in my lifetime -...
TRANSCRIPT
In My Lifetime
B E L L A W . R O S E N B A U M
How typical was Bella Weretnikow Rosenbaum (1880-1960) of the jirst-generation Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe? Probably not very: Who else could claim to have graduated in the jirst class of the University of Washington's Law School, as she did in 1901, and who else became, as she did, the jirst woman to practice law in the State of Washington? Later, too, in I ~ O J , when she married a Hungarian-born Nashvillian, the self-made lawyer-jinancier Lewis N e m a n Rosenbaum, and settled with him during the following decade at New York, she lived in far more comfortable circumstances than most immigrant Jews of her generation. Above and beyond all this, however, how many possessed the skill and sensibility to record their experiences, as Mrs. Rosenbaum did during the mid-zgjo's in a privately published memoir entitled M y Life? The excerpts from M y Life to be found in the suc- ceeding pages will, we are conjident, interest our readers and aford them some insight into the richness which immigrants from beyond the Vistula have contributed to American life. We are grateful to Mrs. Rosenbaum's children - in particular, Mrs. Sidney Lipston, of Arling- ton, Va., and Mrs. Lwi s F. Davis, of New York City -for permission to reproduce these excerpts.
Telling one's life story necessarily involves a series o f revela- tions. First o f all, you have to reveal your age. Naturally, a woman's inclination is to forget a few years, but I am afraid in this case it would not serve any purpose. Besides, come to think o f it, I can only guess a t m y age, a t best. I f m y parents had any record o f my birth in the Old Country, which I doubt very much, they certainly did not bring it with them. Nor, for that matter, did they have any record o f any kind o f their marriage. They had been married by a rabbi, o f course, as was usual, but evidently the rabbi was not in the habit o f issuing marriage certificates. Nevertheless, the fact remains that I was born. After careful
inquiry, the only date I could manage to get an inkling of, when I started school and had to give my age, was that I was born "fiftzen tog in Elel") [the fifteenth of Ellul]. As the month of "Elel" usually happens to fall in August, my official birthday at school became August 15th~ and that has remained the date of my birthday all through the years. This date enabled me to enter the September term of the school, in my sixth year. From then on, of course, the record is pretty clear. So I will say I was born August 15, 1880. M y mother [Elizabeth Weremikow] would add - "May you live to be 150 years old."
The town in Russia where I was born was called Kamenets Podolski, on the border line between Russia and Poland. M y mother, therefore, spoke both Russian and Polish fluently. I was not old enough when we left to speak a language of any kind. I am still very happy indeed that I can speak some Yiddish. There was a time when I felt a bit ashamed to admit that I could speak Yiddish. That was especially so when I studied German at college. Yiddish at that time was regarded as a jargon, a mixture of Russian, German, and other languages. I have since come to love our mama- loshen (mother tongue), and find no other language that can pos- sibly be as forceful and expressive. There are many words in the language that have such fine shades of meaning that they just will not lend themselves to translation. I regard it as the most universal of languages. No matter in what country you happen to find your- self, if you care to search, you will find a landsman [fellow Jew] who will be delighted to speak Yiddish with you and will help you, if need be, and steer you in the direction in which you want to go. It is also one of the oldest languages, and has a cultural back- ground whose equal cannot be surpassed.
My mother had no formal education. In many Jewish families where there happen to be several sons, frequently a malamud (teacher) comes to the home to teach the boys, and ofien the daughters manage to imbibe a little knowledge, enough to say a few prayers, such as prayers when lighting the Sabbath candles,
IN MY LIFETIME 5
prayers for wine or food, and perhaps a little more. Unfortunately, my mother was an orphan. She was brought up very strictly by a frugal aunt who considered any knowledge for girls entirely superfluous. Thus, my mother could neither read nor write. But her mental faculties, and especially her memory, were really amaz- ing. She knew the cost price of every article in the store that she always owned and managed, the exact quantity on hand, and just where and when the merchandise was purchased.
She gradually built up a trade with a colony of Russians and Poles who were living on the outskirts of the town of Winnipeg, and being able to speak their language, and treating them with continued fairness, she won their confidence and their business. When she went to trade with them or to purchase merchandise to replenish our stock, she left me in full charge of the business. I could not have been more than seven or eight years old when I was given full responsibility of home and business. W e had a special stool, behind the counter, where I could climb up when a customer came in, and I remember being very proud when I made a sale. I still cannot figure out how I knew the price of anything, as nothing was ever marked.
I was always puzzled over the method that my mother used in arriving at the price of an article. There ,was always the asking price, which seemed to depend on the appearance and nationality of the customer; then there would be inevitable haggling until they would eventually arrive at a satisfactory selling price. M y mother was in truth an excellent businesswoman, as happens to many Jewish women when they are the breadwinners. She soon had a growing and thriving little business of her own in Winnipeg.
The great exodus of Jews from Russia commenced in I 88 I . M y parents, carrying me in their arms, were among the first to get away. There were several other families that left with them from the same town, and by some miracle they managed to stay together until they arrived at Castle Garden, New York City. As there were no relatives or friends to claim them, they were assigned for transportation to some part of the country that needed settlement. For this purpose the younger and hardier immigrants were chosen. They were to be sent where there was plenty of room for "growth
and development," and our group was thus tagged for the remote and then tiny town of Winnipeg in the vast prairie lands of Manitoba.
A woebegone and bewildered lot of travellers, with their be- draggled belongings, left New York behind and eventually arrived in this alien community of Winnipeg in the year 188 I . Originally they had all come from Kamenets. This group included my parents and myself and the several others that had made the crossing together.
Among these others there was Tavel Finkelstein, a merchant of considerable repute in the Old Country, whom misfortune had befallen. Having lost most of his worldly possessions, he decided to migrate to America and start all over again. Then there was Mottel Weisfield, a giant in stature, and his likewise very tall mate. They came with their family. Mottel had been an over- seer of a large estate in Russia, and when his master discovered his crime of being a Jew, he and his family had to flee for their lives. Other notables among the group were Sam Ripstein, an itinerant peddler in the Old Country who, hard-pressed to pro- vide for a growing family, decided to migrate and improve his lot in America. Then there was Moishe, the malamud. He was just young and poor and eager to see the world. My father and Moishe had been bar mitzvah together as boys in the Old Country, and Moishe decided to come to America with us. He was a talented individual and combined in one small frame the qualities of cantor, teacher, and rabbi.
