Before Licht Benchen

When Jews came to visit each other on a Saturday, or Sabbath, the greeting words were "Goot Shabbos." When they parted, the parting words were, "A Gooten Shabbos." For us children the Shabbus or Sabbath, whichever way you called it, was always good, for on that day we had Mama to ourselves. On that day Mama was free of all labor and gave herself to the family. The flavor of the meals she prepared for us still clings to my palate. But lest you think it was only the meals she prepared for us which endeared Mama to us, let me tell you this little story of what happened when I was about twelve years old.

Mama had a retail poultry store which yielded a living for the family. She would come home Friday about noon and get busy preparing for the Sabbath. My two older sisters worked. I was at school. My chore, when I came from school on a Friday, was to scrub the kitchen floor and the hallway and stairs. I was an avid reader. One Friday I had borrowed a book—I still remember the name of the book—Ishmael or in the Depths. I had taken the book to school, was caught reading several times, and properly punished. When I got home I still could not tear myself away from that book, so I asked Mama to please let me take my bath first and do my work after­wards. She said, "It's crazy, but I don't particularly care when you do your work. Just so you do it before Licht benchen (lighting of the candles)." I smuggled the book into the bathroom and read for about half an hour, then decided to put it away and at least get wet so as not to be found out. Where to put the book was a problem. In those days the watertank of a toilet was in a box high above the bowl. I didn't realize that the top of the box was uncovered, climbed up on the toilet seat and slid the book on top of the box. Imagine my consternation when "Ishmael" fell into the box of water. I pulled out the book, forgot all about the bath I was supposed to have taken, and ran into the kitchen to dry the pages over the coal stove. My tears could have drenched those pages all over again. Mama came over, looked at me and said, "Nu, stop crying; I'll give you money for a new book. Put away this one, go do your scrubbing, and this time go and take your bath after you are through scrubbing."

Goot Shabbos (Good Sabbath)

In his autobiography, the philosopher Irwin Edman tells of an Irish housekeeper who had charge of his bachelor domain and who ruled him with a motherly hand. The witty professor was in great demand at dinner parties, but his housekeeper had a wisdom even he didn't possess. Whenever he told her he wouldn't be home for dinner, she asked him whether he was going to visit rich people or poor. If he said rich, she shook her head and prepared a meal. And willingly or unwillingly, Professor Edman ate a hearty meal before he left his house.

This may seem only an amusing story, but it has a true basis in fact. Take Mama's house, for instance.

What greater joy could immigrant people of small means possess than to sit around a crowded table and press their only riches (food) on kinsmen newly arrived, who were in varying degrees bewildered and lonely— and of these there were many.

This was at the time when America was the Golden Land of Freedom and Opportunity and it seemed our home had elastic walls. For Mama always found room for the tired, womanless newcomer, who more often than not was the forerunner of a family waiting to join him. Mama's table became the substitute for the hearth, the home, the family of the new arrival.

So close did the tendrils of her warmth twine around these people, that at Holiday time they flocked around her board like homing birds; and the more who came (though we children sometimes gasped) the greater was the joy on Mama's face.

And even an ordinary Sabbath brought many guests back from morning services at the synagogue for Kiddush (the premeal prayer). We at home were nine—Mama, Papa, and seven children. It was quite usual for that number to be doubled.

Kiddush meant that Mama had a table equivalent to a banquet and the orthodox Jews who had not yet broken their fasts that day brought appetites and thirsts to compliment any woman's cooking. Mama fed them all —and loved doing it!

Rosh Hashonah—L'Shonah Tovoh Ticosevu

When orthodox Jews came together on Rosh Hashonah, they greeted each other with the Hebrew phrase "L'Shonah Tovoh Ticosevu," meaning "May a good New Year be in store for you."

