Author and Publisher

The topics treated in David Bruce Smith’s books include his mother’s evocative paintings and the intriguing lifestory of his grandfather, who was one of DC’s most-inspired Jewish visionaries.

David Bruce Smith was both the author and the publisher of Conversations with Papa Charlie, a charming and succinct account of the life, career and beliefs of his grandfather, Charles E. Smith, who lived from 1901 to 1995.

Published in 2005, the book also chronicles the strong and sweet relationship that existed between the two of them.  The following quote from Lewis Mumford appears at the front of the volume and may partially explain the intensity of their bond:  “The commonest axiom of history is that every generation revolts against its fathers and makes friends with its grandfathers.”

After a childhood on a Russian farm, Charles Smith went on to become a DC-area real-estate tycoon who was one of the local Jewish community’s most influential leaders as well as one of its most-inspired visionaries.

So, why hasn’t there yet been a major motion picture made about this man’s highly intriguing life?

Some of the events of his 94 years would seem to be ideal for the silver screen.

Consider, for instance, two pivotal developments that occurred when Charles was five years old and living with his family on a farm outside of Lipnick, a shtetl in western Russia.  The episodes are recounted in his autobiography, Building My Life.  This 1985 work was the first book published by David Bruce Smith, who also played a key role in helping his grandfather to write it.

Being stricken by diphtheria was the first of the developments.  Two of Charles’ older brothers had the deadly disease at the same time as he did, and although they both tragically succumbed to it in their sleep, he was able to recover from it.

This brush with mortal danger was reminiscent of another health emergency that had befallen him when he was only six months old.  One night he awoke in pain, holding his ear and crying loudly.  He was taken by a horse-drawn wagon to a neighboring town, where a doctor, without anesthetics, performed an emergency operation involving the removal of his mastoid.

In his autobiography, after first posing the question of why he had been able to survive these health emergencies, he gave the following answer:  “In later years I realized that God had guided my destiny.  These instances and others that came later led me to believe that I was intended by Him for some special purpose in life.”

The second key occurrence of his fifth year of life pertained to the Jewish education that was provided to him — he was sent away for most of the week to study with and live with a rabbi in a neighboring village.

Every Sunday he would be taken by a horse-drawn wagon to the rabbi’s home.  He would reside there, along with some other boys, until Friday, when he’d be taken home so that he could spend Shabbat with his family.

He didn’t discuss in his memoirs the nature of the rabbi’s classes, but it seems safe to assume that he was being introduced to a form of Jewish education that presumably had changed very little in that geographical area over many years.

The difference in his case was that at the age of ten he’d be emigrating to the United States — meaning that the seeds of traditional Jewish wisdom that were planted in him by that rabbi would be growing to maturity in an American setting.  This gave the arc of his life an almost paradigmatic resonance for a wide swath of American Jewry, it seems to me.  He somehow seems to be symbolic of the early-twentieth-century migration of Eastern European Jews to the United States — and of their subsequent success on these shores.  The metaphor that pops into my mind is that this was an individual whose personal story involved the straddling of two continents, with one foot in Europe and one in North America.

It’s easy to envision what a couple of talented screenwriters and a top-notch director could do with the raw material of this rather staggering life.

Imagine, for instance, a scene in which the rabbi is teaching a class while five-year-old Charlie sits there and soaks it all in.  The viewer would be feeling highly sympathetic towards the little guy, considering the illness he had recovered from and the trauma he had sustained in losing his brothers.  It seems to me that the rabbi should be portrayed as someone who’s overflowing with kavanna and charisma — a first-rate teacher who inspires Charlie to believe in God and feel a commitment to his fellow Jews.  In later parts of the movie, the adult Charles would periodically have flashbacks in which he remembers sitting in class and being introduced to the key principles that would guide him for the rest of his years.

And what about a scene in which Charlie is shown saying good-by to his family on Sunday morning?  We would see him sitting beside the wagon’s driver — his father’s farmhand — as his eyes look out onto the road.  First he has a flashback to the previous day’s Shabbat observances.  Then he has a flashforward to the studies that await him in the upcoming week.

These and other scenes from his childhood would periodically pop into Charles’ mind as the movie goes on to relate the progress of his life.  In this way, the film would make clear that he never could have evolved into the real-estate titan that he eventually became if he hadn’t first had that emotion-charged rural childhood in the “old country” that gave him the foundation of his Jewish beliefs.

