Their Music Is A Blessing

It was five years ago this month that Chuck and I first visited The National Yiddish Book Center in Amherst, Massachusetts. It was a wonderful, powerful and influential experience for us. (I wrote about it here.) Right after that first visit I went in search of Yiddish music. That was how I discovered and fell in love with The Barry Sisters.

Born in the 1920s in the Bronx, New York, Clara and Minnie Bagelman began performing as children. They eventually took the stage names Claire and Merna Barry. First generation Jewish girls of Ashkenazi descent, they sang in Yiddish, Hebrew, English and other languages. They became international stars known as The Barry Sisters. They appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show sixteen times, so chances are good I saw them more than once. But unfortunately my strongest memories of that show are mostly of The Beatles, Topo Gigio and various comedians.

Claire and Merna have powerful, beautiful voices. Their singing can be haunting, moving, exhilarating and charming. Yes, some of the arrangements are certainly of an era and to some, may feel a little dated; a little campy; a little schmaltzy. But I grew up listening to Frank Sinatra, Rosemary Clooney, Tony Mottola, Perry Como, Doris Day, Tony Bennett, Patti Page - - - you get the idea! So when I first heard The Barry Sisters, I was an immediate fan.

The photo above is one of my favorites. It was used on their album “Their Greatest Yiddish Hits”. That was the album that drew me in. You can still find many reissued and compilation albums for The Barry Sisters on Amazon and elsewhere.

Sadly, Merna died in 1976. She was only 51 years of age.
Her sister Claire died last Monday. She was 94.
Zichrona liveracha ~ May their memories be a blessing.

The Jewish Daily Forward published a nice write-up about Claire’s passing.

Here is Claire’s more comprehensive obituary from the Music section of The New York Times.

And here is Merna’s 1976 obituary, also from The New York Times.

Aleha hashalom ~ Peace be upon them



This is one of my favorite songs by The Barry Sisters...

Call Your Zeyde!

Another great video!
This one is definitely inspired by Sarah Silverman’s “The Great Schlep” from 2008. But this one does not include expletives and it’s done to “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen. The singer is Michelle Citrin. If you need help with the words, you can go to the Call Your Zeyde website and click on the link for the lyrics.



Live your values.
Love your country.
VOTE!

Happy Chanukah!

Tonight is the first night of Chanukah. We lit the candles, read the story and sang the songs. But I’m afraid the latkes will have to wait another day or so until things slow down around here.

They will slow down, won’t they? ;o)

Here’s some useful information which I posted last year:
: : As always, Chabad.org has an a great and exhaustive section of their website devoted to all things Chanukah - from history to how to light the menorah/chanukiah.

: : And the best book to guide you through the Festival of Lights is still “Haneirot and Halalu, These Lights Are Holy” edited by Elyse D. Frishman and illustrated by Leonard Baskin.

A Freilichen Chanukah!

Sweet Surprise

It took two weeks and nine modes of transportation to complete our recent trip.

Several months ago we received an Evite from our brother-in-law. He and the kids were planning a surprise 60th birthday party for Chuck’s sister. We couldn’t resist. But we decided to do something different. We decided to travel by train - - - to Seattle, Washington. Yes, four days and three nights on the train vs. five hours by plane. We looked on it as an “adventure”. Well, sometimes we saw it as an adventure; sometimes we saw it as a what-have-we-gotten-ourselves-into?

But at the surprise party, in the moment when Chuck’s sister ran into his arms, we knew it had all been worth it.

Jumping Back In

I’ve been gone so long I hardly know where to begin. We were away for two full weeks and every day deserves its own post! That seems a bit too unwieldy right now so let me start with an easy one:

Congressman Anthony Weiner is a schmuck.

(Yes, all Yiddish puns intended.)

I thought Congressman Weiner was a good politician; a good advocate of the liberal agenda. I honestly thought that while he was bold and brash he worked on the side of the angels. The argument can be made that his private life is just that - private. But his stupid, vain, childish and inappropriate behavior has undermined his efficacy and power in Congress. Thereby effectively vitiating his ability to fully represent his constituents and those of us across the nation who count on his vote.

Now we are learning that Congressman Weiner’s lovely wife Huma Abedin is expecting their first child.

Yup. He is a royal schmuck.

A Tin Ear No More

President Barack Obama issued a proclamation naming May 2010 as Jewish American Heritage Month. In this lovely and important statement, the President describes the Jewish American story as “an essential chapter of the American narrative”. It concludes with this paragraph:

“Today, Jewish Americans carry on their culture's tradition of "tikkun olam" -- or "to repair the world" -- through good deeds and service.  As they honor and maintain their ancient heritage, they set a positive example for all Americans and continue to strengthen our Nation.”

Andrew Silow-Carroll, Editor-in-Chief of the New Jersey Jewish News and Josh Rolnick, a member of the Board of Directors of the National Jewish Democratic Council point out that, unlike previous proclamations, President Obama removed the standard Christian phrase “in the year of our Lord” from this proclamation.

Nice touch.
Thank you Mr. President.
(He’s such a mensch.)

