decided not to acknowledge it. She did, after all, have a newborn child.

-------------

Update 5/21

Carol, a reader, writes:

I , too, was puzzled about the fact that Nettie did not know that her father had died, but yet they named the baby after her father. One thought that I had was that at that time I think that it is possible that the mother was not present at the actual Bris and naming...that it was done by men with no women present at the ceremony. If that was the case, then they could have kept the news and the actual name from her. Just a thought.

Monday May 19

Ran around this evening
to find and attending woman
for Nettie

----------------

Matt's Notes

I'm not sure why it fell to Papa to find a nursemaid for his sister Nettie and her newborn son, but I suppose he was the best candidate since Nettie's husband Phil didn't speak much English and Clara, Papa's other sister in New York, was busy with her own baby and didn't have such a great relationship with Nettie, anyway.

While Papa's willingness to help out Nettie wasn't odd, this day's circumstances certainly were -- Papa still hadn't told Nettie about their father's recent death for fear of taxing her delicate, postpartum constitution. As he "ran around" that evening in search of her attendant, did he think about when he'd tell her, how he'd tell her, mouth the words as he rehearsed them in his head?

In any event, I expect it was pretty easy and relatively inexpensive for Papa to hire Nettie's attendant ("I'm 100% sure that Papa paid for everything," says my mother, adding "Poor guy, everyone depended on him.") His neighborhood would have been full of women who were qualified midwives and nursemaids, since many Eastern European Jewish immigrants of the early 1920's still adhered to the at-home birthing traditions of the old country (hospital births, while not a new innovation, wouldn't be considered de rigueur in the immigrant Jewish community for many more years.) ¹ Papa probably found someone just by knocking on a few doors or getting a recommendation from one of the landsmanshaftn.

------------------

References

1 - "Modern Obstetrics and Working-Class Women: The New York Midwifery Dispensary, 1890-1920" by Nancy Schrom Dye. Journal of Social History, Vol. 20, No. 3 (Spring, 1987), pp. 549-564

Sunday May 11

Nettie gave birth to a baby boy
visited her at Hospital she
is weak.

Like through some misterious
power I feel downhearted.
Today,

Wired home to Europe
the news of the birth.

-------

Matt's Notes

This is the second birth of a nephew, the second trip to the maternity ward, the second dash to the Western Union telegraph office for Papa in the last six weeks. Why, though, should such an event make him feel "downhearted," a reaction so incongruous it feels like the work of a "misterious power?"

I'm sure Papa's longing for a family of his own and for the family he left behind in Europe are partly responsible. We've seen, on several occasions, how holidays or milestone events served to bring those deep and difficult feelings to the fore, affecting Papa with sudden, seemingly inexplicable depression.

The birth of his other sister Clara's son back in late March didn't have the same effect, but the circumstances were different in several ways. Papa was in the opening throes of what he thought to be a burgeoning romance at the time, so perhaps the birth of his nephew contributed to an overall sense of optimism. The romance fizzled, though, plunging Papa into a long bout of gloom over his domestic prospects; maybe the birth of Nettie's son reminded him of his disappointment and seemingly insoluble bachelorhood.

Nettie also already had a child named Ruchaly, but she was sickly and had, in fact, just experienced a serious illness a few months earlier. I gather that Nettie and her husband Phil were in difficult financial straits -- Papa had recently been giving them financial support while Phil was out of work -- so I'm sure the birth of their new child would have made Papa more than a little concerned.

Finally, we need to remember that Papa's father had taken a bad fall at the end of February and still hadn't recovered. Though he wouldn't have written it down or acknowledged it to himself, he must have struggled mightily with the thought that his father might never see Nettie's new son.

-------------

I transcribed the fourth line of this entry as "Life brought some misterious new power," but I'm not sure I'm reading the first two words right. Here's the line in Papa's handwriting:



Did I transcribe it correctly?

---------------

Update: I've looked at this again and I the words are "Like through." I've changed the tranncription above accordingly.

Saturday May 10

Early this morning I took
Nettie to the Hospital.
Waited there all day
but no news.

---------------

Matt's Notes

Fear not: nothing was wrong with Papa's sister Nettie. Though Papa hadn't mentioned it before, she'd been pregnant all year and was now in labor. I'm not sure where her husband Phil was, but Papa was accustomed to helping his sisters out in various ways (you'll recall how Papa paid for Phil's English lessons, though that didn't work out so well) so I'm not surprised it fell to him to take Nettie to the hospital.

Stand by...

Friday Apr 4

Visited Clara at hospital
and Max Breindel,

Max is really besides
a relative a good friend
He is not like some
others of the family

-----------------

Matt's Notes

As noted in a previous post, Max Breindel is the man who met Papa and his sitter Nettie at Ellis Island when they first arrived from the old country. Max also invited them to stay in his apartment, where they shared a bed with his children, sleeping head-by-toe, until they could find a place of their own. Papa always recalled this as a great, adventurous time in his life, and I think his kind words about Max reveal his ongoing gratitude. (Check out the Lower East Side Tenement Museum's tenement tour to get a better idea of what their living quarters must have been like.)

I don't know whom Papa refers to when he says "some others of the family" are not as good as Max, but it's about as harsh a statement as he ever makes. Perhaps he means his brother Isaac, the previous recipient of a disapproving nod for pressuring Papa from the old country for money. I also know his sisters Nettie and Clara didn't get along, so I wonder if Nettie earned a demerit for some kind of misbehavior or lack of interest while Clara was in hospital with her newborn son.

I'm also trying to figure out if it was unusual back then for an immigrant woman to stay in the hospital for so long after giving birth (it's been eight days now). Papa had expressed surprise at how early his nephew was born, so maybe there was some sort of medical complication. Then again, a week or more might have been a normal post-childbirth stay in 1924; as always, if anyone reading this knows a little more, please post a comment or send an e-mail.

Sunday Jan 20

Visited Rose Sherman,
she and her sister Tillie and
myself then visited my
cousins Lena & Jean who are
also known to them.

May it be known that
although not entered
regularly in this book or
not at all, every day includes
a visit to my sister Nettie
and my little darling niece
Rosie (Ruchale)

------------------
Matt's Notes:

The cast of characters expands. Looks like Papa's cousins and sisters must have all lived close by on the Lower East Side, or at least within walking distance since the January cold didn't keep them from strolling around and visiting each other. (Then again, I imagine the New York cold didn't impress Papa too much since he grew up in an Eastern European ghetto where they probably ate bowls of hail for breakfast).

--------------

Updates

2/4 - Via e-mail, my mother adds:

Did you know that niece "Rosie" called Ruthie by my cousin Jeanie is the one that died of spinal mennengitis at about 11 yrs of age? My middle name Ruchle or Ruth is after her. Aunt Nettie never recovered from her death. I can barely imagine Papa's sorrow.