We were members of the Ahavas Achim Lubavitch synagogue of Buffalo. Although we lived in Kenmore we entered the City proper to go to synagogue. This was an orthodox schul run by the Hassidim. We had to go to Hebrew school which turned out to be a certain type of rote-learning torture. It got so bad that my brother Ron and I would hide out in the “ice house”, a non-descript warehouse for frozen ice that was just one block away on the next street. We would hide in the back until the Hebrew school van gave up and headed back to town.
Ronnie, Cousin Steve, Jerry, neighbor Bruce Marshall (straws in nose)
We were supposed to wait for the bus in front of our house. Somehow I remember the van looked like a small school bus on the outside but was actually some rickety old van driven by “King” the “goy” they hired to chauffer us kids around. I really liked the rickety sounds of the old suspension as it bounded over pot holes. To this day I somehow attribute my fondness for my old beat up pickup to the Hebrew school bus experience, some kind of strange nostalgia for that kind of torture.
Ronnie's bar mitzvah graduation class, Ahavas Achim Lubavitch synagogue.
Our Hebrew teacher was an old man with a beard and coke bottle glasses. The first lesson was a translation of “In the beginning…” of the Old Testament. All I can remember from all of the years of Hebrew are those Hebrew words for that opening sentence of the bible, “In the Beginning (bereshit)”.
Jeanette, Sidney, Jerry -- Bonner’s Tavern in background
I did manage to get bar mitzvahed ! I had memorized the haphtarah (my torah reading for the day of my bar mitzvah) which had to be sung (chanted) as one goes through the ritualized motions of taking turns at the torah and reading various required sections of the service.
The rest remains a complete mystery. I was never even taught about the Shabbat or much about Jewish holidays. I guess it wasn’t the greatest of Hebrew schools. Perhaps my brother and I bear some responsibility for this (us skipping out so often) but still, the school did suck big time.
My father, Sidney, was somewhat an atheist in that he didn’t really believe in God nor did he keep the sabbath in our home. I don’t think he really believed in much of anything beond the racing form, especially not anything religious but he did fear the opprobrium of his orthodox Jewish brothers if they were to find out his sons didn’t get bar mitzvahed.
I remember being out playing football at Mang Park (a good ten blocks from home!!) one fall afternoon, really enjoying a good game of tackle. Suddenly my father’s car pulled up and he yelled at us to get in. It was Rosh Hashanah! I had no idea a holiday was looming, absolutely no prior notice whatever. Suddenly swoosh we were home and having to get dressed up for participation in this strange rite.
In truth, I found the synagogue somewhat intriguing. As a child artist, an oil painter no less, I once painted a copy of Chagall’s “Rabbi” painting, giving it my own flourish, and gave it as a gift to our rabbi. It was probably my first portrait. One wonders the whereabouts of the painting, if it ever survived the trash can.