For us children this was a very happy Holiday. This was the time when, in addition to the regular Sabbath feast, there were plenty of sweets—honey, nuts, ginger, spice, etc., harbingers of a sweet and zestful year. We would watch big-eyed, while Mama dished out the round-cut carrots with the tzimmes, signifying a well-rounded year. This was the Holiday of desserts. Not so for the grown­ups. To them Rosh Hashonah was the time to review their deeds during the past year, repent their sins, beg forgiveness for transgressions, and pray to God to in­scribe a good New Year. To Mama it was a time to work even harder, to gather her flock together and feed them even better than before.

Everyone knows that the Jewish people have suffered persecution, poverty and hardship throughout their his­tory. We have been told that for every ill there is a com­pensating good. I like to think that one of the benefits of belonging to our people is that we have so many Holidays when we may foregather, eat, drink and be merry. Indeed this was and is a measure of our reverence. So let us celebrate by turning to the section headed cakes and desserts—and Esst gezuudt! Please remember that kreplach are a must on this Holiday.

Succoth

All over the world, in various cultures and throughout known history, the fall of the year is a special time for celebrating and giving thanks. To the Jews, the feast of the Harvest is known as Succoth. There is another and deeper significance to this holiday, for the succah (taber­nacle) is symbolic of the shelter in Jewish wanderings, the haven of refuge for a persecuted people.

Orthodox Jews observe this holiday in the following way. A succah (a wooden structure covered with vine leaves and branches) is put up outside the house. Here food is served throughout the holiday week.

I remember how excited we children would be when the succah was put up in our back yard. Because o£ its limited capacity, the adults naturally had priority, and we children became unexpectedly angelic at the promise of being permitted into the succah if we behaved like grownups—"Vest zein a mensh, vest du essen in succah!"

For an entire week, food was carried from the kitchen, sometimes two or three flights down, with the children gaily bringing out the edibles and the elders happily gathered around the wooden table under the leafy boughs. This is a holiday when kreplach of all kinds are served.

Purim

Everyone knows the story of Purim, the tale of how lovely Queen Esther foiled the cruel Haman and saved her people from threatened extermination.

What a holiday this was for us when Mama and her brood of seven could celebrate it together!

I remember the platters of "Shaloch Monos" (goodies and sweets) that the children carried to neighbors' houses. It was customary for these neighbors to accept a portion and substitute fruit, or cake of their own baking, so that the youngsters would return with their trays and their stomachs bulging.

This was the holiday of masks and bell-ringing, very much like our own Halloween "trick or treat." We would sing the following ditty, which freely translated, might read:

Heint is Purim, Morgen is oiss.

Git mir a penneh Und varf mir aroiss!

Today is Purim Tomorrow, no more. Give me a penny

And fasten your door!

We would dress up in adults' old clothes, and, our eyes shining through the slits of our masks, the world was ours. Today, in many parts of New York, where refugee families from the horrors of Europe have found a home, you may see again, during Purim, children carrying their napkin-covered trays of "Shaloch Monos" to friends and relatives. Purim is the holiday when hamantaschen are served. This is a three cornered filled cake which commemorates the fall of Haman, the Hitler of the Old Testament.

Hanukkah

Hanukkah is the most delightful of the holidays for children. It is the Feast of Lights, the commemoration of the time when Maccabeus and a small band of follow­ers fought the Syrian-Greek tyrant Antiochus and rededi-¯ cated the temple. The story is told that when the Maccabees found enough oil to burn for a single day, miraculously it lasted eight days.

So, every Hanukkah, in Jewish homes, the menorah— a nine-candle candelabrum—stands on the sideboard. Eight candles for each night the oil burned for the Macca­bees, and the ninth the master candle that lights the others. One candle only is lit the first night, two the second, and so on until by the end of Hanukkah the whole menorah is lit up. For children it is always an exciting ceremony.

This is the holiday when potato pancakes are served; when we distribute Hanukkah gelt (money) to children. There is a dradle (top) which the young ones spin for forfeits of nuts.

Roughly the Hanukkah season coincides with Christ­mas, so for Jewish children too this is the time of gaiety and the exchanging of gifts.

