Mr. Monday and other tales of Jewish Amsterdam

MR. MONDAY 7 9

That kind of forgiveness was seldom understood, and certainly not appreciated. Especially when it was clear that the individual in question had committed his foul deed, not because he had been forced to, but only because he derived pleasure and satisfaction from it.

When that fact was pointed out to our cobbler, he would comment "If that man is such a chazzer (a pig) just for fun, you should pity him twice. Nebbish, nebbish."

Over most of the jokes he told, lay a veil of mournful compassion. He laughed because he did not want to cry. One story that he called his pet joke went like this:

"There was a Polish Jew and he said, 'I am proud to be a Jew, because if I weren't proud of it, I would still be a Jew. So I might as well be proud of it.'"

Problems that excited others, merely moved Mr. Monday to remark, "People, human beings. What more can you expect from them than that they are what they are. And that doesn't amount to much.

Or: "What's all the excitement about? In a hundred years from now, we'll all be dead and gone."

Or: "It is only when you are in need of friends that you discover that you are alone in the world."

Perhaps he inherited his philosophical attitude from the sages of old among our people. He let slip out easily that he was a distant relative of the Ba'al Shem, the Keeper of the Name, the legendary Jewish sage who was worshipped as a prophet in Eastern Europe. At the small Russian shul in Church Street, everyone was aware of this supposed family connection. When Mr. Monday entered the synagogue, an almost silent whispering ran through the gathering of praying men because after all, he was small ray of the great light.