Mr. Monday and other tales of Jewish Amsterdam

12 Adr. Monday and Other Tales of Jewish Amsterdam

small storeroom. It seemed a palace to them

Their son, our Mr. Monday, became the personal apprentice to a master cobbler. After he got married he rented the basement of the house to live in and to start a shoemaking shop himself. The back room of the basement became the sitting room of the young couple's home. A shed attached to the back entrance completed their residence.

For years on end our cobbler lived and worked in that draughty and wet basement. If anyone ever asked him why he didn't look for a better place, he used to reply, "If the good G-d Himself lived in Manege Street, people would still ask,'Why don't you move?'"

Furthermore, he was very attached to Manege Street. As a matter of fact, most of the immigrants from Eastern Europe showed a definite preference for living in or around that street because close to it, around the corner in Church Street, they had their own synagogue.

During the service, that little "shul" resounded with a passionate religious zeal. Those praying Russians beat themselves on the breast in a frenzy of atonement and submission. The melodies of their ancient incantations were full of wild-sounding tones. The Dutch Jews who attended their services felt as though they were hearing and seeing things that they remembered without really knowing from where. These sounds seemed to come from centuries ago, when their own great-grandfathers, with long curly locks for sideburns, walked around wearing black kaftans down to their ankles, and hats trimmed with fox fur.

But let me not forget our cobbler, Mr. Monday!

His name was a rich source for an endless line of jokes.