So you’re telling me there were Yidden in East Baltimore?” my neighbor asked me. I assured him that there was a large Jewish population in East Baltimore (alias Downtown) and that life there had its own unique flavor. “Nu,” said he, “I’ll take a trip and see for myself.”
And what was so special about East Baltimore? A good question, and perhaps after reading this geshichteh (story), you’ll also want to tour East Baltimore and see for yourself.
The Bais Hamedresh Hagadol, located on Baltimore and Chester Streets, was a prominent shul. The building, including the cornerstone, still exists. Members varied from the religious middle-of-the-roaders to the more observant, as well as some Yiddelach who visited the shul only on the Yamim Nora’im (High Holidays), Shalosh Regalim, and for yahrzeits.
Our family arrived at the goldeneh medina (the U.S.A.) in 1939, and within a year migrated to Baltimore, also called the Yerushalayim of America. We moved into a row house located on Fairmount Avenue. Nu, you may ask, what is a row house? The answer is that all the houses were connected like a row of pancakes, and since the entire block was populated by Yidden, the rule applied that kol Yisrael areivim zeh lazeh (all Jews are connected) was applicable.
Each house had the famous Baltimore landmark, white marble steps, and some of the ladies constantly washed and scrubbed the steps to prove that they were outstanding Baltimore citizens. Remember that Baltimore was known as the city with the white marble steps – ayn klainikeit! However, during a snowstorm the steps became extremely slippery, and some people broke an arm, a leg, and sometimes their head! So what did some practical-minded residents do? They constructed a wooden frame that fit over the steps. If their Baltimore patriotism was questioned – zol zein azoy (so be it). Better than a tsubrocheneh kopp, a broken head!
The 2000 block of Fairmount Avenue had some interesting residents, including a tailor, a shopkeeper, a mechanic, and with our arrival, a chazan and mohel.
So, let’s meet some of the neighbors. There was a grocer nearby who, with pencil in hand, could total purchased items on the paper bag faster than you can say Rumplestilskin – and his math was flawless! His store was about the size of an average dining room, with merchandise stacked to the ceiling. Vegetables and fruits were placed on a large outdoor table and in baskets. If you phoned in your order, he would deliver the groceries to your house while his good wife watched the store.
Next door, there was a quiet, semi-retired, Yiddish-speaking couple. They were excellent neighbors, and for some reason when remembering them I’m reminded of their black and white dog, Snukums, who only responded to commands in Yiddish! If you wanted him to sit, you yelled, “Zits!” and he sat. But if you gave a geshray (yell), “Sit!” he would look at you like ah hune by “Bnai Odom,” a chicken during the kaporess ceremony. If you told him, “Stand,” he would again give you a blank stare, but if you yelled, “Shtay oif!” he jumped up like bread from a toaster! If you called him a hoont (dog), he got insulted and walked away (maybe because he projected himself on a higher level). Some people wondered why he was named Snukems. Why not Achasverus, Haman, Bysir, or Shikelgruber? But Snukums? Freg nisht kain kashes (don’t ask questions), because his owners would not tell the origin of this special name. Nu, to end this huntisher meiseh (dog story), Snukums thrived on kosher food, enjoying geribeness (fried chicken skin) and a bit of cholent on Shabbat, and he always appeared to be in a happy dog state of mind. How do you identify a happy dog? He had a smile on his face!
Getting back to the neighborhood, anyone that lived in the area will recall the singing shryer, a future opera star. She ascended and descended the musical scale, singing “doe reh, mi, fa so, la, ti, doe” higher and higher until your ears began ringing! The practice lasted for hours, and when the neighbors concluded that they couldn’t take it any more, they shouted “shoin genug” (enough already), which only encouraged our star since she believed that Shayn Genug was a great opera star! Finally, in desperation, they stuffed their ears with cotton, left the house, or just kept listening and singing “doe, reh, mi” with the opera star.
There was a chasidic family that moved in on the third floor on Fairmount Avenue. The head of the house wanted to become a chazan, I think, so he repeatedly played and sang along with a cantorial record beginning with the word “emess.” Nu, it sounded like someone suffering from some unknown krankheit (illness). Suddenly you heard the strong voice of another singer – his wife! She began with the word “emess” and sang the tune like a pro! Nu, he wasn’t capable and she wasn’t eligible – Yiddisher mazel. Listening to the chazanteh and the opera star at the same time was kind of like hearing outer space sounds.
