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Golanski's Treasures

~ a novel

Golanski's Treasures

Tag Archives: Jewish

In Honor of Mothers

14 Monday May 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in Jewish Culture & Traditions, Jewish Genealogy, Writing

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Austria, books, family, Grandparent, Hungary, Jewish, Memoir, Mother, Mother's Day, Poland, Tribute to Mothers

As a special Mother’s Day tribute, I thought it only right to give a little bit of background on the character of Max’s mother, Pepe.  How she took form, and the qualities she embraces that made her a composite of the “Yiddisha Mama” touted in song and legend.

The original Pepe Golanski – Bessie (Pepe) Stein, my maternal grandmother.

Every character in the book has been named to honor family, friends “close as family,” and/or historic figures who may not be popularly known.  All of the children, and most of the current characters with whom Max interacts are currently alive.  The others hold people who have graced the planet in memory.

Max’s mother Pessel was actually named for my maternal grandmother, who was Austrian-Hungarian/Romanian by birth, and came to this country with her husband and first two (of nine) children.  Her husband’s name was Max (for whom my primary character is named, although my maternal grandfather died years ago — one of the exceptions to my naming of characters).  When Pessel arrived in the US, she was given the AMERICAN name of Bessie, which she begrudgingly accepted, although she was never comfortable within its skin. Compromising, she deferred to her nickname — Pepe — which is carried throughout the book.

So . . . to review.  Max is named after my maternal grandfather, and Max’s MOTHER is named after my maternal grandMOTHER.  (Ahh, the luxury of “poetic license” allowed writers!)  With me so far?

In the book, fictional Pepe was born to be a mother (as was my actual grandmother).  She embraced every opportunity to love, teach and support each of her children: Moishe (Max), Izzy (Isadore — incidentally, named after my own father), and Miri (Miriam), named after my maternal Aunt Mary.  Her husband Julius (Max’s father) is a kosher butcher.  In my family the real Julius was my paternal grandfather, who was, in fact such a butcher.  STILL with me?  

As a Mother’s Day tribute, I’d like to share a snippet from a scene in the book to bring you back to Max’s world as a child growing up in Poland — when the Jewish world of his existence was still balanced (however precariously), and logically unfolded within an environment filled and defined by cultural traditions, faith and the love of family.  It was a place where a Yiddisha Mama was revered, serving as the center of home, family and community.  So, without further ado, it is my honor to introduce Pepe Golanski, butcher’s wife, and Max Golanski’s beloved mother . . . .

(NOTE:  Quoted text is copyright protected by Sue Ross, 2012 and remains the exclusive property of the author.  Use of this material without permission is prohibited.)

While Julius worked, Pepe would chat with the ladies who came by just as much to schmooze and trade recipes as to purchase meat.  Once she had completed her chores both in the shop and the family’s second floor apartment, she’d join her contemporaries in discussing the latest gossip of the day.  Always taking charge of such discussions to make certain the women in her shop shared information, rather than malicious rumors, Pepe kept a firm grip on such conversations, chiding those who sought out juicy details that might be hurtful to others.

“So, nu?  Marta?” she’d say.  “You wouldn’t sleep as soundly as you do each night if you didn’t know the details of Yonkel’s failing as a husband to poor Chava?”

Pepe’s belief that petty rumors were unnecessary, unkind and unworthy of attention made her greatly respected throughout the neighborhood.  Her use of discretion was legend and she was fond of reminding everybody that, “Small minds produce the world’s biggest headaches.” A traditional balaboste, Pepe was a highly disciplined housewife and adoring mother.

“You’d think the sun rose and set upon the heads of those three children,” Julius would often say, shaking his OWN head when she’d over-indulge them.

“But, my beloved husband, the sun DOES rise and set upon their heads,” she’d reply, her face alive with a mother’s love. Yet, she was also the undisputed disciplinarian of the family.

“Children, off to school with you,” Pepe would announce the second the last parcel of dark rye bread had disappeared from the table and her husband had left for work.

“Miri, I told you that dress needed a few stitches at the hem.  A lady you should be.  I’ve never known such a girl as you.  Now run and change.  Moishe, those fingernails look like those of beggar.  Do I need to take a brush to them myself?  Go scrub them again.  I’ll not have a child of mine going to school with dirty fingernails.  Izzy!  Now where is that child?” she’d mumble, full well knowing that her eldest had already bounded down the stairs to wait for his siblings in front while he sought to catch a peek of the attractive girl who lived next door.

