THE
EARTHRISE DIARY (Nov 2012)
Don
Diespecker
(© text Don Diespecker 2012). Writers whose works are included here
retain their individual ©.
I wrote a short story because I
wanted to see something of mine in print other than my fingers.
Wilson
Mizner
A poet never takes notes. You
never take notes in a love affair.
Robert
Frost
Dear Diary Readers, I was looking for an apt quotation concerning the
powers and lordliness of brush turkeys and along the way I found the lines above:
each provoked hearty laughter and now that I’ve borrowed them and put both
almost together at the top of the page I’m suddenly aware of having doubled my
laughter! How about that?
Both quotes are from one of my treasured books: The writer’s quotation
book. A literary companion (Ed: James Charlton), published in NY by Pushcart
Press. Do track it down especially if you’re a writer; although the book
doesn’t provide comprehensive source information for the quotes it does include
some wonderful small b/w illustrations of writers writing (the fevered brow,
the rages, the crumpling and discarding of many drafts into the wpb...
Nov 1. Thurs. The first crimson flowers of the weeping coral tree near
the birdbath are open today. The river is low and the air is hot with
temperatures to about 32˚ in the shade. The garden is dry. I continue going
outside in the heat for breaks with axe and giant secateurs. I’ve been
destructing the dead cumquat tree. Later, at the end of the day when I finally
lie down I hear something drop on one of the roofs upstairs: it’s a small
goanna.
Nov 3. Saturday. I’m enthused to get the mower down and to mow some of
the now shaggy lawn. The machine has been used only once previously this spring
and requires some subtle poking, prodding and cleaning of an oiled plug but the
engine remembers its duty and roars eventually into life. My sore back takes a
back seat; I am, after all, rattling with chewed chunks of silica tablets. It’s
a warm and dry day and I’ve made the final assault on the poor old cumquat, now
horribly expired and very much deconstructed. That ought to have been enough
violence and exercise for one day but I’m in the mood for the trimming of the
wild lawn grasses so I plunge ahead circling repeatedly the dry as dust centre
of Big Lawn. In clouds of dust I reduce the leafed greenery to the semblance of
a lawn (i.e., the centre portion of it). I have two sessions of dusty mowing
and then stop to rest. As I sink comfortably into a garden chair I notice first
one and then a second fishing eagle overhead; the first begins in slow spirals
directly above and this bird has ragged wingtips. The second bird looks more
streamlined and circles above the first in the opposite direction. Can they be
scheming to land briefly, talons extended, to lift me into the sky and then to
drop me on my head to soften me up for a snacked meal somewhere along the
dwindling river?
Nov 11. Armistice Day. Sunday. At twilight through the toilet window I
see flashing lights everywhere outside, especially on the forested slopes: fireflies!
Have the scratching turkeys caused this? If so, what is the relationship
between industrious turkeys and the winking air show in the dusk?
Nov 16. Carl calls me at sunrise: he’s home from the US and happily in
one piece. This Friday evening: the power fails and I call the electrical
people and two guys arrive in a ute, then leave for more stuff, then return
with another truck and extra crew members. They have replaced my stricken power
line (felled by a high branch from a native privet tree). The crews complete
their work in light rain and impenetrable darkness (they have their own
floodlighting) and leave at 10:30. Back at the house I blow out the candles and
switch on the Mac and keep working until after midnight; my files have survived
the mishap.
Nov 17: the power goes off again (less than 24-hours after the first
‘interruption’), this time for hours on a Saturday night: there was no mishap
on this property, however and the fault was perhaps related to the storms in
S-E Queensland.
The
Turkey Supremacy
DD
My two volumes Field Guide to Australian Birds doesn’t include much
information about brush turkeys, to my surprise. The description is reasonable,
of course (although the illustration doesn’t at all do the bird justice). I’m
very impressed by brush turkeys and keep a wary eye on the ones that daily
visit Earthrise…
There was a time when brush turkeys were irksome enough for me to throw
things at them and even to rush down to the gardens yelling and waving my arms.
I no longer waste time and energy that way. Australian gardeners will perfectly
understand what I mean. The turkeys have always loved revving me up and would
ignore my unhinged approaches until the last moment before dispersing in
several different directions and sometimes flying for fun just to upset the
dogs that were never able to catch one; never ever. The big birds would stand
three or four of them in the shade watching me plant dahlia tubers in the early
spring and then saunter out after my return to the house and proceed
relentlessly to dig all the tubers up. I suspect that they did this gleefully.
Those turkeys! I was conditioned to thwart them by behaving idiotically.
Brush turkeys can be extremely difficult for humans: they are
self-assured to the point of arrogance sometimes and they, in turn, keep a wary
on me. They are also courageous and adventurous.