Besides being a superb mohel, my father was an outstanding chazan. When he discovered that the Bais Hamedresh Hagodol was seeking a cantor, he applied for the position. He then had a probeh, a test, to determine whether he met their cantorial standards. The song “Ah Chazan Oif Ah Shabbes” (a cantor for Shabbat) describes how every Yid is an expert in choosing a chazan – or a rabbi, for that matter. My father led the tefila on Shabbat and passed the probeh with “flying colors,” becoming their chazan, a position he held for many years.
My father’s previous cantorial position, with a contract for life, was in Milan, Italy’s Tempio Israelitico. That’s a story in itself, and I’ll briefly tell you about it since it’s connected to this geshichteh. The leader of Italy was a vilder chaya (wild animal) named Benito Mussolini, yimach shemo, who ruled with an iron fist. One stormy day, he joined the other yimach shemonik in Germany and began his antisemitic decrees by registering every Jew. Next he ordered all Jews not born in Italy to leave the country.
Although quite distressing at the time, since my parents were not born in Italy, it turned out to be a real blessing. So what to do? They applied for visas to Eretz Yisrael, and the British said “No!” They applied to other countries, and the consistent answer was no. With Hashem’s help, and with the assistance of our uncle Mordechai Lichtenstein, who obtained our visas, we migrated to the U.S. in 1939, and while we were sailing on the ocean, World War II began.
The shul in Milan had great decorum. There was no talking during prayers. The people had a high degree of respect for the shul, which was considered a mikdash me’at, a miniature Bais Hamikdash. My father expected the same decorum in Baltimore, and, as the expression goes, he was in for a big surprise! In the middle of prayers, some kvetchers began kvetching, and some shmoozers shmoozed. So, whenever talking began, my father stopped davening. Nu, the congregants finally realized that if they wanted to get home before their cholent turned into crispy morsels of blackened meat, they needed to stop shmoozing. Gradually, the situation improved (although the oy vey type of kvetching never stops).
There was another major obstacle to decorum: snuff. Nu, you may ask, “Voss hakst du ah chy nik, what are you talking about?” Nu, hair zich tsue (listen).
Snuff, alias shmeck tabak, consists of finely ground tobacco. Believe it or not, it is stuffed into one or both nostrils and the sniffer gives a shmeck (nose inhale). He then achieves the shmeckers goal – a loud sneeze! What does this accomplish? You figure it out.
The tabak came in a round container, which was placed on either side of the prayer stand. So imagine someone leading prayers while tabak shmekers do their thing! (Nowadays, nose blowing and ringing cell phones are similar obstacles.) You could identify some people by their sneezing patterns: hapchik! hatchoo! ahpchick! etc. This may have been entertaining to some folks, but to my father it was appalling! He met with the shul’s board of directors and informed them that either the tabak goes or he goes.
Requesting addicted tabak shmeckers to quit was like telling alcoholics to drink spring water, so other options were presented. The board discussed various ideas for three days and three nights and finally arrived at a solution. They found a new makom kevu’a (reserved place) for the tabak, and at an important shul meeting it was announced that from now on, all tabak shmeckers must go downstairs to the social hall, where they could shmeck tabak to their nostrils’ content!
The Bais Hamedresh Hagodol had an outstanding Rav by the name of Rabbi Lieb, who unfortunately passed away. Several weeks later, a search committee was organized. So what does such a committee do? They searched – not for chometz, not for kneidlach, but for a rabbi. Various rabbis had probehs (trials, in every sense of the word). One candidate had a voice that didn’t project, another had a shlumpy suit, a third was not friendly enough, and another was too friendly, etc. Some shul members commented on each candidate, “Ess failt ah bissel feffer, ess fehlt ah bissel zaltz.” Pepper and salt were lacking; it was an old Yiddish tune.
Finally, a young Rav was selected. His name was Rabbi Samuel Vitsick, and he met the committee’s qualifications. So the Bais Hamedresh Hagodol finally fulfilled its goal: a shul with a learned rabbi and a great chazan! Rabbi Vitsick had a European background, and he was very knowledgeable of both the Jewish and the secular world. When the Rabbi spoke, he had a captive audience – but you know Yiddishe mazel… And what does that mean? Continue and you’ll understand.
