everyday Jewish living

The reputation of Eugene O’Neill as the American Shakespeare was established even before his death in 1953. O’Neill’s output was formidable – more than 30 plays, including the posthumously produced classic, Long Day’s Journey Into Night. He was a Nobel Prize winner. Reflecting his own tempestuous emotional background – be came from a yeasty but tragic Irish-American family – his plays are rarely engaging. So his epitaph to his dog is a rarity among O’Neill documents – sentimental, even whimsical, close in spirit to his one major comedy, Ah Wilderness! The dog was acquired at a relatively peaceful period of O’Neill’s life. He and his protective third wife, the beautiful actress Carlotta Monterey, looked upon it as their ‘child.’ O’Neill wrote Blemie’s will as a comfort to Carlotta just before the dog died in its old age in December 1940.

Last Will and Testament
I, Silverdene Emblem O’Neill (familiarly known to my family, friends and acquaintances as Blemie), because the burden of my years is heavy upon me, and I realize the end of my life is near, do hereby bury my last will and testament in the mind of my Master. He will not know it is there
until I am dead. Then, remembering me in his loneliness, he will suddenly know of this testament, and I ask him then to inscribe it as a memorial to me.

I have little in the way of material things to leave. Dogs are wiser than men. They do not set great store upon things. They do not waste their time hoarding property. They do not ruin their sleep worrying about objects they have, and to obtain the objects they have not. There is nothing
of value I have to bequeath except my love and my faith. These I leave to those who have loved me, to my Master and Mistress, who I know will mourn me most, to Freeman who has been so good to me, to Cyn and Roy and Willie and Naomi and – but if I should list all those who have loved me it would force my Master to write a book. Perhaps it is in vain of me to boast when I am so near death, which returns all beasts and vanities to dust, but I have always been an extremely lovable dog.

I ask my Master and Mistress to remember me always, but not to grieve for me too long. In my life I have tried to be a comfort to them in time of sorrow, and a reason for added joy in their happiness. It is painful for me to think that even in death I should cause them pain. Let them remember that while no dog has ever had a happier life (and this I owe to their love and care for me), now that I have grown
blind and deaf and lame, and even my sense of smell fails me so that a rabbit could be right under my nose and I might not know, my pride has sunk to a sick, bewildered humiliation. I feel life is taunting me with having over lingered my welcome. It is time I said good-by, before I become too sick a burden on myself and on those who love me.

It will be sorrow to leave them, but not a sorrow to die. Dogs do not fear death as men do. We accept it as part of life, not as something alien and terrible which destroys life. What may come after death, who knows? I would like to believe with those of my fellow Dalmatians who are devout Mohammedans, that there is a Paradise where one is always young and full-bladdered; here all the day one dillies and dallies with an amorous multitude of houris, beautifully spotted; where jack-rabbits that run fast but not too fast (like the hour is) are as the sands of the desert; where each blissful hour is mealtime; where in long evenings there are a million fireplaces with logs forever burning and one curls oneself up and blinks into the flames and nods and dreams, remembering the old brave days on earth, and the love of one’s Master and Mistress.

I am afraid this is too much for even such a dog as I am to expect. But peace, at least, is certain. Peace and long rest for weary old heart and head and limbs, and eternal sleeps in the earth I have loved so well. Perhaps, after all, this is best.

One last request I earnestly make. I have heard my Mistress say, ‘When Blemie dies we must never have another dog. I love him so much I could never love another one.’ Now I would ask her, for love of me, to have another. It would be a poor tribute to my memory never to have a dog again. What I would like to feel is that, having once had me in the family, now she cannot live without a dog! I have never had a narrow jealous spirit. I have always held that most dogs are good (and one cat, the black one I have
permitted to share the living-room rug during the evenings, whose affection I have tolerated in a kindly spirit, and in rare sentimental moods, even reciprocated a trifle). Some dogs, of course, are better than others. Dalmatians, naturally, as everyone knows, are best.

So I suggest a Dalmatian as my successor. He can hardly be as well bred, or as well mannered or as distinguished and handsome as I was in my prime. My Master and Mistress must not ask the impossible. But he will do his best, I am sure, and even his inevitable defects will help by comparison to keep my memory green. To him I bequeath my collar and leash and my overcoat and raincoat, made to order in 1929 at Hermes in Paris. He can never wear them with the distinction I did, walking around the Place Vendome, or later along Park Avenue, all eyes fixed on me in admiration; but again I am sure he will do
his utmost not to appear a mere gauche provincial dog. Here on the ranch, he may prove himself quite worthy of comparison, in some respects. He will, I presume, come closer to jackrabbits than I have been able to in recent years. And, for all his faults, I hereby wish him the happiness I know will be his in my old home.