M y father and Moishe were ready to conduct a service at any available time or place, and thus, between them, the little clan from Kamenets was held together and knitted into a religious unit, which later became the nucleus of the first Orthodox con- gregation of Winnipeg.
In later years, Moishe's services were much expanded so that he also performed marriages, granted divorces, and gave instruction and advice. A story is told of this modern Solomon, who at one juncture of his active career was confronted by an impending divorce (a get), complicated by the existence of an indivisible child, a daughter. He advised the couple to return to the scene of their
IN MY LIFETIME 7
original wedded bliss and again to replenish the earth, so that an impartial division of offspring might be effected. It is not known whether the learned malamud interceded with his Maker; however, twins resulted. Since the original difficulty again unhappily pre- vailed, the dilemma remained, and the embattled mates were even- tually reconciled.
Land being very plentiful around Winnipeg, in a comparatively short time our Mottel Weisfield acquired quite a farm of his own. Here he raised cows, chickens, and more children. Later he built a huge brick oven, after the fashion of those prevalent in the Old Country, and this oven served many useful purposes for himself and the community.
Sunday mornings, during the summer, practically the entire Jewish population brought their picnic baskets and camped on Mottel's farm. The generous host supplied huge pitchers of fresh milk, and the hostess brought out platters of steaming cheese kreplech, drenched in butter. The thought of these kreplech makes my mouth water, and never again will I taste their equal. Previous to the beginning of the Passover season, the Jewish community gathered at Mottel's farm. Here matzos for the entire holiday season were baked in his huge brick oven. When the work was over, a celebration followed with a barn dance. The younger folks danced square dances, and their parents joined them in the Russian kazatka, a dance that is difficult to perform.
Tavel Finkelstein became the leader and patriarch of this com- munal group. At his store, those of the group who became peddlers were given their first start, and later their stocks were replenished. They went off to trade with the Indians, Poles, Lithuanians, Scotch, and English in the surrounding territory. Business was nearly always good - they had customers waiting for them. Thus they prospered and, in due time, most of the peddlers opened stores of their own. Disputes of any kind were brought to Tavel. He was the judge and the jury. His decisions were always fair, just, and final; there was no appeal. So for many years there were no law- suits in the Jewish community.
My father [Zachariah Weretnikow], a small, scholarly man with a carefully trimmed, pointed red beard, also tried his luck at ped-
dling, but unfortunately it seems he did not have any luck. At one time he traded his entire pack of merchandise for a load of frozen fish, which proves he was away ahead of his time. In those days, no one would eat frozen fish. When the fish began to thaw, it all had to be dumped into the Red river. Another time he brought back a large bundle of furs, which he thought were worth a fortune. They turned out to be rabbit skins of no commercial value.
Tavel Finkelstein allotted the next parcel of merchandise to my mother, instead of my father. She hung her wares in the front window of our "shanty," and thus she was set up in business. Like most Jewish women who become the breadwinners, she prospered. My father did help "watch the store" when he wasn't too busy at the synagogue.
During the long, cold, winter evenings, our little group was wont to gather around the kitchen table in the back of the store, where they liked to talk and talk. My mother relived her romance and told me about it. In order to acquire a husband in the Old Country, a girl had to have a dowry. My mother, being an orphan, did not have a dowry, so she had to earn a dowry of her own. This she accomplished by hard work and long hours in a hair shop, making sheitels, the wigs which all married women had to wear. Pious Jewish matrons cut off their hair immediately after marriage and put on a sheitel. This was intended to make them unattractive to all men other than their husbands; that they might become unattractive to their own husbands did not seem to matter much.
My mother was an attractive, spirited redhead, who usually got what she wanted. Her husband had to be a man of learning - no grober yung (ignoramus) for her. My father had acquitted himself in the field of Hebraic studies. He was a yeshiva bochr in high standing, and it was considered a great yichus (distinction) for a girl to acquire such a "learned man" for a husband. There had been much matchmaking going on on both sides. However, my father and mother finally met and married. After the marriage, my father continued with his studies, as was customary in the Old Country. The young couple was provided with board and lodging until the bridegroom was set up in business. (This custom was called kest.) In my parents' case, there were no in-laws to supply
IN MY LIFETIME 9
the kest, so they lived on my mother's dowry, and presently funds were running very low. My mother pondered the problem deeply, and the only solution that presented itself to her mind was "America." Everybody was talking about America. She had already heard of several families who were planning to go to America. My father would just as soon have gone to Yemzer Velt (the next world). He had studied a great deal about the beauties of the "world to come" in the Torah, but not one word did he know about America. All this did not phase my mother. She was determined to get the necessary passage money for America, by any means possible.
There was still a little bit of the dowry money left. Also, she had a hope chest left her by her mother, which consisted of a pair of fine feather beds, a pile of down pillows, a samovar, and her grand- mother's beautiful silver candlesticks. All these went with the rest of the household belongings to obtain the necessary passage money. Only one other possession remained, and that was the hardest of all to part with, my mother's beautiful, red gold hair. She prized her hair so greatly that she had even refused to cut it after marriage. I t was really beautiful and long enough to sit on. Well, it had to go, and it brought a goodly return, at the hair shop where she had worked as a girl.
Now they were all set for the great adventure! My mother went to the synagogue and literally took my father by the hand and told him we were going to America. He was still surprised, be- wildered, and mystified when at last he really found himself on a ship bound for "America." There was only one break in the long trek, a stopover at Liverpool, England. The passengers were allowed to disembark for a short time, and a guard was sent with them. None of the passengers had ever heard of Liverpool, or even England. A strange country indeed it was, all surrounded by water. Here you could buy almost anything if you had the money. Luxuries of all kind were on display: apples, oranges, onions, herring, chalah, etc. Some bought, most did not. My mother did not have any money to spend, but she passed a shop window where a pair of beautiful red shoes was displayed - shcahlach, as she called them. All the other passengers almost missed the boat because she just
could not tear herself away from those little red shecahlach. Never again did she see their equal.