Remembering a Kindred Soul

In an interview, David Bruce Smith notes that helping with his grandfather’s memoirs had the effect of strengthening the already-tight bonds between them.  “I was always close to my grandfather, but it was a way of getting close to him in a different way, because it was a collaboration,” he says.

One of the most intriguing parts of Conversations with Papa Charlie is the author’s description of a striking similarity between his grandfather’s infancy and his own.  David Bruce Smith, who is now 51, was born two months prematurely in DC.  His lungs were “obstructed by phlegm,” he writes, and the “prognostications for my survival were as remote as they had been for Papa Charlie when he had diptheria.”  Charles, who visited him in the hospital daily, was convinced that he would pull through the crisis.  “He believed God would save me, as he had been spared, because he saw ‘fire in my eyes’ and a desperate struggle to live.”

Charles’ instincts about his tiny grandson’s survival turned out to be golden, of course.  And over the years that followed, the fact that each of them had survived a near-death experience seems to have given both of them an overpowering sense that their destinies were somehow linked in a special if indefinable way.

“He was such a magnificent person to be with and go to for advice,” David Bruce Smith tells me.  “My father was even better, by the way, but Papa Charlie was great.  He was very ahead of his time.  He was very intuitive and curious.  He was very into messages from God, and signs, and interpretations of dreams, and healthy living, nutrition, and exercise.  These were just not things people thought about fifty years ago, especially a man.”

He adds that his grandfather was “one of my greatest encouragers,” always trying to find ways to give a boost to his self-confidence.

He writes that Charles once told him:  “I’ve watched after you every single day of your life, and I’ll look after you every single day for the rest of your life from the Other Side.  And don’t ever forget it.

Back to Charles’ Childhood

In Building My Life, Charles gave credit for his early Jewish education not only to the rabbi who taught him, but to his father as well.  “Although our farm was far from the nearest synagogue, the religion remained strong in our home,” wrote the man who was the eighth of his family’s nine children.

His father’s name was Reuven Schmidoff.  Born in 1873, Reuven had prepared to become a rabbi, but six months before his ordination, his father died.  The practical effect of this was that he had to step into his father’s shoes and become a farmer instead of joining the rabbinate.

He was the overseer of a large leased farm.  “The actual farming was done by about 50 Russian and Polish peasant women who tended the cows and vegetables.  Potatoes were the principal crop,” Charles wrote.  Corn was also grown.  “While my father oversaw the workers all day, my mother labored also, carrying water, feeding the chickens, and keeping house.”

“They were a little better off than poor,” David Bruce Smith tells me.

Things began taking an ominous turn for the family in 1907 after the nobleman who owned the farm died.  David Bruce Smith writes that “an anti-Semitic heir expelled the family from their home.”  With his savings, Reuven was able to buy a windmill.  But a short time later, the windmill was burned in a mysterious fire.  When Reuven went to a local Jewish sage for advice, he was told, according to Charles’ memoirs, “Reuven, you have had two signs from heaven.  Pick up and go to America.”

In 1908 Reuven left the family behind and sailed to New York.  With his departure, seven-year-old Charlie had to stop living and studying with the rabbi after only two years of doing so.  His education was forced to take a backseat to the more pressing concern of pitching in at home.  “I tried hard to take his place and be as much help to my mother as I could,” he wrote.  “I remember taking two large buckets to the well each morning, filling them, and struggling to carry them during the long walk back.”

Reuven had two siblings living in Brooklyn, and went to work — first as a carpenter and then as a carpenter-contractor — in a building business run by his brother.  By 1911 he had saved up enough money to enable his wife and children to sail to America with second-class tickets.

“From our deck we could look down on the mass of people in steerage,” Charles wrote regarding the four-week crossing.  “We ran around the decks and stuffed ourselves because we had never seen so much food,” he’s quoted as saying in Conversations.  “We’d never eaten like that in our lives.  I got sick from it, the weather and the smell of garlic….In those days Jews wore garlands of garlic to ward off the evil spirits and seasickness.”

From Schmidoff to Smith

After settling in Brownsville, an area of Brooklyn largely populated by lower-class Jews, the family changed its name from Schmidoff to Smith.

