Substance and Procedure

There are two parts to religion; substance and procedure. Substance includes, but it not limited to how we treat our fellow persons, how we do business, etc. You [Lauren] and my other grandchildren and children and great-grandchildren have learned much substance from those who came before them. Procedure is the actions we take to bring substance to our thoughts. As I grow older, I find that procedure is so much less important than substance.

Hebrew School

During the early 1930’s, when the time arrived when I was to go to Hebrew School, there were no Hebrew Schools per se in the Pimlico area. The closest was Isaac Davidson on Shirley Avenue. There were only individual Hebrew teachers, rebbes, and this is where I went. Mr. Rudnitzky was a Shochet, a ritual killer who slaughtered chickens and other fowls in the prescribed Kosher manner. He lived in a row house at the end of a street off Garrison Avenue about three blocks west of Park Heights Avenue. He had five other students, all boys about eight years old. We only learned to read Hebrew. We learned about holidays and other Jewish rituals and customs at home where they were practiced throughout the year. We also learned Jewish values from our parents and other family members. We students sat around his dining room table and read Hebrew from a Siddur, a prayer book. When a housewife appeared with a live chicken to be slaughtered, Mr. Rudnitzky donned a large rubber apron, waved his arms and said, “Lez, lez,” (read, read) and disappeared through the back door into the yard. We would hear a loud screech and Mr. Rudnitzky would reappear with blood and feathers clinging to his rubber apron.

When the time arrived for my Bar Mitzvah, I was sent to a Rabbi who taught the Haftorah. He lived on Classen Avenue, the street off Park Heights Avenue just before the Avalon movie theater. I was first taught the notes; the little sqiggles and lines and dots around the Hebrew letters. Once the notes were learned, any Haftorah could be chanted. The Bar Mitzvah boy (there was no such thing as a Bat Mitzvah for girls) was taught only the Haftorah, not the Torah portion or the prayers. I cannot remember a “lavish Kiddush” after the service; probably herring, kichlas and whiskey for the men.

My Father insisted that I go to Hebrew College located on Eutaw Place and Preston Street in a converted mansion. I hated it. I did not have the basic background knowledge; I could translate very few Hebrew words. It was frustrating, and when my grades were very poor (as opposed to A’s at Poly) my father realized that Kenny would never become a Talmud Chochon (wise student of the Talmud). I lasted less than a year.

My father realized the lack of a Hebrew School in the Pimlico area and he was later instrumental in the establishment of a Hebrew School affiliated with the Petach Tikvah Congregation.

Deck the Walls

We recently had the inside of the house painted. The furniture was moved away from the walls and the pictures removed. After the painters completed their work, the furniture was restored to their original places and the pictures replaced on the walls. As this was being done, I thought, “We hang our lives on the walls.” There is my parents’ wedding picture (1924). There is the picture of me on a tricycle at five years of age. In the foyer, there is a picture of an angel embroidered in beads which has an interesting history. Mr. Galperin was an old cabinet make and upholsterer who did work for the ultra wealthy German Jews who lived between North Avenue and Druid Park Drive on Eutaw Place, Madison Avenue and Auchentoroly Terrace.

His shop was three doors from where my father worked. My father picked him up and took him home each day. Of course, my father refused any payment. So Mr. Galperin would make him an occasional piece of furniture. The corner bookcase in Larry’s hall is an example of Mr. Galperin’s work. Mr. Galperin had a wing chair to reupholster and when he stripped the chair, he found this tapestry beneath the upholstery. He fashioned a frame and gave it to my father. It now hangs in my foyer. It was probably hidden there by German Jews who managed to forsee the future and escaped from Hitler’s Germany with their possessions before the Holocaust.

When we first married, we would go to the Peabody Bookstore on Charles Street. From the bookstore, one walked down a hall to a Beer Stube. On the walls of the hall were paintings by budding painters for sale. I fell in love with “Lombard Street.” But Jacob Glushakow wanted $100.00, a princely sum. During the next several months, Momma managed to gather together $100.00 and “Lombard Street” has hung in our living rooms since McHenry Street. “Fremont Avenue,” a painting of an abandoned church also hung at the Peabody and now hangs next to “Lombard Street.”

My diplomas from Johns Hopkins and the University of Baltimore hang in the office along with the certificates admitting me to the Maryland and Baltimore Bars. There are also four group pictures of the family there. Along the front hall hang five family collages which Larry put together. There are also many pictures of children and grandchildren at different ages.

