What's Inside - The Jewish Georgian

Page 30 THE JEWISH GEORGIAN September-October 2010
Remembering the Days of Awe
By David Geffen
There were three large columns in the
front, all lit up for this evening. The light
“Avinu Malkenu, Avinu Malkenu”—
reflected on the passing cars. The
the words and their melody carry me
Washington Street streetcar line stopped
back to the Yamim Noraim (High
near the shul, and the passengers looked
Holidays) of my youth in Atlanta,
at the building in wonderment.
Georgia. In 1948, the spring of the year
When my father and I passed
had been filled with the excitement
through Shearith Israel’s large wooden
linked to the creation of the State of
doors, we saw two tables with plates of
Israel. My zayde, Rabbi Tobias Geffen,
money, along with tickets for the High
z’l, spoke at his shul, Shearith Israel, on
Holidays. “Louis, come on over and sit
the Shabbat of May 15, about Medinat
down,” Abe Auerbach, the congregation
Yisrael, the first day of our new nation.
president, called out. “You have the list
“We turn to God in thanksgiving for
of the members, which we need so the
a Jewish homeland for our people. So
seats can be assigned.” Before and after
many of our dear ones in Europe were
World War II, my father was shul secre-
massacred by the tyrant. Here in America
tary, in addition to doing all of the legal
and here in Atlanta, we were fortunate
work pro bono. My father quickly sat
that the war did not make its way to our
down, opened the big ledger that he
shores. Sadly, members of our congrega-
brought from home, and went to work. I,
tion and our community were killed
of course, went to play with my friends.
fighting for freedom.
People came in and bought their tick-
“On this day, the Haftorah we have David Geffen and his father, Louis Geffen, Washington Street, Atlanta, 1943. ets. They also put money in the plates—
read from the Navi Amos reminded us When this photograph was taken, the elder Geffen was on leave as a U.S. pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, and a
that the Sukkah of our people, Eretz Army judge advocate.
few bills—for yeshivos, for arme leit—
Yisrael, has risen again. May it never be
destroyed. We hope and pray that the new
land will be filled with Torah. God watch
over our sisters and brothers and bring
comfort to those who have suffered so,
but now have a chance for a new life.
Together we recite the Sheheyanu blessing—Sheheyanu,
Vikeemanu, Vehigianu,
Lazman Hazeh. Amen.”
Now September had arrived and the
excitement related to the Yamim Noraim
was upon us. “Dad,” I said to my father,
Louis, “can I stay up for Selichos services?
I will be 10 in November. Bring me
with you.”
“Well, David, I will see how school
starts out for you, and then I will decide.”
I looked at my mother, Anna, longingly,
but I did not receive any reaction. My
mother was not a Selichos devotee.
A few days before Selichos, my
father told me that I could accompany
him, but, he warned, “You better stay
awake.” I knew that Albert Tuck, my best
friend, would be coming and maybe
some other boys. Whenever the boys in
the shul got together, we played in the
back part of the building, the Beis
Medrash. That section at Shearith Israel
was constructed in 1929, and the davening
and the learning went on there until
the main sanctuary was completed in
1930.
Since the Beis Medrash had its own
shul, we held Junior Congregation there
on Shabbas, under the direction of Rabbi
Hyman Friedman, z’l. Friedman, who
came to Atlanta in 1943, was a lively man
who had grown up in the Young Israel
movement in New York. He possessed
wonderful memories, which he passed on
to us as a part of the davening. Some carried
his teachings to various parts of the
U.S. and to Israel. Some stayed in
Atlanta. Leon Tuck put it this way:
“Rabbi Friedman captured my spirit as a
teenager and changed my entire life. The
synagogue has been my home because of
the davening and learning that he imparted
to me.”
On that Selichos night in 1948, what
I recall initially was the walk to the synagogue
with my father. Washington
Street was then the only locale in Atlanta
where a goodly number of Jews resided,
possibly close to 2,000 people, young
and old. We lived in the 700 block of
Washington Street, my grandparents at
593 Washington; the shul was at 500
Washington.
