In preparation for a series of talks on American Jewish history that I’ll be giving next month, I went digging in the archives to see what I might learn about how earlier generations of American Jews, especially our immigrant forebears, coped with the heat.
These sociologically-attuned pieces paid attention to what people wore and what they talked about, noting how some young women on holiday “appeared in different garments at least four times a day,” while their male counterparts talked only of “pinochle, Wall Street and the hotel menu.”
In the years prior to World War I, when vacationing was still something of a novelty, comparing notes on what went on in hotels with a Jewish clientele with those establishments that catered to non-Jewish guests was a topic of abiding interest. If you could “inject a bit of reticence, round off the edge of refinement and put on a coating of social veneer,” there wasn’t too much of a difference, concluded one keen-eyed observer of “seaside types.” The Jews, like their gentile counterparts, knew how to have a good time.
While some applauded this development, others expressed disdain, wondering whether Jewish values went out the window come June, July and August. “Summer works its metamorphosis, completely and effectually effacing all that is self-respecting, restraining and elevating in the life of the Jew,” hotly observed Esther Jane Ruskay early in the 20th century, singling out the Jews of Arverne, New York, for their cool disregard of the Sabbath and their avid embrace of the good life.
Ruskay’s article, which she titled “Summer Resort Judaism,” will be one of the texts I look forward to drawing on next month. I suspect that its juicy prose and hard hitting indictment of American Jewry will make for good conversation. But then, my interest in Ruskay’s piece is personal as well: My grandparents, you see, were among those who summered in Arverne.
