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Original Watercolor painting by Dan Kimble
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JGSWVO MEMBERS’ STORIES
The Canal Street Station 1936
Alice Resseguie
The Latkes of Hannukah
A traditional tale as retold by Stephanie Sarnoff
The Canal Street Station 1936
Alice Resseguie
Leslie stood still- here at the Canal Street station where her aunt, Tante Lina, had just disappeared into the oncoming train. Now she just stood there – in total fear - unable to decide what to do. Leslie, that was not even her real name, and her aunt were on the way to Williamsburg to visit unknown relatives. Leslie was the name the American relatives had given her because they thought that her name, Anneliese, was too German and too foreign-sounding and nobody would have liked a name like that - so she had been told. Her father had called her Lieschen but that would have been even more difficult to pronounce. She had violently objected to be called Lisa. Lisa, pronounced in English, sounded like Liese to her and at home that was a name for a parlor maid.
So here was Leslie standing frightened in the subway station. She had never been in a subway station in all of her 14 years. At home, there had been three streetcar lines which you only used when it was raining or someone came to visit or we wanted to show how modern “our city” was. One was the Blue Line, then there was the Red Line and then the White Line which crossed the bridge to get to the other side of town. The White Line was mostly used by people who lived way out of the center of town -- otherwise everyone walked. Even Mama walked although she was short and round and Papa walked proudly at her side in his elegant manner.
Now here was Leslie standing in a subway station that was so confusing. The trains and the people keep rushing by. They seemed like strange figures running up the stairs and down the stairs just trying to get to another train. She heard the babel of voices but could not understand what was being said. Strange thoughts were rushing through her head: “Why am I here? Where am I going? Tante Lina is pulling her arm: “Hurry, hurry, schnell, schnell.”- Here comes the train !- Tante Lina runs into the train and while people are pushing – Leslie is standing paralyzed and doesn’t know what to do. The doors of the train are closing. She is confused - the doors have closed - closed and she stands alone in a strange city, alone, completely alone. She can hear people talking and cannot understand what anyone says. Now she is totally confused and lost- lost among strangers in a strange land. What is she to do?- She is so frightened- what is the next step -no step! Stay where she is? -perhaps someone will come and rescue her. She knows that no one will come to her aid -so she must take care of herself -- always take care of yourself- that was her mother's last message to her when she and her older sister were standing left on the railing on the big ship in Hamburg. Mama and Papa had waved “Good Bye” “Sei brav”-be good- we hope to be re-united soon.” But Mama had said it more than once “Always take care of yourself - there never will be anyone else to rely on.” Not speaking the language of the new land it occurred to Leslie to look into her tiny little red dictionary: - “Tante” -aunt -will she know how to pronounce it so that someone will understand her - verloren- lost- that is a short word – She thinks she can say that – lost, lost.”- She stands back from the platform thinking: “Should I jump - then no more stranger in a strange land- no more strange sounding words- no more lost and no more worries what the future will bring. She had thought about that when she and sister Trude were on the ship looking into the ocean into the wild rolling water. Why go to a new land with unknown relatives and a language she didn’t know how to speak or understand. She had already noticed in Hamburg that people spoke her own language differently - not with the soft sing-song of the Rhineland but with the hard northern sounds in their pronunciation. Even Papa’s German had become softer after so many years in the South although he had always insisted that his daughters spoke proper uninflected German. But then Leslie thought - who would greet mother and father and sister Miriam when they would come, if they would come. Certainly not Onkel und Tante – her uncle and aunt- who had not welcomed her with open arms. They had really not understood that things were going to be worse – like my Mama had predicted. Papa still thought it would all blow over - had he not served honorable for the fatherland – certainly the new regime would understand and appreciate that! Mama had just laughed at what she had called “his naivité. As it turned out, Mama had been so right!
No, Leslie was now standing stock still.
There - looking up on the stairs - there came Tante Lina angrily shouting and gesticulating and pulling on her arm. Leslie is so glad to see her- but why didn't the Auntie hug her or asked her whether she had been frightened or said a kind word to her?
Instead Tante Lina just pushed Leslie into the next on-coming train to Williamsburg.
