Laughter was a constant in our childhood home, and it is the sound you will hear wherever any of us go; you would be able to identify me even in a very dark movie theater. However, we are, all three of us, demanding and rigorous when it comes to our work and our ethics. And like our parents, we generally want to mitigate any suffering we encounter, and if we’re in the position to help—with family, friends, colleagues, even strangers—we will do it.
In word and deed, our mother and father both offered the clear message that they could not abide bullies and that they expected us to stand up to them whenever possible. Ironically, a deep analysis of our life experience—the kind you might conduct while writing a memoir—would inevitably point to moments when we experienced bullying among ourselves. As much as my mother hated the way her own father pushed her around, she could play the bully with her emotional outbursts and extended silences. Also, it has to be said that our father bullied our mother into moving to Wilmette. And I’m sure that you could find plenty of people willing to recite instances of bullying practiced by Ari, Rahm, and me. Indeed, the impatient, pushy Emanuel style is so well known that during a recent interview for college presidency I was asked, point blank, whether I had the levelheaded temperament the position required.
I know this admission is no big surprise to anyone who’s heard about us. Everyone knows that Rahm can be a rough-and-tumble politician and has done his share of shouting and cursing. And there’s a foul-mouthed, hyperaggressive character on the HBO show Entourage who is modeled after Ari and does little else but bully people. But as obvious as our flaws are to others, it’s difficult to recognize them in oneself.
What other shortcomings do we Emanuels share? Sarcasm is one. Eye-rolling snobbery is another. But, thankfully, as we age these bad habits are fading and our appreciation for the advantages and gifts we received while growing up Emanuel has grown. It is my mother’s moral certainty that I hear when Ari condemns the bigoted rants of Mel Gibson. It is my father’s sense of humor I see in Rahm’s more outrageous acts, like calling out the names of political enemies and declaring them “dead” while stabbing a table with a steak knife.
Finally, I would have to credit the Emanuel brotherhood itself as a major influence on the men we grew up to be. We spent the first ten years of our lives sleeping in the same room, eating at the same table, and strategizing over how to appease our mother’s tempestuous moods. Then we spent four summers together in Israel—entertaining ourselves together. The bond we formed growing up together is unbreakable. As adults we are constantly checking in with one another by email and phone. It’s not unusual for us to talk four or five times in a week. Indeed, going a whole week without connecting makes us worried that something bad has happened. (It was not until I was middle-aged that I discovered how unusual this is for adult siblings.) And we are able to support one another in a way that is uniquely consistent, specific, and well-informed. We can confide in one another knowing we will receive much more than the generic advice a friend or acquaintance might offer. No one is more critical of me than my brothers, but no one is more supportive and loyal.
As I wrote earlier, Ben and Marsha perfected the art of jazz parenting. But just as in music, their noisy riffs and improvisations were all played within certain rules. Our home may have seemed chaotic, but amid the arguing and the tussling no one was permitted to practice prejudice, cruelty, or stupidity. Every comment received due consideration, no matter who said it. Standards may have been loose when it came to swearing and wrestling, but they were quite strict when it came to values like loyalty and integrity. All that we received depended on us upholding these values, and if we ever failed, we felt the loss acutely. Nothing that other parents did to punish their children, from spanking to grounding to the withdrawal of privileges, could have felt worse than what we felt when the mood suddenly shifted and our mother retreated in anger. The desire for her approval was a powerful motivator. At the deepest level, this anxiety lies behind much of what we have achieved.
The impatient and never-ending expectations voiced by our mother and, to a lesser extent, our father got into our hearts and minds and made each one of us burn with ambition. But while we each set a course toward our own version of achievement, not one of us was able to establish an endpoint. Rahm did not say, “I’ll be satisfied if I get to the White House.” Ari did not declare, “I want to run a Fortune 500 company.” Because we had internalized the idea that life is a matter of constant striving, we could not imagine reaching a point where we would be satisfied. In fact, each achievement, whether it was a published book or an election victory, brought a new, higher goal, which required even more effort.
This insight into the shared source of our success came to me gradually when we began our Thanksgiving get-togethers. Beginning in the early 1990s, they gave us opportunities to check for signs of change, reflect on our lives, and consider the influences that made us—family, Chicago, New Trier, Jewish heritage, the sixties, Americanism, liberal politics. They also let us celebrate some of life’s landmarks. In 2009 we used Thanksgiving weekend to have Rahm’s fiftieth birthday party and plan for a family journey to Israel, where we would celebrate two bar mitzvahs—for Rahm’s and Ari’s sons—marking the first time we were there all together since 1970. In 2010, the big news at Thanksgiving revolved around Rahm’s departure from Washington and his campaign to be elected mayor of Chicago. I brought to the table, in a manner of speaking, this memoir.
Although no one in the family had read the manuscript, everyone had an opinion. Suspicion, sensitivity, and curiosity swirled in the air as my brothers, their wives, and various children interrogated me for a couple of hours. They wouldn’t stop until I agreed to distribute some of the chapters I had finished.
Foraging through the memories of our lives, my brothers and I have decided that there isn’t one single thing that our mother, our father, or anyone else added to our cereal to make us this way. Instead it was an approach to life itself, reinforced in myriad different moments, that made us Emanuel boys into Emanuel men.
