The Day My Mother Cried and Other Stories: and Other Stories

The French Jew

75 The French Jew t was great being back in Meah She’arim after an absence of fifteen years. Meah She’arim is the super-religious enclave in Jerusalem not too far from East Jerusalem, the population center of the Palestinian Arabs. I think what attracted me to this odd place was because it conjured up for me the memory of my father, who had passed on some years before. My father was, to me, the epitome of the shtetl. He grew up in a small village in the Ukraine which he described in Yiddish as being “as big as a genetz” (a yawn). Yet it was the center of his universe, as it was for his father and mother, his four brothers and two sisters, and a full complement of cousins and near cousins. Pop remembered everything in the shtetl, the large synagogue and the small one, the cheder (school), the mikvah (bathhouse), the orchards of the poretz (landlord). He recalled with a special clarity the graveyard, which was filled with his ancestors of all varieties who were trundled there probably in the century-old funeral dray which inevitably lost a wheel or broke an axle during a funeral. When I first experienced Meah She’arim, I saw it as my father’s shtetl reborn. It was in central Jerusalem but could have been in some insignificant village in Russia. The main street was bustling with blackgarbed men and boys wearing oversized black hats, tieless white shirts buttoned to the top, long black coats of indefinite length. The women and young girls were similarly dressed. They wore clothing that covered all parts of the body except the face. The main street was occupied on both sides by shops catering to the tourist trade. There were stores or stands that sold prayer shawls, 76 | William D. Kaufman tefillin, skull caps, bibles, sets of the Talmud, religious silver things, candelabras, religious souvenirs, and carved wooden ware. There were also restaurants, bakeries, and stores that sold groceries, refreshments , furniture, clothing, lottery tickets, and women’s shoes. I don’t recall seeing a television store. On previous visits to Meah She’arim, I always had a reason for making the trip. I enjoyed eating cholent (a kind of stew), in the meat restaurant that made one fresh every day of the week except the Sabbath . Or I shopped for souvenirs. Once I bought a medium-sized woolen prayer shawl in the store where I had my tefillin opened and examined by the proprietor. On a number of occasions, I exchanged currency, which was probably something I should not have done. On my recent foray into Meah She’arim, I was in Jerusalem as a member of a UJA mission and I had a special job to do for my daughter. She asked me to purchase four claff for four mezuzot that were to be placed on the doorposts of her new condominium. A claff is a square of parchment on which is inscribed three paragraphs of scripture declaring one’s love of the Almighty. I took a taxi to Meah She’arim, and the cab driver let me off at the meat restaurant. I recognized the proprietor, but he didn’t recognize me. He was beginning to fill the trays in his display case. It was 10:30 in the morning. I asked in Yiddish when the cholent would be served and he answered in English, “Thursday.” “Thursday,” I protested weakly. “You served it every day when I was here last. What happened?” “Nothing happened,” he said in Yiddish. “Come back on Thursday .” He paused and smiled. “I remember you,” he said. “You’re older. We used to call you ‘der hungriker Amerikaner.’” We shook hands and I left. About ten stores past the restaurant was a religious articles shop where I frequently changed dollars. I did not recognize the young man behind the counter. He had a squeaky red beard that he fondled as he spoke. He was waiting on a customer who had an odd accent. The customer had the look of a dandy. He wore a black fedora which was tipped forward at a slight angle. His long black kapote (coat) The French Jew | 77 was silken and expensive looking. He wore expensive dark brown pointy slippers, the kind zoot-suiters used to wear on Saturday night. He was in his fifties and clean shaven. The proprietor left...