Reuven’s appearance also was modified.  His “rabbi-length beard” was replaced by a Vandyke, David Bruce Smith writes.

And there was another change, as well.  “Although we observed the Sabbath, my father had to work a half day on Saturdays,” Charles wrote in his memoirs.  “This went against custom, but it was a compromise that he made to the non-Jewish business world in order to make his living.”

Young Charlie, who had pitched in on the farm so admirably in his father’s absence, began learning the value of working for wages at a tender age in his new country.  He “took a number of jobs such as movie usher, Cracker Jack factory worker who put the prize in each box, Western Union delivery boy, and machinist,” David Bruce Smith writes.  (Imagine the gold that the film’s screenwriters could mine out of those positions.)

Mr. Smith also writes that his grandfather told him the following:  “I was no different from the hundreds of other immigrants around me….But I had confidence that I would succeed by learning the language and making many friends — and I did.”

After getting an accounting degree from the City College of New York, Charles went to work with his cousin in what was by then a thriving building business.

“By the time he was in his middle twenties he had become a successful builder of home and strip centers in Brooklyn,” his grandson writes.  “”He lost almost everything in the Great Depression and spent twenty years reconstructing his financial success by starting a second career as a builder of apartments, and later office buildings, in Washington, D.C., Maryland, and Virginia.”

Charles’ first wife, Leah, gave birth in 1928 to a son, Robert.  In 1934 the couple had a daughter, Arlene, whose eventual husband, Robert Kogod, is a partner in the Smith family’s real estate empire.

Robert Hilton Smith

When Robert H. Smith grew up, he became his father’s business partner.  A savvy and extremely successful real estate developer, he was also a major philanthropist and art collector.

A member of DC’s Anacostia High School class of 1946, he attended the University of Maryland and graduated in 1950.  His degree was in accounting, just like his father’s had been.  After graduation, he joined Charles’ building company.

In 1952 he married DC native Clarice Chasen, who would go on to become the mother of David, Steven and Michelle, as well as an accomplished painter.  (For an overview of her career, please see my September 2010 post titled “Painter and Philanthropist.”)

An article in Philanthropy magazine’s summer 2010 issue pays tribute to the philanthropic legacy left behind by Robert Smith following his passing in December 2009.  The article states that he and his wife made such extensive donations to the University of Maryland from 1997 to 2005 that they became “the largest benefactors of public education in Maryland’s history.”

Written by Christopher Levenick, the magazine’s editor-in-chief, the article surveys the array of educational, research, artistic, and historical organizations that the couple supported, including Jerusalem’s Hebrew University.  “Just as he managed the properties he built, so too did Smith sustain the charitable institutions he created,” Levenick writes.  “His method was to build and hold.  Create and commit.  Look to the future.  Think long term.”

The Rockville “Campus”

After Charles retired in 1967, he began focussing his energies on a mission that was very close to his heart — pursuing philanthropical efforts that would benefit the DC-area Jewish community.

His first big undertaking in this regard was being the catalyst of what became the Rockville “campus” that’s home to the Jewish Community Center of Greater Washington, the Hebrew Home of Greater Washington, and the Jewish Social Services Agency.

It all began with his belief that these entities should be located alongside of each other on a single plot of land.  At first, some of the organizations’ leaders balked at the idea, but eventually he persuaded them of its wisdom.  Then he led a fund-raising campaign, the speedy success of which was surprising even to himself.  And he picked out the site in Rockville, Maryland, on which the buildings would be constructed.

Nowadays, it’s difficult to imagine Montgomery County’s Jewish community untethered from the campus.

Without Charles’ vision, tenacity, and myriad contacts, it may never have been created.  And in its absence, the community would almost certainly be less vibrant and unified than it is today.

One has to wonder:  What if five-year-old Charlie Schmidoff hadn’t been educated by an old-school rabbi who poured into him an ancient, passionate approach to Judaism that would animate him for the ensuing nine decades?

It’s easily conceivable that without that childhood experience he wouldn’t have had, as an adult, the same intense commitment to enriching the area’s Jewish communal life that he did in fact have — in which case, the campus may never have even been conceived of, let alone been midwifed into a reality.

The process by which it evolved from a vision in Charles’ head to an actuality is recounted in a 2008 book titled 13 Young Men: How Charles E. Smith Influenced a Community, which also was written and published by David Bruce Smith.

