One for the Books: Recent Jewish Nonfiction
Mary Louise Ruehr
"They Called Me Mayer July: Painted Memories of a Jewish Childhood in
Poland Before the Holocaust" by Mayer Kirshenblatt and his daughter,
Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, is an absolute treasure. Kirshenblatt's
paintings are simplistic but colorful. "I consider myself a storehouse
of memories," he says. His pictures bring to life the people in a small
Jewish town in Poland before World War II. (His family left Poland in
1934.) This is a remarkable view of a lost world. "The places I
remember exist no more," he says. "They are only in my head, and if I
die they will disappear with me." He shows everyday life at home, in
the town square, inside the synagogue, in school, at worship, at play,
in celebration. And he brings us the people -- the fire brigade, the
water-carrier, the chimney sweep, gypsies. Plus, he tells wonderful
stories: "After an animal had been butchered, it had to be sold quickly
because there was no refrigeration. Even if a housewife were short of
money, the butcher would give her credit so that he could get rid of
the meat. (But he) could not read or write. To keep track of his
transactions, he would mark the name and the sum on his boots with
chalk, in his own signs, and he would know who owed him what. But on
Friday, since he had to clean his boots before going to the synagogue,
he would go around collecting his debts. Once they were settled, he
could clean his boots and erase the whole bookkeeping." This is an
amazing accomplishment and makes an absorbing read. His pictures and
stories just took me right into another world.
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