Friday evening, the beginning of the Sabbath, had a special significance for us. Being together for dinner was one custom we never failed to observe. The dining table would be covered with fresh linen; our best dishes and cutlery would be polished and set out.

At sunset we would gather round the table. Mother would light the two candles, held by prized candlesticks brought with her from Roumania. She would spread her arms above the flames to draw the light towards her and murmur the prayer in Hebrew, "Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who hast commanded us to kindle the Sabbath light." My father would then raise a goblet of wine and recite the Kiddush, "Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who hast created the fruit of the vine." The rest of us would respond "Oumain", drink our wine and sit down. Father would then slice the Hallah, pass the bread around, and dinner would be served.

Our meal usually started with gefilte fish, served with salad and horseradish, followed by chicken soup with egg noodles or matzo balls, boiled chicken with all the trimmings, and ending with a compote of stewed prunes, raisins and pears served cold. Mother never used a recipe, yet she never failed to produce a delightful meal.

As it was considered an act of piety to have strangers at our table on the Sabbath, we were very seldom without guests. Often, they were newly-arrived immigrants my father would bring home from the Synagogue so that they would not be alone.

While Friday evenings were always special, the fun day of the week for our family was Sunday. If it was a nice day in summer, mother and the girls would pack a lunch and all of us would go on a picnic to River Park. It was a favourite playground, and was promoted mostly by the Winnipeg Street Railway. The park was popular for all ages and had a refreshment stand, a race track and a ball park. When we were older and the girls had boyfriends and the boys had special girls, we would all meet at a streetcar stop to wait for a Park Line open car.

The streetcar was operated by two men. The motorman was at the front of the car and the conductor was at the rear. Every once in a while, especially at a turn, the trolley would slip out of the groove above and the conductor would have to rush out to haul the trolley back on to the wire. As the car moved on, the conductor would walk along the running board on the side of the car, calling out "Fares, please," and thrust the fare box in front of each passenger, who placed his coin or ticket into it. I enjoyed walking up to the motorman and watching him manipulate the levers to start and stop the streetcar. The mechanism was enclosed in an upright housing, reaching just above the man's waist. He would move a horizontal ]ever, like an oversized coffee grinder handle, one notch to get the car moving, and a few more notches to gain speed. To stop the car, he would first turn off the power, then wind up the hand brake. To start again, he had to unwind the brake before turning the power on again - otherwise, he'd blow a fuse.

The ride to the park took almost an hour because there were frequent stops to pick up more passengers, but we didn't care. It was fun riding along looking at the sights.

There was no admission charge to the park, and when we arrived we would race to the spot where we knew many of our friends would be. Someone would have a bat, another a ball. The young boys would choose sides and play baseball while the older boys and men generally played soccer. Meanwhile, the womenfolk would spread out the tablecloths and set out the lunch we would soon enjoy.

After lunch, the younger children would be given five cents. They would run over to the refreshment stand for an ice cream cone, candy bar or bottle of pop. The older ones would stroll along the various paths. At the appointed time, we would all meet to board the streetcar home.

In winter, we skated or tobogganed. There were large public skating rinks on the frozen Red and Assiniboine rivers and throughout the city on corner lots or school grounds. The neighbourhood rinks were flooded by the fire department, and some had heated shacks for putting on skates or warming up. After a snowfall, everyone pitched in to clean the rink. Many young boys later rose to fame as professional hockey players after beginning on the small neighbourhood rinks. High toboggan slides were erected on the Red and Assiniboine rivers with tracks running some hundreds of yards. The toboggans were of various sizes, and you sat one behind the other with your legs around the person in front and your hands on his shoulders. A compact load was necessary to ensure safe and speedy sliding without injury to legs and arms. Racing was enjoyed where the slides had double channels. After the fun we usually got together at someone's home for delicious hot chocolate or coffee and sandwiches.

"Joe! Your face is all red! What's the matter, what happened?" I did feel kind of funny. Never having been sick before, I got scared. One of my regular customers was a doctor. He looked me over and told me to go right home. When I got there mother felt my forehead and put me to bed immediately. Shortly after, a man tacked a sign to our front and back doors, which read:

After three days, our family doctor had me removed to the hospital and the house had to be disinfected. Luckily it was summer, because my family had to remain outdoors for a week. Two weeks later, when I was brought home, the house still smelled of the disinfectant.

Our parents had no need to discipline us. We were generally well-behaved, and felt extremely guilty if we did anything we knew would displease them.

Father was very involved with the Synagogue and very much respected there. He spoke very little English, however, and so had difficulty in finding a job. He knew much about wheat and flour from his work as an overseer in Roumania, so he formed a partnership with the baker who had employed him as a clerk and bookkeeper. They began to make and sell matzos for Passover at 5¢ a pound. They produced a tasty product and did a very profitable business with orders coming from many parts of Canada.

One day, two businessmen from New York came to visit the bakeshop. After looking over the operation, they made some very complimentary remarks about the local product, but prevailed upon my father to either sell them the business or buy the matzos from New York and act as their agent. They maintained that matzos could be shipped from New York for less money than my father and his partner could produce them in Winnipeg.

There was some argument, but the men insisted, and they offered enough money to make selling worthwhile. The New York conglomerate bought out the bakeshop, only to close it down a short while later. That was the end of my father's first enterprise.

The matzo bakeshop had kept my father busy for about four years. After he sold it, he opened a small fruit and confectionery store on Logan Avenue, across the street from Dufferin school.

He built the shelves himself, stocked up with fruit, ice cream, confectionery, pop and some tobacco and named it the Sweetland Store. It had a counter, but no cash register. Our living quarters were at the back, separated by a curtain. A bell above the door tinkled when a customer entered, and my father would go out to wait on him. Sometimes my mother or one of us children would act as cashier.

To attract business, father built a couple of benches and set them out in front under some shady trees. He placed a gramophone on a table there and played many classical or folk tunes, to the delight of the many Europeans in the neighbourhood. People would come by, purchase some fruit and candy, then sit down to enjoy the music and a 5¢ bottle of Drewery's pop cooled in a large tub of ice. No posh European sidewalk cafe was more enjoyable than my father's Sweetland Store.

Unfortunately, he had to give up the store after a couple of years when he developed cancer. It became critical and he suffered the most excruciating pain. He was under constant sedation with morphine, and in his semiconscious state, would moan all day and night. My mother, ordinarily a strong person, was taxed mentally and physically. My brothers and sisters and I just hated to come home to witness my mother's torment and father's suffering.

The situation dragged on and after many months it became intolerable. Our kind family physician called in two other doctors for consultation. They examined him, talked to my mother and finally instructed her to triple the dose of morphine. Father went into a deep coma and finally God in His mercy relieved him of his misery. He died in May, 1911.

On to Chapter 10

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