Three Crazy Old Jews posted 8/4/2009 7:28:11 PM | 11 kudos what's this?     report abuse

ttomtarr

The old Jew often sat at the Laundromat, with no clothes to wash. He never spoke. His wheeled basket had a sign on it with two messages. One was that he was a concentration camp survivor. The other was a solicitation for work, scrubbing floors, cleaning toilets, or cleaning yards of pet droppings. He had somehow managed to live through an experience where thousands around him had perished, but his way was not pride of survival, or hatred of those who had abused him, but an acute sense of unworthiness, that he had been allowed to live, and get through the war. His life was one of expiation, just for having lived.

I had a hectic day, buying supplies for my first year of grad school. I remarked to the clerk that even though it was 2:00 PM, I had not had time to eat anything all day. The old Jew who sold microscope became very agitated. He told me to go, and eat something right away. I countered I didn’t have time. He insisted, and offered to buy me lunch. I needed to learn about microscopes, and we went to lunch. I learned that he too had survived the camps. He had starved nearly to death, over a long time, and could not bear to think of anyone being hungry. He said he even removed the cupboard doors in his kitchen, to see the food at times when he was not eating. He loved to invite people to eat with him. He liked to have plenty of food at hand. He urged me to order seconds, and offered me money if I could not afford to eat. I declined the gift, but promised to eat more regularly. I could see the pleasure in his face as I spoke.

Old Dr Goldstein kept us alive, patching up the all too predictable results of bad diet, heavy drugging , free loving, copious wine consumption, and various and diverse damages, mostly self inflicted. His manner was that of a grumpy curmudgeon, but it was obvious that he liked us. His fees were in the minimal range we could afford, and he would combine medical treatment with somewhat pointed advice, some times emphasizing a point with the in insertion of a needle full of whatever he was giving us a shot of. He could have made a lot more money with a practice uptown in a fashionable district, but he chose to practice in Venice, California, with the hippies among his patients. He never said why he chose to take care of us, but I got the impression that if he was several decades younger, he might have joined into out lifestyle. As it was, he kept us alive while we lived it.


In a long life of wandering, I have met many people, including many Jewish people. Some of them stand out vividly in my memory, including those three old Jews. One who chose humility over anger and hatred. One whose burned-in hunger turned not to gluttony, but to sustaining others who were hungry. And one who chose to shepherd those of us who lived the life he was too old to live himself .

Three old Jews. They were all eccentrics. They were all a bit crazy. It took me about 35 years to figure out what they had lost, what they had gained, and what they gave. I hope I will grow in wisdom, and become as crazy as they were.

Thanks for reading my thoughts.

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