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Golanski's Treasures

~ a novel

Golanski's Treasures

Tag Archives: Jews

Friendships – Part Two

15 Friday Jun 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in History, Holocaust, Jewish Culture & Traditions

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

College Hill School, Evanston Township High School, Facebook, Friends, Friendships, Gypsy, Illinois, Jews, Lower East Side, Middle East, New York City, Palestinians, Romania, Skiles Jr. High School, Syria

This past week I’ve continued to enjoy a fabulous exchange with childhood friends on FaceBook through what can only be called an ongoing “Virtual Reunion.”  My High School, Jr. HS and now even Elementary School friends have been examining and identifying the faces of children we knew and were) a very, very long time ago.  (Well, perhaps only one “very!)  It’s what got me thinking that it was time to introduce my novel’s central character’s band of friends — Max’s self-named, Alter Kochers Club (Yiddish for “Old Farts”).

Max's Alter Kocher Club

Max’s Alter Kochers Club

Max’s best friend Sammy (presented in the last post) is as gregarious on one side of the equation as the conversely withdrawn and sullen Sid. A curmudgeon, he gets quiet pleasure from engaging Sammy in lively debate, as his negativity is the perfect foil to Sammy’s positive energy. So, I invite you to join us again by pulling up a virtual chair at the Cafe Arabica, brewing your own cup of coffee and grabbing a pastry of your own as we enter Max’s world on New York City’s Lower East Side.

Cuppa Coffee and a Pastry

Cafe Arabica – “Cuppa Coffee and a pastry.”

INTRODUCING SID LEDERMAN! Sid is a man uncomfortable with the changing events around him, and definitely not receptive to a “one world, one family” viewpoint. He’s conflicted by wanting time with his friends, but having to meet with them in a place uncomfortable to his politics. He enjoys owner Dahoud’s fine Syrian coffee and pastries, but has made it painfully clear that he not only abhors anyone who might remotely be tied to Nazis, but is also is suspicious about current events surrounding Jewish-Arab relationships, feeling such things should not be taken lightly.

(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.)

When Dahoud’s wife, Bahia Mariana took over the counter, Dahoud would pull a chair to the table and bait the old Jews about current events in the Middle East.  Max, Sammy and Morrie usually joined in the spirit of discourse, but Sid had actually left the café on more than one occasion.  Each time he vowed in a loud voice that he “would never return,” railing against the Palestinians, the oil-rich sheiks of the Middle East, and the need to keep Arabs and Jews apart.  Yet, for every time Sid had stormed off in a cloud of anger, he somehow managed to return the next Thursday, taking his accustomed seat as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.

Sid could only be described as rotund, a man made large by the delicacies that seemed to follow him everywhere he went.  Originally from Romania, he was considered by some to be a bit of a ‘gonif’ (thief), an attribute accredited to his inherited gypsy blood.  Troubled by an asthmatic condition, ill-fitting dentures that clicked when he spoke, and a panoply of arthritic aches and pains that frequently prevented his getting a sound sleep, Sid’s disposition was what one might expect from someone walking in tight shoes for days at a time.  He was always dressed in the same plaid shirt, over which he managed to squeeze a sweater at least two sizes too small with trousers worn belted high above what was once a waistline.  Sid took comfort in his unhappiness and wore his badge as group curmudgeon with a degree of self-appointed importance.


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Friendships – Max’s Gang

09 Saturday Jun 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in Holocaust, Jewish Culture & Traditions, Writing, Yiddish

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Alter Kocher, Ashkenazi Jews, Cafe, Evanston, Facebook, family, Friendships, Illinois, Jews, Lower East Side, New York City, Reunion, Yiddish, Yiddish language

FRIENDS!

Flickr friends

The fuel behind the energy of our lives, friends are those rare individuals who elect to share life’s journey.  They are there during the good times – and the bad. While not related by blood, they are the people who elect to be there for us – our companions, confidants, and fellow-travelers by choice. Recently, friends from my youth have actively come together through FaceBook.  Perhaps the process of aging has caused us to reach back and gather close those who shared the formative years of our lives, inviting them to join us once again even as we venture forward. The process of exploring our collective past in Evanston, Illinois has brought up rich images of places, people, and experiences. Coalescing, these long-standing friendships are blending past and present.  The longing for the warm and familiar surroundings of our youth is being replaced by an extended family picking up where we left off.

