‘I always enjoy our religion. It means everything.’

Morris Jacobs takes his religion seriously. On a recent Saturday, the rules of the home where he lives interfered with his plans to attend a late-night service. He wasn’t satisfied until the director of social services, Amos Freid, was paged to resolve the problem. Jacobs lives at the Grancell Village of the Jewish Home for the Aging in Reseda. I’m 91 years old, so I’m not fast on talking. Born in Hungary. The town is Borlese near Satmar. That was a big city. This was a real Jewish city. I grew up there. My dad had a job with the government, but beside that we had a liquor store, like a saloon.

I really wanted to leave when I was 15. I had my passport already to come, but my dad and mom, they talked me out of it. And then came the war and I said, “See, if you would have let me go, I would not have to be a soldier here.”

I went into the Army in 1915, March. I was 16 years old. I was a big boy always, heavyset, so they put me to work to make the road for the Army.

After the war, right away I said I’m going. And they didn’t keep me back. I was a man already. I was 21 years old when I left.

In America you’re a free man. That means a lot to me. It’s not like in Europe. In Europe the government tells you what to do, but here you’re a free man. I like this country because it’s whatever you want to do. Nothing keeps you back.

As a child I was religious, but I came out to this country, I couldn’t keep up religion. I didn’t have time for everything. I didn’t have religion till I came into the home. So I kept religion and it’s in me.

I get up about 3:30 in the morning. I wash and dress up, and then I sit down and read Psalm of David. There’s seven portions, that’s one portion I read every day and then start over again. That takes about three-quarters of an hour.

Then I put on my shawl, we call it a tallit, and start my praying for the day. That takes another three-quarters of an hour. Each day is different. Here in this home there isn’t anybody else who does the morning prayers.

Slichoth is the preparation for the big holiday, for the Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. The rabbi talks about what’s coming up, about Yom Kippur, you know, everything. And the cantor, we have a very good cantor there. An evening like that I wouldn’t miss for anything.

I was all dressed up. I have full suit, everybody said it’s a beautiful suit. Eight years ago I got it. I’m going to take a cab, and I’ll go there.

But they wouldn’t let me go. The nurse called the head nurse, and the head nurse called Amos, and he came down. He says, “Morris, you can’t go.” I said, “I have to go. I’m going.” It was close to 11 already, and we talked so much, he took me himself.

So he dropped me, and he had a nurse to stay with me over there. When I came out after services ended, about 1:30, the nurse said, “Morris, how are we going to go home?” I said, “Get a cab.” So one of the fellows said, “No, you aren’t going to get a cab, I’ll take you.”

That happened about a week ago. Before that I was going out and nobody said anything. I wanted to go shopping, and all of a sudden they says, “You can’t go.” See, the home is responsible for their people in here and they wouldn’t let me. So I didn’t go.

Since then they took my picture. The guard knows me, but sometimes he’s off. They got a picture of me in the booth there so somebody else will know me. If I want to go, I know ways to go out here. But I don’t try to go.

I’m 91 years old, and you know it’s hard living here for me. My legs, I have to have the walker. I can’t hear good. I can’t see good. Just about everything is going, so I wouldn’t mind to die. When my wife died, only be five years, that took everything out of me.

I always enjoy our religion. It means everything. It is in my soul. When I die, as according to my religion, we go on a next world, shall I say. No, I’m not good in English to explain you like that, but what I mean is, I believe that I’m going to go to heaven.