Page 10 - THE NEWS - February. 1982
To Joe Schiffer... The Essence Of Judaism
Book Review
DOUBLE STANDARDS By
Aviva Heilman, $14.95;
Doubleday & Co.
This is the story of women
who gave up their identities,
personal ambitions and
basic needs for the sake of
their husbands, homes and
children, only to find
themselves in their middle
years discarded and alone.
Bewildered, they are rudely
awakened to the fact that
times have changed and they
are its victims. How one
woman copes with un
palatable situation and in
doing so achieves an in
dependence and pride that
fulfills and sustains her is
the core of this well written
and absorbing book.
Set in the elite political
and social circles of New
York, Southhampton and
Europe this is Beth Van
Ess’s story. She defies her
family and gives up her own
profession in order to marry
Adam Stillman, a liberal,
idealistic Jewish lawyer with
whom she falls deeply in
love. Determined to make
her marriage work, she tries
to bridge the barriers bet
ween her world of privilege
and not-so-subtle Wasp pre
judices and Adam’s idealism
and Jewish background. It is
not an easy struggle for
Beth, but she refuses to give
up and in doing so is blinded
to the changes taking place
in people and politics and in
the character of those she
loves.
The story begins in the fif
ties and ends at the present
time. At age 50 she is settled
into a state of contentment.
Suddenly, her world turns
upside down when she is fac
ed with Adam’s decision to
leave her for Lori, a talented
young girl half her age. The
situation in itself is not new;
what is new is the manner in
which she faces it and the
people whose lives are
changed by her decisions.
Although there is a great
deal of explicit sex in the
book, the story moves rapid
ly and holds the interest of
the reader from beginning to
end.
Reviewed by Gladys Lavitan
Send c^Ploatiny
A Fond Remembrance By His Daughter
VALENTINE
BALLOON
delivered by a
real live cupid
or aend anywhere
in U.S.
Walloons hy
2lMutystor»
Since my father’s death,
the Charlotte Jewish Com-
munity has poured forth
such love and concern for
our family, and such wonder
ful praise for my father, that
I felt it fitting and proper
that they should really know
the man, and know that their
love and admiration is not
misplaced. The best way I
could think of to reach the
entire community, and to let
them know about Dad, is
through the paper...
Linda Schiffer
New York’s Lower East
Side was an interesting place
to grow up in during the
1920’s and ’30’s. It was an ex
citing, exhilarating and emo
tional place....a grab-bag of
languages, religions,
races....running one into the
other until it all resembled
an abstract water-color pain
ting and chaotic symphony.
It was into this environ
ment that my father was
born....the second of three
sons born to a tailor from
Poland and a simple woman
from Austria Solomon,
Joseph and Bernard....the
sons of Morris and Yetta.
Joseph was my father.
The stories my father
would tell my sister and me
of the days of his youth on
the Lower East Side of New
York City were always filled
with the poverty but joy of
being raised in that chaos.
He (at the tender age of 5, he
claimed) would collect pieces
of coal from the streets
which had fallen from the
coal trucks....would gather
the copper pipes from old
buildings that were ready to
be demolished...all to raise
some extra money. Candy
was unheard of. It was con
sidered a luxury. When
hunger struck while at play.
Yetta would toss a bread,
butter and onion sandwich
from the window, wrapped in
a paper bag. One sandwich
for all three boys to share.
My father went to Seward
High School and was a
member of the soccer team.
He was proud of having
played soccer then, and of
the team photo which we still
have. My sister and I hunted
his image out of the others.
He was so thin in those days
of his youth, but his face had
that determined look which
we knew so well.
All the while, growing up
in the streets of New York
City, his character was
developing. It was formed by
NOT having everything he
wanted, BUT working hard
for what he had, not to men
tion the love of family and
friends surround him, and a
deep-rooted Faith.
He trudged from a job all
the way downtown to City
College all the way up
town....daily. He never com
plained of the long hours and
constant work. My father
never complained of any
thing at any time during his.
life.
When the family moved to
Brooklyn, conditions were a
bit better. It was in Brooklyn
that he met mom, and it was
in Brooklyn that they lived
most of their 40 years of mar
riage. Brooklyn - where the
family, all of it, resided. It
was also where the religious
center of our lives was
located, with the synagogue
within walking distance.
My father worked so hard
all his life...He was deter
mined that my sister and I
would have all the material
things that he never did. He
and mom sacrificed many of
their comforts in order to
send us to a private Hebrew
Day School to ensure the
best education available.
And he worked — for bosses
who knew his worth but
never shared the benefits
reaped from his hard labor
—then finally, for himself.
He built a small construction
business, and as things got
better financially, we moved
to Westchester County. It
was one of his dreams come
true.
Over the years, as he pro
vided for us, he also saw to it
that needier people received
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a share of his good fortune.
Anyone who ever needed
help, be they family or
stranger, was never turned
away. They all seemed to
find their way to our door.
They came to see Joe. He
was always the first to give
when a charity asked. He
was always the first to give
even when they didn’t ask.
And' when business wasn’t
good and things got tight for
us, even then no one was
ever turned away. If he
couldn’t offer money, he of
fered whatever services he
could render. The Synagogue
and Israel were foremost,
though. He maintained that
a Jew could not survive
without both. He never ask
ed for honors in return, nor
recognition. He did what he
felt he should do. Many did
recognize how special he and
mom were, and these plaques
are on our walls — silent
reminders — never spoken of
by him. It wasn’t necessary
to brag. ^
IF ONLY THE WORLD
COULD SEE THROUGH
MY FATHER’S EYES!!
What an Incredible Place it
would be! He never saw an
evil person. He saw only the
good in everyone. Even when
he was hurt by people, he
could explain it away and be
charitable. The world, to
him, was a place where
everyone belonged and
everyone deserved to have
the best. He never wished
anyone ill — only "good
health" and happiness.
We moved to the South
because most of the family
was gone, or moved away.
He missed his brothers, but
spoke to them often, and had
hopes that they would visit
as often as they could. My
sister and her family were
here, and it’s where he
wanted to be most....near his
grandson....the apple of his
eyes!
My father died on
December 1st, 1981, after
just one year in the
Carolinas. It is most fitting
that after such a short time
in this community, the
synagogue was full for the
service — filled with people
whose lives he touched dur
ing this brief year; even
some of the nurses who cared
for him during his three
weeks of hospitalization
were there. People we (the
family) knew, and many we
had never seen before, but
who knew my father, came.
They came to be near him
one last time and to share
our grief in his passing....for
he was the epitomy of the
Jewish Human Soul — a
Truly Caring Man! It was
merely what tribute was due
him.
Yet, there were so many
things left unsaid....undone.
It happened all too suddenly,
his passing. The only thing
left now is a deep chasm — a
void so great that there are
times when I’m sure nothing
will ever fill it. We wander
around the house, mom, the
dog and 1, and it is so empty
and quiet. The total unreali
ty of it all is overwhelming.
My sister and her family live
nearby. We still have each
other to cling to, but it is no
easier for them than it is for
us. My uncles are in the
North, and even though
warmth can be generated
over a telephone line, you
cannot reach out and hold so
meone who is over 700 miles
away. We comfort each other
the best way we know how.
It has been almost 30 days.
Daddy, and there is some
thing you should know.
Something which, unfor
tunately, we never said often
enough to each other while
we still had the chance....
Daddy, I Love You Very
Much!
First Call
See page 16
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