Next came my father's tale concerning the service they had aboard ship. This certainly was a most unforgettable event. It seems there had been a great deal of sickness aboard ship; this was especially true among the children. And I was so sick that my mother was certain I was going to die. She exhorted my father to pray as he had never prayed before. Moishe Malamud and my father put their heads together and decided they would hold a regular "Sabbath Service" and pray for God to help them. They were prepared for a service, in that the men had brought their talis (prayer shawls) with them. Also, they had brought their precious prayer books. All they lacked to complete the service was a few more men in order to have the required ten for a minyon. My mother said to my father, "When the officers are not watching, just go up to the next deck and call up, 'Yiden, ich darf a minyon.' " He did as he was told. And to everyone's surprise, particularly my father's, several distinguished-looking men who did not have the usual Jewish characteristics came forward and followed him down to the steerage. They were surprisingly friendly and could even dauen (read the prayer books). Miracles never cease to happen, especially to our people.
Moishe Malamud, along with many other qualifications, had a nice tenor voice. He sang everything he knew, including the [Yom Kippur] "Kol Nidre." All his companions joined in singing, and they put into their voices all the pathos they felt in their hearts. Thus they expressed their homesickness, their present suffering, their fears for the future; all this and more they put into their melodies. They sang in the usual minor key, with a sort of singsong chant, that was accompanied by the swaying of their bodies. Both officers and passengers alike were lined up on deck, listening and watching this touching scene; and many a tear was stealthily wiped away. Miraculously, all the children quickly recovered, including myself. M y mother had grudgingly to admit she was proud of my father on this occasion.
When our worn, weary, bewildered band of refugees finally landed in the well-built station of the Canadian Pacific Railway in
IN MY LIFETIME I I
Winnipeg, they received a warm welcome and a helping hand from a group of German Jews, who evidently were a branch of the "Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society." These German Jews had arrived in America many years before, and most of them were now well-established merchants in their new country. A so-called "immigration-shed" was provided for a temporary shelter. This building was equipped with a large community stove, clean beds, and ample food for the newcomers. When rested and ready, each family was allotted a small home, then called a "shanty," and helped to get a start either in business or with a job. Years later, our own family took an active part in this immigration work, and thus I happen to know that it was well-organized and very helpful.
M y early years in Winnipeg come back to me with the direct- ness of yesterday. Chiefly among the impressions of my earliest childhood is my mother's complete devotion and unselfish love for me. I was her "Belleniu," a term of endearment for Bella, her only child. Her hopes, her ambitions, her dreams -all seemed to be centered in me alone.
All her own life, from earliest childhood, she had had a desper- ate struggle for the barest existence. Now all her efforts were directed towards sparing me from the same kind of struggle. She was thoroughly convinced that such could be accomplished only by affording me the advantage of the best possible education. She was determined that I should receive all the learning, all the knowl- edge, and all the advantages that she so sorely missed. I am truly gratehl that I did not fail to cooperate with her in this respect.
I really loved books, much more than toys or dolls, and soon started to acquire a library of my own. This I accomplished by saving tiny silver five-cent pieces, then common in Canada, which I hid under an oilcloth tacked on a shelf in the kitchen in back of the store. When I had accumulated a nice little pile of these five-cent pieces, I made a trip to a second-hand book shop. I was then about seven or eight years old, and chief among my collection was a copy of Gibbon's Rise [Decline] and Fall of the Roman Empire. I am still at a loss to remember whether it was the binding or the price that was the attraction, as it was not until years later that I was able to read and understand the book.
Likewise, I remember that I loved playing with other children, having none at home to play with, and also that I loved school. The grade school in Winnipeg stands out in my mind chiefly as a small school surrounded by a huge playground. In later years, this seemed to work in reverse, the size of the school rapidly increasing and the size of the grounds decreasing. Much later, when we settled in New York, I was considerably astonished at seeing a school with only a little bit of paved ground in the back for the children to play in.
School work seemed interesting and easy. Classes were small, and the teachers willing and anxious to give any assistance when necessary. School hours were long, according to our standards, from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. However, we had one and a half hours for lunch, which most of us used for play. W e brought our lunch from home and usually ate it during the morning recess, of I 5 minutes, W e also had a IS-minute recess in the afiernoon, and the school days were all too short. In fact, I remember that I enjoyed my school days much more than my vacations.
My best friend at school was a little Scottish girl who lived in our neighborhood, Maggie MacDonald. W e corresponded for many years, but I have now lost track of her. She was a real tom- boy, and I idolized her and tried to follow her example in every- thing, but never succeeded. During our summer vacation, we went picnicking at Elm Park on the outskirts of the town. W e did all the things that children usually do, but when it came to climbing the elm trees, I was very timid and never got up very high. W e did manage to tease and startle the young couples strolling by, calling down to them, and asking if they knew this was called "Lovers' Lane." Thus, taken as a whole, my memories of Winnipeg were very happy ones.
I entered high school or Collegiate Institute, as it is called in Canada, at the early age of twelve and remained there only about a year and a half, when we left for Seattle. Our chief studies seemed to be the history of the British empire and the geography of Great Britain and its possessions. I remember how greatly surprised I was when later I learned that the United States had a history of its own and that there were many other countries which did not belong to Great Britain.
IN MY LIFETIME ' 3
W e even had great fun during the terribly cold winters in Winnipeg. When I think back about the rigors of those winters, I marvel that we survived, and yet I am convinced to this day that they gave us an endurance and a vigor that have served us in good stead all through the years. At times we were so completely snowbound that it did not seem possible for anyone ever to get out. However, one person always did manage to wiggle out and then help another to do likewise; and so a chain gang of snow shovelers was formed until all were released from their homes and went their various ways about their affairs and jobs. The children were always the first to get out and go to school. They were so bundled up that only the tips of their noses and a little of their cheeks were ex- posed. These had to be constantly rubbed with snow to keep from freezing. The children shouted with glee, threw snowballs at each other, and ran all the way to school. It would be impossible to find anywhere else in the world a healthier, happier rosy-cheeked group of children.
With the passage of time my parents seemed to drift farther and farther apart. My father now rarely came home at all, and when he did, my mother and he would quarrel so bitterly that I was glad to see him leave. They would invoke the most blood- curdling curses on each other's heads, and all my tears, pleadings, and entreaties seemed to be of no avail. One of the milder curses that I remember distinctly was gey in der erd. Literally translated, this means "sink into the earth." [in common parlance, it is em- ployed to mean: "Go to hell!"] Possibly they meant "be buried there alive in the earth." Perhaps all these curses would have seemed rather picturesque if it had not affected me directly.
