What's a Nice Jewish Boy...?

Lawn Manor Beth Jacob now is Beth Shalom Bnai Zakan, an Ethiopian synagogue.

I was raised as a Traditional, fairly observant Jew.  At the age of 6, I was enrolled in Sunday school. After a year, I graduated to three days of Hebrew school plus classes on Sunday. I learned to read prayers in Hebrew, and  received instruction in Jewish history, customs and traditions.

I actually enjoyed going to Hebrew school. It meant that I could see my school friends more often. Also, our synagogue was a community center with recreational facilities inside and out.  I can't count the number of times we came to class late from the basketball court or from flirting with the girls out in the hallways.


 In class, we conjugated verbs in tenses I had never heard of, translated parts of the Torah into modern English, and did oral presentations in Hebrew in front of the entire class. At the end of each day, all of the classes got together for afternoon prayers. To this day, I have large portions of these prayers committed to memory from repeating them so often.

Two teachers stand out in my mind for different reasons.  Mr. Fox was my first grade Hebrew teacher. He was a young man with an easy smile and a good sense of humor.  I loved to hang around him. My given Hebrew name was Sander, which Mr. Fox said was really not Hebrew, but Yiddish. Based on my middle name, he changed it to Aharon,after the brother of Moses. I did very well in this class and was promoted to second grade in mid-year.

The second teacher was Rabbi Eisenberg. He was stern, but fair. I learned  a great deal about Hebrew grammar from him. Like many people in those days, he was a heavy smoker, and would watch us work from the classroom doorway while he took a break. As a teacher myself, I am amazed at how things have changed.

A big part of my  life at our synagogue was the choir. At a very young age, I joined my classmates in the Friday night choir. That meant regular attendance at services and choir practice during the week. In addition, I sang in the all male High Holiday Choir, coming in from Michigan during the summer for rehearsals and singing for two days of Rosh Hashonah and one of Yom Kippur. Before I was required to fast, I would run home between services and eat my mom's pastry.
After turning thirteen, I fasted all day long while standing for hours at a time in the un-aircondtioned heat.
There was a convenience store across from our synagogue and after Yom Kippur, my friends and I would gorge ourselves on soda and pretzels until we burst.
Belonging to the choir gave me a lot of experience with reading music, singing in harmony, and on occasion, doing the Hebrew blessing over wine in front of the congregation. I have since sung in other choirs and have often lead parts of the Saturday service.

My Mom and Dad were religious, but that didn't stop them from earning a living. Our clothing store was open on Friday evening until 6, and on Saturdays.
I would work in the store until 5 on Fridays, change clothing, and then walk the short mile to the synagogue.  My parents would go home for a quick supper and then follow me to services.
When I was in grade school, I went to Saturday services on a regular basis. There was a Junior Congregation that I belonged to, and I enjoyed seeing my friends there. Our Rabbi Schultz was very smart about keeping up our attendance, awarding movie passes for kids who came on a regular basis.

After my bar mitzvah, I attended a small study group with a few of my friends where  Rabbi Shultz introduced us to the various commentaries on the Torah. The next year, Don Cohen and I attended Hebrew high school in downtown Chicago. Very soon, we both realized that the studies were far above our heads. Classes were conducted in Hebrew, which apparently was not a problem for other students with a day school education. I was completely lost. The teachers were kind, but really didn't know what to do with me.

 When the rest of my class graduated, I was told I could attend camp that summer to earn my diploma. By then, my brother had joined me at the school, and we both decided that we'd had enough. It was a hard choice for me. I had made many Orthodox friends at the school, and felt at home outside the classrooms. I attended the graduation ceremony so I could say a final goodbye.

Ironically, I would come back to that school when my son, David, was a  college intern with the Jewish United Fund. The College of Jewish Studies was now called the Spertus Institute and had been relocated to much bigger quarters on Michigan Avenue. David worked in their Asher Library Archives, using his considerable knowledge of technology to digitize parts of their collection. In the collection of photos and documents he began to process, David found my old synagogue.

In order to view the collection, I actually had to make an appointment. The next day, David and I spent an hour wearing white gloves, identifying old speeches , menus and photos from Lawn Manor Hebrew Congregation. The greatest find, of course, was a photo of my Hebrew School graduating  class of 1960.