There was one shul-goer who fell asleep like clockwork when the Rabbi began speaking. “Nu, so what?” you may say. Speeches can induce sleep, right? Sleeping quietly is one thing, but this person began a rhythmic snoring that progressively grew louder. Eventually, the congregants turned their attention to his snoring and the message of the Rabbi’s drasha was lost, kind of like a boat in a fog! So, if you were the Rabbi what would you do?
The Rabbi stopped speaking for several seconds, and the snore kinstler (expert) suddenly awoke, declaring that he was not asleep! How his unconscious mind detected the situation was always a mystery. The Rabbi then continued his drasha, and – you guessed it – he resumed snoring! Private reprimands helped like ah toiten bankess (they did not help). Some said that the snorer had a shot of whiskey before prayers to increase his kavana. But the Rabbi’s mazel was that our snoring Yiddele did not attend shul regularly – so, like Yiddisher mazel (or any mazel), it went back and forth.
The front of the shul faced Baltimore Street, while the side of the shul faced Chester Street, and if you looked across Chester Street, you saw a large brick building. In that building lived the Bennett family. The first floor housed an interesting combination – maybe a one-of-a-kind combination. There was a cheder (not cheese but a school room) and a shlocht hoiz (chicken slaughter house). Nu, what kind of a shidduch is this? A good question. The answer is that there was a gentleman by the name of Reb Moses Bennett, who was both a shochet and a Talmud Torah teacher. He had one large room with benches and tables that served as the Talmud Torah, and another room for shechting chickens.
So when the Rev. Bennett went from the schlocht hoiz to the schoolroom, kids understood what happened to the chickens and consequently gave their rebbe great respect! Maybe such a system could improve current discipline problems…
The third floor of the same building, above the shlacht hoiz, was occupied by an authentic East Baltimore machshaifah (witch). Nu, you might ask, why call another human being such a name? Nu, herr tzu ( listen) and you decide.
After davening, the kids left the shul, when suddenly the machshaifah stuck her curler-covered head out of the window and gave a geshray (scream).
“Hey you Jews, go back to Palestine!” Hairst ah geshichteh? (Can you imagine such a thing?) Initially, her outbursts startled us. Later, our response varied from telling her to buy us a passenger ticket to Palestine followed by “tsubrech ah fuhs” (break a leg). She then called us christ-killers and proceeded to yell something about baking matza with blood! (We thought that was only a European bilbul.) Responding to her slanderous falsehood was like talking to a parrot; the same litany was repeated again and again, ah reeches ihn ear kopp, may she be haunted by spirits! We never understood how she could verbalize such nonsense, but the masses seem to accept the most ridiculous lies, and as the saying goes, they believe what they want to believe, despite all evidence to the contrary.
How did the matza tale begin? Vehr vais (who knows), but some folks just don’t like us, to put it mildly. Finally, the machshaifah called us ### Jews and slammed the window shut. This unruly behavior continued for years.
The Bennetts built an outstanding sukka, located on the second floor. One fateful Sukkos day, it caught fire, and that neighborhood blaze was an event to remember, referred to as “Bennett’s sukka.” Other fires that occurred in the neighborhood were compared to Bennett’s sukka. For example, if a neighborhood house caught fire, people observing the blaze commented, “It’s nothing compared to Bennett’s sukkah.” The cause of the blaze was never discovered, although the Yom Tov candles were suspect. But most people blamed the machshaifah’s tossed cigarettes.
On the corner of Baltimore and Castle Streets, there was a shtibel-style shul called the Adas Yisroel, led by Rabbi Aaron Levin, who was an outstanding Talmudist and also had vast secular knowledge. He could discuss local sporting events and name the players. His lectures were fascinating and he sometimes spoke for hours! If there were halachic questions that needed clarification, Rabbi Levin was a known expert and was consulted.
Then there was the Talmudic giant “without portfolio,” Rabbi Forshlager, who had a vast library which he knew by heart. One Friday evening, he was asked an important halachic question. He went into his vast library, and although it was quite dark, quickly located the texts pertaining to the topic. Years later, his vast library was contributed to a yeshiva in Israel.
Hopefully, you are following this tour and not getting overly exhausted, so walk one block from Baltimore Street toward Fairmount Avenue until you reach Chester Street. Across the street there is a building that once housed the Kolker shul. Kolk was a region in Poland or Russia, and if you pronounced it as koliker”(handicapped) to the Kolkers, you were in hot water, so to speak.