Each time we traveled, we brought back a remembrance, frequently a picture. There is Sloppy Joe’s Bar in Key West, Preservation Hall and Al Hurt’s Club in New Orleans as well as houses in Savannah, Georgia. In a special place, there are pictures of Alex’s Bar Mitzvah at the Wall in Jerusalem where I was privileged to lead the services wearing the T’fillin which belonged to my paternal grandfather, who died in Russia in the early 1900’s.

One wall, at the entrance to the office, holds our civil marriage license, our Ketubah and a 50th Anniversary remembrance. The table behind the sofa is home to several dozen pictures of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Truly, our lives are hung on our walls.

Passover

For some 45 0r 50 years we made Pesach in our home. We cleansed the house of chometz and ate only foods that were certified “kosher for Passover.” We conducted a seder the first two nights. Our parents, grandparents, our children and always one or more family members or guests came. I conducted the service and Momma served the foods she had prepared for days. As our family grew, the attendees grew and there were usually at least thirty of us. As we grew older, we attended seders conducted by our children for their children. Because that is really the purpose of the seder; to teach the children that Avodim hoyenu l’Pharoh b’Mitryim: we were slaves to Pharoh in Egypt and to explain how we were brought out by the strong hand and outstretched arm of the Lord.

The service really begins when the young child asks why this night is different than all the other nights. Why can’t we eat challah and Jewish rye (with seeds, of course) and rolls with onions baked through them? Why do we have to eat this tasteless dry matzoh? And why do we have to eat this bitter stuff dipped in salt water instead of peas and corn and baked beans? And what is this charoseth stuff? And how come I don’t have to sit up straight but can lean to the side and relax? And what’s that piece of bone on that plate along with an egg and that other stuff?

Father holds up the piece of matzoh and explains that this is the “bread of affliction” eaten by the Hebrew slaves in Egypt. Joseph had risen from a slave to second in command to Pharoh and had invited his entire family of Hebrews to come to Egypt to live. They were few in numbers at the time. But over the years they prospered and grew. Pharoh died and another Pharoh ruled. He became afraid of the Hebrews; afraid that they would seize power and his throne. So he confiscated their property and enslaved them. The bitter stuff symbolizes the bitter life they led. The salt water symbolizes they tears that they shed. The charoseth symbolizes the mortar that they used to build cities for Pharoh. And we sit leaning and relaxed because that is how free people eat: relaxed and not fearful of the overseer’s whip.

Father goes on to tell how the Lord chose Moses to free the Hebrews and lead them out of Egypt to the “promised land.” How Pharoh refused to “let my people go!” How ten plagues were visited upon the people of Egypt. And how Pharoh agreed to allow the Hebrews to go out of Egypt only after the tenth plague which killed the first born of every living Egyptian and their beasts. That piece of bone is there so that we remember the lamb that was slaughtered and the blood of which was smeared on the door post of each Hebrew home so that the angel of death would “Passover” that home on the night of the killing of the first born. That is why we put a mezuzah on our door post. We remember the ten plagues by spilling a drop of wine for each plague. The Hebrews had to get out in a hurry and did not have time to let the dough rise for the bread that they were making. So they packed it up and carried it in the broiling sun. It baked into the hard stuff we now call matzoh. The egg symbolizes our hope in our children for the future.

Today our children are grown and married and have their own children and grandchildren for whom to conduct a seder. We are gratified to see them gather together to celebrate Passover and when possible, attend their seder. But that’s okay. That is how life progresses and that is how it should be. But we will continue to raise and drink our four glasses of wine and say, “L’chaim. To life!”

1954 through 1959

The five year period between 1954 and 1959 was a very busy one and produced profound changes in our lives. David appeared in 1955 and Amy Gail came in 1958. She was such a beauty that she became known as the “ugly child.” The store prospered and the volume of business grew. This was a neighborhood business. Customers did not drive to shop, but walked. They could come to the store a half dozen times a day. They would come in the early morning to buy food for breakfast. We would break a 19 cent loaf of bread in half and sell each half for 10 cents. Many stores would sell one egg or one cigarette. Donuts would be delivered fresh each morning and customers would buy one or two donuts. Milk was sold by the quart; not by the gallon or half gallon. Many people did not have refrigeration or if they did, it was not efficient. There was no such thing as frozen foods. The first frozen food was frozen orange juice and Minute Maid sold grocers a freezer for $100.00. I borrowed the money from Uncle George Poloway. Groceries were purchased for the next meal; a customer who came in on Saturday and purchased a $15.00 order was a customer to be treasured. Meats were cut to order. When a customer wanted ground beef, out came the chuck and out came the meat grinder. A half pound of beef was cut off the piece and ground right there and then. When a customer wanted something and we did not stock, we got it and stocked it! Whatever they wanted, we got! At Christmas toys were hung from the ceiling and orders taken. We sold Christmas lights, tinsel, wrapping paper and ribbons. We took orders for Thanksgiving turkeys. They were delivered Tuesday and we stayed up all night cleaning them to be picked up by customers on Wednesday. Turkeys came with the head and feet on and the entrails inside. We sold billions of Easter eggs and jelly beans, baskets and green paper grass to put in the baskets. We sold socks, sheets and pillow cases. I suppose we were a convenience store…Plus!