That Saturday night, the street was
abuzz. Not that only Jews lived there, but
it seemed that night the sidewalks were
bursting with Yidden—unsere leit. At the
main intersection, Georgia Avenue and
Washington Street, you could smell the
challah baking for yomtov at Manhattan
Bakery, along with the lekach—honey
cake—and, once in a while, teiglach.
Since Shabbas was over, the ovens at
the bakery had been fired up, and people
lined the sidewalk on Georgia Avenue,
waiting to buy their baked goods. Since
Rosh Hashanah was still a few days
away, people were still buying rye and
pumpernickel breads. I have heard at
times that Mr. Novack, the baker, made
bagels. My father and I took a good
schmeck—smell—and moved on.
At the next corner on Washington
Street was Kaufman’s Kosher Chickens;
close by was Max Siegel’s Deli. At 10:30
p.m., both were filled with customers.
“Louie,” Bessie Kaufman called to my
father, “when are you coming to pick up
Anna’s order?” “Bessie, I will be in
tomorrow morning—make sure it is
ready.” Wondrous smells floated out into
the night air. We passed by Siegel’s
quickly and went on to the next corner.
At Crumbley and Washington, one
could see Piedmont Hospital, my place of
birth. Even at night, as my father walked
on the sidewalk, I played my game of
jumping from stoop to stoop. We were
now accompanied by 20 or so men heading
to the shul. At the corner of
Richardson and Washington, we crossed
over and stopped at Stein’s Butcher
Shop, where my father said hello to one
of his clients, Ben Stein. He and his wife
were busy selling fleish—meat—of all
types. In those days, there were still a
number of Shochetim in Atlanta, who
killed kosher meat two or three times a
week. Kosher meat was still all fresh,
which is what the people wanted. Stein’s
was one of four kosher meat markets at
the time. We passed the store, a little
house where I once sliced my arm
severely, and then we were at Shearith
Israel.
The little shul, as it was known, had
been at this particular location for 18
years. When Rabbi Geffen first arrived
there in 1910, the shul was located on
Hunter Street (now MLK drive), down
the block from the State Capitol. The
Eastern European Jewish community was
concentrated in that area, led by Ahavath
Achim, the big shul, on Gilmer Street. In
1921, the AA moved to Washington
Street.
Shearith Israel was having financial
problems and could not move. Then, a
leader of the “Deitscher Yidden,” Harold
Hirsch, z’l, saved the day. The property at
500 Washington Street was bought in
1928; first, the Beis Medrash was constructed,
then the sanctuary. This
1930 note in the Southern Israelite captured
the spirit of the shul: “The small but
determined group at Shearith Israel finished
their new building. The rich
Hebrew Benevolent Congregation, The
Temple, is still waiting around to finish
its structure on Peachtree Street.”
I can still see that building today.
the poor—in the United States and Israel.
Some people also made contributions for
shul. We now know that Rabbi Geffen
regularly forwarded contributions of $10
and $20 taken from these collection
plates to help institutions all over the
world. He kept meticulous records of the
amount and locale where every contribution
was sent.
What do I recall about first Selichos
service? Maybe 75 men and 25 women
were present. The men sat in the center of
the main sanctuary; the women were on
the raised sides. My grandfather and
Rabbi Friedman were in their white kittels
sitting on the bema next to the aron
kodesh. The chazzan, in for a tryout,
wore his white robe and davened from
the center bema. My friends and I played
inside and outside. We played catch a bit,
then my father came and got me. “David,
you wanted to be here for Selichos, I
strongly suggest that you come inside.”
I did not learn too much that night,
but I now know that Selichos has several
musical highlights. One is the repetition
of the words “Hashem Hashem”—words
found in the Torah right after the incident
of the golden calf. The Chazzan recited
these words five or six times. The Ritual
Committee members seemed to like his
voice and his nusach, so he would probably
daven for the Yamim Noraim.
My eyes were closing fast. I was trying
to stay awake. I could no longer follow
the words in the Selichos book,
though my father kept pointing at them.
There was one melody I knew. Where
was it? Where was Avinu Malkenu?
Would I make it to that point? Then the
ark opened. Avinu Malkenu started. Next
thing I knew, my father was waking me
up to walk home.