A debut history that details the plight of a family of Jews who fled from Ukraine to Uzbekistan while pursuing their faith.
Zaltzman was born in Charkov, Ukraine, in 1939, into an environment that was ideologically hostile to religion. During World War II, the Nazis invaded Charkov, and Zaltzman’s family fled to Samarkand, Uzbekistan, already home to a sizable population of friendly Sephardic Bucharian Jews. Still, the Soviet regime remained devoted to eliminating Jewish identity; a special division of the NKVD (Soviet secret police) was assigned the task of destroying Jewish schools, yeshivas, and synagogues. Zaltzman’s father kept him out of the Soviet schools and hid him, teaching him furtively at home, until a neighbor discovered his existence at the age of 9. Zaltzman had no choice but to attend a public school then, but he still observed the demands of his faith and stayed home from school when necessary. In the fourth grade, his attachment to Judaism was discovered, and he was compelled to attend yet another school. His father’s commitment to his chinuch—his Jewish education—was beyond any compromise, and it was an exemplary expression of the Chabad brand of Chassidic Judaism: “The Chabad community was infused with a rich inner world of Chassidic vitality,” Zaltzman writes. At the age of 16, he became involved in an organization, the Chamah, which established a network of underground Jewish schools that clandestinely taught more than 1,500 children over the years. In 1971, he immigrated to Israel. Overall, the author does a remarkable job of vividly depicting the city of Samarkand, which became famous for its tenacious preservation of Jewish customs despite zealous political persecution. It serves as an effective historical study of Jewish life under Communist tyranny, and Zaltzman’s mastery of details of the period is undeniable. The book is long—more than 700 pages—partly because it’s filled with digressive asides and detours, which can be engaging but also fatiguing at times. However, this remembrance’s artful combination of rigorous research and narrative drama makes it seem much shorter that it actually is.
An edifying portal into the perseverance of Jewish culture in the face of attempts to destroy it.
Privately published by Strunk of Cornell in 1918 and revised by his student E. B. White in 1959, that "little book" is back again with more White updatings.
Stricter than, say, Bergen Evans or W3 ("disinterested" means impartial — period), Strunk is in the last analysis (whoops — "A bankrupt expression") a unique guide (which means "without like or equal").
Noted jazz and pop record producer Thiele offers a chatty autobiography. Aided by record-business colleague Golden, Thiele traces his career from his start as a ``pubescent, novice jazz record producer'' in the 1940s through the '50s, when he headed Coral, Dot, and Roulette Records, and the '60s, when he worked for ABC and ran the famous Impulse! jazz label. At Coral, Thiele championed the work of ``hillbilly'' singer Buddy Holly, although the only sessions he produced with Holly were marred by saccharine strings. The producer specialized in more mainstream popsters like the irrepressibly perky Teresa Brewer (who later became his fourth wife) and the bubble-machine muzak-meister Lawrence Welk. At Dot, Thiele was instrumental in recording Jack Kerouac's famous beat- generation ramblings to jazz accompaniment (recordings that Dot's president found ``pornographic''), while also overseeing a steady stream of pop hits. He then moved to the Mafia-controlled Roulette label, where he observed the ``silk-suited, pinky-ringed'' entourage who frequented the label's offices. Incredibly, however, Thiele remembers the famously hard-nosed Morris Levy, who ran the label and was eventually convicted of extortion, as ``one of the kindest, most warm-hearted, and classiest music men I have ever known.'' At ABC/Impulse!, Thiele oversaw the classic recordings of John Coltrane, although he is the first to admit that Coltrane essentially produced his own sessions. Like many producers of the day, Thiele participated in the ownership of publishing rights to some of the songs he recorded; he makes no apology for this practice, which he calls ``entirely appropriate and without any ethical conflicts.'' A pleasant, if not exactly riveting, memoir that will be of most interest to those with a thirst for cocktail-hour stories of the record biz. (25 halftones, not seen)