The volume — which includes documentary photographs and reproductions of documents, and draws upon materials in the Charles E. Smith archives — apparently was prompted by a letter that Charles wrote to his grandson in 1995.  Appearing at the front of the book, the letter refers to David Bruce Smith as “the family historian” and asks him to document “the story of how I and others raised the necessary funds” to build the campus — and requests that he tell “the story about how I became interested in Jewish education for Jewish survival.”

The book provides an easy-to-digest narrative of the conception and construction of the Rockville campus, which, David Bruce Smith writes, was “the biggest undertaking in the Washington Jewish community — ever.”  He also writes:  “My grandfather believed the Jewish Community Complex should be a tour de force, and because of that philosophy, every single detail was pondered and planned — with precision.”

The book includes a telling comment that was made to Charles during the complex’s dedication in 1969.  Vivian Rabineau, who had been perhaps his closest colleague in raising funds and doing everything else that was required to bring the complex into existence, said the following to him:  “Charles, everyone knows that without you, this could never have been achieved.  You taught the community how to give.”

Elsewhere in the book, Charles shares with his grandson an insight into his fundraising prowess.  “Most people are not born givers,” he said.  “You have to cultivate them along.”

A Jewish Day School

Despite all of the wonderful benefits that have flowed into the community as a result of the campus’ creation, David Bruce Smith says that he doesn’t think that his grandfather considered it to be his most outstanding accomplishment.

“The crowning achievement of his life was probably the Charles E. Smith Jewish Day School,” he tells me.  “There were two things that were very important to him — education and Jewish continuity.  Jewish survival, in Papa Charlie’s mind, could best be ensured by a good Jewish education.”

Just like he led the fund-raising drive for the campus, so too did Charles later spearhead the campaign to raise the funds that were needed to create the school that would eventually bear his name.

In 1972, according to 13 Young Men, “the United Jewish Appeal asked my grandfather if he had interest in helping to establish a Jewish Day School for grades K-12.”  His response?  “He told them he would participate on the condition that the new school welcomed all Jews:  Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, unaffiliated, and non-practicing.”

After the UJA agreed to those terms, Charles began raising the funds needed for the project, with Vivian Rabineau again working as his top lieutenant.  13 Young Men relates that at the first fundraising dinner he stated the following:  “I believe that the survival of the Jews will not depend on Orthodox, Conservative, or Reform Judaism, but on Judaism or no Judaism.  A people without tradition is a people without hope.”

The campaign raised over two million dollars, and the Jewish Day School of Greater Washington was built across the  street from the JCC in Rockville.  The school opened in 1977.

Three years later, the school’s board of directors changed its name to the Charles E. Smith Jewish Day School of Greater Washington.

David Bruce Smith writes that his grandfather later said to him the following:  “I was overwhelmed when the Board decided to name the school after me.  When I first heard about it, I had tears in my eyes — and they stayed there when I had private moments with myself.”

Always trying to give a boost to his grandson’s confidence, Charles used the occasion of that reminiscent conversation with him to pass along some words of encouragement.

“So many of my dreams have come true and this is because I never lacked confidence in myself,” he said.  “I have also had a strong belief in G-d, which has carried me through many difficult and joyous events.  I want you to always believe in yourself, my Grandson.  You must have self-confidence.  You should have confidence!  This will enable you to make the miracles you imagine in your mind to come true.  I wish this for you more than anything.”

After the school began operations, Charles “didn’t just go away,” his grandson tells me.  “He wanted to make sure that this school had the best of the best in terms of curriculum.”

To that end, Charles’ family foundation gave a $180,000 grant to the Jewish Theological Seminary to develop a groundbreaking,  multi-pronged curriculum for the school.  It proved to be so successful that the New York-based Conservative seminary proceeded to implement it in other Jewish day schools around the country.

His grandson writes that once the innovative curriculum was in place, Charles began to dream that the school might one day “breed another Maimonides.”

He also writes in the 2008 book that The Jerusalem Post has deemed the school to be “one of the top five Jewish schools in the world.”  Originally expected to handle a maximum of 500 students, the school now has over 1,400 students on two campuses, with the Upper School having opened at a different Rockville location in 1999.

