A blog, mostly about my work making Jewish ritual objects, but with detours into garment making, living in New York City, cooking, and other aspects of domestic life.
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A Post of Perhaps No Interest to Anyone But Me
Of course, you are more than welcome to continue reading.
Friday afternoon, my washing machine broke. The door was locked and various error messages appeared on the control panel. It was too close to Shabbat to do anything about it. I left the damp laundry in my washing machine and hoped that I could get a repair person to show up before my entire apartment smelled like old and mouldering damp laundry.
After Shabbat I got in touch with the vendor who sold us the machine and found out that while we were still under warranty, I needed to get in touch with the manufacturer. I would periodically turn on the machine, and then enter the error codes that appeared on the control panel into Google. I followed all of the various steps one needed to do,unplugging the machine and re plugging it in, cleaning out the waste pipe, and a few other tasks. One step had the user opening and closing the washer lid six times. I didn't to that step. But eventually, I got our washing machine working again. I am feeling terribly proud of myself.
For many years, the person who drove us to school most often was my father. During the 30 minute drive my father's head would just empty itself of musical flotsam and jetsam. He would sing 1940s Hit parade songs.
He would imitate Kate Smith singing God Bless America
My father's Latin teacher in High School had translated popular songs from the 40s into singable Latin. We heard those.
My father would sing Christmas carols while we were on our way to Orthodox day school.
My father also sang old Zionist songs. There was one song that my father used to say was an old song when he was a little boy.
The language of the song is formal. The melody was sweet and lullaby like. I never heard anyone else sing this particular song, but have heard L'cha Dodi set to the melody. Hearing L'cha Dodi, the highlight of the Friday night service sung to the very same melody made me realize how early Zionist music used the vernacular of prayer to extend the longings for Zion that are integral to Jewish prayer to connect to the political longing for our own land.
Last night
this showed up on YouTube. I was just so moved to see that this song that seemed like such a bit of ephemera existed out in the world and not just in my memory.
The song was written by Itzhak Katznelson who was born in 1886 and was killed in 1944 in the Holocaust. Katznelson wrote the song in 1918 it was created as a little skit or game to be performed by kids in Hebrew school.
The following is a Google translation of the stage directions that went along with the song.
"The game: The children stand in a semicircle and await guests from the Land of Israel; a Jew from the Land of Israel comes from an adjacent room (or from a corner projector) wearing a turban, one of those worn in the Land of Israel, on his head, and a large staff in his hand. When he appears, the children bow to him in greeting, then ask, 'Where does a Jew come from?' and 'What's up?' The Jew tells them with hand gestures and facial expressions (according to the words he sings) from the Land of Israel. The second Jew (dressed like the first) comes from Jerusalem from the 'Western Wall' and is haggard and sad-hearted. The children sense this from his song, from recognizing his face, and when they return 'Jews live in Jerusalem' - they lower their heads, fold their hands on their chests and sing sadly. The third Jew brings good news, he is alive and happy, and sings loudly and joyfully about the Messiah. The children are influenced by him and they respond to him with joy and hand gestures 'Make way!' - and they all kneel in awe; 'Kneel down!' - and take the shofar to their mouths and cheer and call (with appropriate gestures) to their brothers who pass by them: 'To me gather all the people!' -"
Apparently the song was so popular that kids made up their own versions of the song, substituting various towns in Europe, Perehod, Pohost, Pahotzik, Berdichev for the Land of Israel , Jerusalem and the Hills of Judaea. The simple words of the chorus and the simple melody lent themselves to many variants.
My father had apparently never heard the longer bridge sections of the melody that talked about the beauty of the land of Israel.
was published in 1929 in Warsaw. My Yiddish isn't good enough to do a word for word translation but it is about the joys of living a Chassidic life, praying with intensity, belief in God, singing and dancing. It feels like a Chassidic parody of the 1918 song yearning for the Land of Israel.
The melody itself is a Breslov melody and is attributed to Reb Nachman himself who lived from 1772-1810.
Itzhak Katznelson was incredibly prolific. He produced forty works just during the Holocaust. he produced works with biblical themes, dramatic monologues, plays about the life of children in the Warsaw Ghetto, translations of biblical text into Yiddish as well as material prepared for bible evenings in the Ghetto.
A few months ago I had a craving for my fatherās chicken fricassee. If my father were still alive I would have called him up and he would have talked me through the process of making it. My father is no longer alive so I turned to my cookbooks and the recipes I found for chicken fricassee were nothing at all like the stew of chicken necks, gizzards and wings in a watery sweet and sour tomato sauce that I enjoyed as a kid. I assumed that the dish was an invention of my fatherās. I then attempted to replicate the dish from my memory of it and failed. A couple of weeks ago I saw an article on the internet, and I canāt remember where, that talked about Jewish fricassee and it sounded an awful lot like the dish I was hankering after. This afternoon I went to the butcher and picked up all of the chicken elements of the dish, a couple of packages each of wings, necks and gizzards. My father never cooked directly from a cook book. He used to re...
×Ö°× Ö¶×Ö±×Öø× ×Ö·×ŖÖ¼Öø× ×Ö°×Ö·×Ö²××Ö¹×Ŗ ×Öµ×ŖÖ“××: ×Ö¼Öø×Ø×Ö¼×Ö° ×Ö·×ŖÖ¼Öø× ×Ö°×Ö¹×Öø× ×Ö°×Ö·×Ö¼Öµ× ×Ö·×Ö¼Öµ×ŖÖ“×× You are faithful to restore the dead to life. Blessed are You, Adonoy, Resurrector of the dead. That particular line is recited at every single prayer service every day three times a day, unless you use a Reform or Reconstructionist prayer book . In those liturgies instead of praising God for resurrecting the dead God is praised for giving life to all. I am enough of a modern woman, a modern thinker, to not actually believe in the actual resurrection of the dead. I don't actually expect all of the residents of the Workmen's Circle section of Mount Hebron cemetery in Queens to get up and get back to work at their sewing machines. I don't expect the young children buried here or the babies buried here to one day get up and frolic. Yet, every single time I get up to lead services I say those words about the reanimating of the dead with every fiber of my being. Yesterday, I e...
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