I have since discovered how it happened that our people learned to curse so fluently and terribly. It was the only recourse they had when they were terribly tormented by their Russian overlords. It is true, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they suffered persecution beyond human endurance. One by one, every measure of freedom was taken from them; every possible social degradation was heaped on their heads; every avenue of making a living was being closed
to them; nothing remained but curses and starvation. They were completely helpless to defend themselves or to attempt to retaliate. All they could do was to curse their tormentors and try to flee. This, of course, they did in great numbers, However (it was com- pletely beyond my understanding), when they finally did arrive in a free land, they brought with them these terrible curses, and used them unnecessarily. Perhaps it had become a habit.
M y father seemed to be interested mostly in my Hebrew educa- tion. By this time, his old friend Moishe Malamud had started in his own home a Hebrew school, a chedder, which I attended after school. I also became very much interested in learning Hebrew. Moishe also taught me to read and write Yiddish, and I learned to love the language, and kept up a correspondence with the malamud in Yiddish for many years after we left Winnipeg. He was a very lovable person, small, meek, self-effacing, with a wispy goatee and mustache. He was very unlike the traditional rabbi, who is usually portrayed as an ogre, with a long red beard, and who takes a sadistic delight in beating his pupils. Our rabbi in Winnipeg was, on the contrary, the kindest, gentlest soul it has ever been my privilege to know. He continued to teach long after our family left Manitoba.
He had brought with him from the old country a kantchick, which he kept on his table. The kantchick is like a cat-0'-nine tails, except that it has only three strips of leather. However, it could hurt plenty, especially on a bare behind where it was customarily used. Moishe told his pupils that this was the kind of punishment that was used in the Old Country to make children learn, but in this country, a free land, one did not use the kantchick to make you learn. If you wanted to be a goy, a shagitz, and a grober yung [an ignorant "barbarian"], it was a free country and you could be a goy if you wanted to. The children all loved their teacher and never reneged. They went on to bar mitzvah and confirmation. After that, it seemed to be the usual thing to forget about religion until one had children of his own.
Moishe started his chedder shortly after he arrived in Winnipeg. It was located in the kitchen of his three-room shanty. The kitchen table served as his desk, and it was piled with siddurs, machzors,
IN MY LIFETIME 1 s
and other prayer books which the teacher and children used. In- stead of writing the prayers on paper - writing paper was scarce and costly in those days - the children memorized them. Chazaring [repetition] was the approved method of learning in those days, and many a good memory in later life was due to this method of teach- ing. The modern teacher would be appalled at the idea of teaching twenty to thirty pupils, of different ages, and in different stages of learning, all together in one small room. But we worked together, seated on long, home-made benches and using long, narrow tables. The ages of the pupils ranged from five or six to bar mitzvah boys and girls. The littlest ones went out to play with the rabbi's many children when their lesson was finished, but the older children remained, especially the boys, that were later to be bar rnitzvahed; they could read the Torah, and speak their pieces in a manner that would be a credit to any rabbi and chedder. Moishe Malamud was a great and grand man, who has long since departed this earth. If anyone deserves a reward in Yemr Velt, he should get the finest place in genaden (Paradise).
The first of the refugees who had fled from Russia in 1 8 8 1 and who eventually landed in Winnipeg lived there and prospered for quite a long time. But after about ten years or so, one by one they began leaving Winnipeg. M y parents were among the last to go. I don't know whether my mother hoped that in a new land my father and she might be able to lead a better life together or whether it was the alluring tales travellers had brought back about the Pacific Coast. First and foremost, they told of the mildness of the climate, which was a great boon. The stern, harsh winters in Winnipeg became harder and harder to endure as our settlers became older and not as hardy as they used to be. And so, one by one, they succumbed to the lure of the golden west. The old timers sorrowfully sold their belongings and moved to a land where they hoped life would be a little kinder to their later years. Once again they migrated, and became pioneers of the Pacific Northwest.
Sam Ripstein sold his prosperous clothing business and started
anew in the thriving little town of Vancouver, British Columbia. In due time, Tavel Finkelstein became one of the leading merchants in the beautiful city of Victoria, the capital of British Columbia. I visited them many times and brought back English coats for my girls, and other articles. Mottel Weisfield sold his farm, brick oven and all, and went into the dairy business in Seattle. His sons started a jewelry business which is still one of the most prosperous in the Pacific Northwest.
When my parents arrived in Seattle, they were met by their old friends from Winnipeg who helped them locate a home and busi- ness. W e landed in Seattle in the fall of 1893, just after the great fire, and preceding the now famous Gold Rush.
When we left Winnipeg I was about 13 years old and looked forward to the trip across the country with all the excitement and anticipation that only a youngster can feel. T o me, the highlight of the trip was the various types of Indians we encountered at our many stops at the various stations. For many years I have been telling my grandchildren - of whom I have eight (God bless them!) -about Indians. They do not seem to be as deeply im- pressed as I thought they would be. It seems that they had studied about Indians at school, and knew the names of the various tribes and their locations better than I did. However, they had never seen a real live Indian, or traded with one, as I had. Also, they were quite surprised that I even knew a few words of their language, halo cum tax, which means "I don't understand," and some other phrases, and had a collection of articles made by the Indian[s] in the Seattle area.
My favorite type of Indian was the type we left behind in Winnipeg. Those Indians were very different from the ones we met at the various station stops, as we proceeded westward farther and farther. The Midwest Indians were engaged chiefly in trapping and hunting fur-bearing animals, which required a great deal of endurance and skill. They also knew the rudiments of planting wheat and corn, with which to make bread; but this kind of work was left primarily to their women folk.
The Indians of middle western Canada were characterized by their abundant straight black hair and copper-colored skins or
Reproduced Jr'om 41g Life, t y Neila CI'. Ko.wnbnlr117
Bclla C\'. Roscnbautn
"red skins," as they were called. Their noses were aquiline, in complete contradistinction to the flat noses of the Indians of the Pacific coast. The "Red Skins" were straight and tall, with power- ful, agile frames. They were quick and light on their feet, and had an endurance almost beyond belief.
Wrapped in their famous rabbit skin blankets, they often slept outdoors on the coldest nights and survived. These rabbit skin blankets were quite unique; they were skillfully woven of long strips of skins carefully sewed together. When finished, they were featherweight and unbelievably warm.
