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Friday February 9, 2007

A visit to the ‘morgue’ can be life-affirming

We call it the morgue. It’s the room in which this newspaper stores 17 cabinets filled with file photographs of everyone in the Jewish universe, from Ben-Gurion to Ben Stiller, from the local synagogue’s newest rabbi to its first.

The morgue is also where we keep about 115 bound volumes of back issues, some predating the 1906 earthquake and fire.

Occasionally a scholar stops by to examine them, researching local Jewish history. But mostly, the volumes just sit there unopened, arthritic from disuse.

Once in a while, when I’m back in the morgue seeking a photo, I take a minute to flip through one of them. Like the cliché of opening a Bible and reading the first passage your finger lands on, I love to pore over random long-forgotten stories on those yellowed pages fragile as fish bones.

A hundred years ago, this paper was called Emanu-El, having originated under the auspices of the venerable San Francisco congregation. In an edition from November 1921 (the year my mother was born), we learn that British novelist E.V. Lucas, writing originally in Harper’s Magazine, discovered why Jews shuffle when they walk. “Jews are said to shuffle,” wrote Lucas, “because their ancestors in the desert had to push the sand aside with their feet.”

There was also a story announcing $10,000 raised at a benefit for the Jewish Consumptive Society (consumptive as in tuberculosis, not American Express Cards).

And I found an ad placed by a Madame Stiver, who promised no-pain removal of moles, warts and superfluous hair with her improved Multiple Needle System.

In the April 1, 1955 edition, published the week I was born, the coming Passover holiday dominated headlines in the paper, then called the Jewish Community Bulletin. However, a Page One disclaimer warned, “This issue, replete with news of Passover events, is NOT a special edition. The Jewish Community Bulletin does NOT believe that religious occasions are the time for special editions.”

The most eye-catching story that week described fighting in Israel, in which IDF soldiers fired on “Egyptians” who crossed into the country from Gaza. In another border incident that same week, other Egyptians launched a sneak grenade attack on a Jewish wedding party, killing one and wounding 23.

Plus ça change…

My favorite ads in that issue: not one, not two, but three ads for gefilte fish — Horowitz-Margareten, Manischewitz and Mother’s brand — all kosher for Passover, of course.

In the July 8, 1983 edition of the Northern California Jewish Bulletin (published the week my son was born), the main Page One story covered Israel’s then-defense minister Moshe Arens, who charged the PLO with “using eight Israeli soldiers captured during the war in Lebanon for the purposes of waging a campaign of ‘cruel psychological warfare.’”

Among the local stories that week, the 75th wedding anniversary of Ben and Leah Sellinger, married in 1908. The San Francisco couple lived in the Marina district for most of the last century. Said Ben, “We’ve had a really happy marriage. She won’t let go of me, and if you don’t believe me, ask her.”

Another short piece announced an upcoming lecture on the Middle East from Rita Semel, then associate director of the Jewish Community Relations Council. More than 23 years later, Rita is still helping the Bay Area Jewish community every day.

Best ads: Santa Barbara Savings offering an IRA account at an annual yield of 11.8 percent. Another for 101 Jewish Holistic Health References and Remedies “from the Bible, Talmud, etc.”

Etc.?

Working at a newspaper, I’m usually very much in the moment. What happens now is all that matters. They say a newspaper is the first draft of history, but I don’t think we “drafters” get caught up in that. We’re too busy worrying about the weekly deadline.

Hanging out in the morgue, though, it’s impossible not to feel swept up in the river of history. Even at our provincial level, the Bay Area Jewish community both impacts and reflects the current of the times. Each story, each ad, each photo in those old newspapers is like a hologram, through which we perceive the dazzling dimensions of a world long departed.

How odd that we call that room the morgue. It’s so full of life.

Dan Pinedan@jweekly.com.

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