Check Mate

Here in the U.S. they run an awful lot of advertisements for dating services. They talk about the science, simplicity and safety of having their particular service match you with your true love. We have two reactions when we see these ads: 1. Thank God we’re not looking. And 2. They never would have matched us!

On paper there is very little Chuck and I have in common. He likes classical music; I tolerate it. He does crossword puzzles daily; I think them unnecessarily abstruse. He’s very social and outgoing; I believe good fences make good neighbors. He was raised Jewish; I was raised Catholic. When we met, Chuck enjoyed his role as an intellectual snob: while I liked to have my finger on the pulse of popular culture. He listened to NPR; I watched MTV (back when they aired videos!). He grew up in the midwest; I’m Rhode Island all the way. He is fifteen years my senior; umm - same in reverse. Then there was the whole taxes issue, which I’m not sure if dating services poll people on, but which took a couple of decades and Barack Obama to resolve for us.

Now, I suppose, if they dug deeply enough, any dating service (or more likely a human matchmaker, a shadchen) would figure out that we share a common set of values. They also would figure out that we both love to laugh. But would they have any idea that we laugh at a lot of the same things - Marx Brothers and Three Stooges excepted? How would they know that word play makes us ridiculously happy and to do it in multiple languages is a grand slam? Speaking of baseball, we were both just casual baseball fans, but, after meeting, became devoted Boston Red Sox fans together. Where are the boxes to tick for all that?

When we met, we knew. No, we didn’t know we would marry one day. But we did feel a connection; a sense of old friends reuniting; a spark. I don’t know how the dating services figure that out. I’m just happy we were lucky enough not to require outside assistance.

A Long Strange Trip

You never know what might prove to be important.

Thirty years ago, I accompanied a young man on a visit to his barber. It was a small shop, in a small town - think Andy Griffith in Mayberry. I sat in a chair against the wall facing where my then fiance was getting a haircut. We three chatted and visited. I was fascinated by the barber’s technique. I had never seen a barber at work before. He was skilled and swift, but there was a discernible pattern to his spare motions. In the coming months, with money impossibly tight, I attempted to duplicate that haircut for my new husband. We both survived and through the years I got better at it.

Fast forward several years and the young man and I are standing in a hallway, in a courthouse, in a much bigger town than the one where that barbershop had been. I was struck by his haircut. It was a new style, not the one the barber had inadvertently taught me; not the one I had been replicating for eight years. The love was long gone between us, but I reflexively reached up toward his hair, commenting favorably on the style. He snapped his head away. Soon we were in a courtroom with a judge and lawyers and the marriage, neither of us should have ever entered into, was dissolved.

This afternoon, I cut my husband Chuck’s hair. I’ve been doing it for around two decades. Chuck looks nothing like my first husband. His hair is completely different as well. But that one visit to a barbershop and many years of practice, has found me working smoothly, quickly and with ease. Each time I give Chuck a haircut and trim his beard, I swear it takes ten years off him. Mind you, that’s not cumulative! But with Chuck’s birthday coming up on Tuesday, today’s cut makes him look closer to 57 than 67 - something which Chuck appreciates.

I wish I could have found a way to get to exactly this same point in my life without that first marriage. (I’m certain my ex-husband wishes the very same thing.) Chuck and I are bashert: predestined, soulmates, meant to be. But we needed all those years, the moves, the job changes, in order to finally cross paths and be together.

And without that detour to a barbershop in a very small town, I never would have learned how to cut my husband Chuck’s hair...

Look At Their Eyes

According to the Library of Congress, these children were protesting against child labor while marching in a labor parade. The photo was taken on May 1, 1909, most likely in New York City. One girl’s banner is written in Yiddish, the other in English. Both are holding American flags.

Look at their eyes; their slight, sweet smiles.

This was 1909. Real and lasting change in child labor practices would not be realized for twenty-nine more years. That was when President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed the Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938.


Original Photo courtesy of the Library of Congress. Adjustments by LMR/Pink Granite. Software: Apple iPhoto ’09 & Adobe Photoshop CS3 for Mac.

Yiddish Proverb

In freydn iz a yor a tog, in leyden iz a tog a yor.
In happiness a year is like a day,
in suffering a day is like a year.


Translation and transliteration by Marvin Zuckerman and Marion Herbst from “Learning Yiddish In Easy Stages”

It Takes Two To Make Latkes!

I’ve had my Cuisinart Food Processor for about 25 years.

Tonight, I forgot how to use it.

There I was, with a pile of potatoes and some onions, all ready to whir and grate and I could not for the life of me assemble the darn thing. For twenty-five years I have been hauling it out for big tasks like coleslaw, latkes, pesto and so on. Tonight, I had to call in Chuck who rescued me. I had the lid on backwards. Even when he got it turned around and working correctly, it still looked backwards to me!

There are some tasks for which my venerable DLC-7 Super Pro (It looks a lot like this one.) is absolutely perfect. Grating the potatoes and onions for latkes is an excellent example. Hand grating would take ages and a couple of knuckles. Using a mandolin or V-slicer would also be time consuming and finger tip endangering. But the Cuisinart makes the job swift and painless.