Moishe remembered how the delicate fragrance of baking challah, and meat-filled, sweet cabbage wafted from her apron.  Perfumed by onions, Pepe’s large, peasant hands were moist and supple from folding schmaltz into her chopped liver.  But, Moishe most loved her laugh.  It shook loose from deep inside until her earrings danced, tears flowed from her eyes, and her ample bosom bounced up and down. What Pepe lacked in a formal education was more than adequately covered by her more pragmatic schooling as a perceptive student of life.

“People are my books,” she told her children, and would refer frequently to her living library when fielding questions about the world.  Pepe’s mish-mosh of characters seemed to hold answers from whatever might ail, to putting together a school report, to the most attractive ways of braiding the flaming red hair of the rambunctious Miri.

Born Pessel Libe she was raised in Galicia in the town of Shoenfolo in Maremosesiegatz, where she spent her childhood swimming in the river that divided Austria from Hungary.  Pessel was her Jewish, or Yiddish name, but she preferred her nickname, Pepe.  In addition to being the best swimmer and fastest runner, she was also known for her culinary skills, the result of early training by her own mother, Chana, who was well accomplished in the art of Jewish cooking.

“Pessel, to catch a husband, you should spend more time on your brisket and less time looking in the mirror!” Chana would say.

As catching a husband was top on every young Jewish girl’s list, Pepe watched intently, taking mental notes of what made up a “pinch,” or constituted a “dash.”  While not the sole reason, her cooking was certainly part of the reason she so quickly won the affection of a husband who was partner, provider, and father to her children.

I dedicate today’s entry to Max’s Pepe — my maternal grandmother, Pepe (who died before my birth) — my own beloved mother, Rose (whom I miss dearly since her passing several years ago at the age of 91. Mom would have so enjoyed being part of this journey) — and all mothers who bring children into the world, and lead them through its often confusing waters.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

 – Remembering Mom.  Rose Ross with Baby Sue (a long time ago.  My skin was definitely too big for me).

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YIDDISH (my Mamaloschen)

05 Monday Mar 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in Jewish Culture & Traditions, Yiddish

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Eastern Europe, food, Jewish, Jewish Culture and Traditions, language, Mandy Patinkin, Sholom Aleichem, Yiddish

MAX GOLANSKI here, and like the gifted Mandy Patinkin pictured on the left, I wanted to share with you some information about Yiddish, my mamaloschen, or “mother tongue.” In Poland I read, spoke and experienced the world through its richness.

Yiddish almost became a dead language after World War II, but for centuries it was spoken by 12 million people.  Yiddish helped us maintain our cultural identity and communicate with other Jewish people throughout the world.  As borders changed so often in Eastern Europe, we had a native tongue despite not having a nation. Born in Europe, Yiddish is 70% German with a mixture of Hebrew, Slavic, and Romance languages thrown in. As Yiddish spread between countries and regions, it absorbed their languages and regional slang expressions, but basics stayed the same. Yiddish is the Jewish way to make sense of the world.

To me Yiddish is like a clear chicken broth to which leftovers are added every night until Shabbos (Sabbath). Each night’s soup is stronger than the night before until it’s like a nice, thick stew for the Sabbath meal — then the process starts all over again.  Why all this talk about food?  I see both food and Yiddish as delicacies.  Speaking Yiddish, we relish every bite, eating our words with gusto and enjoying the aftertaste so as not to miss the true flavor, or essence of a conversation.  So, would you like a taste?  A little sampler plate of Yiddish expressions?  So many Yiddish words are now part of everyday life, I’m sure you’ve heard:

BUBKES  (trivial, worthless, useless)

GLITCH (minor problem or error)

MAVEN (expert – often sarcastic)

NOSH (snack)

OY GEVALT and OY VEY (Oh pain!  Yikes!)

PLOTZ (collapse)

SHLOCK (cheap, shoddy item)

SHMALTZY (excessively gushing)

SHMOOZE (chat, small talk)

SHTICK (gimmick, actor’s bit)

SPIEL (involved sales pitch)

TCHATCHKE (knick-knack)

TUCHIS (rear-end, buttocks, tush)

YENTE (female busy-body)

However, unless you’re a lansman (“Member of the Tribe,” or Jewish) and only then if you speak Yiddish, you might be unfamiliar with its descriptive color.  So, how about I start with my very favorite, as it explains the story of my life?

 DER MANN TRAOCHT UN GOTT LACHT.

(“MAN PLANS AND GOD LAUGHS.”)

HERE ARE A FEW OTHER WORDS AND PHRASES I LIKE:

A SHAYNE DANK DIR IM PUPIK — Many thanks in your belly button (“Thanks for nothing.”)