David Bruce Smith’s two children are in the Upper School, and he profusely praises the extraordinary course offerings that are available to them.  The school, he says, “just continues to improve.”

From Real Estate Executive to Writer and Publisher

David Bruce Smith graduated from Bethesda’s Walt Whitman High School in 1976.  After graduating from George Washington University with a degree in American literature, he interned at National Journal, the well-respected, non-partisan DC-based weekly that covers politics and policy.  The editors were impressed enough by his talent that they told him that he would get a permanent staff position if he first went to journalism school.  So, he attended New York University and acquired a master’s degree in journalism.

But after getting the degree, he had a change of heart, and instead of returning to National Journal, he decided to work alongside his father at the Charles E. Smith Companies.

He started out as a property manager in the company’s residential real estate division.  Then he was a property manager in its commercial division.  Finally he became senior vice president in that division.  In addition, from 1990 to 2004 he was the publisher, editor-in-chief, and a contributor to the company’s Crystal City Magazine.

After the commercial division of the company went public in 2002, he was less than pleased with the changes that ensued.  “I didn’t like the things that were happening,” he says in the interview.  So he left the company in 2003 and founded David Bruce Smith Publications.

The motivation behind starting the company, he says, was “to make fine limited-edition books that people would remember.”  Asked to assess the status of that aspiration, he says that he feels like he’s “in the process of attaining it.”

To date, he has published nine books, most of which he also authored.  Information about the books is available at the company’s website, which is located at

An Exhibit at Montgomery College

He and his mother were the subjects of a thoughtful exhibition that was shown in the fall of 2010 at Montgomery College.

On view at the college’s sleek and elegant new Cultural Arts Center in Silver Spring, the show was called “Continuum:  Mother and Son.  Artist and Author.”

Its purpose was to shine a spotlight on the collaboration that’s been going on for more than twenty years between the mother who paints and draws and the son who writes and publishes.

The show focused on four book projects and a 2005 art show.

In addition to being the name of the exhibition, Continuum is also the title of one of the books that was featured in it.  Commissioned by DC’s National Museum of Women in the Arts as a way of raising funds, only a hundred copies of this 1989 volume were printed.  In it, Mr. Smith’s text about the Italian travels of his mother provides the context and counterpoint to color reproductions of her low-key oil paintings of autumnal Venice.  Five of the book’s paintings were included in the exhibition.

Tennessee is the name of a large-sized, three-volume collection of Tennessee Williams plays.  It also includes a text, written by Mr. Smith, that’s a fictitious Williams autobiography.  There was a limited-edition printing of 1,500 sets.  His mother’s contribution to the project was to create six illustrations of the plays’ female characters.  The exhibition had a selection of those illustrations on view.

Three Miles from Providence:  A Tale of Abraham Lincoln and the Soldiers’ Home was written by Mr. Smith and illustrated by his mother.   It’s a historically-based, fictitious diary that gets started by one of Lincoln’s guards in 1861 and then is continued by the guard’s descendants until it’s completed with e-mail messages in 2008.

The exhibition also featured ten small colored drawings in which Ms. Smith depicts famous Jews who immigrated to the United States.  They were part of an exhibition of her artwork that was called “Faces and Places” and shown in 2005 at DC’s Adas Israel Congregation, the synagogue that the Smiths belong to and have generously supported over the years.  The best of the ten, in my view, is the depiction of Albert Einstein, who comes across as warmer and more down to earth than he usually does in photographs.

A Surprise Present and a “Perfect Painting”

The other book featured in the exhibition was Afternoon Tea with Mom:  Conversations with Clarice Smith about Her Art.  It was published in 1988 by her son as a surprise present for her.

The exhibition displayed five of her oil paintings that are reproduced in the book.  Two of them — “Artist in Studio,” a very large piece that shows her son standing in a high-ceilinged room surrounded by paintings, and “Acropolis,” which shows a bunch of casually clad tourists climbing the steps of that august monument in Athens — belong to the artist herself.

“Afternoon Tea,” a highly atmospheric work in which numerous individuals are shown conversing in clusters while having a spot of tea in what appears to be a large hotel lobby, was lent by Ryna and Melvin Cohen.  (Mr. Cohen died in January at the age of 87.)