So with my Cuisinart finished whirring and the The Barry Sisters rocking out “Their Greatest Yiddish Hits” via the iPod, I made the latkes. I still use a mixture of extra virgin olive oil and canola oil to fry them. Once both sides are brown and crispy I transfer them to parchment covered cookie sheets and put them in a 350 degree F oven to let them finish. Chuck pronounced them delish - I could not disagree!

This photo from my 2006 post shows the same pan I used tonight, but on our old stove. And tonight’s latkes were just a teensy bit smaller.

Following The Trail

It’s not that I’m easily distracted, it’s that I become very focused on a task. Sometimes, said task, causes me to head to Google. That leads me to follow promising leads, backtrack, regroup and follow new leads - bookmarking wildly as I go. Which is how I ended up at the Library of Congress tonight, after I had begun on eBay, entering the search word: “Yiddish”. It was at the LOC where I found this graphically beautiful Works Progress Administration (WPA) poster which struck me as intensely poignant. It was published sometime between 1936 and 1941 in New York City, urging Yiddish speaking adult immigrants to attend: “Free classes in English! Learn to speak, read, & write the language of your children!” It was practical, well intentioned and even generous. But at that same moment in time, across the Atlantic, one out of every two Yiddish speakers in the world were in the process of being eliminated from the planet.

It Started With A Baseball Cap

Yesterday we drove out to the National Yiddish Book Center in Amherst, Massachusetts. It was a powerful, fascinating, wonderful experience. We have known about the Center and have been meaning to go for a long time. But it was a chance meeting that finally got us off the dime. We had stopped by Wild Willy’s in Worcester for a quick meal last week. I noticed a man in the next booth wearing a Boston Red Sox baseball cap. Here in “Red Sox Nation” that’s anything but unusual. Except in this instance “Red Sox” was written in Yiddish! I pointed it out to Chuck who approached the gentleman and asked where he had gotten the cap. He smiled, said the National Yiddish Book Center and asked if we had been there. When Chuck said no, not yet, the gentleman said “You’ve got to go.” But it wasn’t an off-hand remark. He said it in such a sincere, intense and thoughtful way, it struck as quite remarkable. As soon as we got home we looked up the center, found the hat and spent quite a bit of time exploring the website. The more we read and the more we thought about the gentleman’s advice, we knew we had to go as soon as possible.

The National Yiddish Book Center is located on the campus of Hampshire College. It’s a beautiful wooden building both outside and in. On a less rainy day, the gardens and grounds will deserve exploration. From a visitor standpoint, we had the place pretty much to ourselves. We followed the easily self guided tour of what is a cross between a museum, a library and a cultural inheritance. We watched a brief video which explained how the Center came to exist. It all began around 1980 when Aaron Lansky was studying Yiddish. But he couldn’t find enough books. He posted a few signs around his neighborhood and soon elderly Jews were contacting him, delighted by his interest and relieved to pass the books on to someone who would value them; treasure them as much as they did.

During World War II, one of every two Yiddish speakers in the world was killed. Countless volumes of Yiddish books were destroyed. Hebrew was the language of scholars and religious services, but Yiddish was the language of the home and commerce. Beyond the staggering human toll, to lose half of the speakers of a language was a huge blow to the thousand year old shared culture of Jews in every corner of the globe. It was especially wrenching after the time between the wars when Yiddish literature had flourished. When the State of Israel was established, Hebrew, not Yiddish was made the national language. This hotly contested decision dealt a further blow to the language. So by the time a young student in his twenties was studying Yiddish in the 1970s, nearly all the books were out of print and many thought it a dead or surely dying language.

Aaron Lansky’s book “Outwitting History” (Also available here) chronicles how the collection grew from a few boxes of Yiddish books to over 1.5 million at the center today. Please don’t be intimidated if you don’t read Yiddish in the original or if you don’t speak Yiddish. Because most visitors are in the same situation, the center is full of English language, bilingual and transliterated signs and exhibits. Their goal is to open Yiddish back up to the world. All are made welcome and admission is free.

We all know and use lots of Yiddish words: bagel, goy, schlep, nosh, kvetch, chutzpah, feh!, klutz, oy vey!, shmaltz, latke, lox, shmuck, yente, shtick, maven, dreidel... just to name a few. Visiting the National Yiddish Book Center provides a history, a context and a greater depth of meaning to why Yiddish words, books and music remain vital today. It also sparks a determination not only to protect the past, but to encourage a Yiddish renaissance.

FEH!

Isn’t that a great word? Feh! You have to say it with feeling though - lots of feeling! It can be filled with disapproval or frustration or disgust or dismissal or ...

Go ahead, say it out loud. I’ll wait....

See? Isn’t that a great word? Oh! Did you try it under your breath? It works at all volumes. You’re not swearing, just expressing emotion. If you’re not already using it, do add it to your repertoire of Yiddish expressions. I hope you don’t need it anytime soon. Although we need it nearly every time we listen to the news and he-who-shall-not-be-named starts talking - or trying to talk! Feh!!!

:: Enjoy!