Alice Goldstein Resseguie (1922-2016)
Born in Trier, Germany, the daughter of Max Goldstein and Ella Schapira
The Latkes of Hannukah
A traditional tale as retold by Stephanie Sarnoff
The year is 1890, the place: Rozhenoy, a little shtetle (village), somewhere in Russia or Poland, where Jews were made to live, more or less, mostly less. While a few were well off, most were poor, destitute, or desperate. It was a hand-to-mouth existence, compensated by the excitement of avoiding the Czar’s army. For added interest, there were also pogroms led by the terrible Cossacks. Since it is Hannukah, here is one tale from that time and place.
First, we have a rich man: introducing the Honorable Reb Herschel Krapotnik, purveyor of household goods, landlord to most, and all around miser. Like other men of his ilk, he had more gold than he ever would need and then some. His possessions included a big, solid house and luxurious furs to keep his family warm against the bitter snows. His well-furnished home was warm and bright, a fire crackling in the grate and servants bustling back and forth. “Yes sir, Reb Herschel!” “No sir, Reb Herschel!” “Right away, Reb Herschel!” (The servants were on a first name basis with him. ) Happy laughter from his children could frequently be overheard on the street outside.
It was the custom for well-off members in the community to help the rest of the less fortunate souls of the shtetle. Not only did it ensure a quick entry through the gates of heaven, it also commanded honor and respect, another pleasure for the rich to enjoy. But it happened that Reb Krapotnik was one of those rare, peculiar types who needed encouragement to enjoy such blessings, as he cared more for his rubles and possesions than for doing mitzvahs (good deeds). Even so, he was sometimes valuable in a pinch and was thus respected.
Now, it was the time of Hannukah, that wonderful season of celebration and rejoicing, eight days filled with gifts, merriment and feasting, or so it should be. Most especially, it was time to make those precious golden treasures called LATKES! (potato pancakes). Ahhhhh! What true jewels they are! If you’ve ever tasted real latkes, you'll know what indescribable delicacies I’m talking about. But, don’t think for a single second that you know anything at all about them, if you’ve eaten a potato pancake or two in a restaurant. Those little greasy, tasteless piles of cardboard and library paste have NOTHING to do with the real thing! No, my dear friends, a true and genuine latke is nothing less than a morsel of pure bliss, sent straight from heaven! But since it is made of fried potatoes, onions, cholesterol and calories, it is to be thoroughly enjoyed only on very special occasions.
Hannukah is the one single time of the year when everybody gets to enjoy latkes, even fat people on diets. Its tradition! Ah, I can just taste their hot, crispy, crunchy golden outsides and their fluffy, steaming insides, just…just bursting with flavor! What pleasure awaits you, when you taste one, especially when made by a maven (an expert). But I digress! Back to Rozhenoy.
Hannukah is here. Everybody is preparing latkes by the barrelful. In the house of Reb Herschel, happy voices ring in the kitchen, along with sounds of chopping, peeling and clanking. The children are singing and playing with their dreidles (tops). The servants are rushing about, with last minute dusting and polishing, setting gleaming plates upon the table. And oh, the smells! What wonderful, beguiling , delicious smells come out of the kitchen, as latkes sizzle in the frying pans and are piled onto china platters.
None of this was going on in another house, that of poor Schmulke, the Balagulah. He was so poor, he couldn’t even afford a last name. Thus, he took the name “Balagulah” from his so-called “profession” of hauling other folks’ belongings around in an old, wooden balagulah (cart). On top of that, he couldn’t even afford a horse and had to do all the hauling himself.
On this, the first night of Hannukah, there was no merry making for poor Schmulke and family. There wasn’t even a single, solitary potato in the house, for his dear wife, Brucha (blessing) to make into one tiny little latke. Even though she was quite a balabusteh (wonderful homemaker) of the best sort, all she had was wilted cabbage to boil and a few crusts of hard bread to feed their three hungry children. Poor Schmulke and Brucha! Alas, what could they give their children for Hannukah? Nothing, that’s what. But never you mind, everything ends happily, as you will soon see.
Now, switch over to the happy scene at Reb Krapotnik’s big house, where the lights are warm and glowing and the season’s joy is filling the air. Many hands are peeling potatoes and cracking eggs. The golden latkes are sizzling in the pans and piled high up to the ceiling! Outside, in the icy and deserted street, the three hungry children of Schmulke the Balagulah come wandering by. They pause, as they pass by Reb Krapotnik’s house and hear the cheerful noises inside. Suddenly, the wonderful smell of frying latkes hits their noses. They freeze in their tracks!