That’s probably why two of my greatest pleasures in writing GOLANSKI’S TREASURES have been time spent with Max as a child reliving a youth surrounded by a warm and loving family – and as an older man in New York’s Lower East Side neighborhood.

English: Tenement buildings in the Lower East ...

Tenement buildings in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, New York City. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Having lost his family to the Holocaust, Max has developed a few close friendships with colorful characters who’ve stepped in to provide him with a semblance of family.  While they can’t replace those he lost, they provide him with a connection to the world, and camaraderie that only comes from being “known.”  They are a lively group, and I thought you might enjoy them.  So, without further ado, I’d like to begin introducing Max’s “gang!”

Leading the pack is Sammy, an animated ball of energy and Max’s closest buddy.  Sid is best  described as a well-meaning, but undeniable curmudgeon, and Morrie is simply a sweet and kindly soul.  Every week they meet for “a cuppa coffee and a pastry” at the Cafe Arabica, followed by pinochle in a nearby park.

Max's "Alter Kocher Club"

Max’s “Alter Kochers Club”

However, rather than my telling you about them in the context of discussion, I thought you might enjoy taking a moment to peak beneath the tent of the world where Max lives.  So, today I’d like to invite you to brew up a cup of your own coffee, pull up a virtual chair at the Cafe Arabica and meet the first of Max’s “Alter Kochers Club” (Yiddish for “Old Farts”), Sammy Fuchs.  I hope you enjoy him as much as I do!

(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.)

Sammy was small verging on elfin with hair an entity onto itself.  Jutting out at odd angles it danced around a face defined by years of laughter.  From the rakishly crinkled skin around his mouth, to his laughing eyes, Sammy was undeniably unique.  In many ways, his hair served as an antenna that drew attention to his way of interacting with the world.  While not immune from life’s challenges, he had traveled the years with sorrows miraculously held at bay.

‘It’s all about attitude,’ he’d explain, finding life much more to his liking when experienced as he wished it could be, rather than the way it really was.

Sammy’s family was from Munich, where before WWII Jews served as the heads of governments, banks, and universities.  Fully assimilated within the dominant society, their experiences were decidedly different from those of Eastern Europeans.  This contributed to a certain modicum of class distinction that sometimes spilled over into dealings with other ‘lansman.’  Possessing this self-inflated sense of worth as a German Jew bolstered Sammy’s already strong sense of personal power.  He identified himself as the group’s self-acclaimed troublemaker, whose mission in life was to keep both his contemporaries, and the rest of the world on their toes — one of the few things left that gave him pleasure.

‘Sex is like a song,’ he’d say.  ‘I can hum the melody, but can’t quite remember the words.  And food?  With these lousy dentures it’s impossible to chew anything to set my taste buds on fire!  We come into the world gumming pabulum and we leave it the same way.’  For Sammy, making waves was not only a form of entertainment, but a skill elevated to an art form.

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NEVER AGAIN!

18 Wednesday Apr 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in anti-Semitism, Genocide, History, Holocaust

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

6 Million, Auschwitz, books, Day of Remembrance, Elie Wiesel, Final Solution, Genocide, Hitler, holocaust, Jews, John Donne, Martyr, Nazi, Poland, World War II, YOM HASHOAH

YOM HASHOAH – REMEMBERING THE MARTYRS

Yom HaShoah Memorial Candle

No man is an island, entire onto itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were: any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.

I have long felt John Donne’s eloquent statement to be a somber reminder of what should be a basic tenet of human existence. How different might our world have been had such ideals dominated Europe from 1939 – 1945. Instead, our human family was indeed diminished.

Six million Jews and millions of others were systematically annihilated in the penultimate pogrom we have come to know as THE HOLOCAUST: Communists, Czechs, Greeks, Gypsies, homosexuals, Jehovah’s Witnesses, mentally and physically handicapped, Poles, Resistance fighters, Russians, Serbs, Socialists, Spanish Republicans, trade unionists, Ukrainians, Yugoslavians, prisoners of war of many nations, and countless others.