A BI GEZUNT – Don’t worry about problems.  (“You’ve still got your health.”)

BIZ HUNDERT UN TSVANTSIK – You should live to be 120.

FERBLUNJIT — Lost, mixed up.

GAY GA ZINTA HATE — Go in good health.  (“Fine, don’t listen to me. See if I care.”)

HOK A CHAINIK – Bang the kettle, OR give someone a headache with complaining.

KVELL — To beam with pride and pleasure.  (Jewish parents are prone to kvell over their children’s achievements.)

ME OIS VAXEN SVI A TSIBELE MITEN CUP IN VANT – You should grow like an onion with your head in the ground.

SHLIMAZL — A chronically unlucky person, a born loser.  (When a shlimazl sells his umbrella the sun comes out.)

YENTE TELEBENTE – “Mrs. National Enquirer”

ZAYN MAZL ZOL IM LAYCHTN VI DI LEVONE IN SOF KHOYDESH — His luck should be as bright as a new moon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OY . . . I didn’t mean to go on so!  If you have any personal favorites though, let Sue know.  She’s thinking of setting up a page just for Yiddish words and expressions.  But, only if you’d enjoy.  Nu?  What do you think?

Max

P.S.  Sue wanted me to tell you that there are many books and websites on Yiddish and she’ll try to add some to her links.  You may want to read Leo Rosten’s THE JOYS OF YIDDISH.  Or check online.

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“Family is Everything!”

23 Thursday Feb 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in Holocaust, Jewish Culture & Traditions

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

blog, books, Eastern Europe, family, Final Solution, holocaust, Jewish, jewish genealogy, Poland, Shoah, shtetl, the Chosen People

“Family is everything!” Mama used to say.  Yet, I never realized just how important everything was until I had nothing.  Until my family was consumed by the hatred and misguided megalomania of a single lunatic, who crafted “The Final Solution” as the way to rid the world of all that was precious to me.

People generally understand the Holocaust as one of history’s darkest periods.  Yet, that understanding is framed by viewing footage from newsreels where the Jews of Eastern Europe become familiar as victims — black and white images of naked skeletal remains stacked up like kindling, or victims-in-waiting kneeling before open pits, Nazi soldiers standing behind them with rifles poised.  Or iconic images of a young boy with his hands raised above his head.

Then, of course, are the numbers.  The sheer volume of those destroyed in the first genocide where science was employed to systematically destroy those selected by a virtual killing machine.  6 million souls.  Two-thirds of Eastern Europe’s Jewish population.  Gone.  Murdered.

Yet, each of those 6 million were members of families like mine in a culture that lived and breathed family from every pore.  My family was much like yours, the only difference perhaps that we lived in shtels (Jewish villages) and cities in Poland.  We were born, lived, loved and laughed — just like your families.  We made our livings in a variety of ways, from working in farming communities to city butcher shops.  We sought our degrees in institutions of higher learning, studied art, became professionals, fell in love and married.  We debated the finer philosophical points raised by history’s great minds, and immersed ourselves in worship to the God who was the center of our existence.  We harbored the same hopes and dreams as every living soul.

Yet, as Jews, we stood in the same shadows of fear occupied by our ancestors from the moment we chose God, and he in turn chose us for our love of Him and dedication to his ways.  Being “The Chosen People,” was never easy, and when I was young I wished that God would choose somebody else for a change.  But me and my family — Mama and Popa, brother Izzy, sister Miri, wife Sarah, grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins – were born into times and circumstances where choosing and being chosen framed our existence.  Our choices defined our humanity, informed our destinies and shaped our relationships with God.

Like you, we were born into a world where God gave us the freedom to choose how to act, or react to the world around us.  Yes, “Family is everything,” but we are all extended family, aren’t we?  So, as family, I invite you to get to know more about my world, for within that world you may discover some pieces of your own.

A blog is a personal connection in today’s impersonal universe.  I will attempt to keep my scribe busy as she relates some of the stories of my life, but most can be found in the book she has been working on for the past 12 years.  Her book – MY book – is called “Golanski’s Treasures.”  Until it is ready to be brought forth into the world, perhaps we can become acquainted through this blog.  Feel free to ask questions, or join conversations.  No need to stand on formalities – speak right up!  This is a dialogue.  Speak your mind, but please be considerate of one another, me and my family, and your writer Sue Ross along the way.  It’s easy to stay in touch.  Just click on the “follow” button at the left and you’ll be notified of new posts.

Thank you,

Max Golanski

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Categories

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  • Friendships – Part Two
  • Friendships – Max’s Gang
  • Counting Blessings
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