Unable to resist, they gaze with wide eyes into the window, gaping at the gay celebration. Their tiny fingers stick like glue to the icy windowsill. They are transfixed by the enticing smell of marvelous latkes wafting into the cold air. Longingly, they inhale every precious whiff, filling their lungs, though their hearts and hungry stomachs remain empty.
All of a sudden, who should happen to glance out the window, but the eminent Reb Krapotnik himself. Growing with surprise, he yells, “OH HO! YOU THREE SCOUNDRELS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING AT MY WINDOW? WHO ARE YOU , TO BE STANDING THERE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION, INVADING MY PRIVACY AND SMELLING MY LATKES! BE OFF WITH YOU, OR ELSE!” And run, they did; terrified! They ran as fast as their spindly little legs could carry them, right back to their own poor hut.
Now normally, that would have been the end of it, but not when Herschel Krapotnik is involved! The very next day found him pounding on the Rabbi’s door, demanding an immediate audience. Now, its time to introduce the good Rabbi of Rozhenoy, our respected and beloved Avrum Yom Tov. Well, he was liked a lot. A wise and kindly man, many a villager would seek him him to help resolve their disputes, of which there were many. (This is why, in later years, a lot of would-be rabbis went into law. )
“Rabbi, Rabbi Yom Tov!”, thundered Krapotnik. “The three children of that fool, Schmulke the Balagulah, have committed a grievous crime against me! They are thieves!” Without waiting for a reply, Reb Krapotnik went on about how the children had hidden and brazenly looked right inside his house. “And not only that,” he ranted on, “They actually had the nerve to inhale all the delicious smells coming from MY latkes!” The Rabbi concealed a small smile and said nothing. “Just imagine the nerve of those little scoundrels!”, continued Krapotnik, “not even a ‘Please’, or a ‘Thank you’ did I hear! The very idea!”, he huffed.
Rabbi Yom Tov listened politely, partly because it was in his job description, and because he was ever mindful of Reb Herschel’s immense ability to make an occasional contribution to the synagogue, when it could be squeezed out of him.
After Krapotnik’s sputtering, spouting and fuming had died down, the good Rabbi stroked his gray beard for dramatic effect and to make the impression that he was very wise and thoughtful. Then, he slowly replied, “I see, my dear Reb Herschel. Naturally, you desire only a little fairness and justice where it is due, is that correct?”, to which Reb Herschel vigorously assented.
Stroking his beard even more, slowly, Yom Tov finally spoke again: “Then let the children of Schmulke the Balagulah be brought before us right now! We will settle the matter forthwith.” The good Rabbi didn’t really know what “forthwith” meant, but it sounded good to him.
Presently, the frightened children and their cowering parents stood before the Rabbi, Krapotnik, and a growing crowd of villagers passing by, busybodies, dogs, a man with a horse, a cart and a squawking chicken. Quaking in their worn out boots, the children readily confessed to the crimes of LOITERING and PEEPING, and worst of all, SMELLING LATKES WITHOUT PERMISSION!
Unable to contain himself, Reb Krapotnik burst forth, yelling: “I DEMAND COMPENSATION FOR YOUR TRESPASSES AND CRIMES!”
Now this presented a bit of difficulty, because the poor little family didn’t have two kopecks (small coins of the realm) to rub together. They were so poor, they didn’t even have a single clove of garlic to rub on a nice piece of fresh rye bread, or to spread it with a little taste of schmaltz (rendered chicken fat), maybe flavored with a small slice of fried onion…ahhhhh, but back to the story!
Rabbi Yom Tov remained silent as the crowd grew and interest mounted. At last, he began speaking, in measured, dignified tones: “My dear citizens of Rozhenoy! All of you can see that a serious crime has been committed here, to which these children have themselves confessed. But, after due consideration, I do believe I have found a solution that will fully resolve the dilemma, much to everyone’s complete satisfaction.”
The Rabbi was really beginning to enjoy himself, as the crowd pressed in, all ears and attention. Raising his hand in a somewhat kingly fashion,he continued: “I have deemed that it is only right and just that our honorable Reb Krapotnik should be fairly compensated for the crimes rendered upon him, and for his severe distress. Krapotnik smiled broadly and the crowd gasped. The three children began wailing, the dogs barking and the two distraught parents fell on their knees, begging for mercy. Drawing himself up to his full 5’ 4” imperial height, Yom Tov cried, “Hear now, what I decree!”