Hopefully, one day the three of us will reach a point where we are truly satisfied with all that we have as individuals, members of our family, and citizens of our great country. It’s not up to our parents, who got us this far, to teach us this one last lesson. No, it is our responsibility. Perhaps when we fulfill it we will be truly grown-up. In the meantime, I have a message for my Emanuel brothers. I love you, you schmucks. And I admire what you have made of yourselves.
To my loyal and wonderful brothers
Rahm and Ariel
I love you schmucks!
Acknowledgments
Family histories are made of stories. For years I had been jotting down random stories and memories I wanted to share with my children. The process of transforming these notes into a family chronicle ultimately became an unexpected—at least to me—journey of self-discovery.
The idea of organizing these disjointed stories into a coherent narrative first came to Richard Abate, then an agent working for my brother at William Morris Endeavor. Such a book is the creation of many helping and critical hands. To each of them I owe deep thanks.
When Richard left, Suzanne Gluck and Jennifer Rudolph Walsh at William Morris Endeavor seamlessly took over as my agents. They offered warm support, ideas, and insightful criticism. Their belief in the value of this book never wavered.
The book benefited from three terrific editors at Random House. Susan Mercandetti originally acquired the book before joining ABC. She offered insightful ideas about how to structure the stories. Jonathan Jao took over, providing many ideas about how to improve the first draft. Susan Kamil was the hands-on editor extraordinaire. This book is much better because of her exceptional editing—especially the suggested cuts—and discerning emendations.
The real work of writing this book began with Michael D’Antonio, who helped me revisit people and places and feelings that had been far in the past. He also had the great idea of videotaping a disc
ussion among the three brothers during the summer of 2011. This book could not have been realized without his diligent work and collaboration. Our numerous discussions of my family’s history greatly enriched and deepened my understanding of my own life and the life of my family.
My parents spent many hours recounting crucial stories that I could not know or whose details I did not fully remember.
There are many people who contributed stories—and they are often named in the book. Special thanks for insights go to my boyhood friend Michael Alter, who has been engaged with our family since he was seven and I was ten, and to Andrew Oram, a close college classmate and the paradigm of Aristotelian friendship for all these many years.
As she drove us along winding roads around the Norwegian fjords, Anne Sovcik endured my reading aloud of the first draft, accompanied by much crying, laughing, and cringing. Fortunately, she was not frightened away by my craziness—or that of my family. My three daughters, always perceptive and critical about their father, were helpful as I worked through draft after draft.
And finally, thanks to my brothers, Rahm and Ari, who were invaluable. While I am an extremely independent person, I could not be who I am without their love and support, which always makes an appearance when you least expect it and need it the most.
Serious Zeke.
Mischievous Ariel.
Quiet Rahm.
Benjamin with his parents, Penina and Ezekiel, in Israel.
Benjamin and Marsha at their wedding, 1955.
Zeke with Marsha and Benjamin, 1958.
A friend, Alan Dean, holding Rahm, with Marsha, Zeke, and (far left) Alan’s son Michael, 1960.
Zeke sitting on a living room chair, circa 1963.
The three Emanuel brothers with Penina.
Rahm with Big Bangah—maternal grandfather Herman Smulevitz.
Zeke with Big Bangah.
The entire Emanuel family, 1965.
The Emanuel brothers hanging out on Ben Yehuda Street, Tel Aviv, 1967.
The Emanuel brothers with Sheva, a paternal step-great-aunt, in Tel Aviv.
The Emanuel brothers with lifeguard David Malamud, Tel Aviv, 1967.
Big Bangah (maternal grandfather Herman Smulevitz) and Little Bangah (maternal grandmother Sophie Smulevitz) circa Zeke’s bar mitzvah, 1970.
Long-haired Zeke at Rahm’s bar mitzvah, 1972.
Rahm at his bar mitzvah, 1972.
The entire Emanuel family at Ariel’s bar mitzvah, 1974.
Rahm on his way to high school, circa 1975.
Rahm, Benjamin, Ariel, and Zeke, early 1980s.
About the Author
EZEKIEL “ZEKE” EMANUEL is the son of Benjamin Emanuel and Marsha Emanuel and the brother of Chicago mayor and former White House chief of staff Rahm Emanuel and Hollywood talent agent Ari Emanuel. A vice provost and university professor at the University of Pennsylvania and a member of the Institute of Medicine of the National Academy of Sciences, Emanuel also served as the special advisor for health policy to President Obama’s director of the Office of Management and Budget. He is an op-ed columnist for The New York Times. Raised in Chicago, he now lives in Washington, D.C., and Philadelphia.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
One Born to Protest
Two Controlled Mayhem
Three The Emanuels
Four America
Five Into the World
Six A Family, Extended
Seven Right and Wrong and Good and Evil
Eight City Kids
Nine Israel
Ten Wilmette
Eleven Time of Turmoil
Twelve Cultural Studies
Thirteen Adolescent Rebellion
Fourteen College Boys
Fifteen Perfectionism and Its Discontents
Postscript What Did Mom Put in the Cereal?
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Family Tree
Photo Insert
About the Author
Brothers Emanuel: A Memoir of an American Family Page 30