Members of the Kolker shul periodically invited a Rebbeh who held a Tish. They did this by sitting at a long table (tish) headed by their visiting rabbi, called “The Rebbeh.” After he gave his d’var Torah, there was some singing, and soon the great sherayim (morsel) moment arrived. The Rebbeh distributed sherayim to each person, who grabbed for it like folks at a Labor Day sale! The Rebbe wore a large fur cap called a shtreimel, but the Kolker shul chasidim wore regular hats.
My dad, who originated from Aleksander chasidim in Lodz, would look into the meeting room from an outside window and tell me what was happening, since it reminded him of his childhood. He related that, as a child, he had attempted to reach the Rebbe by crawling under the long table. When he reached his destination, he stood up next to the Rebbeh, and the chassidim wanted to clobber him for having such chutzpa, but the Rebbeh smiled. Nu, when the Rebbeh smiles, what do the chassidim do? Right – they smile, too. So, my father was rescued by the understanding Aleksander Rebbeh.
Now that you are on Fairmount Avenue, walk about a block and you will see what was at one time a large chassidic shul called the Tsemach Tsedek. The Rav of the shul was Rabbi Axelrod, who was known for his charitable, open door policy for all. He was a chasid in all meanings of the word. He and his kind Rebbetzin provided food and shelter for hundreds of people!
The Tsemach Tsedek had a unique problem, the location of the shul. How can a shul have a location problem? When you tour the area you will notice an adjoining building. So, why is that a problem? Nu, herr zich tsu (listen). The adjoining building was a church! The tzoress (trouble) was that when you attended shul on Sunday or on one of the neighbors’ holidays, ihn mitten Shemoneh Esray, so to speak, you heard a Yoshkeh melody! (You think that your shul has problems?) So, what did the shul members do? They ignored the singing and davened a bit louder. This was quite an experience, and if you failed to adjust to such a kopp drayenish (mix-up) your davening was kind of confusing!
The church’s congregants met on Sunday. A grand strategy was therefore initiated in order to overcome this unique problem. A special sheliach tsibur was selected to lead the davening. This sheliach tsibur was a “progressive ” shochet. Don’t let that term scare you. He did not, chass vesholom, find a new way to shecht chickens. So what progress are we discussing?
In those days, after the shechita, the shochet removed the feathers. Some shochtim had their wives pluck the feathers. (Try that today!) Anyway, this shochet decided no more flicking chicken feathers – not by him and not by his wife! He purchased an electric feather-plucking machine, a great innovation at that time.
One feature of this feather-plucking marvel was a motor that made a very high-pitched sound followed by a low sound. And what difference does all this make? Nu, when our shochet led the davening, his mind apparently was tuned to the sounds of his machine, which he had been hearing over and over. Consequently, his one-of-a-kind nusach had high and low sounds that were uncannily similar to the plucking machine!
The effect of his unique style blocked some of the church choral sounds, and the combination of his nusach along with the church’s (lehavdil) was unbelievable. With all of this tumult, some Yidden davened with greater kavana! What a people!
You may wonder how the church members reacted when they heard the singing of tefilot or the sounds of the shofar. Vehr vais, who knows? – since the two groups kept a polite distance from each other, in spite of their proximity, and just gave a polite head shokel when they exited their respective houses of worship.
On your tour, you will get a firsthand understanding of an unusual sight on Fairmount Avenue. The shul was the building on the left side, and if you look up, you will see a huge Mogen David topped by the Ten Commandments. The Tsemach Tsedek had a small cement partition in front of the shul, and kids really looked forward to Chol Hamoed Pesach, when the entire neighborhood (including the gentiles) congregated and played a nut game – I don’t recall its official name – by rolling filbert nuts at a nut tripod. If they knocked it over, ah glick hot zey getroffen (they were lucky) and they took the entire jackpot. And miracle of miracles, this was the only time of the year that there was some communication between the gentile and the Jewish kids.
And what former East Baltimore Yid doesn’t remember the professional meshumed on Baltimore Street? He invited kids to use the large playground on the side of his house and engaged them in conversation. Soon he began peddling Christian doctrine while distributing candy, and smiling – wearing a yarmulke all the while. He pretended to be an elite Yid by quoting biblical passages but suddenly reverted to someone named Luke!