Schmulke and Brucha shook and clung to one another, certain of total destruction. But listen to what the Rabbi said next: (Are you listening?) Pulling out a large , blue velvet bag, he addressed the crowd: “Let everyone here, who is able, put a kopeck or two into the bag, then pass it to your neighbor.” The villagers did as they were bid, pulling coins out of their pockets and dropping them in, one by one, as the velvet bag passed from hand to hand. When at last returned to the Rabbi, it was just bursting and jingling with coins of every size and description!
Now, Reb Herschel, who loved money more than anything else on this earth, with the possible exception of latkes, developed a huge, broad grin on his red, well-fed face, imagining how nicely this bursting bag of coins would look in his already stuffed coffers. But don’t jump to conclusions.
Just as he reached out for the bulging sack, the Rabbi suddenly turned away! Holding the coins aloft, he said: “Honorable Reb Krapotnik! These children have admitted their sins. They are guilty, guilty, guilty as charged!” The crowd moaned, and Krapotnik started again to reach for the bag. “And you, my dear man, must certainly be compensated for your grievous injury”, continued the Rabbi. Someone in the back began to cry. The dogs began to howl. Everyone held their breath, as they leaned forward to catch the Rabbi’s next words.
“Indeed, dear Reb Herschel, I personally guarantee your fair and just compensation, just exactly as you deserve.” He shook the bag again,more loudly than before, jingling the coins in silvery musical tones. “Herschel Krapotnik, I hereby give you the sound of all these coins, in fair exchange for the sights from inside your kitchen, and for the smell of your latkes, so wrongfully stolen!”
The astonished Krapotnik stood with his mouth open, arm still outstretched, as the good Rabbi handed the bursting bag of coins to Schmulke and Brucha, who ran off to buy potatoes and eggs with which to make their very own latkes for Hannukah! And that was the end of that.
YIDDISH GLOSSARY
BALABUSTEH (bah-lah-boo-steh): A wonderful housekeeper who does just about everything, especially in the kitchen. Think Martha Stewart in Rozhenoy.
BALAGULAH (bah-lah-goo-lah): A small wooden cart, used for hauling things around. My great Uncle Albert came to American in the early 1900's. Landing in Galveston, he delivered wooden beams to build oil derricks. First, he carried each one on his back. Then, he got a horse and a balagulah. After a long while, he came to own much of what would become Los Angeles Airport. But, that's another story.
BRUCHA (brook-chah): The Hebrew word for “blessing”, also a woman's first name.
DREIDLE (dray-del): A child's square-sided top, painted with Hebrew letters which double for numbers. Guessing game contests are played when spinning the top, a traditional Hannukah activity.
KOPECK (ko-peck):A very small Russian coin, like a penny. Poor people often traded goods or services without the benefit of money changing hands, since it was hard to come by. Forget rubles!
LATKE (laht-keh): I've already explained everything you need to know about latkes, so go and cook some!
MAVEN (may-ven): An expert. Most people in America refer to latkes as potato pancakes. This shows that they aren't mavins on the subject.
MITZVAH (mitz-vah): A good deed. It is said that the best mitzvahs are those done anonymously, with nothing expected in return. Have you done a mitzvah lately?
REB (rehb): A term of respect, like "sir", with which one addresses the honorable and esteemed men of the community.
ROZHENOY (rah-zhen-oy): Rozhenoy was one of countless tiny villages in the middle of nowhere, in the vast realm between Russia and Poland. Places kept changing names and countries as political and military events unfolded. You might not find it on a map, today, but it was there, really!
SCHMALTZ (schmaltz): Rendered chicken fat , considered to be highly desirable. It is slowly cooked out of the chicken, and fried with onion, garlic, salt and pepper, used to flavor many dishes, or simply spread on bread in place of butter (best on rye bread, seeded with caraway, or a matzo cracker ). There is much more to say about schmaltz, but the less said, the better. It is…simply wonderful! But that was before cholesterol.
SHTETLE (shtet-el):Small enclaves where Jews were permitted (required) to live, apart from the general population. Resources were meager and poverty was the general rule. In the schetle, frequent encounters with Cossacks and other terrorists were common, as were conscription raids for the Czar’s army.
My own grandfather came to America while avoiding that same army. Despite poverty and periodic disasters, life in the shtetle was culturally rich.
Happy Hannukah!
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