W e found these Indians very friendly and generous, when they were well treated. But they could be very vengeful and vindictive when ill-treated or imposed upon. They also fashioned the finest of fur-lined moccasins, which were likewise exceedingly light and warm. However, they did not care to sell these articles, and one had to be very much in their favor to trade merchandise for one of their blankets or a pair of moccasins. W e owned one of the blankets, which we treasured for many years. Fur traders travelled a long distance to outlying trading posts where the Indians came to sell their furs and skins. Close on their heels came the peddlers and dealers to sell the Indians their wares. It proved a lucrative venture for all concerned. W e have very fond memories of our Canadian friends, the "Red Skin" Indians.
The Chinook Tribe, or the Indians who inhabited the shores of Puget Sound and who frequented Seattle, were in every way a contrast to those who were left behind in midwestern Canada. In fact, the Indians seemed to deteriorate physically as we travelled farther west. The Puget Sound Indians, likewise, had black hair, but it was lusterless. In stature, they were short and squat, and their noses flat and wide. These Indians subsisted mainly on fish, which abounded plentifully on the shores of Puget Sound, and which, of course, gave them their "fishy" smell, and none-too- healthy appearance. For many years, after we came to Seattle, they continued the practice of squatting on the street corners, especially near the water front, displaying the wares they had for sale. Tourists and travellers always seemed interested in seeing a real live Indian, and usually bought a basket or trinket.
The Western Indians lacked the skill in handicraft that the Indians of the Middle West had attained. However, they turned out fairly attractive articles, particularly baskets and bottles or jars, which they covered with skillfully woven colored straw. They were peaceful and harmless, but had learned some bad lessons from their white neighbors - the use of "bad" language and "fire water" (hard liquor). Thus, at times they became difficult to handle. As a race, they are fast disappearing, and travellers no longer find them on the street corners of Seattle.
At the time of our arrival in Seattle in 1893, there was still no organized (Orthodox) religious service. A handful of Orthodox Jews whom we joined held their meetings and services in what was called "Red Man's Hall." Here the High Holidays and other festivals were celebrated. This little group formed the nucleus of what later became the first Orthodox congregation, "Bikur Cholom."
The very first rabbi in Seattle, who became the head of this Orthodox group, was Rabbi H. Genss, who affectionately became known as "Genss Goniff7 [Robber Genss]. He never slipped up on an opportunity to better himself financially, and in common with the rest of the community he was busy sharing in the prosperity that eventually came to Seattle. Rabbi Genss opened the first so- called kosher butcher shop in Seattle. It was located in one corner of the goishe (non-Jewish) butcher shop. When my mother saw Rabbi Genss use the meat cleaver just after the non-Jewish butcher had used it, she stopped buying kosher meat. For a time she went through the ritual of salting the non-kosher meat, but soon gave that up. Kosher had somehow lost its terrific significance. The same Jews who, when they were aboard the boat coming from Russia, preferred starvation rather than eat food not strictly kosher, still preferred kosher food, but would not starve if the food was just a little bit not so kosher.
My father took an active part in this Orthodox group, and he and my mother helped start the first synagogue. They imported the
IN MY LIFETIME 2 1
first Sefer Torah [pentateuchal scroll] from New York. While [they were] awaiting its arrival, an ark was built by skillful and loving hands to house the precious scroll when it arrived.
Seattle, similar to Rome, is built on seven hills. However, when we first came, all of the hills were still in their pristine beauty, unmarred by the hand of man. On the slope of the first hill stood Seattle's first mansion, built by Henry Yesler. It was he who originated the first Skid Road, which was later to become quite famous. Originally this long stretch of road was actually built of logs; the logs were laid crosswise, one by one, and over this road travelled ox-drawn teams, and huge truck horses pulling heavy loads of logs, right from the depths of the virgin forest clear down to the waterfront of Seattle. Here they were packed for shipping, on freight cars or boats, and were sent to such far away places as Australia, China, the British Isles, as well as across our own country.
I t was along this Skid Road, and the waterfront, that the town of Seattle actually came into being, and along with it came the ever popular saloon, lodging house, and dance hall. And right along with them came our shopkeepers, seeking the trade of the loggers, sailors, and other workers. All kinds of drinking houses, in those days, were called saloons. Overhead were the lodging houses, and adjoining were the dance halls and other so-called "joints" which were wide open, despite the continuous condemnation of the more moral element of the city. Churchgoers were all making futile efforts to redeem the lost souls that were skidding down to perdi- tion on this road.
The locality was made even more picturesque by the singing of the Salvation Army on its streets, and the preaching in the Mission Halls, that were located in stores in the middle of sinful Skid Road, both of whom were making an honest-to-goodness effort to redeem the bodies and souls of the sinners.
Skid Road served as the birthplace of Seattle. I t became the business center, from which in due time the city spread to Pioneer Place, and farther uptown. Skid Road had indeed become the "hotbed of crime and vice." Its so-called "dens of iniquity" flour- ished openly. And, in order to convince themselves how really bad Skid Road was, some of Seattle's most prominent citizens could
frequently be found patronizing its bars. The saloons which had the longest bars and served the most free food were the most popular and best patronized.
Thundering orators in the finest pulpits on the hills ranted and raved against Skid Road, insisting it be closed. But they offered no substitute for its popular saloons and dance halls. Politicians and the city fathers knew that such places had to exist in frontier and waterfront towns, and did their best to keep such order as they could. They knew that there had to be places where the ever- increasing horde of transients, miners, sailors, and strangers would find a welcome, where they could congregate and talk. They did not all get drunk, and those that did were promptly eliminated by the so-called "bouncer." This procedure was followed even in the exclusive club known as Sutherland's Bar, where the politicians and the high class gentry were wont to gather and ofien drank a little too much for their own good.
A woman in business on the waterfront was rather unusual in those days, but many a sailor and logger learned to trust my mother and give her all the respect and deference they would have given their own mothers. I have seen these big, strong men, when sober, become very shy and bashful, especially in the presence of a decent woman. They seemed to have an innate decency and dignity that I have ofien found lacking in men of education and polish. M y mother became their confidante and their banker; besides buying their outfits at our store, they would leave certain amounts of cash in her care to tide them over when they went broke, until they could get new jobs. I happen to know all this because I was the bookkeeper who kept charge and record of these accounts; and the men were most gratehl to her.
