Mr. Monday and other tales of Jewish Amsterdam

44 Adr. Monday and Other Tales of Jewish Amsterdam

And I imagine that Father probably answered, "A human being should look backwards, never forward. Why should I teach my children that they have to slave and slave and slave? They will spend their lives chasing after themselves. And when finally they reach the finish line and look into their hands, what will they have caught? Nothing."

"Oy well," Grandma lamented, "I would like to know from whom that man always gets those chochmes!'

And then Father must have answered, "From a certain Mr. Lebovitz..."

"Who is Mr. Lebovitz?"

"Mr. Lebovitz is a friend of mine."

Born as a joke, Mr. Lebovitz became the shield behind which Father hid every time life became too difficult for him.

He could only be himself by putting on the mask of Mr. Lebovitz.

For instance, when he got to bickering with Grandmother, they had noisy conflicts, but not serious ones. Grandmother was bossy and Father resisted by listening in silence. This was more eloquent than a long speech. When he got tired of the flow of words, he would say to Mother, "I saw Mr. Lebovitz this morning."

"What did he say?" asked Mother, understanding and patient.

"Good Morning."

"Nothing more?"

"What more should he have said? When you see somebody every day, you know every word before it is spoken. Silly people just prattle on, but people with brains never say more than what is strictly necessary."