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All right, you got your cameras ready?

The Horah.

I discovered this community

four years ago when I began an anthropological study

of aging in an ethnic group.

I thought at first I would work with Chicanos

since I'd worked in Mexico before.

But they kept saying to me,

why don't you study your own kind?

Religion and politics, I stay away from.

- Really? - Uh-huh.

They're the most interesting things.

It is, it is, especially politics, which is--

well, you can't be without it.

But religion, you can be without it.

Most anthropologists work with remote, exotic people.

So studying my own people was a new idea for me.

At first, I wasn't sure if it was anthropology or a personal quest.

I cannot be by myself.

Why?

I can't sleep when I'm alone.

So how do you manage now?

I have somebody in the house.

- Who do you have? - A lady.

An anthropologist, of course,

tries to feel the inside of a native's head.

That's how, in a way, you know the culture.

But in a sense, that's false in a way.

It's an exercise in imagination because you will never be that.

But I will be old, and I need to know that it's--

there's a validity in me identifying with that,

that is like nothing I've ever experienced

in working with Indians or working with, you know, really exotic people.

I will never be a Indian, but I will be a little old Jewish lady.

Aging is usually regarded as a series of losses.

True, these people have retired, but now survival is their career.

Each day is made up of many small tasks and routines.

Bertha's work, for example, is feeding pigeons, walking two miles every day,

and telling and retelling a cycle of personal stories

with messages about courage, dignity, and autonomy.

Don't you dare.

Back!

Get out of here.

I was walking.

That was on a Saturday.

And that Saturday before Christmas, if you recall,

it was real dark, 4:30 in the afternoon.

And a bunch of kids-- there were about 15 of them, 13 or 15--

and one guy says, spread out, kids, and they blocked my way.

So I stood and looked at him and I smiled.

He walks up to me.

He says, are you Jewish?

I says, yes.

Do you believe in Jesus?

I says, all depends.

He says to me, do you believe he's walking with us?

I says, no.

How can you prove it?

I says, if he would walk with you, he would come up and say,

hello, Bertha, how are you?

After all, he was my cousin before yours.

Hi, Mike.

Good morning.

Good morning.

- How are you? - Fine, you?

Bertha and Mike meet every morning on this bench,

midway between their homes.

To make a new friend at this age takes courage.

It means risking yet another loss.

My first love I met when I was 16,

and I lived with him for 40 years.

And I don't think there's anybody in this whole world can replace him.

Why make a fool out of myself these days?

I can't take care of anybody.

Thank god I can take care of myself.

Men are helpless.

They are, no matter how efficient they are.

- Why don't you try me some time? - They are helpless.

Maybe I wouldn't be so helpless.

I'll show you what I can do.

Go away.

Mike is helpless in one way, at least.

He cannot protect Bertha from her own painful reminiscences.

Bertha's history, outliving all her children,

is a common hazard in extreme old age.

You know, the first year, I used to go in the cemetery

every Sunday till the one time, I must have passed

out on the cemetery in my baby's grave.

And I don't know what happened then.

They called up my sister.

No. And you see,

I learned to live with everything.

How did you bear it, Bertha?

I think you said enough for one day.

I did.

Now, see, when my youngest son died,

he died several months before him.

And when he heard it, he said, oh god, why didn't you take me instead of him?

He's got a wife and children.

I have nothing, just Mama.

And Mama can take care of herself.

- Too much. - They wouldn't want me.

I should torture myself.

I couldn't read too much

because my eyes was always full.

Darling, I think you said enough for one day.

Bertha and Mike are part of a small community

of old Jews in their 80s and 90s, whose final home is in Venice, California.

As children around the turn of the century,

they left the shtetls of Eastern Europe to come to the New World.

30 years ago, when their children were grown and educated, they retired.

Taking their small savings and pensions, they came to live by the Pacific Ocean.

The Israel Levin Senior Adult Center is the focus of life in this community--

dues, $6 a year, membership, $300.

It is a world unto itself-- a simple hall where time, death, and the outside world

are transcended.

In behalf of Doris, I want to tell you, in reference,

what this center means to people.

Doris doesn't have anyone here at all.

All of you here in this center today is her family.

She asked me to tell you this.

You should know that all of you here feel for you, especially I do,

because I just went through the same thing, a loss of my beloved husband.

And time is a healer.

And we will all be with you, and we all love you, Doris.

God takes and he gives, and we have to learn to live with it.

Because they have been left alone,

they turn to each other to create a way of life

based on their sacred history and Yiddish language.

They can weep and rejoice, grieve, and then sing with a sudden shift

of mood that is common to the culture.

Dignity, they have.

Irony, they have.

