Labor Day Memories and Inspiration

 Dear Friends,

When I served as a congregational rabbi, each Labor Day weekend I would share the following poem by Carl Sandburg during Shabbat/Sabbath services:

FISH CRIER

I KNOW a Jew fish crier down on Maxwell Street with a
     voice like a north wind blowing over corn stubble
     in January.
He dangles herring before prospective customers evincing
     a joy identical with that of Pavlowa dancing.
His face is that of a man terribly glad to be selling fish,
     terribly glad that God made fish, and customers to
     whom he may call his wares, from a pushcart.

I share this because it reminded me of the stories that my parents would tell about  the jobs their parents had.

As I recall, (my older brothers, who may be reading this, could fact check me),  my paternal grandfather had a wagon or pushcart and would sell coal in the winter and ice in the summer. I suspect that he too was grateful to have customers who would buy the coal and ice during the seasons in which they needed them.

I remember hearing stories about a grocery store, a newspaper stand, selling newspapers to folks working with the mafia, a millinery business, but honestly, I don't remember too many specifics.  What I do remember is the work ethic that was described and the importance of putting in an honest day's work for a day's wages.  I remember seeing notebooks of the hours my father would work as he talked about "hiring out" on the railroad, working double shifts  and then on his days off, doing "odd jobs" for people around their homes.  I think about all the hours my mother worked inside the home raising my brothers and me.  I remember her stories about working for a real estate agent before my parents had children.

On this Labor Day weekend I hope that we will remember the sacrifices that our ancestors made for us to be able to enjoy (hopefully) an improved quality of life due to all their hard work.  Each generation wants to help their children live a "better" life.

Finally, I hope you find the following words to be meaningful:  They are a secular equivalent of the Jewish story about the old man planting a tree and being asked why he was planting it when he would not see it blossom.  He responded that as his parents planted for him, so he wanted to plant for his children.

THE BRIDGE BUILDER
     Will Allen Dromgoole
An old man going a lone highway
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm vast and wide and steep,
With waters rolling cold and deep.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim,
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.

"Old man," said a fellow pilgrim near,
"You are wasting your strength with building here.
Your journey will end with the ending day,
You never again will pass this way.
You've crossed the chasm, deep and wide,
Why build you this bridge at eventide?

The builder lifted his old gray head.
"Good friend, in the path I have come," he said,
"There followeth after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
The chasm that was nought to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be;
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim 
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him.

B'shalom (in peace),

Rabbi Bruce Aft