Nu, the kids believed that Luke was one of the cowboy heroes, also known as the Duke. He accepted this logic so that more kids would be drawn into the conversation. Nu, for years many kids believed that John Wayne was a biblical hero!
The Yidden disliked the meshumed, and my father warned me at the threat of – who remembers? – to never enter the playground, and I obeyed. Some kids did make use of the playground. We never heard of anyone being baptized, but who knows how many minds he confused.
On Friday evening, while walking to shul, we observed the meshumed’s “rebbetzin” standing in front of a window and lighting the Sabbath candles for all to see. Some said that she was a frum lady. Nu, you figure it out.
If you walk to the 2100 block of Baltimore Street, you’ll get to the Poilisher Shul, and there was the Boy’s Shul, but the original boys were now turning into alter (old)Yidden! This shul was not only a place of worship but also served as a meeting place where Jewish boys and girls socialized.
We always looked forward to Shabbat. Besides enjoying the outstanding meals and singing lots of zemirot, people visited one another and had discussions ranging from religious topics to the latest local and international news, and of course we discussed the Torah portion of the week.
The food was very tasty, and if a guest complimented my mother’s cholent, she responded that the cholent was “noch dehr gahst” (as good as the guest). Nu, this can be a problem if the cholent burned, but that was a rare happening. My mother was a genuine tsadaikes, who was always hospitable and treated everyone with great respect. I never saw a person daven with such kavana – and that’s no bubeh maiseh!
A popular Shabbat activity was walking to nearby Patterson Park, where you could meet other Yidden and discuss various topics. The kids observed the goldfish pond and the lake, and played in the playground. Or they mounted the famous cannons that defended the great City of Baltimore during the War of 1812, pretending to fire the cannons at those banditen, the British.
During the winter, the hill in front of the cannons was perfect for sledding, and some resourceful youngsters made their own sleds. These were not easy to navigate, and occasionally someone struck a tree. The hill was gigantic at that time, but as you grew older, it appeared to shrink in size!
The most outstanding structure in the park is the Pagoda, and if you are lucky enough to visit when it is unlocked, you can walk up the winding stairs and observe East Baltimore. It was fun racing down the iron stairs and if you were first to reach the bottom you became “the winner.” Nu, so what? But to kids, winning is ah geferlicher maiseh (very important).
If you had the chutzpa to wear a yarmulke, there was a risk of having local thugs pull it off, crown your head with their fist, and politely handing back your skullcap in shreds! A brief skirmish would occur, and they sometimes won by sheer numbers. Most Jewish kids played it safe and wore a cap or went hatless, while some brave souls wore a yarmulke. One kid wore a large Sefardic cap and claimed royalty, so they never bothered him. (Unfortunately, wearing a yarmulke is again becoming dangerous in some parts of the world.)
There were occasional “street fights,” but no one got seriously injured. If you heard a loud whistle while walking across the boundary lines, you knew there was tsoress, so you “faced the music” and “an eye for an eye” meant a black eye for a black eye. Nu, you may ask, what boundary line? There was a church on Baltimore Street, about one block above the Bais Hamedresh Hagadol, and Jewish kids averted walking through that area.
One day, a new magaifah (plague) began. Some hoodlums began throwing large stones into the open shul windows of the Bais Hamedresh Hagodol. At first, the behavior was ignored, but this only increased the violent acts. One rock struck Mr. Yitzchak Brown, an elderly member of the shul. It seemed unbelievable that we escaped from Europe to the goldeneh medina only to witness this type of behavior. But here it was!
There was a shul meeting, where it was decided to place thick metal protective screens in front of every window. Now the tossed rocks had no effect. It was a great innovation, but it didn’t totally solve the problem, since the nogoodniks now began to swing open the shul doors, shout various obscenities, and run like rabbits! The police were notified and filed lengthy reports but did nothing to stop the vile behavior.
My brother David decided to do something about this problem. How? Nu, herr zich tsue: One day, as one of the thugs flung open the door, David darted after him and chased him for several blocks. He finally caught him and dragged him to the shul! A passing sailor asked him why he was dragging the poor kid who was screaming for help. His quick response was “he’s my brother,” so the sailor went on his merry way. David then escorted the frightened bahndeet into the shul, where he was placed in a chair. The sheigetz feared that it was a kissey shel Eliyahu and thought who knows what those angry Jews would do to him there! Members of the shul surrounded him and kept circling around him verbalizing whatever was on their mind while he screamed for rachmonos (pity) and pleaded for his life, swearing that he would do teshuva and be a good goy.