SPECIAL FOOD FOR HANUKKAH

Potato lotkes (pancakes)

Potato kugel

Blines (flapjacks, either wheat or buckwheat)

Ma Nishtano—Passover

To me, Passover, with all its prohibitions, its ritual, and its historic significance is the most modern and the most permanent of holidays.

For Passover is the celebration of the birth of freedom for our people, and the commemoration of the hardships we endured to attain that freedom.

The Haggadah says "Let every person, in every genera­tion, think of himself as a former slave, freed from bond­age in Egypt." But the battle for freedom is always with us, as is the need to remain strong in ethical values, to keep ourselves always fit for freedom and its defense—a constant need.

That is why, at our own crowded seder table, when my grandson Geoffrey asks, "Why is this night different from all other nights?" I am happy to hear the story of the Exodus from Egypt recounted with all its emphasis on the joy of living in freedom and dignity.

Of course, in my childhood, the seder ceremony was a little different. Then, for us little ones, the greatest need was patience. The service was in Hebrew, which we could not understand. Father and the stranger at the table (for no seder was complete without a guest or guests) had to go through the interminable ritual of the Haggadah before a morsel of food could pass our waiting lips. It was often ten o'clock before the first bite. By that time, heads were spinning from the sips of wine; and, looking down at our faces after the long prayers, Papa would say perceptively, "Children! They are not so hungry for religion as they are for the knaidlach."

Here, too, Mama was busy with her good work. Around the table were seated not only the family, but friends— men whose wives were still in Europe, widows with no one to conduct their own seder, and a miscellany of folk whom Mama regarded as her own particular flock at the Passover holiday.

Passover to me is still the holiday of warmth and wel­come, and it is with real joy that I see at our own table people who would have to forego this celebration if they did not come to us.

And now I will give you a menu for the kind of seder meal Mama used to make.

Passover Seder Menu and Table Setting

1.  Matzos

2.  Moror

3.  Roasted lamb bone

4.  Hard-boiled egg

5.  Charoset

6.  Karpas

7.  Wine

The matzos (3 matzos hidden in a napkin) represent the bread of affliction eaten by the children of Israel during the Egyptian bondage—and the unleavened bread eaten dur­ing their flight from Egypt.

The moror (horse radish)  is symbolic of the bitter time of slavery in Egypt.

The roasted lamb bone symbolizes the pascal sacrifice of ancient days which each Jewish family brought to the Temple.

The hard-boiled egg represents life and the continuity of existence.

Charoset represents the mortar used in the building of the palaces and pyramids of Egypt during the many years of enslavement.

Karpus (a piece of greens, either parsley or lettuce) represents the meager diet during the Egyptian bondage. It is dipped in salt water to remind us of the tears of the Israelite slaves; and the greens also symbolize the coming of spring which is Pesach time.

Wine cups, which are to be refilled four times during the Passover service, represent the fourfold promise of re­demption in the book of Exodus. A special cup of wine is filled and placed on the table with the hope that the Prophet Elijah may appear as a messenger of the Lord ushering in the ancient Jewish dream of a Messianic era of peace and justice for all. The door of the home is left slightly open. I still remember how we children were told that the Prophet does come in and drinks the wine set for him, only that we were not deserving in the eyes of the Lord to see him. The meal that follows consists of gefilte fish, soup with matzo balls, all kinds of delectable Pass­over side dishes, roast poultry, and desserts—usually com­pote.

Shevuoth

This is a holiday that comes in the late spring or early summer, and always reminds me of a story a teacher once told me. She taught youngsters in the first-year class. It was the first day of school after the Christmas holidays and she was making conversation with the youngsters. She called on Johnny to describe his Christmas dinner and he went into details of a dinner which consisted of stuffed turkey and all the trimmings; then she called on Peter, who also had an elaborate Christmas dinner to tell of. Finally she called on a little Jewish boy, who got up and in a sad tone said, "We had milchigs." Shevuoth is a holiday when we Jews eat milchigs—dairy foods; and if you think Mama didn't go to town to make the milchigs acceptable, you are wrong. That is the time we had cheese blintzes as a side dish, baked gefilte fish, schav or beet borscht, and what not.

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