We needed more room desperately but Mrs. Waters lived in the room behind the store. She is not to be confused with Mrs. Wilhelm who lived in the second floor rear room. Mrs. Waters saved newspapers. Her room was literally crammed with newspapers. During this period, Mrs. Waters died and we did not rent the room. W broke through the back wall and extended the store to the rear of the building. Additional shelving was purchased and we became a miniature supermarket. We hired a neighborhood youth to work afternoons after school. We led full lives.

Misfortune struck with the fire at 1512 McHenry Street in 1957. Fire damage was confined to the second floor front room but the whole house reeked of smoke. Mama took Risa, Marc, Phyllis and David and went to live with her parents on Park Heights Terrace. I took Larry and Arnold and went to my parents on Ingleside Avenue. Time was compressed because of the commute. By the time Amy was born in March, 1958 the renovation was not complete but we all moved back into McHenry Street. Renovations were finally completed but before the end of the year, Momma and I decided that our children needed to be raised in a Jewish environment and this could not be found at Stricker and Mchenry Streets. Momma began to look.

Hebrew School

In the mid 1930s Hebrew School did not exist as we know it now. Hebrew customs, observances and history were leaned in the home because they were practiced in ordinary everyday living. As the holidays were observed, one learned about the holidays. When we ate or prepared food, we learned what was permissible to eat and what was not. When we read the Torah, we learned Hebrew history. If the Father was so inclined, he taught the son to read Hebrew; not to understand it but only to read it. This was necessary in order to go to services and pray. My Father was not so inclined so I was sent to a Rebbe, Mr Rudnitzky, to learn to read Hebrew. He lived just south of Garrison Boulevard. I went to the Rebbe’s home and sat at the dining room table with a half dozen other nine and ten year old boys and read prayers. The Rebbe was also a Shochet, a ritual slaughter of chickens. As we read, a housewife would appear with a live chicken. The Rebbe would don a rubber apron and admonish us to continue reading. He would then disappear with the housewife and the live chicken. A screech later, he would reappear with blood and feathers covering his apron. I am reminded of a Yiddish song, sang frequently by my Father, which went, translated of course, “On the hearth burns a fire and the house is hot. And the Rebbe teaches small children, the aleph beth.”

When the time approached for Bar Mitzvah, I was sent to a Rabbi to learn the Haftorah. He lived on Classen Avenus west of the 4600 block of Park Heights Avenue. I was taught the musical notes, not taught my particular Haftorah, so that I could read any Haftorah. This was in 1937 and a momentous change occurred in my life. I discovered the Baltimore Orioles. I walked to my Haftorah lessons and passed an auto repair shop at Hayward and Park Heights Avenue. Outside sat a very old man (he must have been at least 60 years old) reading the Baltimore Sun. He introduced me to the International League Baltimore Orioles. I met George Puchinelli, Ab Wright and Abernathy patrolling the outfield. I met Les Powers and Smoky Joe Martin at the corners and the battery of Bucky Crouse and Hy Vandenberg. I learned to hate the Newark Bears, top farm team of the New York Yankees. IT WAS GLORIOUS! Baseball was already known to me. We played softball incessantly on the vacant lot on Ingleside Avenue. My Father loved baseball and every Sunday we went to see the Pimlico All Stars (Semi-pro, a hat was passed around the spectators to cover expenses) play where Northwester High School grounds are now.

I have never lost my love for the O’s.

Girls were different. There was no Bat Mitzvah, girls did not learn Hebrew. They learned to cook and prepare for and celebrate the Jewish holidays. They did not play team sports; they jumped rope, played hide and seek and tag. It was not until Word war II and the early Forties that things began to change.