One last word of farewell, Dear Master and Mistress. Whenever you visit my grave, say to yourselves with regret but also with happiness in your hearts at the remembrance of my long happy life with you: ‘here lies one who loved us and whom we loved.’ No matter how deep my sleep I shall hear you, and not all the power of death can keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail.
-Eugene O’Neill

Sunlight streams through window pane unto a spot on the floor… then I remember it’s where you used to lie, but now you are no more. Our feet walk down a hall of carpet, and muted echoes sound… then I remember, It’s where your paws would joyously abound. A voice is heard along the road, and up beyond the hill, then I remember it can’t be yours… your golden voice is still. But I’ll take that vacant spot of floor and empty muted hall and lay them with the absent voice and unused dish along the wall. I’ll wrap these treasured memorials in a blanket of my love and keep them for my best friend until we meet above.
-Author Unknown

There is a bridge connecting Heaven and Earth. It is called the Rainbow Bridge because of its many colors. Just this side of the Rainbow Bridge there is a land of meadows, hills and valleys with lush green grass. When a beloved pet dies, the pet goes to this place. There is always food and water and warm spring weather. The old and frail animals are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. They frolic and romp all day with one another. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing. They each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind. They run and play together, until the day comes when one of them suddenly stops playing and looks off into the distance. The nose twitches. The ears are up. The bright eyes are intent. The eager body quivers. Suddenly this one runs from the group, faster and faster, leaping and flying over the tall green grass. You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you take him or her in your arms and embrace, clinging together in joyous reunion. Happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your cherished pet, so long gone from your life, but never absent from your heart. And with your pet beside you once again, you cross the Rainbow Bridge together.
-Author Unknown

The best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it most. A man’s reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads.

The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous is his dog. A man’s dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master’s side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in an encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings, and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens.

If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him, to guard him against danger, to fight against his enemies. And when the last scene of all comes, and death takes his master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by the graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad, but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even in death.
-George Graham Vest

The second millennium boasts a stirring address by Ireland’s Robert Emmet on the gallows. (”Let no man write my epitaph.”) The American patriotic rouser rivaling Patrick Henry’s ”Give me liberty or give me death!” was the grandiloquent and yet eloquent Fourth of July speech that Representative Daniel Webster suggested might have been given by John Adams: ”Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote.” Toward the millennium’s end, Winston Churchill told an embattled House of Commons, ”I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.” F.D.R. and J.F.K. knew how to provide oratorical uplift, as did the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., with ”I have a dream.” The best closing line was from Anatoly Shcharansky, who, after addressing his dissidence to the courtroom and beyond, turned to the rubber-stamp Soviet judges with, ”To you I have nothing to say.”

But the best modern speech in English was more of a poem. Those who recite Lincoln’s brief Gettysburg Address seldom grasp its conception-birth-death-resurrection theme. A nation ”conceived in liberty,” ”brought forth ”or born, with all men ”created equal.” Then this birth is followed by images of death: ”final resting place . . . honored dead,” and verbs of religious purification like ”consecrate . . . hallow.” Finally, ”a new birth of freedom” in a nation that will ”not perish” but be immortal. This elaborate construction by a President steeped in the biblical idiom — but, like Jefferson, not known for his religiosity — was not dashed off on the back of an envelope.

Those are all ”great” speeches on momentous occasions. But there were some shorter remarks made by lesser-known figures that sparkle in the sands of our time. Sojourner Truth, the evangelist, with her fierce ”Ain’t I a woman?” pioneered feminism, and Chief Joseph, known to the Nez Perce as Thunder Traveling to the Loftier Mountain Heights, ennobled surrender: ”Hear me, my chiefs! I am tired: my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands I will fight no more forever.” Here is the full text of a sentimental little speech that is the best I can find of its kind. George Graham Vest, from the oxymoronic home of Sweet Springs in Saline County, Mo., was a member of the Confederate Congress during the Civil War; from 1879 to 1903 the skilled debater served as a Senator from Missouri. He is remembered, however, for a speech he made as a young lawyer and repeated hundreds of times throughout his life. Vest was representing a plaintiff who sued a neighbor for the killing of his dog. He ignored his client’s charges and the defendant’s testimony; instead, he won the case with a summation on the theme of fidelity. Swallow hard and read it aloud, standing up, to your family; there won’t be a dry eye in the house. A cooler Third Millennium may dismiss Senator Vest’s ”Tribute to the Dog” as a tearjerker, but we rhetoricians of the Second are prepared to lick the orator’s hand.
-William Safire

• The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.
  -Mahatma Gandhi
• A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.
  -Josh Billings
• Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.
  -Anatole France
• Animals are reliable, many full of love, true in their affections, predictable in their actions, grateful and loyal. Difficult
  standards for people to live up to.
  -Alfred A. Montapert
• Such short little lives our pets have to spend with us, and they spend most of it waiting for us to come home each day. It is amazing how much love and laughter they bring into our lives and even how much closer we become with each other because of them.
  -John Grogan
• Never, never be afraid to do what’s right, especially if the well-being of a person or animal is at stake. Society’s punishments are small compared to the wounds we inflict on our soul when we look the other way.
  -Martin Luther King