These shopkeepers and merchants of Skid Road in Seattle received little, if any, recognition, yet they made a decided im- pression on the growth and development of the city. The business- men of Skid Road operated their stores right alongside of the saloons, pool halls, lodging houses, etc. These shopkeepers were all good Jews, had all served their apprenticeship in the East or Mid- west and once again became pioneers in this far western land. As Jews, they had brought with them their heritage of the Torah, with
IN MY LIFETIME 2 3
its highest and oldest code of ethics and morals, and thus their near- ness to all this vice and depravity seemed to make no more im- pression on them, or their way of life, than water on a duck's back. Later, with the advent of prosperity, brought on by the Klondike gold rush, most of these small merchants left Skid Road and branched out on First and Second Avenues, with fine new stores and all new merchandise. Also, they built new and better homes up on the hills, synagogues, and Hebrew schools. They sent their children to high schools and to the university, and thus raised the next generation to be lawyers, doctors, dentists, and leading merchants of the thriving city of Seattle.
With the advent of the gold rush, the waterfront merchants became "Alaska Outfitters." Along with the others, we had a big sign made that was placed on the top of our store. It boldly an- nounced that we were "Alaska Outfitters." In our shop window we displayed a pair of apothecary's scales, which, I remember, I had a hard time digging up. Next to the pair of scales was a little pile of gold nuggets on a small plate. Beside the nuggets was a sign announcing to the world - "We Pay Cash for Gold Nuggets." W e were not the only ones who had the scales and the nuggets displayed. Almost every other store followed our example.
The country was flooded with gold nuggets, which seemed to take the place of currency for the time being. I remember our little black satchel, something like the doctors now carry, in which we carried our gold nuggets every few days to the top of Yesler Hill, where we cashed them at the United States Assay Office. The cable car that went up Yesler Way has now become an antique in the Smithsonian Institute.
Among those who rushed to Alaska in search of gold were quite a few of our own Jewish people; but most of them went for other reasons than to hunt for the gold nuggets. Some went to engage in commerce or in their chosen professions. W e knew a family of merchants, named Krakauer, who settled in Nome, Alaska, and became very prosperous. Another was Robert Goldstein, who
started a business in Juneau. He became politically prominent, and his son, Isidore, was elected mayor six times in succession. Also there was Dr. Rex M. Schwartz, whose medical services were badly needed in that far northern country.
Simon Hellenthal, who originally came from California, became quite famous as a District Court judge, dispensing justice from a Coast Guard cutter, often travelling as much as thirty-five hundred miles during each session of the Court.
The Jews in Alaska were few and scattered,, and did not have a place of worship of any kind. But we in Seattle greeted them upon their arrival every year, during the High Holidays, when they came down from Alaska regularly to attend services. They also contributed very generously to all the various Jewish charities existing at that time.
Gold nuggets blossomed not only in the shop windows of the "Alaska Outfitters," but became the prevailing fashion in jewelry. Men wore huge watch chains across their middle made of heavy gold nuggets. They also wore them as stickpins in their ties, and in rings on their fingers. The women, not to be outdone, also had nuggets made into necklaces, pins, earrings, and bracelets.
Seattle grew by leaps and bounds. In a few years the population of 35,000 reached ~oo,ooo and continued to increase until Seattle surpassed every city in the Pacific Northwest. Tacoma, its keenest rival for so many years, was left far behind. As you approached by land or sea, you were greeted by a huge electric sign bearing the legend "Watch Tacoma Grow." Being left behind in population was a great blow to the inhabitants of Tacoma.
The population of Seattle even surpassed that of Portland, Oregon, which had never seemed even a remote possibility. Port- land was always a large and rather staid and conservative city. Now Seattle boosters certainly had something to boast about. Newspapers were sent by the thousands all over the country, telling of the fabulous wealth of the Klondike, and that Seattle was the gateway to the gold fields. And so, "by rail and by sail," all who possibly could came to Seattle. Many who could not get to the gold fields stayed on. They could not help but be impressed by Seattle. There were opportunities and jobs in many other fields
IN MY LIFETIME 2.5
waiting for them, and in due time many became prominent and successful citizens of our beautiful city.
I am frank to admit that I had an overpowering curiosity to see the great big metropolis for myself. Travellers returning from New York to Seattle brought back conflicting and very different reports of what they called "the sights" in New York. One traveller, who was chiefly interested in what he called the "Gay White Way," told us about the long stretch of Broadway, where the night sky was lit up with such brilliance that the night was turned into day. In this section, "shows" not only lined both sides of the street, but even overflowed into the side streets. My sister, who was in- terested only in seeing as many Broadway plays as possible, on returning from New York told us she went to the theatre twice a day during her week's stay, and had seen all the best plays.
Another friend of mine, who was greatly interested in cultural matters, upon his return told us he had visited, among other places, Columbia College, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Metro- politan Opera House, the Fifth Avenue Library, etc., and was convinced that in the arts and sciences New York was the most cultural and progressive city in the world.
Our rabbi, who had visited the slums on the East Side, told us about the ghetto, a part of the city located near the East River below 14th Street. It was teeming with people, crowded, poverty- stricken, and so foreign that, if it were not for the names on the streets and the structure of the buildings, he would not have be- lieved he was in America.
In Seattle we had shed, one by one, most of our Orthodox rituals and inhibitions, but nevertheless we had remained Jews. Pending the opening of a kosher butcher shop in Seattle, the younger folks had eaten meat that was not kosher, and found that they did not drop dead, as they had been led to expect. Also, eating bread on the Passover, by mistake or intentionally, did not produce any disastrous results. Kosher lost its terror for us, and it became more and more difficult to understand how our forefathers who had
suffered so much were willing to suffer starvation rather than eat food that was not strictly kosher. And thus it came about that the terrible inhibitions which we carried with us for so long were dropped one by one, but nevertheless we remained Jews.
All the essential ceremonials of the Reform type of Jew were observed. Baby boys were circumcised, children sent to Hebrew school and Sunday school, boys were bar mitzvahed, and girls were confirmed in the Jewish faith. Marriages were performed by rabbis. And when in sickness, grief, or death, we called on our God, the God of Israel, to help sustain and comfort us.
In Winnipeg our immigrants had remained a Jewish community, living close together, much as it had been in the Russian "pale," and here again, in Brooklyn, we found ourselves in the heart of a community in many respects just as Jewish as that of my parents in Winnipeg.
It was a comparatively short distance eastward from the tree- lined boulevard of Eastern Parkway to the pushcart-filled streets of Belmont and Pitkin Avenues in Brownsville. M y upstairs neighbor and I traveled this distance frequently, but to her the crowds in Brownsville did not have any significance. All that she seemed to be interested in were the various types of food that she could not obtain as easily in her own neighborhood, and, of course, the prices, which were considerably less than those on Eastern Parkway. Color, atmosphere, foreign languages, were to her words that were meaningless. In fact, to her they seemed very funny. It was not the least bit queer to her, as it was to me, to find an area that was entirely and completely Jewish; it was so different from anything I had ever seen anywhere else, and particularly in Seattle.