A life lived not only every day, but every hour,

every minute, because these people are in their 80s and 90s

and death is there.

It's the invisible protagonist of every little scene you see played out.

And death can be a great consciousness raiser.

One year after Harry Asimow's death,

his stone is being unveiled according to Jewish tradition.

Harry was a tough, independent man.

He knew he was about to die, but willed himself to stay alive

until the day of his 95th birthday party.

This 8-millimeter footage was taken during the party.

Harry made his speech to family and friends at the Israel Levin Center.

Then he folded his hands, lowered his head, and died.

The paramedics tried to revive him, but Harry had chosen the moment of his death.

It was an astonishing moment when Harry and the angel of death were collaborators.

I would like to read a sentence or two of the last speech

made here a year ago, from Harry's message to us.

"My wish is that during the next five years,

until my 100th birthday, whether I am still here or not, that

you continue to celebrate my birthday."

People felt Harry's ceremonial death

was his gift to them.

Such a death should only happen to me, they said.

According to his will, they are reassembling this year.

They are celebrating.

They will continue beyond his death.

Very often when I walk in there, after they finish going through

this kind of almost ritual thing, of how wonderful it is

that I'm a nice Jewish girl with a nice Yiddish punim and all that--

What does punim mean?

A nice Yiddish face, a nice warm smile,

and they know I care for them.

They then say-- and I'm a lady professor.

That always comes up.

And then they say, who's with your children,

you know, or they come in on the fact that I don't take up a hem so good

for a lady professor.

You know, there's always kind of-- there's a lot of ambivalence there.

There's a lot of recognition that I have done

what they wished they could have done.

Pauline didn't have the choice of a real career,

but she did have a talent for putting costumes

together from scraps and bits of fabric.

At the time, I had what you call a schmatte, just a schmatte or something.

I don't know where it came from.

But sure enough, I put it together.

Sewing and singing are now her life work.

On this machine, I put in the center of the living room

where we took an apartment.

And I didn't care for nothing, but this machine is my life.

When you were younger, Pauline, even a young woman

couldn't afford fancy clothes.

You had to-- I mean, in order to be attractive and well-dressed,

you had to make your own, didn't you?

Yes, so what did I do?

Neighbors-- especially for my first daughter--

a neighbor gave me a beautiful big doll.

It had a beautiful dress on.

So I took this dress off from the doll

and fixed it up for my daughter.

And she was my doll.

They did the most important thing.

They made the choice.

And their choice was to raise

their children to maturity--

decent children who realized their fondest dreams--

education, freedom, things like that.

But the cost was themselves.

A million different little things, whatever I found-- a feather here,

a feather there, up and went.

Oh, when I sing, I'm just in glory.

I only feel sorry that I had no chance and was neglected.

Because I had to give up either my children's care,

neglect them and be somebody.

So I had to choose-- my home, my children, take care of my husband.

Thank you.

Are you enjoying the food?

They're never so happy as when they're eating.

Okay.

Pretty soon we'll have the stuffed cabbage,

the chicken with the kugel, and some wine, and some candy for dessert, too.

It's going to be a beautiful afternoon.

It really is very, very beautiful today.

Maury Rosen, the director of the center,

has devoted the past 14 years of his life to this little group.

Sometimes he is a son, sometimes a father, always an advocate

and protector of the old people.

He is with them every day, scolding, worrying,

teasing, refereeing their battles, insisting that they continue.

And he fights with the outside world for their survival.

- That's what you want? - No!

No! That's it.

It never occurred to anybody

that the elderly people

were victimized by what was happening.

These-- you see this restaurant that we have here?

They didn't exist 10, 15 years ago.

It was all different kinds of apartments for the elderly people.

But then the profiteers came, the greedy investors who were looking to just

displace the elderly, and that they did.

They threw down the structures.

See? And, to this day, it hasn't been built.

And where do the elderly people go?

They go wherever they can.

They go up and down these streets,

and they live in the most horrible and

severe kinds of one-room apartments.

But now the rent is not $50, $60 a month.

The rent now is $175 or $200 or $225 a month.

And how the hell are they going to make out on the Social Security

that totals about $200 to $250 a month?

I'm very short-tempered with people who don't see the beauty of the elderly

as I do, who look upon them and then find them to be invisible.

Inside the center, they become visible.

Anyone may dance, read a poem, make a speech, or sing a song.

Maury is the impresario.

Okay, we have a treat today.

Don't go out, really.

What a treat, unexpected treat.

- Do you know dreaming-- - Sam Stoner--

- Dreaming of you--dreaming of you. - That's right.

Sam Stoner is going to introduce-- you introduce your friend to us.

Tell us about your friend.

How did you get to meet your friend?