Nowadays, what with climate change and global warming and inconsistent
weather patterns, there are only one or two regulars. The dogs have gone to the
great paddock in the sky and the turkeys, being acute observers of the human
comedy, have my measure: they know I can’t be bothered throwing missiles
anymore, nor will I run madly at them, and I have of course been making easily
assembled fences with chicken wire and star pickets to keep birds away from
sprouting dahlia tubers. For desperate gardeners who have not yet learned The
Way: keep your dahlia enclosures small enough to contain only the dahlias;
raise chicken wire to at least waist height; prevent take-off runway space
within the enclosure and further frustrate raiders with sticks and branches
that will make fly-in/fly-out flights entirely too hazardous. Also, chemicals
won’t deter turkeys: they love using those powerful claws to un-bury buried tubers
and they relish tearing the tubers to shreds, wheezily laughing all the while.
Once the turkey-proof garden is established it’s my responsibility to
get down on my knees (I use strap-on protective knee pads) and do some weeding.
When the dahlias are sprouted and springing and tied to stakes and there are
grasses and weeds between the rows the turkeys sometimes wander over to watch
me from the shade. They always look slightly amused, very superior, benevolent
and tolerant. I ‘m sure they’re calculating altitudes, drift, trim and all the
flight stuff they might need to come in low (but with claws retracted) to clear
the wire and then to lose height dramatically and without breaking anything,
attempt to land short in the confined space…but they can’t do it because there
is absolutely insufficient runway and no overshoot possibilities. The brush
turkey, to be airborne, absolutely needs runway space to reach take-off speed.
The sustained wheezing the frowning turkeys hear from down among the weeds is
my gardening laughter. Crowded spaces deter brush turkey flying as nothing else
can possibly can.
And I have slowed down, anyway. All of which means that there is a sort
of truce here at Earthrise: if the turkeys want to stroll nonchalantly over the
nearby road bridge and then fly in to Earthrise they will know that I have no
objection. They repay my courtesy by aerating Big Lawn for me: for days and
sometimes weeks following this operation the lawns appear to have been mortared
or bombed because so many holes have been over-dug and made too deep…that sort
of thing, but come the heavy rains and a close mowing when the grass has dried
and you’d never know the ‘black peacocks’ had holed the green sward’s
wholeness. Old gardeners surveying the unholy sight of an apparently blitzed
lawn need only be super cautious for a few days: place your boots on secure
lawn whilst avoiding the craters and shell-holes; otherwise risk twisting or
breaking your ankles.
That’s the historical background. The brush turkeys and I are now so amiable
that I stop to chat with them as I come and go outside and they are convivial
enough to continue with their work with scarcely a sideways glance. It’s what
the turkeys are currently engaged in that’s the worry: the neutral territory
between my front steps and the carport has been excessively raked over and
over-scratched repeatedly. I’m a
little worried about this for a couple of reasons, one being that the hard and
well-tramped surface of the footpath (ignored by the raking birds) is now
invisible beneath a wave of debris: grass, weeds, and the sorry remains of my
budding Christmas orchids. (These ground orchids grow wild in this area). The
footpath is dead ground: too densely compacted to be worth spraining a claw
for. These local turkeys, you see, have great cognitive powers: they endlessly think and probably a lot more than we do… If they aim to discharge
the unwanted organics onto the path, the plants will cook in the sun and be
well out of the way of the hunters—because hunting for food is what this
turmoil is about: the big birds scratch to clear and more easily see insects,
grubs and worms.
On Friday evening (Nov 16) when one of my more exhibitionistic trees
broke and in turn broke my incoming electricity line there had been a
thunderstorm and then light rain (and that epic affair which took two crews and
most of the evening to repair is another story). As I tottered past the carport
with my waning torch I found the most solitary of the brush turkeys next to the
Honda, sheltering from the weather. We exchanged greetings of a kind and I
noticed that there was now a surfeit of tradescantia and weeds in the
unoccupied parking bay and that this organic mass was now jungle thick. I
almost upbraided the handsome bird when I realized (as the bird had undoubtedly
already done) that both parking bays are dead ground with the compacted soil
there as dense as can be—the turkey knew that the weeds would quickly die and
not cause me any great problem and the bird had nicely weeded and almost
completely cleared the weedy area next to the carport. Well done noble bird, I
said. As I later discovered, even this simple relocation of debris was overdone
and the wide scattering of weeds was extended to the Honda’s uncovered engine…
I always leave the hood (bonnet) open and up to discourage bush rats from
nesting on the warm engine. Bush rats will chew on anything/everything for
their amusement and nourishment and to the despair of humans who then must
spend many dollars replacing chewed cables and suchlike vitals sharing space
with the engine.