The nearest we came to having anything like pushcarts in Seattle were the stalls in the Municipal Market. Here came the average Seattle housewife with her knit shopping bag. It was quiet, clean, and orderly, in direct contrast to the pushcart-lined streets of Pitkin Avenue.
The air surrounding many of these Brooklyn pushcarts was
IN MY LIFETIME 27
redolent with all kinds of spicy and tantalizing odors. Pickles and herring seemed to predominate. Then again, you passed a stand with freshly-ground beet roots mixed with freshly-ground horse radish, and it made your mouth water. It made you hungry for the pastrami sandwiches in the adjoining delicatessen store, where you could get your choice of lox, salami, freshly baked sourish pum- pernickel, and snzaltz herring, both marinated and creamed with onions. Here was enough to satisfy the most voracious appetite. Not so far away these good odors were mingled with the smells of spoiled or rotting fruits and vegetables. They were overpowering. Around these pushcarts women swarmed, buying spoiling fruits and vegetables. Of course, the bad part could be cut away and the rest could be very well used. That there could be such haggling over pennies did not seem at all possible, and yet pennies were important. Not only did these people haggle over food, but over all sorts of other merchandise.
I remember stopping at one pushcart to listen to a very old man who was buying a pair of shoelaces. The price of the shoe- laces was 3 cents, and he was determined to pay only 2 cents. He protested that he was being robbed - he had never paid more than 2 cents before for a pair of shoelaces. I could not help wondering why an old man like this, with a beautiful, flowing beard and a yarnzulka on his head, who looked as if he had stepped out of a synagogue, should be wandering alone anyway. Didn't he have any home - any family? I was on the point of asking this question, but decided he would probably resent my interference.
What a place it was! The streets were crowded from early morning till late at night. Lanterns flared over the pushcarts at night, and business went on as usual. Men, women, and children milled around on the streets, on the sidewalks, around the push- carts, buying, selling, quarreling. Others were just talking and laughing, and some were even singing.
In Seattle, I had practically forgotten the mamaloshen of my early days in Winnipeg, and here in "Brunsville," as it is locally called, it clearly came back to me. However, I soon recognized that it was a different Yiddish from that of my folks, who came from the southern part of Russia. These people all seemed to have
come from northern Russia. They were what we called "Litvaks," whom we in Winnipeg had looked down on socially. T o me, it seemed as if entire towns and villages from Lithuania had been picked up bodily and transplanted to "Brunsville," or rather crowded into this small area.
I noticed that they even cursed differently. When you failed to buy their wares, after being begged or cajoled, you were threatened by the pushcart merchants with bloodcurdling curses, which were even more prolific and picturesque than those used by the Russian Polish Jews.
At the time we settled on Eastern Parkway, in 1914, the de- pression was at its worst, and there is no question that these Jews were really very poor. But to have the whole community crying out its poverty was rather staggering. The merchants insisted that you buy something, because they were urime Yuden [poor Jews], and that you had to buy something, if only a few pennies worth of nuts or a bagel. And if you did not, you could just geh i n der erd. The poverty, at least to me, seemed real beyond a doubt. It was unbelievably crowded and it was hard to believe that all this existed just a few blocks from Eastern Parkway, where there was much ostentatious display of beribboned baby carriages, silk dresses, diamond rings, and even fur coats.
When I first discovered Brownsville, I was certain that nowhere else in the world could there be such crowded conditions, such a dire mass of poverty, not even in Europe - and certainly not here in America. When I remarked about the crowded conditions, some- how I did not arouse much interest or indignation. I was told I had not seen anything yet. I should go and see the Yiddish ghetto on the East Side of New York below Fourteenth Street. This section was truly a revelation. I found conditions there beyond belief. Never, in any city in the world, could there be so many dark, windowless rooms - so many persons crowded into so little space - so many families deprived of light and air - as in this ghetto section of New York. Desperately poor families lived in areas that could be
IN MY LIFETIME 2 9
reached only through dark and narrow alleys, all of which were unfit for human habitation. Could these terrible slums be part and parcel of New York, the nation's wealthiest and largest city?
What a rude awakening for the Jews who fled from the oppres- sion of their native land, with golden dreams in their hearts of this promised land, to find the lot they were condemned to live in - in this ghetto! And the sweatshops they were condemned to work in! These sweatshops persisted well into the 20th century, and were still pretty much in evidence when we came here in 19 14. However, they were on the wane, as many of the inhabitants of the ghetto were on their way out of it, but they were replaced as rapidly as they left by newcomers.
The system of sweatshops was eventually overthrown by power- ful labor unions, strong enough to impose decent standards of living in the needle industry. In their efforts they were helped by outsiders, crusaders, as they came to be known.
The new arrivals had to be squeezed into these already over- crowded areas of the ghetto section. They were brought home to the huge tenements that lined both sides of the street, like a con- tinuous brick wall, pierced only by apertures for windows. At each of these windows, at almost any time of the day or night, sat men or women hunched over sewing machines, sewing continuously. Others, in the kitchens, were doing backbreaking work, using heavy irons for hours at a time, pressing garments in the hot, small, steam-filled rooms.
The newcomers realized that they had to "make a living," which expression came to summarize the situation, or else starve. Most of them were not only anxious, but willing, to make any necessary adjustment to learn any new trade that was available, and while conditions were bad, they were sustained by a glimmer of hope for better days to come.
Perhaps the most pathetic sight that anyone ever witnessed on the East Side was the sight of a venerable, scholarly, bearded patriarch, wearing the traditional yarmulka and long-skirted kaftan, anxious to help, struggling along the street with a load of un- finished garments that he was carrying home from the factory for all the family to work on and finish.
