In the footsteps of Aaron (Zussman)

The continental breakfast at the Travelodge in downtown Houghton, Mich., included hard-boiled eggs. Perfect.

That most portable and kosher of foods was the likeliest protein source for a religiously observant traveling Jew in late 19th and early 20th century America. I was in Houghton in early September as an historically observant traveling Jew — in search of information about my great-grandfather, Aaron Zussman (1878-1952).

I believed that Zussman had worked as a chazzan (cantor), shochet (kosher butcher) and mohel (ritual circumciser) in northern Michigan before serving the Appleton Jewish community in the same capacities for more than four decades. He was one of hundreds of pious, learned men nationwide who served their small communities essentially as non-ordained rabbis, carrying the title “reverend.”

I was basing my Michigan search on a supposition. An article in the Journal of Michigan Jewish History reported what Aaron Zussman’s oldest child, the late John Zussman, had recalled: that Rev. Zussman arrived from the Vilna/Minsk area in about 1900 and spent three years as chazzan/mohel/shochet in Laurium, Mich., located in the little peninsula that juts north from the Upper Peninsula into Lake Superior. He then reportedly practiced his crafts for seven years in Traverse City, 381 miles away.

I’ve learned from my work as director of the Wisconsin Small Jewish Communities History Project, a program of the Wisconsin Society for Jewish Learning, Inc., that family histories often are riddled with vague dates and approximate locations. So I wasn’t sure what I’d find after my seven-hour drive to the Upper Peninsula.

I was hoping to literally walk in Zussman’s footsteps: locate his former homes, take in his views and get a feel for the towns where he lived and the Jewish communities that he served. My goal was to better understand this yakov of all trades, both because he was my ancestor and namesake, and because I feel an increasing kinship with him.

Though his jobs were religious and mine have been secular, we both have made careers working in the Jewish community. My Jewish footprint never will equal his, but I like to think that I share some of his motivations: to connect Jews with their heritage and to spread Jewish knowledge.

Especially during the Hebrew month of Elul, the preparation period for the High Holy Days, I’ve been wondering if I could learn more about my great-grandfather so that I could behave more like him.

I was thinking some combination of the above thoughts as I bit my hard-boiled egg.

If Laurium isn’t the end of the earth, it’s the closest suburb. Laurium was a copper mining boomtown in 1910 whose population exceeded 8,000.

Now about 2,500 people live there mainly in old wooden houses. The scuffed downtown snakes along a winding main street.  Laurium is adjacent to the slightly larger, wealthier and more cultured town of Calumet.

My first stop in the greater Laurium metropolitan area was the Calumet Public School Library, a modern media center located in Calumet High School. The library Web site promised some historical resources. I learned that the region was in its copper-mining heyday a century ago, thus attracting Orthodox Jewish immigrant peddlers and merchants and at least one Jewish reverend.

Because libraries subscribe to census databases, I used the library computer to look up the 1910 census. No Zussman family appeared in Traverse City or Laurium. However, Zussmans popped up on the census in Appleton.

Aaron identified himself as having been born in Russia in 1878. I couldn’t find him on any 1900 census, leading me to believe that he immigrated after the census was taken. I still have to check customs documents and ship manifests to learn the exact circumstances of his arrival.

For other resources, the reference librarian directed me to the Michigan Tech University library back in Houghton, 15 miles west. Luckily, the archives were open the following day.

Fortified by cold, rubbery egg whites, I entered the gleaming library and headed for the basement. The archives contained a most important research tool: the R. L. Polk Co.’s city directories, which list residences, occupations and places of work. Surely I’d find data on Rev. Zussman.

But I couldn’t find him in the1900-1901, 1902-1903 or 1904 directories. That was surprising. So I checked alternate spellings. No Sussman, Zissman or Sissman either. I knew there was no synagogue in Laurium or Calumet to check.

I was feeling downcast, even a little panicky. How could a man live in a town for three years with no record of his presence? What else could I check?

I figured there wouldn’t be any property tax records, since he probably rented his home. My only Laurium reference to Zussman was a nearly inscrutable notation I found on the Web.

A genealogical group had surveyed the old Calumet/Laurium Jewish cemetery in 2002. Finding little to read on the headstones, the researchers traced the founding members of Temple Beth Jacob in Houghton, some of whom were buried in Calumet/Laurium.

A Saul Rosenblum of Laurium is listed as having married on Nov. 2, 1909, with A. Zusman (sic) serving as pastor.  The date didn’t jibe with when I thought my great-grandfather had lived in Laurium. How could that be?