The most persistent and almost regular brush turkey is here almost
every day. I’ve started calling him Jason, after Grisham’s legendary character,
Jason Bourne: he is courageous, adventurous, wonderfully imaginative and he’s
always thinking as he works.
–But just you watch it, Jason, or a fox will get you sooner or later
because there are always foxes on stakeout duties and foxes are also prone to a
lot of thinking…
Pictures
DD
I’ve been thinking a lot about pictures. I have a few in this big
downstairs room inside the Earthrise house and while discussing pictures with
friends recently (paintings in particular) I realised that each of the pictures
here I had placed in a position that now seems on reflection to have suited
both the picture as well as myself. Pictures are of course interesting or
beautiful or motivating and they also are distractions. If I have hung a
picture or propped one on the bookshelf behind me, then that ‘back location’
has probably been chosen for a good reason. It’s about time that I take a
careful look at that notion: the locations that I’ve chosen—and why I so chose.
Just behind my left ear are three postcards propped on a bookshelf.
Facing me when I turn around to see them: there is, on the left, part of the Manet-inspired Le déjeuner
sur l’herbe (1866) by Claude Monet. To my mind this is not the best
reproduction I’ve ever seen and as much as I love Monet’s paintings I prefer my
remembrance of Manet’s unforgettable peopled picture (1863) of the same title.
Both paintings are in the Musée d’Orsay, Paris. The Monet version is on a
birthday card sent me by my son, Carl. The large and long spread-out dress (or
gown?) worn by one of the women, her back to the painter, almost dominates the
scene (and the eye is also drawn to the luncheon invitingly spread on a white
tablecloth on the grass next to this woman.
The middle picture is a photographic reproduction (postcard) in soft
and diminished light of Notre Dame, Paris with one of the Seine’s bridges in
the foreground: it’s a muted reproduction with a pale, misted sun shining (this
little postcard picture was sent to me by a friend, L who was travelling
overseas). The third picture (on the right) is a postcard reproduction of ‘A
summer morning,’ (c 1908) by Rupert Bunny: the original hangs in Sydney’s Art
Gallery of New South Wales and shows two young women in the foreground and a
maid in the shadows. The women wear long gowns or dresses and shading hats and
one sits with a cat on her lap; the maid stands in a shadowed doorway and is
serving tea or coffee. A little further to the right and attached to my
circular window is another Bunny reproduction (on clear plastic film so that
local sunlight shines through images). Two young women sit in a garden at a
table in dappled light, one reads from what seems to be a letter—and, yes, both
women wear long light dresses that gleam whitely and the reader wears a big
shading hat… Paintings by Impressionist painters that are eloquent manipulations
of light have a marvellous emotional as well as aesthetic appeal: if I so much
as glance at such a picture whilst working I am instantly enchanted and tend to
remain in that reality for surprisingly lengthy periods. Such pictures are
meditations and inspire memories and new visualizations of the old.
The Paris postcard is central to these small reproductions and Paris
has been important to me since my first visit 62 years ago; and this pc is a
link to that place and to art in Paris and to people I met there and whom I
still love.
Impressionist paintings of women in long dresses and wearing big
shading hats, the subjects of artists who painted them long before I was born,
touch me deeply and it’s very difficult for me to explain precisely why this
should be so. –Working on these reflections is itself a work in progress.
The books behind the three postcard reproductions are mostly history
texts that describe South African history—e.g., The Transvaal from within; The
Randlords; Lost trails of the Transvaal; and two that I published (One Mind;
The Agreement (which includes the sequel to The Agreement, Lourenço Marques).
When I arrived in Delagoa Bay (Mozambique) with my family aboard the SS
Bencleugh in 1937 I hung over the mid-ship rails to look down at the Harbour
Master’s launch coming alongside. Hot morning sunlight danced on the Bay. My
mother’s sister, Ellen, sat in the stern-sheets looking up from beneath a
parasol: she wore a long lightly coloured dress and a big shade hat and she was
laughing joyfully and waving up to her sister, Grace. Nobody was quick enough
to photograph her, but the image or picture in my mind now is almost as clear as when I saw my beautiful tall aunt in the
launch 75 years ago.
Ellen and Grace were the two daughters (their two brothers, George and
Douglas were deceased) of Scots migrants, Lesley and Sarah Singer and the
family had once lived in Pilgrim’s Rest, high in the Transvaal Middleveld; and
our small family of four was soon to disembark and travel to Pilgrim’s, as we
used to call the place).
