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(for a hundred and twenty years!)
Marjorie Gottlieb Wolfe
Syosset, New York
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My father, Bernard Gottlieb, turns 99 on March 12. His sister, Sally Rosoff, lived until almost a "hundert" (100). Good genes in the Gottlieb family.
In Yiddish, we say, "A lebn oyf im!" (Long may he live!) We also say, "Lekhayim!" (To life!)
I recently had the pleasure of reading two books dealing with longevity: Alan Alda's book, "Things I Overheard While Talking to Myself" and "If I Live to Be 100 - Lessons from the Centenarians" by Neenah Ellis.
Alan Alda was once asked during an interview in London, "How long would you like to live?" Letting his imagination "loyz" (loose) a little, he replied, "A hundred and six. If I can still make love."
The next day a newspaper headline read:
WATCH OUT GIRLS. ALDA WANTS
TO LIVE TO 106 AND STILL MAKE LOVE.
When Alda interviewed scientists on Scientific American Frontiers, he was told that, eventually, people will live to 150, 200, and possibly longer. He was "dershlogn" (depressed) because he felt he had shortchanged himself. (He should have picked a bigger number.)
In the Neenah Ellis book, two Jewish men are interviewed. Abraham Goldstein is one of them. He is quoted as saying, "You don't live in the past, you live in the present." Goldstein, 99, was a professor at Baruch College. Although he is retired from "der klastsimer" (the clasroom), he tutors students at Baruch's Zicklin School of Business and prepares legal briefs for his colleagues about recent rulings that affect business law in the state of New York.
Goldstein's parents were Russian immigrants. His father was a "shnayder" (tailor). "He remembers that when he was a kid, he was crazy about baseball ("beysbol"), but his father would say, 'Let me see you with a book in your hand.'"
A student asked, "Does it seem silly to you that people care that you're one hundred years old?"
"Not silly, but I don't care for it. It's just another day. It's like walking ten miles, a step at a time, living and breathing, one day at a time, one week at a time. Before you know it, you're a hundred years old. The body doesn't function, of course. You know, some young girls give me a seat on the bus. I was flattered. I though, I must be handsome, but I got some pictures they took here recently and I see that's not the reason."
The second man interviewed was Harry Shapiro. He was described as having unruly eyebrows, age spots on his forehead, vertical drapes of skin under his chin, and deep eye sockets. Shapiro is a painter, and his living room is his gallery. His favorite painter is Paul Cezanne.
He says, "When I came to this country, I was Aaron Shapiro. I told the teacher, 'I'm Aaron Shapir' and she said, 'Well, now you're Harry Shapiro' and I remained Harry for the rest of my days.
He came to the U. S. at the age of 5 1/2. His father had come ahead of the family from Pinsk, Russia. "His family settled on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, a city of immigrants unto itself, but soon they moved across the river to Brooklyn, where his father worked as a tailor.
The interviewer, Neenah, was invited to lunch with Harry and his wife. They enjoyed matzoh ball soup, bagels and whitefish spread, and glasses of juice.
In his whole life, Shapiro has sold one painting. He never painted for money, anyway.
Researchers at the Albert Einstein College of Medicine are studying Harry; he's never had a major illness. He's never been "krank" (ill).
"You know about what I think prolongs life?" Harry has said, "Art and music. Beyond that, it is to have a heart full of love. That is the important thing."
And, finally, there's a "vunderlekh" story about Rivka and Bernie, who have been married for 50 years. They are being interviewed by a reporter from a Jewish newspaper.
"So, Rivka," asks the reporter, "I know today is your Golden Wedding Anniversary, but how alt (old), exactly, are you?"
"I am 78 years old," replies Rivka, "and kin-a-hara I should live to be a hundred."
"Well I hope your wish comes true," says the reporter. The reporter turns to Bernie and asks, "And how old are you, Bernie?"
"I'm also 78 years old," replies Bernie, "and please G-d I should live to be a HUNDRED AND ONE."
"But why," asks the reporter, "do you want to live one year longer than your wife?"
"Well, to tell you the truth," replied Bernie,
"I would like to have at least one year of
peace and quiet."
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Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you. "Lomir lebn un lakhn." (May
we live and laugh.)
Your daughter, Marge.
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