Richard writes:
In Kankakee, IL, a town that was 68% Catholic, on the playground we suffered the minor slight of being called “Christ Killers” or on one Halloween swastikas were soaped on our front windows. On Yom Kippur we forgave all who transgressed against us.
Yom Kipper was a day off school for us Jews while the “goyim” had to sit in the drear of the classroom. And I must say, it felt that the day off had an air of gloating. We were steeped in the story of our Grandfather’s escape from Czarist Lithuania, how he had traveled up from Galveston on the Illinois Central to land in our small town. He had anchored the fundraising for building the town synagog. So, we grew up knowing there were expectations of big things. If there were bad deeds to atone for, it was for not doing enough to be a better person, do better in school, be nicer with friends and towards our parents. I took it seriously.
But the best part of the holiday was of course, the food. Our Chicago grandmother Ida would come down on the train and bake and cook the great Eastern European delights for breaking the fast. My favorite, favorite was kreplach soup. Having not a morsel of the stuff since childhood we set about making that three- cornered delight. First chicken soup, right? Then you have to have on-hand a chunk of brisket for the stuffing. Hopefully, the sweet and sour kind—exactly! Standard egg noodle dough for the little darlin’s. The family joke was, Ida would put on ice skates and do the Kazatsky in the bathtub to chop the brisket. Works for chopped liver as well. So yesterday we set sail for Kreplachtia with Aloysius and Noah who had the day off.
Rancho D 