From that long ago time there arose other related images: Ellen and
Gerard Bier’s two children, Corinne and her brother John, my cousins. Now I’m
remembering an afternoon in London when Pam and I were visiting Corinne and her
husband, Vernon. John and his girlfriend, C, were there, too. I was about to
leave for Iran and a long contract job (on Iranian airfields). Corinne and
Vernon, John and C have passed away. Corinne, in the 1930s had worked for a
solicitor in South Africa who had been a member of the Johannesburg Reform
Committee (1895/1896) (some of the Committee’s members allegedly helped prepare
the way for the Jameson Raid (one of the Second Anglo Boer War triggers). More
information about the Raid and the Committee may be found Online via Wikipedia).
Corinne used also to recount some of the intriguing stories of the
1940s in Mozambique—I remember one about the effrontery of a U-boat Commander
who sauntered into the posh Polana Hotel in Lourenço Marques and ordered a hot
breakfast…
Corinne’s brother, John, used to be a writer and producer (South
African Broadcasting Corporation, Johannesburg. Vernon Kretzmann and John Bier
met at Rhodes University, Grahamstown: Vernon, a novelist, later married
Corinne. Years later Corinne and Vernon came to live in retirement in Australia
(one of their two sons lives in Perth) but were not allowed to remain. They
returned to Johannesburg where they both recently died. Pam and I are the two
remaining in this little anecdote.
Perhaps there are other connections as well; my past visits to
galleries and museums, particularly in Paris and tall elegant women who favour
wearing long dresses. Perhaps I would (I imagine) experience such images as
described above even more emotionally were I to sit facing them…
November 19. Kerry Smith, my friend and teacher, demonstrates and show me
the practicalities of how to self-publish Online. With Kerry’s considerable help and guidance the novella
Finding Drina is at last published as an E-book. Finding Drina is also
meta-fiction (fiction about fiction), and mine is written in three styles,
those of GG Marquez, Ernest Hemingway and Lawrence Durrell. Characters from my
novel The Agreement ‘meet’ and ‘interact’ with characters from Love in the time
of cholera, Fiesta (The sun also rises); and The Alexandria Quartet. Finding
Drina is a tongue-in-cheek espionage story set in Venezuela, Australia, France
(Paris), Egypt and Greece (the island of Rhodes).
Nov 21.Wednesday night near midnight I rescue a firefly languidly
flying circuits above my bed. When he or she lands gracefully nearby I
delicately pick it up upon a slightly dampened fingertip and return the little
flier to the noisy night.
The Diespecker
Family—A Partial History
Ilse Vogel
(From a speech made at The Diespecker Family Reunion, Vancouver, BC. July 21-23, 2006). (© text Ilse Vogel 2006)
[Text of the speech
below was used by Ilse Vogel for her address to the Diespecker family given at
a dinner on Saturday night during our 2006 reunion in Vancouver; the address
was accompanied by a booklet of maps and pictures prepared by Ilse for the
family (the booklet shows some of the people, the places, and the period
described in the address)]
A Rabbi David, with the
name Diespeck, was born at a place called Diespeck in 1715.
This place still exists. On a German road map, you can find it in the
northern part of Bavaria, halfway between Nuremberg and Wurtzburg. The family name means “die Specke,”
which is a corduroy road made with logs laid side by side over the ground.
Nowadays they pronounce it “Dies-peck,” but if I look at the Hebrew spelling on
tombstones it is spelled and pronounced “Disch-bek.” That is the way everyone
born there pronounces it.
Not much is known about the town. The only records that remain are the
church registers. Most of the other records, together with much of the area
itself were destroyed during the Thirty Years’ War from 1618-1648. New records were created when the noble
family of the area, the Seckendorffs, took a census of people, livestock, and
lands in 1697. In those documents, we find the spelling “Diespeck.” We also
find 7 Jewish names among the 34 family names registered. The word “Jew” was
always added after these 7 names. Among those listed is a certain “Joel Jud,”
perhaps David’s father.
Registers at the States Archives of Bavaria show a protected Jew of
Bamberg paying taxes in Fürth in 1716 in the local currency called tischbeks
(table baker). This Jew was Jekutiel, son of Joel. He was a Mohel in Fürth, called
upon by Jewish families to do circumcisions. The death registers say he died at
the age of 70 in 1771, so he was born in Diespeck in 1700, son of Joel Jud.
David Diespeck was born in 1715, 15 years later than his brother. Perhaps this means he was born to a
different mother. Jekutiel left Diespeck when David was born, perhaps because
of his father’s second marriage. I suspect that David was born in one of the
houses in the Jews Court in Diespeck.
Special rights and taxes were assigned to each house on the Seckendorff
lands. That’s why we know about the owners. There is one house with no names
given until the middle of the 1800s. This house has a special design of windows
in the gable. This window was the usual opening for the shrine of scrolls that was
hung out when the synagogue was not facing east. And what did the scrolls face
when they were hung out of the window? The Diespeck church tower!