Those  who perished were lost to the world in body, but not spirit, for as long as we remember them, they live on.  And so we remember. And in remembering we honor the innocent, and reaffirm our condemnation of the guilty. We remember in the hope that in so doing such crimes will not be repeated.

We will remember them in services around the world today during YOM HASHOAH, “The Day of Remembrance.”  We will be moved by speakers, some who survived the conflagration. We will voice heartfelt prayers and light memorial candles. We will reflect upon man’s inhumanity to man as perpetuated by the Nazi killing machine in Europe. We will realize the immensity of the crime — six million Jews. Two-thirds of Europe’s Jewish pre-WWII population, and half the world’s pre WWII Jewish population.

In 1989 the Holocaust became irrevocably real to me as I explored the killing grounds of Auschwitz while traveling on behalf of Spertus Museum of Judaica.  I was not obligated to visit, but felt a that bearing witness to the Holocaust was a responsibility – a moral imperative. Walking past displays of “physical evidence” I kept reminding myself that “but for the Grace of God….” It was a sobering and life-changing experience.

Years later, immersed in writing, my fingers froze as they were poised above my computer’s keyboard. I was uncertain as to how to tackle the chapter where my fictionalized character (Holocaust Survivor Max Golanski) visited the death camp where he had been imprisoned.  I simply couldn’t wrap my brain around it. Knowing the impact visiting Auschwitz had upon ME, I was stymied as to how to enter the skin of one who had actually lived that horrific truth, then returned to renew his tie to the time, place and events as a living witness.

As happens sometimes among those of us who are either blessed (or condemned) to write, I finally removed myself from the process and let Max tell his story. I typed at a rapid clip, through closed eyes as my heart drummed madly against the walls of my chest.  The chapter quickly evolved into a surreal ballet. I was there only to serve as scribe.

To honor the memories of the innocents murdered in the Holocaust, I offer the following selection from that chapter of  GOLANSKI’S TREASURES.  May the memories of the Martyrs be a blessing, and may we live to see a day where “Never Again” is no longer a prayer, but a reality.

(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.)

Max entered a darkened room made smaller by the omnipresence of a large urn.  Its circumference was the size of a mature tree’s trunk, yet stood only a few feet tall.  The focal point of the room, the simple and unadorned urn beckoned Max to approach.

Slowly walking forward he stopped abruptly, as if confronted by a hidden barrier.  Noticing a sign in Polish, he drew closer to read the faded words, then pulled back abruptly, his breath wrenched from his chest.  Suspended in time, Max felt the presence of invisible sentries hovering nearby.  Stepping back a few paces his heart slowly absorbed the simple words inscribed.  The simple clay urn cradled precious ashes collected from the ovens.  Ashes taken from the nameless, faceless, countless, unknown souls who had perished in the crematoria.

Reaching a trembling hand towards the vessel, Max felt a bolt of electricity course through his body as his hand made contact.  Was he touching the cheek of his beloved wife?  The shoulder of his childhood friend?  Had the ashes of a young Russian soldier co-mingled with an old Gypsy woman with flashing gold-earrings, or a sympathetic Catholic priest who dared to object?  Was that the laughter of a small girl?  The sobbing of an old woman?  Were those the persistent and distinctly melodious strains of a violin crying with her?

As he withdrew his hand, Max’s breath swooped back into his lungs leaving him gasping and light-headed.  Closing his eyes he sighed deeply.  A long, thin puff of air escaped his lips.  Max was reminded that the Third Reich’s perverted quest for world domination was built upon subjugating and exterminating all non-Aryans.  Its malignant vision left no one people holding a monopoly on suffering.  Death had become the great equalizer.

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PASSOVER – The Story!

06 Friday Apr 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in Holocaust, Jewish Culture & Traditions, Jewish Foods, Writing

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Cecil B. DeMille, Charlton Heston, Diaspora, Exodus, family, films, Jews, Judaism, Moses, Passover, Pesach, Seder, The Ten Commandments

Beginning Friday evening, Jewish people around the world will gather to retell the story of the Exodus. Extraordinary! Modern-day Jews, religious or not, continue to fulfill the ancient, biblical commandment “And you will tell your son (sic: children) on that day saying….” The story of the Jewish Exodus in the 6th century BCE following the destruction of the Second Temple joins Jewish people worldwide to shared origins, binding us to Jewish culture, traditions, and one another.  As a storyteller, I have always been fascinated by the magnetism of this saga as a vehicle offering both connection and inclusion.

