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241 Rose Peretz-Laks, born in 1894, studied dentistry in Warsaw. After her marriage to Aleksander Laks in 1923, she moved to Vilna. There she was murdered by the Nazis, presumably in 1941. Source: Leksikon fun der nayer yidisher literature, vol. 6 (New York: Alveltlekhn yidishn kultur-kongres, 1968), 284–85. Around Peretz Observations and Reflections R. Peretz-Laks Most of the memoirs about Peretz that I have come across since he died characterize Peretz the writer, the community activist, and the cultural leader. Almost no one has said anything about his life at home, his habits, his dealings with friends and strangers. This is certainly not because Peretz’s private life was uninteresting, but because those who wrote about him simply did not have the opportunity to see him in his intimate, everyday life. Peretz was a relative of mine, and I happened to live in his house for a few years. I was able to watch him in his everyday life. In those days I was quite young and paid little attention to many things that would have interested me later. I took in everything I saw and heard immediately and unreflectively, for myself, and so Peretz was never ill at ease in my presence and he behaved quite freely. I want to tell about Peretz and about his way of life at home—his eating, sleeping, laughing, talking, loving and hating, his different moods and relations to people. He stands in my memory as if he were still alive, getting up very early and sitting at his desk. After his early morning work, before going to his office job at the Jewish Community Center, he stands by the mirror dressed in a black velvet suit and white socks, looking in the mirror at his belly. He was always very happy when someone told him that his belly had gotten smaller. I see how he stands at the mirror and smiles—clearly he is satisfied with 242 | R. PERETZ-LAKS himself. Peretz would get up very early. He used to say, “God likes humanity best in the morning.” Often he would perform various household tasks: helping the maid press or wash, or carrying someone a cup of coffee in bed. Once I washed his Panama hat. He took it out of my hands, certain that he could wash it better. Peretz knew that you shouldn’t wring the water out of a Panama hat—so he took it to his room, still wet, dripping water all over the polished floors. He was always certain that he could do things better than anyone else. This delusion didn’t bother anyone; on the contrary, it made everyone laugh. If someone sewed on a button for him, right away he would try to tear it off. When it came off easily, this gave him great pleasure. In general he liked to enjoy himself —I especially remember his laughter and his gleaming eyes as he began to tell a joke. In about 1909, Peretz and his wife Helene traveled to Kuzmir, and along the way they spent the night in my hometown Pulav. At the time I still didn’t know Peretz. When I found out that Peretz was in the Bristol Hotel, I went to meet him. It was already late at night. Already half-undressed, Peretz opened the door for me. In the narrow hotel room, his wife stood making up the bed. I spoke to Peretz in Russian and explained that I was a relative. Peretz answered in Yiddish, looked at me with a sweet smile, and stroked my head. They soon dressed and we went downstairs to drink tea. During that meeting I was very nervous and was constantly moving around on my chair. Peretz asked: “Are you always such a crazy girl?” He invited me to Kuzmir, where at the time Sholem Asch and his wife were also staying. I said: “Father won’t let me. Around you people don’t keep kosher!” “So you won’t eat,” Peretz answered. My father, one of Peretz’s cousins—similar to Peretz in his love of life and passionate nature—was religious, a hasid, and a powerful opponent of Peretz the heretic. Once, when my older sister brought home one of Peretz’s books, my father tore it out of her hands and threw it into the fire. In the morning I arrived in Kuzmir with a group of school friends. It was an unusually hot...

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