A tax record of 1741 notes a change in tax regulations: instead of
paying every 20 years, an annual tax was begun. The 2-story house in Diespeck
was probably a community house with an apartment for the rabbi who was the
teacher and leader of the services and daily prayers. Maybe Joel was the
teacher and David his pupil in cheder (an educational process beginning at age
3 or 4 and ending at age 13 or 14 with the bar mitzvah).
Who was David’s mother? In his book, PARDES, David remembers her as a pious and devout woman who worked
hard to support his studies, although he does not give her name. Like most Jewish women of her age, she
would have listened dutifully at the beginning of the Shabbat dinner to her
husband reading from Proverbs 31 – the “Ode to a Capable Wife.” Another reading
often used was the prayer of Hannah in Samuel 2. But we really know very little
about David’s mother.
The protected Jews of Bamberg, living in Fürth were given special
privileges in 1719. Students and scholars could move to Fürth without the usual
requirement of having a certain amount of money. Additionally, they could marry
a first-born daughter of a family in Fürth.
Families in big houses in Fürth had their own Schul, a room for daily
prayers and studies. The big Schul was the synagogue for community services on
the Shabbat and high holidays.
When David was 5 years old, in 1719, he left Diespeck and came to live
with the Schneor family in Fürth. They ran the Fromm printing business and a
schul that had been founded and endowed in perpetuity by a wealthy Vienna Jew
by the name of Barmann-Frankel. While in Fürth, David also went to the yeshiva
directed by the chief rabbi for more advanced studies.
Intelligent students continued their studies at the yeshiva in
Frankfurt/Main as soon as they had their bar mitzvah at the age of 13 or
14. In 1728 or 1729, David’s
father died, though we have no record of it. It is possible that David’s parents never left Diespeck and
that they both died there. They were buried in the central cemetery of Ullstadt
in the Seckendorff territory, since the Jewish cemetery at Diespeck was not
opened until 1785.
As a student in
Frankfurt, David Diespeck attended the yeshiva of a well-known Jacob
Cohen Poper – a “cohanim,” Jewish priests whose ancestry could be traced back
to Aaron. Frankfurt had the most severe restrictions on the Jews of any German
city and David learned to live in a ghetto. Only in the early 1800s was the
city council forced by Napoleon to relax the restrictions. But for a yeshiva
student, there was no time to explore the wider city. Their studies consumed
their whole lives. They observed all the daily traditions of Jewish life,
studied the Torah and the Mishna Torah by Maimonides and practiced a method of
intense debate called “pilpul” (literally, “pepper”) that focused on a detailed
analysis of apparent contradictions in the text of the Talmud. Students
“peppered” each other with questions and answers to gain greater understanding.
The teachers at Frankfurt and Metz were appreciated for their high standards,
but were also laughed at by some of their colleagues for focusing on the method
rather than the spirit of their studies. David was one of the most outstanding
students and became an expert on Maimonides.
David moved back to Fürth where he served as a scholar and rabbi. He
took a position as rabbi in Bruck, halfway to Baiersdorf. The community of
Bruck has always had a rabbi from Fürth. The number of Jewish families there
had grown because of the support given to the synagogue by Samson Salomon, the
margrave’s court agent at Bayreuth. By this time, he had married Rosel Schneor,
a daughter of the family he had lived with in Fürth. They had 3 daughters. The
first-born was Sara, named after Rosel’s grandmother. The second was Bunla,
named after Barmann-Frankel’s second wife. She died in 1736. The third daughter
was Rickel or Reichle, born in 1740. In 1742, Rosel died in Fürth. This means
that David must have left Bruck. He probably served for 9 years, the usual
length of 3 terms of 3 years.
For some reason, between 1743 and 1747, David Diespeck travelled around
from place to place. His name appears in community documents at Hechingen in
the district of the Black Forest. Jews were persecuted during this period by
both Catholic and Protestant princes, so a scholar needed to support his fellow
Jews. The chief rabbi in the district was Nathaniel Weil, a former teacher at
Fürth, a scholar in Prague, and, as a refugee, now living in Mühringen. Perhaps
David lived with him in Mühringen.
David married again in 1747, this time to Miriam Sulzbach, the daughter
of a rabbi. She must have been very young. David was 32. Until now, I have not
been able to find out anything about Miriam’s family.
Their first son, Joel, was born in Fürth in 1748. David must have
returned from the district of the Black Forest earlier, perhaps at the time he
was married.
David continued his studies, was soon discovered to be highly
intelligent and was elected as a member of the Rabbinical High Court, called
Bet Din.
In those days, Fürth, often known as the Franconian Jerusalem, was home
to a number of prominent Jewish scholars. David lived there for about 25 years.