Is the story true?  Some believe every word while others consider the story a metaphor.  I find its greatest value as offering a framework within which the concept of faith and deliverance are renewed annually, both individually and as part of a people. Retelling the story keeps a chain of inheritance alive, sustaining Jews living both in Israel, and the Diaspora (dispersion/scattering) that marked the initial exile of the Jewish people. Since then, Jews have been expelled from other regions of the globe. Spain during the Inquisition. Pogroms and other political actions where they were pushed from homes established over centuries. And the Holocaust — the penultimate expulsion.

The word Passover (Pesach in Hebrew) refers to the “Passing Over” or “Po-say-ach” of the Angel of Death who was sent to strike down the firstborn sons of Egypt in a final show of strength by the god of the Hebrew people. The last of the ten plagues visited upon Pharaoh and his people, the ancient tale relates how God instructed Moses to have his people place lamb’s blood upon their doorposts as a sign to the Angel of Death to “pass over” their households, sparing Jewish children.

The story of the Exodus is one of passion and drama, brought to the screen by Cecile B. DeMille in his epic film, THE TEN COMMANDMENTS. Who can forget Charlton Heston as Moses, standing upon a boulder above terrified slaves who suspended common sense because Moses assured them that God would protect them as they crossed the emptied bed of the Red Sea, parted for their escape. The image of Moses standing with arms spread wide before terrified Hebrew slaves fleeing Pharaoh’s pursuing chariots in a mad dash to freedom is embedded in our psyche.

Yet, Passover Seders (the traditional pre-Passover dinner, where the story of the Exodus is retold) are themselves steeped in the generational memories of individual families. In GOLANSKI’S TREASURES, Max shares what occurred during one particular Seder celebrated by his family in Poland in the late 1920’s. So as not to spoil Max’s tale, let me share instead my own family’s Seder traditions.

As a family raised in the Conservative tradition we celebrated two nights with two Seders.  One was with my mother’s family, and the other with my father’s.  My mother’s family gathered at a lovely Jewish country club in Chicago hosted by her sister. Long tables accommodated the large family of aunts, uncles and cousins.  Seated opposite a cousin who blessedly did not like boiled egg whites, ours was a symbiotic relationship, for I didn’t like the yolks.  When the traditional boiled eggs were passed, we would quickly remove the yolks from the whites, and make a clandestine exchange of boiled egg pieces beneath the table according to preference.

Gefilte Fish and Beet Horseradish.

My father’s side of the family would gather for a Seder at my grandparent’s house.  Another large, extended family, we had an “adult’s table,” with satellite seating for the children. When I finally reached the age marking my matriculation to the “adult’s table,” my grandmother passed away. Several years went by during which my mother prepared wonderful Seders for our immediate family at home.  When my father’s sister decided to once again bring the entire family together my excitement at joining the “adult’s table” was quickly extinguished. Other cousins near my age had also advanced, so we simply sat at a newer version of “kiddy tables.”

At some point, my father’s older brother and older sister and their (now adult) children left the larger gathering for Seders with their own children (and grandchildren).  The baton was passed to my father to officiate. While nobody could hold a butcher’s carving knife to Dad in the kitchen (did I mention that my Grandpa Ross was a kosher butcher?), Seder leadership fed into Dad’s propensity for telling L-O-N-G versions of any story.  Each year our Seders became increasingly lengthy. To keep ourselves amused, the cousins (by then young adults) established a betting pool.  The one closest to calling the exact time it took Dad to finish won the pot.  At Dad’s last Seder before he died, I won. Of course, several cousins complained it was fixed, and as Dad took no offense upon learning of our friendly betting, I suspect he had become aware of our shenanigans and maybe even overheard my wager.  I’ll never know.

I’d love to hear favorite stories of memories from other people’s Seders, so please feel free to comment on this post and share them.  Don’t forget to check the GOLANSKI’S KITCHEN page on this blog for a new recipe!

