My mom sends me too many emails. This is an empirical fact. I can count on at least two forwards a day, and usually a coupon or two for some service or product. To her credit, she sends decent stuff, and even when whatever it is doesn’t resonate with me, it’s often nice to see what has moved her.
If it’s not specifically related to food, which it usually is, it’s almost certain to be Jewishy to the max. This causes me equal parts ants-in-pants (most present), boredom (often) and that godforsaken gut-wrenching inherited ancestral memory feeling (sometimes) that plagues even the Jewish women who attempt to reject their Judaism with great fervor (like mahseff).
Today she sent a nice one. It had a link to a video. And it was nice especially because she wrote actual words of her own, and in them were a little memory.
This was her email:
The short heavy Jewish man, Berle Sanford Rosenberg, was Daddy’s protege over 30 years ago. He sang to you when you were about 2 in the basement coffee house Daddy and I used to go to to hear opera on the Upper West Side. He held your hand, you were sitting on the table, he sang a complete aria, not a sound from you, and then you clapped. Not too bad for a 2 year old.
I’m not sure how he could have been my dad’s protege, exactly. My dad is a lifelong and extremely passionate lover of all things opera. He never sang, though. Maybe he paid for lessons or classes or attempted to make connections for him? Not sure about that. I’ll have to ask. If you’re interested in the hand-holder, Berle’s solo part starts around 3 min and runs for about 120 seconds.