Then the obvious struck me. Maybe he had lived in Laurium after his time in Traverse City, not before. Sure enough, his name appears in Polk’s 1910 Laurium directory. Eureka!

But wait, the address doesn’t make sense. The directory says he lived on the north-south corner — which of course is impossible — of a Lake Linden Ave., just east of a Franklin street. Still, the intersection was worth checking. A storekeeper gave me directions, saying that I was headed toward the “Florida section” of Laurium. “Good place for a Jew,” I thought.

A block south of Florida Street, I found the semi-rural intersection where Zussman was reputed to have lived. It was a half-mile from downtown. All four corners were overgrown with grass and weeds. A couple of the buildings seemed a century old, but there was no knowing if Zussman had occupied any of them.

I corrected myself: “This isn’t a good place for a Jew.” Still, according to the city directories, a handful of Jews lived and worked between the Zussman intersection and downtown. At least he had landsmen.

I found semi-corroboration of Zussman’s presence in the Sept. 16, 1909, Calumet News. Local newspapers in those days usually included a paragraph on the eve of Rosh HaShanah explaining that the High Holy Days were coming and that Jewish-owned stores would close.

The News reported that a “Rabbi Bu A. Bussman of Chicago (sic), who arrived in Calumet ‘recently,’” would lead services in the old Baptist church in Laurium. Bussman “has accepted charge of the congregation.”

Recalling the Polk’s listing and my own typos while in the newspaper business, I figured that the article must have been referring to Zussman.

Okay, so he lived in Laurium, but six years later than the family had thought. Having looked around, I understood why he stayed for apparently just a few months before moving to Appleton. So what could I learn from his other Michigan gig?

Traverse City is a progressive community just south of the UP with a funky, bustling downtown.  Just to the south, tucked behind the new county jail, is Congregation Beth El. Built in 1885, it’s a simple white vinyl-sided building that seated about 100 people in its heyday. 

The congregation has since converted the balcony, where women sat, to a guest room for visiting rabbis. The sanctuary holds 65 chairs, and seating is mixed. Little bigger than a typical single-family dwelling, Beth El is the smallest synagogue I’ve ever entered.

I know Rev. Zussman worked there. A synagogue history book lists him as rabbi from 1903-1908. The Polk’s directories list him in Traverse as early as 1904. I figure that he didn’t arrive in Traverse City in time to be included in the 1903 directory, which is missing. His listing in the 1904 directory is misspelled as A. Sussman. I would think that the spelling would be corrected the second year it appears — as it is in the 1905 directory.

Rev. Zussman had two residences in Traverse City, but I couldn’t find either. Another downcast moment.

Then, looking for an opera house built by a Jewish family, I discovered that the city had changed its building-numbering system sometime after 1910. Though I couldn’t find an old map, I’m confident that the Zussmans lived just outside the downtown, within walking distance of Beth El.

I couldn’t walk Rev. Zussman’s Traverse City route with certainly, but I could stand where he led davening (prayer) on the Beth El bimah (pulpit). I set my hands on the reader’s table, looked slowly around the sanctuary and breathed deeply, hoping to connect with any sort of spiritual force. I tried to feel something he might have, must have, felt: piety, a sense of mission, awe, satisfaction. But I felt … bupkus.

This may sound crazy, but on several visits to ancient Israeli sites I’ve perceived waves of inexplicable energy. As far as I could tell, though, my deceased relatives weren’t involved.

Besides, what was I expecting on the Beth El bimah on a recent Monday morning? Harry Houdini, like Zussman an Appleton Jew, debunked the existence of spirits nearly 90 years ago.

 No rays of light, no chorus of violins, no angels massaging my neck — not even a definitive former Aaron Zussman house. Yet my search turned up more than a free hard-boiled egg.

It’s best to reconstruct history based on the facts, and I’m closer to knowing Rev. Zussman’s actual American itinerary. I also discovered that I can ask two Michigan state agencies for copies of marriage certificates that Zussman might have signed and for copies of his naturalization papers.

I increased my appreciation of his faith and bravery as he led the practice of his beloved Judaism in some rustic locales.

The more I know of Aaron Zussman, the more I realize that I’ll never match his piety. But I’d like to begin to approach his dedication to his family, community and Judaism.

Wherever he lived, he worked hard to support his loved ones and to enable his people to live as Jews. Not to sound sappy, but that’s the inspiration I’d like to take into 5769.

Hmm, maybe I did connect with something on that Traverse City bimah.

A journalist and former editor of The Chronicle, Andrew Muchin is director of the Wisconsin Small Jewish Communities Project of the Wisconsin Society for Jewish Learning.