"Old Country" photo in Poland/Russia of my Great Grandfather Louis (bearded) - my Grandpa Ross is on the left.

May your matzoh balls be fluffy, your brisket moist and tender, and the four glasses of kosher wine acceptable even to connoisseurs.  Warmly, Sue

(Please check out a wonderful post regarding the significance of retelling the Passover story of the Exodus by Dasee Berkowitz in the JTA blog of the American Jewish Congress listed under LINKS – JTA.)

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Passover in Poland – Memories from Max

29 Thursday Mar 2012

Posted by Golanskis Treasures in Jewish Culture & Traditions, Jewish Foods, Poland

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

books, Charoset, Cook, Jews, Matzah ball, Passover, Passover Seder Plate, Pesach

Charoset made with kosher wine, apples, pears,...

Charoses made with kosher wine, apples, pears, cinnamon, honey, pine nuts, and crushed walnuts.  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

PASSOVER (Pesach) is still one week away, and I’m delighted to present a few holiday recipes from several wonderful readers to help make cooking “Kosher for Passover” not only delicious, but a shared experience.

In GOLANSKI’S TREASURES, Max’s mementoes trigger fond recollections of his life in Poland before WWII. Here’s a short clip from a story he shares during his flight home with a student who carried two items he purchased in a curio shop in Warsaw . . . an old wooden chopping bowl and a distinctive three-bladed chopper (called a “hackmesser” in Yiddish).

When I was a young and curious boy, Mama (of blessed memory), allowed my sitting quietly in a corner of our kitchen to watch the women work.  She was quite the expert on Seder preparations, and by the time I was ten she felt I could do simple tasks. That’s how I became the only boy around who knew how to make charoses, a delicious chopped spread symbolizing the mortar Hebrew slaves used to cement together bricks for the great pyramids.

I somehow became convinced that the quality of my charoses contributed to the ongoing architectural integrity of the pyramids, so I worked extra hard to perfect the dish.  I can still remember the ‘chop, chop, chopping’ sound as the multi-bladed hackmesser struck the wooden bowl.  Mama taught me how to create a charoses worthy of the Seder plate.  I could even remove the thin red, green and yellow glossy skins from each apple in long, continuous spirals with one of Papa’s sharpest knives.

Crisp and tart, the clear juices from the apples coated the hackmesser’s blades as I worked.  Chopping the walnuts into the apples, I’d add crushed cinnamon and a dollop of honey, then dribble sweet, red wine into the mix.  Chopping and blending, the fragrance of apples meeting walnuts, honey, cinnamon and wine was intoxicating.  Learning to reach the proper consistency took years to perfect.  As I grew older, I enjoyed embellishing upon the original recipe Mama had taught me, and must confess I became quite well known for my charoses!

Check out the new page just added to the blog called “GOLANSKI’S KITCHEN.”  I’ve started the ball rolling with Max’s description of the ingredients and process of creating an easy, thick and chunky, yet spreadable charoses — the traditional Ashkenazi (Eastern European) recipe:

Ingredients:

  • 1 1/2 tablespoons honey
  • 1/4 cup ground cinnamon (or to taste)
  • 5 cups fuji apples – peeled, cored and chopped
  • 2 cups red wine
  • 1 cup chopped walnuts
Directions:
  1. In a bowl, mix the honey, cinnamon, apples, wine, and walnuts thoroughly and let sit several hours.

While I no longer cook that much (I’m blessed with Charles’ fabulous creativity in the kitchen), I still look forward to preparing my annual Chicken Soup with Matzo Balls for Pesach.  I confess that I generally use box mixes for the matzo balls, but please take note of the technique employed in shaping and introducing the mixture into the boiling water (a trick learned from my own “Yiddisha Mama”).

You’ll also find other Passover dishes from two contributing cooks who answered my call for recipes.  More have come in, but preparing recipe posts for the blog are somewhat labor intense for me, so please be patient and keep a lookout for other Jewish dishes that will be posted periodically.  All reflect the ongoing love affair between Jewish people and food.

(Please feel free to send your favorite recipes for future postings.)

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Categories

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