This wild scene lasted for several minutes, and then the police were notified. They filed a report, placed him in their squad car and released him several blocks away. From that time on, the outrageous incidents ceased.
Life in East Baltimore was not very complicated. If you walked down Fairmount Avenue, there was a shul, a matsaiva (monument) inscriber, a barber, a shochet, a butcher, and another shul. If you are mystically inclined, you may figure it out, since mystics see something in everything.
Across the street from where we lived, there was a store known as “the beer joint,” which mainly catered to the local shikurim. Occasionally, you observed beer guzzlers being tossed out or walking out as if they were following the letter “S.” Who needed television? You just sat on the front marble steps and watched the beer patrons pummel one another. Once in a while you heard the crash of beer bottles, followed by various uncouth statements.
One day, the great marvel made its debut – television. Everyone was excited. So, who owned a television set? Surely you’ve heard the expression “ah Yid git zich en aytseh” (a Jew finds a way), and following this maxim, we went to the shopping district on Monument Street to observe a working TV in the shops’ storefronts. There, with a crowd of people, we watched the “Toast of the Town,” with an MC named Ed Sullivan who appeared to be neckless!
Eventually we purchased a TV set that was a great looking piece of furniture; you had to search to find the small screen, though! There were three TV stations, which did not always operate efficiently, and sometimes the picture resembled a snowstorm. One problem was that one could become addicted to watching television, and this led to a hypnotic trance! (It still is a major time waster, and the current show quality is minus zero!) You could watch the mishugahs of a Jewish comedian named Milton Berle (Uncle Milty) whose show was introduced by the Texaco singers, who sang about Texaco gasoline. Nu, at 25 cents a gallon, they had what to sing about! Milton enjoyed dressing like a Yiddeneh (lady), and when he yelled “makeup,” someone smashed powder on his face. For some reason, this always got a tremendous laugh from the audience.
There were sports events, and the famous Israeli wrestler Raphael Halpern appeared in white shorts as the wrestling fans cheered wildly. In those days the masses sided with Israel. Raphael usually won the staged matches, and Jewish watchers shepped naches from their hero.
Before the advent of television, we listened to several popular radio programs. “The Shadow” kept you in constant suspense as he captured criminals. The Shadow always knew! Who knows what he knew, but he always exclaimed, “The Shadow knows,” followed by a loud laugh that scared the wits out of his listeners! Then there was “The Lone Ranger” with his ferd (horse) Silver; all old timers remember the yesteryear announcement, “Hiyo, Silver Away” followed by the William Tell overture. His meshoress (servant) Tonto the Indian was always there to rescue the masked hero. We never discovered why the Ranger wore a mask or why he used expensive silver bullets!
There also was a program called “The Inner Sanctum,” which featured a creaking door that slammed – and that was enough to scare you – even before the gory story took place! If you needed some comic relief from all this hullabaloo, you could tune to a Jewish comedian, Jack Benny, and his hoarse black servant Rochester, who was always catering to “Mr. Benny.” Or you tuned to “Blondie,” where you were warned not to touch the dial but listen to “Blondie!” And sometimes you briefly tuned in to the “Grand Old Oprie,” with Minnie Pearl shraying, “Howdee” and the crowd answering “Howdee!!” in return. And then you tuned to another radio station!
Once a week there was a program starring an outstanding Yiddishist, Nat Youngleson, who had a strong convincing koach hadibur (speaking skill). His Letsteh Nayess Fuhn Togg (latest news) covered local and world news. He then sadly announced the names of Baltimore Yidden who had gone to the olom emess (departed) followed by various Yiddish tunes to liven things up. And of course, there were advertisements throughout the show. One of his favorite statements designed to encourage your patronage was “Ahz err kenn, und zey kennen, fahrvos zolt ihr niht kennen!” (If others can afford it, so can you!)
Another Jewish program was A.D. Glushakov’s “Yiddish Radio Shtundeh.” He and his granddaughter Feigeleh would spin various maisehs, play music, and advertise all types of products and services. There was a dramatic presentation that made the ladies cry and ended with a cliff hanger, such as: “Will Feivel marry Yentah? Tune in next week and find out!” And people tuned in.