A rabbinical scholar and judge would develop many relationships with
prominent members of the community. He would have led members of the community
in prayers and services throughout the day. He would have arbitrated difficult
cases in Jewish law at the Bet Din. But he would not have made a lot of money.
Miriam complained about their poverty and David had to go into business to
support his growing family. He took up the gold and jewellery business and some
banking. After Joel, Fradele was born in 1749, Loeb in 1750, and Hendle in
1760. In 1761, “the Jewish tradesman David Diespeck,” signed papers to loan
between 4,000 and 5,000 guilders (about $80,000 CA) to another businessman. By
1763, David was able to buy his own house.
In January of 1763, Miriam died giving birth to Abraham, who also
appears to have died. The widower was left with four children ranging in age
from 15 to 3. David was linked with the wealthy Neuburg and Henle families; his
daughter Bunle has married a Neuburg and his daughter Rickel, a Henle.
David himself married again, this time to Chava/Eva Dessauer from
Ansbach. Her family were court agents for the Margrave in Ansbach. Chava was young, but brought her own
wealth with her into the marriage, adding to David’s prosperity. The marriage
took place in early 1766 and a son was born on December 6, 1766. They named him
Simon and he is the ancestor of Louise from Los Angeles. The parents were
delighted.
There is a Jewish proverb that says that luck is like a wheel. You
never know when it is going to start turning the wrong way. David was very
prosperous, then suddenly bankrupt because of a bad loan to a friend equivalent
to over $400,000 CA.
It must have been a tragedy for all of Fürth, at least for the Jewish
community there. Friends arrived from everywhere to offer their help, including
family members. But David refused to accept their help. He interpreted the
situation as an indication that he had come to love money more than his
studies. In his PARDES, he
acknowledges the support of Chava during this period, saying, “She opened her
mouth with wisdom, lifted my soul from sadness, and encouraged me to choose
this way,” being that of the scholar and rabbi.
Chava Diespeck was strong and self-confident. I like to see her as
independent of mind and heart, a strong woman within the community who was not
afraid to challenge the men. She might have been the friend of and influenced
by the chief rabbi’s wife, Grendle, who was much appreciated by her four brothers
and her father for her wisdom and intelligence. Her father called her “his
little crown.”
From the portrait of David by his grandson, Joel, and from these
stories, we learn much about the character of David Diespeck. He was a wise man
of good character, understanding of others and accepting each person as “God’s
good child.” “The older you get the more difficult judgments become,” he sighed
when he was the rabbi of the district of Baiersdorf – a very wise insight.
In 1768, David sold the house and by 1772 all his debts were paid
off. The house was old and would
not have brought much money. The household items – silver plates, cups, bowls,
candlesticks, carpets, linens, silks, furniture, and other items – might have
brought more. Chava was forced to care for the family like any other poor
Jewish woman. It must have been a terrible change for two-year old Simon. It
seems to have affected his development, especially his speech. Much later,
while serving as vice-rabbi in Baiersdorf, Wolf Abraham Lichtenstaedter
complained that did not promote the emancipation of the Jews strongly enough –
“he does not speak more than 3 words in one flow, he often repeats himself,
stops frequently, and nobody can understand him.” Lichtenstaedter became an outcast from the community because
of this complaint, since it was not acceptable to criticize one of God’s
creatures.
As soon as he was free of his debts, David was also free to take up a
new position – this time as a rabbi, not as a businessman. In 1772 he moved
back to Mühringen with his wife, 12-year old Hendle and 6-year old Simon. The
rabbi soon set up a yeshiva and his income became guaranteed by several
communities. The Jews of the district were dealers in horses and suppliers to
the army.
Hendle was married, and later Simon. The contacts he had say something
positive about his reputation in Alsace, where the Jewish communities had a
special status with France but were as traditional in their practices as the
communities David had served in Franconia.
The village of Bischheim, near Strasbourg, was one of the most
respected of these communities and the Lehmann family one of the wealthiest in
that village. Leime Isaak Lehmann married his son to David and Chava’s
daughter, Hendle, on March 3, 1778 at Bischheim and her dowry was almost 5,000
livres. David signed the wedding certificate as rabbi in Metz. Hendle is
Eliane’s ancestor.
It could have been at the wedding in Bischheim that David met the
Netter family. Isaac Netter was the General Representative of all the Jews in
Alsace. His youngest daughter, Miriam, married David’s youngest son, Simon, in
August of 1783.
Metz had a special status within France. It was a German Episcopal territory, with a German
population, but it was under French administration. Although they spoke French
in business, the Jews had to live their family lives in ghetto conditions. As
in Fürth they ran several schuls and followed traditional practices.
David was almost 70 when he decided to leave Metz in 1784. He seemed
disturbed by the impact of the French Revolution on the traditional beliefs and
practices of the Jewish communities he served. Fewer students were attracted and his income declined. It
was this context in which he collected his lectures, sermons, and meditations
into his PARDES.