Among the various shoppers surrounding the pushcart peddlers, you would sometimes see a fine-looking, elderly grandmother, be- shawled and wearing the traditional sheitel, haggling over pennies with a pushcart owner. A couple of pennies were very important, and might mean the difference between having enough to feed her family or letting them go hungry. The Jewish women of the era were recognized for their ability to feed their families appetizing meals on a minimum outlay. A woman at that time was fortunate, indeed, if she had enough pennies to buy bread and soup meat. With the meat she often cooked a marvelous soup. She then browned it and served it with homemade farfel. And if you have ever eaten these dishes, you cannot help but have a nostalgic memory of their genuine goodness. Various dishes made of dough were much in favor in these days, being economical, filling, and tasty. My own mother was an expert in the making of kreplach and veraniches, which she taught me to make, and there is nothing to compare with them in any kind of cookery. Kreplach are little squares of dough, filled with cottage cheese, boiled, strained, and then drenched with butter. Sometimes these little squares of dough are filled with chopped meat, and boiled in soup, and then they are something to rave about.
Veraniches, I think, were originally a Russian dish. They are little pockets of dough, filled with potatoes that have been thor- oughly mashed with grubms (small crisp pieces left from rendered poultry fat), a real delicacy!
My mother taught me how to make both these dishes, and I became quite an expert. I often had them for special occasions, and now, after 40 years, my sons tell me they have never eaten any- thing to equal these kreplach and veraniches, although they have travelled in many countries all over the world.
My friend and neighbor on Eastern Parkway had been born and raised on Orchard Street on the East Side - which bore not the least resemblance whatsoever to an orchard-and went quite frequently to visit her parents, who still lived in the same location. Their apartment was a few flights up, in one of the better-class tenements. It was a small, but spotlessly clean apartment. Most of the living centered around the kitchen, and the kitchen table
IN MY LIFETIME 3'
was covered with a nice, white tablecloth. The father, who had been a rabbi in his native country, was a venerable, gray-haired patriarch, and after greeting us cordially he would become ab- sorbed in his siddur [prayer book] and did not take any part in the conversation. The mother, on the contrary, was very happy to greet us, served us with glasses of fragrant tea and large squares of sugar to be bitten off and held in the mouth to sweeten it. Also, there was jelly to be added to the tea. There were freshly baked kichlach, egg-puff pastry, not too sweet or too filling. She kept urging us to eat more, and when we told her that we had already had three, she said, "Who is counting?" But she was sure that we had had only one, and wouldn't we at least have just one more?
W e always had a delightful visit, and although the mother urged us to stay on, her daughter had promised to take me shop- ping, and so we went on our way. W e planned to remain down- town for dinner, eating a t a restaurant on Orchard Street near the Bowery, not far from where my friend's folks lived. T t was a nice-looking restaurant, serving only Yiddish food, and a complete treat for me. Our family had drifted away from Yiddish food. Our meals were strictly American, their menu depending, of course, on whether our cook was Irish or colored. But when my mother was visiting us, we had real Jewish dinners. In those days, the men preferred a nice, fat "Yiddish mama" to a beanpole; there was no problem of dieting.
Their daughter could not persuade the old folks to move, al- though their children had all married and had moved to various places, including Harlem, the Bronx, and Brooklyn. But they would not think of moving. Here they had their friends, their synagogue, and when they wanted to buy anything, all they had to do was 6 < go downstairs," not walk for blocks as the daughter did just to buy a loaf of bread. Besides, Brooklyn was really like living in the country, and while it was all right in the summer, it was really much too cold in the winter.
For quite a while I had been planning to buy a tablecloth for special occasions. My friend knew just the place to go for linens. However, she told me T would have to speak Yiddish, and I would have to hundel, bargain, at the linen shop. W e were shown an
exquisite cloth, just what I wanted. The price was $~oo.oo. My friend whispered for me to offer $25.00, which I did, and, much to my surprise, my offer was promptly accepted. It was a really good tablecloth, too, as I still have it after 40 years.
Among the nondescript luggage of the Jewish emigrant from Eastern Europe could always be found one or more pieces of literature, usually well-thumbed sacred books printed in Hebrew letters. These books represented their way of life, their heritage of an ancient faith. Another of the important items that the immigrant brought with him was the Yiddish language. With these two im- portant possessions, our immigrant Jews had a basis not only for a culture of their own, but one that would spread and influence the entire world about them.
The Yiddish jargon, as it was called by those whose leanings were towards the elegance of the German language, became en- dowed with an expressiveness capable of portraying the many moods of the many people who spoke it. It became endowed with shades of meaning so distinct as to be unable to lend themselves to translation.
In the early part of this century a remarkable cultural surge welled up in the Yiddish language. Many new newspapers, periodi- cals, fine literature, and theatres appeared. The press encouraged a flowering of Yiddish literature. Even the readers of the daily news- paper had a keen appetite for poetry, and for short stories of high artistic quality.
These readers were as a rule well acquainted with the stories of the masters. They knew and loved the tales of Mendele, [Isaac Loeb] Peretz, Sholem Aleichem [Solomon Rabinowitz], and others; and while none measured up td these authors, there were many commanding figures among the Yiddish writers of that period. And out of the literary scene in the ghetto emerged Jewish writers using the English language. In 191 7, Abraham Cahan, editor of the Socialist daily paper in Yiddish, wrote The Rise of David Levinsky,
IN MY LIFETIME 3 3
a story of progress from the extreme hardship of the worker to great material success, as represented by the rich manufacturer.
In my lifetime, I have bridged the transition from candlelight, lamplight to incandescent light; from wagons and sleds drawn by horses to automobiles of very great horsepower and unbelievable speed. From stock companies, burlesque, and vaudeville to radio and television. From gunpowder to dynamite to the terribly de- structive power of the atom bomb. From poetry, which we loved to memorize and quote on every possible occasion, to murder mysteries which we read just for the thrill.
In my lifetime, I was taken from a tiny village in Russia to the vast prairie lands of Manitoba, where we were pioneers in every sense of the word. From Brooklyn and Brownsville to the teeming metropolis of New York. And, afier many years, in a measure retired to the comparative peace and quiet of Rye in Westchester, New York.
Award of Merit
T h e editors of the American Jewish Archives take great pleasure i n sharing wi th their readers the following letter rec~ived from Alexander J. Wall, Chairman of the American Association for State and Local History Committee on Awards, dated October 5, 2966:
It is my great privilege to tell you that your organization has been selected for an Award of Merit from the American Association for State and Local History. The award will be announced October 7th at the Association's annual meeting in Atlanta, Georgia. The chairman of this awards program for your area will be in touch with you later about the award and presentation details. The citation reads:
For its distinguished program of collection and preservation of historical data relating to the American Jews carried out over the past twenty years.
Congratulations for the exceptional work you are doing in your field.