The movies in East Baltimore consisted of the Hippodrome – for the more elite, since in addition to the movies, there were live stage shows – the State, Red Wing, Apex, and the Roxy, also known as the Scratch House because of the attacking lice! However, it was a popular movie house because there were double features, cartoons, newsreels, and previews of coming attractions. Go there, and the whole afternoon went in drerd (oblivion).
During Chanukah, the Jewish community was invited to a Chanukah performance at the Lyric Theater. Most Jewish schools attended, and the kids looked forward to this event, since everyone was given a box of candy. The Lyric presented skits and plays given by representative schools in the city.
Sinai Hospital was then located on Monument Street and initially catered only to Yidden, since Jewish doctors were given limited practice in other hospitals. But the doctors fought for their rights, and ultimately practiced in all hospitals.
There were not very many observant Jews in those days. You were considered super-Orthodox if you observed Shabbat, ate kosher, and built a sukka! The only persons to wear black hats were a few rabbis. During the High Holidays, though, shuls were filled to capacity, and all were invited to participate, ticket or no ticket. During the year, special features were introduced to get more people to attend shul. Periodically, a guest cantor or speaker was invited. A favorite guest cantor was the “shvartzer chazan ” who was a Black cantor from New York. The term shvartzer, which means black, was not considered derogatory but descriptive. Guest speakers drew only a few people – unless they were famous, like the Lord Mayor of Ireland or Rabbi Kahanaman, the founder of the Ponevitzer Yeshiva in B’nai Brak.
On Rosh Hashana, a few souls walked to Pratt Street alongside the piers. This area, with its rotting docks and floating debris, was the haunt of shikurim and criminals who could mug you. So going to Tashlich was a risky business, and not too many people went to Pratt Street.
Simchat Torah was a popular holiday and drew many divergent Yidden to the shul. A type of legume called bebelach was served with beer, which was imbibed with moderation. I don’t recall anyone getting very tipsy. A favorite sport on Simchat Torah was tying the fringes of the talleisim (prayer shawls) together. Thus, when one person descended from the bimah, he dragged other tallaisim with him, and things got lively! Another festive game was hiding one of the kohen’s shoes. Hopefully his kohen blessings were not reversed while he searched for the other shoe!
Dancing was moderate compared to today’s celebration. These were war years and people were being informed about the terrible things that were happening to the Jews in Europe. They could not fathom nor believe the horror stories that survivors were telling. The greatest crime in history, the worst annihilation of the Jewish people was occurring, yet few believed it!
On Shabbat, a hearty mishebarach was made for the great pretender president, Franklin D. Roosevelt, who was considered a friend of the Jews. Years later, people discovered that his administration persecuted anyone opposing the “war effort,” and suggestions to bomb the murder camps hindered the “war effort!”
The bombing of Pearl Harbor by the Yapanchiks (Japanese) created a real shrek (fear). A favorite tune was “Let’s Remember Pearl Harbor,” and the words included “we will always remember.” (How soon we forgot.) There were air raid drills at night, and all lights had to be turned off. Some made money on this situation. For example, they sold pens with an internal battery so that you could write in the dark. Nu, who wrote in the dark? Nevertheless, people purchased the useless item, and somebody made a few bucks. During the air raid drills, Civil Defense volunteers wore white steel helmets as they walked around the neighborhood. If they noticed a house with a light turned on, they blew a whistle, and the violators did teshuva or faced a penalty.
After the war, many war survivors arrived in Baltimore. So who helped them? There were many Yidden who assisted, but Rabbi Elimelech Hertzberg and his wife Rebbitzin Nechama Hertzberg top the list. The Hertzbergs had an open house for the Holocaust survivors, who considered being with the Hertzbergs like “ihn der haym” (at home). Later, Rabbi Hertzberg’s shteibel moved to a new, Gahn Eden neighborhood called Forest Park. So where is Forest Park? That’s a geshichteh for another time.
Being at a “tish” with Rabbi Hertzberg was always a fascinating experience. He would call each person by name and distribute the delicious kugel baked by the Rebbitzin. After giving a fiery dvar Torah, he would ask one of the Holocaust survivors to lead in the singing of “Chai Adoshem” (Hashem Lives), an important reminder and reiteration of our emunah (faith).
In retrospect, the cholent in East Baltimore was outstanding, and it had a variety of tastes – perhaps something like the manna mentioned in the Torah.