David and Chava moved to Baiersdorf. On their way there, they stopped
off in Ansbach and Fürth. In Ansbach the synagogue was built in a Baroque style
within the margrave’s residence. It still exists. It was traditional for a
visiting rabbi to be invited to give a sermon. I enjoy imagining David rising
in this beautiful synagogue to do just that. The following Shabbat, he was
invited to do the same in Fürth. And the next Shabbat, he was in Baiersdorf,
taking up his duties as rabbi of that district where he lived out his life
surrounded by a large family in Baiersdorf and Fürth.
The Jewish community in Baiersdorf was older than Fürth. Their cemetery
was located within the city walls, an unusual location, since most Jewish
cemeteries were far outside the town walls. The Jews of Fürth used the Jewish
cemetery at Baiersdorf before they established their own in 1611. The schul in
Baiersdorf, established in 1652, was located in the community house and
overlooked the cemetery, a daily reminder of the traditions being passed down.
Besides tending to his rabbinical duties in Baiersdorf, David prepared
the PARDES, to be published in
Sulzbach at the printing shop of his friend, Aron and his son, Seckel. David’s
first-born son, Joel, was his editor. He must have been a scholar in his own
right and familiar with the printing business.
The problem was that by 1786, very few people would have been
interested in such a book. Hebrew was no longer a language many studied or
understood. Jewish education was in decline. The book was probably meant simply
to honour the rabbi as a gaon, or spiritual leader and teacher.
Looking out the window of his study, viewing the cemetery, David would
have been able to read the inscriptions on the tombstones of many famous rabbis
who had died at Baiersdorf. To the west he would have seen the huge castle,
very similar to the one in Aschaffenburg, designed by the same architect. He
might even have remembered, from time to time, his second wife, Miriam.
On November 9, 1793, David died, just at the end of Shabbat. He was
buried the next day. The men in his large family took the body to the cemetery
and prepared it for burial in the earth from which he had come. The women stayed home. The mourning
went on for one week.
David left his wife Chava, his many children, and about 30
grandchildren. A year later the tombstone was erected with a long inscription
paying tribute to Rabbi David Diespeck as a gaon (spiritual leader) and morenu
(learned Talmudic scholar).
A Time to Plumb
Late November. The plumbing requires finessing; it sometimes does
because houses in the bush (like this one at Earthrise) attract bush plumbing
by bush plumbers. Trees fall and damage equipment; floods rise and tear away
lines that have lain ignored or forgotten in the grass and sometimes the
infrastructure bits and pieces demand maintenance attention. The pump that
pulls stored water from a big storage tank across to the house and then pushes
water for domestic use in the house, as required, suddenly cuts in for several
lengthy periods when least expected: this has to be checked out and quickly.
It is Middle Spring, I remind myself: dangerous snakes, goannas, funnel
web spiders and much more roam and bustle about. The little house pump is
beneath the house. I fetch my You Beaut little torch with the LED light, my
flexi-grip pliers and the Stillson wrench and go downstairs and enter the Dark
Underside. I am certain that the line filter needs replacing (it’s probably
clogged with gunk after recent rains and floods) and that might explain why a
tiny trickle of excess water leaks into the toilet bowl after the water stored
for flushing has filled the small reservoir; but, alas, it doesn’t.
I joyfully succeed in the plumbing job. The pump behaves splendidly the
system is clean and raring to go. The leakage has vanished and there is a
somewhat cleaner filter in place. All seems well.
Sasha
Jill Alexander
Nothing in my life has given me
more joy than getting to know Sasha. She is the first grandchild from my middle
son, Michael. I always knew that a grandchild would be something very special.
However, what I hadn’t known was that I would be so special to her. When she
was 6 months old her mother went back to work. She was a nurse specialist and
worked in high- risk delivery at BC Women’s Hospital. The job consisted of 12 -hour shifts and she needed help, so
my new life with my granddaughter began. I started taking her everywhere with
me and she seemed to thrive on being buckled into her car seat in the back of
my car and taking off.
Sasha developed her speaking
skills early. I can remember pushing her in her stroller along Commercial Drive
when she was about 9 months old. A
lady with a dog walked towards us and as they passed by Sasha exclaimed with
great delight, ‘Goggie.’ After a few paces the woman turned around and came
back ‘Did she say Doggie?’
‘I think she did,’ I said. That
was when I realized she was ready to talk.
