One of the great joys of living on the Upper West Side is the potential for celebrity spotting. Pre-pandemic, when more people were in the city, it was fairly common not only to run into friends but also celebs while walking and shopping. As The Jewish Link is now expanding its reach to this side of the Hudson, I thought I would share with readers an experience that goes back to my childhood growing up on the West Side, when I had the chance to meet one of the then-iconic figures in popular culture. One Shabbos afternoon, I was at my friend Carol’s house and who should pop in but Amy Stiller. Amy is the older sister of Ben Stiller (Amy grew up to be a very talented comedian in her own right, and Ben needs no introduction) and we knew each other from our siblings being in the same neighborhood Jewish day school. Amy’s and Ben’s parents were the Stiller and Meara comedy duo who often performed their routines on the Ed Sullivan show. Later, in the ’90s, many came to know Jerry Stiller as George Costanzas’s father, Frank, on “Seinfeld.”
Amy invited us to come to her family’s apartment, and on our way there, she said, “Instead of coming to my house, would you like to meet Peter Max? He lives on the other side of my building.” Who didn’t know Peter Max and who wouldn’t want to meet him! He was at the height of his fame as the avant-garde pop artist, world renowned for his artistic psychedelic depictions, whose work would soon grace a postal stamp, portray Lady Liberty in bold and vibrant colors and even become the official artist of the 2000 World Series between the Yankees and the Mets.
Sure, we said, but wouldn’t he mind us dropping in unannounced?
Amy said, “No problem—he is used to my bringing my friends over to meet him.” And before we knew it, we were standing outside his apartment. Since it was Shabbos, we knocked on the door, and sure enough, he answered, and we introduced ourselves as friends of Amy Stiller who said we could come over to meet him. I remember stepping into his pre-war sprawling apartment—and immediately noticed that what served as a chair in the room was actually a dentist’s chair, something only an artist would think of! He asked us where we went to school, and we said Ramaz, figuring that he would ask us where it was and what kind of school it was. What happened next was such a shock. He turned to us and said, “Atem medabrim Ivrit?” Do you speak Hebrew? How did Peter Max speak Hebrew? We didn’t even think he was Jewish!
He saw the look of surprise on our faces and then told us his story—he was Jewish, born in Germany. His parents fled Berlin with him (then a baby) on the eve of the Holocaust, ending up in Shanghai, and then before settling in New York, they spent several years in Israel. That explained how he came to speak Hebrew.
He then said to us, “Girls, I want to give you something.” He left the room for a moment and returned with a sketch pad and a charcoal pencil. “I’m going to sketch each of you and give you both a signed portrait.” As he began his artistic work, we screamed out in unison- “No—it’s Shabbos—you can’t do that!” We continued to protest but a smile came to his face and he said, “Look girls, I’m not shomer Shabbat, so don’t worry—let the sin be on my head!” We were only 11 years old and didn’t know yet how to further argue the intricacies and ins and outs of muktza and, in general, Hilchos Shabbos. Within moments he was done, so we thanked him and then left, each of us possessing a signed portrait. I skipped home in time for Havdalah and excited to share my adventure with my family.
Years went by and one spring day, a number of years ago, who should I see exiting a cab across from my apartment but Peter Max. I hadn’t seen him in person since that Shabbos afternoon and I decided to introduce myself. I told him I didn’t expect him to remember meeting us but I had never forgotten it. He was very gracious and it seemed like the perfect coda to the story. Alas it then occurred to me—where was that portrait? My mother, z”l, was still alive at the time but had already moved from our original apartment and so many things were discarded or given away. When I asked her, it was a mystery to her where it was. With so many years having gone by, who could know where that portrait had ended up? I’ve continued to search through family papers in the hope of locating it. In the interim, the story has to suffice for what was an exciting childhood Shabbat adventure. I’m happy to share this West Side story as The Link makes its debut and finds a place in our homes in the ’hood.
Rabbanit Adena Berkowitz is scholar-in-residence at Kol HaNeshamah New York City, senior scholar at the Manhattan Jewish Experience and a practicing therapist. She is the author of the best-selling “The Jewish Journey Haggadah” and co-author of “Shaarei Simcha—Gates of Joy,” a mini siddur.