Ladies and gentlemen, with your kind permission,

we have a man, a man from Italy, but he is a Yid, a Yid, an Italian Yid.

And he has gifted to sing [indistinct[.

Okay.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is my friend...

- Cichelli. - Chick-kelly.

Yeah.

What is your pension that you get?

I get $185 from one place and $100 in the other place.

How do you manage on that?

- I manage. I got too much money. - What do you do with your money?

- How do you-- - I carry around money all the time.

I have a check account. I got money in the bank.

How do you take care of yourself living alone?

Well, it's lonely.

It is?

What-- is that the hardest part of living alone?

Well, I have to.

- You don't really have to. - There are all those women--

--down there. - No. They're not--

they're not my type.

Why?

They can sing the Yiddish songs downstairs.

That doesn't apply to me.

- You don't like that. - Nah.

What's the best part about your life now?

There's nothing good about it.

- Nothing good? - No.

Old age is a curse.

You think so?

Sure.

What is the hard part?

Well, you're sick, you're--

you're ailing, this, that.

There's always something, you know.

And when you go to sleep, you figure,

oh, well, you wouldn't get up anyhow.

You can't be contented when you have to come up by yourself

and stay by yourself most of your life.

You had a very good marriage.

Oh, best in the world.

- Really? - Mm-hmm.

How many years?

59 years and 9 months.

If you-- if you married again, a woman would take care of you.

I can't get anybody that I-- that my heart will go to.

I can't marry.

I don't buy a piece of cake.

I don't buy it.

To get married is a gift.

To get married is to love one another.

Loneliness is forgotten on Friday in Venice.

The Sabbath is the most sacred of all Jewish holy days,

when each week for one day, a Jew may enter paradise.

Traditionally, Sabbath begins at dusk with the lighting of the candles.

But here they enter paradise a little early,

because it is dangerous for old people to walk these streets after dark.

The spirit of the Sabbath is unaffected by the hour.

This is the moment when the center

becomes home and the members family.

The Jewish woman has the honor and the duty of bringing in the Sabbath

with the lighting of the candles.

Bertha feels her own mother's hands on her face when

she makes the timeless ritual gesture.

Shabbat Shalom to her honored guests, to all my friends, and all my dear ones,

and all the members.

Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat Shalom.

- Think positive. - Think positive.

- Have a nice weekend. - Easy.

If you'd go one at the time, it'd be much easier for all concerned.

At the end of the service each week,

there is a struggle between pride and poverty.

Bags of fruit and vegetables donated to the center

by wealthier Jewish organizations are handed out.

The idea of accepting charity is humiliating.

They have always been givers, not takers.

Moreover, cynics among them mutter about those who come to the Sabbath

just for the food.

Nevertheless, the spirit of the Sabbath absorbs it all.

Thank you. Shabbat Shalom to you all.

When these people die,

their way of life dies with them.

That makes each person's departure a crisis.

Rose is leaving tomorrow for a home.

She can't take care of herself anymore and has no choice.

Rose faces this with spirit and went to the hairdresser in preparation

for her last day in the community.

Why did you decide to go?

Why did you decide to move there?

Why? Why?

You mean why do I moving?

Yeah.

I'll tell you, my health isn't so good.

I don't hear so well and my-- my vision--

my vision-- my vision is getting very bad.

And I can't do the cooking.

I can't do the cleaning, you know.

I used to be, believe me, a very nice housekeeper.

I used to make a nice meal, too.

Yeah. And now it's hard.

I could do it.

How old are you now?

How old are you?

I'm over 80.

So you'll have a little rest for a while.

No matter how long, I'll see.

- Like I said-- - Longer, you.

120, as they say.

Like I say to my children, this will be my last home.

All right, the staff-- the staff and the president all together,

because we're all human beings trying to cope with a pretty, pretty rough world.

And let's try to do our part in '76 to make the world better.

New Year's Eve, like the Sabbath,

is rescheduled for convenience.

New Year's happens at the Israel Levin Center at 2 o'clock

in the afternoon on December 30.

This is when their favorite musician can come and play for them.

There is no question for anyone present that theirs is the real New Year's.

We have a date to keep, all of us.

And that's next year, all of us should be here and celebrate the next new year.

So let's--

Okay, so let's try to remember that you're under strict orders not to get sick,

and not to go to any hospital, and to be in good health,

and to do a lot of good things.

Everybody dance.

I look at my own gray hairs now with something akin to affection.

And I think to myself, you know, that those really signify

coming into a different phase of life--

a better one than the one that went before.

I have models. I am very fortunate,

and I am in the minority of having models before me

as how to age well, that aging is not death.

But there's a certain peace with death,

the realization and acceptance of death as a member of the family.