My life began to change in a
wonderful way: that of experiencing the world with a little hand tucked into
mine. Every week was brand
new. Sometimes we would go for a
picnic and afterwards we would lie on the cool grass together and look up into
the sky. We would see a bird flying overhead and I would tell a story about the
mother bird that had her nest in the tree above us and how the tree protected
her babies from the rain. As we looked up through the shimmering leaves of the
giant oak tree we were sure we saw the nest way up high. There would be
imaginings about the puffy clouds and how we were lying on them and floating
along in the sky. And sometimes we would just be quiet and feel the wonder of
everything.
Ambleside Beach was a favourite
destination on a warm day. Sasha had a bright pink bathing suit with beach
shoes and a large floppy hat that matched. Often she would walk down to the
water’s edge and just stand looking out onto the ocean. She would stay very
still, sometimes for a long time, and I would watch her and wonder what she was
thinking. She was so little and the ocean so vast. Was she experiencing the greatness
of the universe in her own way? On
all occasions, Teddy came along.
He was important and was not to be left out. When I pushed her on the
kiddie’s swing, Teddy had to have his own swing, the one beside her, and it was
important to her that Teddy be pushed as well. When we went to the concession
for ice cream Teddy always had some too and usually ended up with a very sticky
chin!
Her hair began to grow into
beautiful auburn curls. One day at the concession when the sun was catching her
hair in a brilliant red glow a little girl exclaimed to her, ‘You have red
hair. Why is your hair red?’ Sasha
was quiet for a moment and then replied ‘That’s just the way I be.’
I started taking her every year to the Christmas train in
Stanley Park and this became our Christmas tradition. The second year we went
was the day after she turned two. We rode the train together and she was in her
magic world at the sight of all the beautiful lights. When the ride was over I
suggested a hot chocolate and her eyes lit up at the idea. So together with her
little hand in mine we walked away from the train and its surroundings and
headed into the darkened park toward the concession. I let go of her hand for a
second or two to get my wallet out of my handbag. When I reached back for her
hand, it wasn’t there. She was gone. She had vanished. Fear overwhelmed me as I
searched with my eyes, straining to see her in the dark night. Suddenly I saw a
slight movement coming from the parked golf cart, obviously the concession
owner’s mode of transportation from the parking lot on the other side of the
park. I covered the short distance in an instant and there she was sitting on
the seat with her hands on the wheel.
‘I’m driving,’ she said with a big gleeful smile. With an enormous sense
of relief, I vowed that I would never let go of her hand again for the rest of
my life.
Another outing that Christmas
was to take in the Walk to Bethlehem: a pageant put on by one of the local
churches. The pageant was set up in several adjoining areas, each one depicting
a progression of the Christmas story. As people moved through each area they
eventually arrived at the manger scene with Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, the
wise men, a few live animals, lots of straw and a very lifelike baby Jesus.
This was a popular event and there were many families who came every year. For
the manger scene children were permitted to sit on the floor close to the
performers but behind a well-marked line. As Sasha and I walked into the room,
she stood quietly for a moment taking in the scene in front of her. When she
saw the baby Jesus she walked slowly and purposefully right up to the manger
and put her little hands under the baby and gazed down into his eyes. The crowd
went very quiet and everyone seemed to be focused on this little girl who
believed in her heart that this was her rightful place. A short while later as
we left hand in hand a person came up to us and said, ‘I want you to know that
was a Divine moment.’
In two weeks, Sasha turns
seventeen and seems to have carved out a unique place in the world. When she
was thirteen, she informed her mother that she wanted to be a farmer. She
joined an urban 4H club and learned how to plant a vegetable garden. I watched
her exuberance as plants sprouted up and she was able to begin harvesting her
vegetables. She asked if she could have a few chickens and her parents agreed.
So she and her friend Sky built a chicken coop together and raised the funds to
purchase three chickens. On her Christmas wish list that year she had “more
chickens” as top priority. So in January we headed off to the country with a
cage in the back of the car and found a farm that had baby chicks for sale. She
bought seven chicks and lovingly put them in the cage and we headed home. This
was my Christmas gift to her.
Last Christmas Sasha asked for
a turntable and some jazz LPs. For her birthday this year
I am taking her to a favourite Jazz Club to hear one of the groups that play on
her favourite jazz album she has been listening to all year.
She never misses the Christmas
train in Stanley Park, an outing that I plan each year for all the family. Some
members have decided they have outgrown this event. Sasha tells me she loves
all the family traditions and wouldn’t want to miss the train ride and all the
beautiful lights. This year I have no doubt that we will be having a hot
chocolate after we ride on the train together as we have done together for the
past sixteen years!
Jill Diespecker Alexander is a retired nurse and business owner and is
presently writing her life story.
For readers who may be interested to read my Finding Drina, the Ebook
may be found listed in the Amazon Kindle Store.
Please see, also, Russell Atkinson’s blog:
www.theoldestako.wordpress.com/
With best wishes from Don at Earthrise, November 30 2012