The other two paintings depict the same woman in the same setting, but in different poses.  “Orient Express II” was lent by Judie and Harry Linowes, and “Orient Express III” was lent by Steve Kay.  Each is dated 1984 and shows a well-dressed, attractive woman sitting alone at a white-tablecloth-covered table in the dining car of the luxurious Orient Express train.  The woman is Michelle Smith, the painter’s daughter and Mr. Smith’s sister.

In the Linowes painting, she’s drinking from a glass, which prevents us from seeing what her face really looks like.

In the Kay painting, though, there’s fortunately no such interference, and we can look directly into a beautiful face that communicates a concoction of complicated messages.  This scintillating portrait, in my opinion, was far and away the most outstanding artwork in the show.

In an informative half-hour video that was made by the college’s television station to supplement the exhibition, Mr. Smith states that his mother once referred to this portrait as “a perfect painting.”

When I ask him to explain what she may have meant by that phrase, he says, “It’s her way of saying that the composition works well.”

The Backstory of the Exhibition

The original idea for the exhibition was that it would only focus on his mother’s art, he says.

That was the concept that was proposed to him last winter by Dr. Amy A. Gumaer, the college’s acting instructional dean of the arts, humanities and social sciences.  Her duties include running the classy art gallery that’s located on the main floor of the Cultural Arts Center.  She also interviewed Mr. Smith and his mother for the video, which includes an illuminating segment in which Ms. Smith is shown in her Crystal City studio discussing aspects of her creative process.

The arts center is located on Georgia Avenue near the DC line, across from the former location of the long-departed Hot Shoppes — the mere mention of which brings back a flood of memories for a lot of us baby boomers and senior-citizen types who fondly remember a hangout that was both a sit-down restaurant and  a drive-in where you sat in your car and placed your order through an intercom.

“She asked me if my mother would be interesed in having a show there,” he says.  “We came out in May and looked at the space, and she was very impressed with it.”

He adds:  “I think the building is beautiful.  Not only is it open with a lot of light, but when you hang art, you want it to be in a place where it hangs well, and that place serves that purpose.”

“The show was supposed to be just her work, but my mother said to me, ‘I want this to be a joint show.’  I said, ‘Mom, I don’t think that’s necessary.’  She said, ‘No, that’s how I want it.’  I said, ‘All right, that’s fine.'”

He explains that “the show curated itself, because as soon as we decided on the books, then the works followed naturally.”  As for the ten drawings of immigrants, he says that they were included because of his fondness for them.

Childhoods Surrounded by Beauty

David, Steven and Michelle had childhoods that were greatly enhanced by the fact that they were able to live among the beautiful objects that their parents had acquired in the course of their avid art collecting.

“They always surrounded themselves and us with nice things,” Mr. Smith says.

The areas that his parents concentrated on included 17th century Dutch portrait paintings, English clocks, barometers, 18th century silver, and Faberge pieces.

But their greatest renown as collectors derives from a group of more than 70 Italian Renaissance bronzes dating from 1500 to 1650.  According to an article in the November 2009 issue of Apollo, a prestigious art magazine, theirs is considered to be “the finest private collection” of Italian Renaissance bronzes.

While it’s easy to grasp how the family’s collection of high-quality objects was able to pay lovely dividends when it came to Ms. Smith’s growth as a painter, the connection between their artistic holdings and her husband’s success as a builder isn’t nearly as obvious — until, that is, their son explains it.

“He was an artistic builder.  He had very good taste and a good eye,” he says.  “If you’re collecting 17th century Dutch paintings, which is fine Old Master art, you have to know what you’re looking at.  And that was reflected in his buildings.”

When I ask what it was like as a child to have a mother who was an artist, he says “it was very convenient,” since she was able to provide him with first-rate assistance on his school projects.

“I loved to watch her paint,” he adds.  “I didn’t have the ability to make things that way, but I could watch her do it.”

As an adult, he continues to be highly susceptible to the beauty that she’s able to impart to a canvas.

“When she paints a room or a landscape, I want to be there,” he says.  “Her compositions exude warmth, and they’re memorable.”

He readily acknowledges that it’s impossible for him to render an objective assessment of her creative output.  “Yes, it’s partially because she’s my mother,” he says regarding his fondness for her work.

But with that disclaimer out of the way, he’s ready to praise her to the hilt, saying, “She’s my favorite artist in the entire world.”


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