Yellow Fever

Oh, hello, there.

You ordered, maybe, a knish?

Square, fried, with a squirt of mustard?

Hot on the Trail

So, if you’re following this, you know that my hunt for the history of the knish began with an obsession with a family knish store. Not my family, but felt like it. Mrs. Stahl’s of Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. The knish destination of my father and his forebears. The kind of place you take for granted… until it’s gone.

When it vanished I sprang into action – found out the recipe was bought by an Italian guy, also of immigrant stock. And since then I’ve been cavorting around New York, Poland, Israel in search of the knish. I come from a mixed marriage– Bronx and Brooklyn, but I’m 100 percent knish, through and through. My Bronx relatives are from Knyszyn, Poland.

But, back to Brooklyn. What’s the big deal about this photo?
It’s from the New York City Municipal Archives, for one. 1980. The system works based on lot numbers and block numbers. Adn thankfully, the researcher helping me out had the good sense to look at the lot number next to the one I was searching for and voilà. I have other photos that show the storefront full on, but I like this one for the context and for the teamwork that got it into my hands. This part of my research is sponsored by the Hadassah-Brandeis Institute at Brandeis University for a section of the book project called Knish Sister: Mrs. Stahl, the Sholom Auxiliary, Bella Sherman and me.

Stay tuned for more on these visionary ladies who know how to roll in (and out) the dough.

Kindred

“The more we are ourselves,
the more we can invite the audience in.”

one of the great quotes about art-making and life here at the Conney Conference in Madison, WI.

A knish baking session with dancers, artists, academics. A talk about Knish Reminiscence and a lecture for an undergrads in a class Food in Rabbinic Judaism. The majority of them had never encountered a knish. The first question from a student:

Q: What does a knish taste like?

A: The answer: a taste the previous day’s output.

Bursting Out All Over

Spring is, at least in these parts. And with spring, the knish, too, sprouts eternal.

I’m getting ready to go to Madison, WI for the Conney Conference on Jewish Arts. Knish-making, after all, is a Jewish art, is it not? One need not be Jewish to produce or enjoy the fruits of the knish.

But, of course, it can’t hurt. Nor can it hurt to make another appearance at the Mustard Museum in Middleton.
Years ago, maybe 15 or more, my folks and I went to Wisconsin. They celebrated their anniversary with a weekend at Seth Low Cabin and I stopped by to visit. They went on to visit the Mustard Museum, and I was downtrodden to have missed this special pilgrimmage.

Just goes to show, we never know what’s in store.

Bring It On Home!

Wow, thanks everyone.
We’ve got backers across the U.S., Canada, Israel and perhaps even… [insert your location here?]

Knish + Halloween = One Big Yellow Costume

Read about the square get-up on the Huffington Post and the Forward’s Jew and the Carrot blog.  It’s not just pomp, persuasion and fancy pants: I’m also working on grant applications for some moola ($10K…) and a workspace. Wish me luck…

Give a click if you’d like to join the movement. Thanks very much. Hugs and knishes.

Reports from Knish Alley

The  first Knish Alley Revival is entering the annals of history. Click on this image for more photos.

Sunday's processional on Second Avenue included a knish virgin-turned-convert (in tie). Photo by Cheryl Daitch.

From InTheMoment, Moment Magazine’s blog, right above Sarah Silverman:

It’s cheese! It’s mustard! It’s…a knish?

If you happened to be walking down Second Avenue in New York’s East Village last Sunday afternoon, you might have seen an unexpected sight:  a small and solemn processional of people dressed in yellow.  This was no McDonald’s protest or cheese parade.  Instead, it was a celebration and memorialization of an oft-forgotten history.

From a student in Parsons’ MFA Design & Technology Program, Major Studio 1: Interface 2010 class:

We met, the “KNISH WOMAN!!!!”. In my best attempt, I tried to be as involved as possible, conversing with them about the KNISH REVIVAL! We spoke with them for what felt like a half hour; Confluxing it up. They told us about how they cooked knish earlier for the people, and even talked to us about the Yiddish Walk of Fame, as well as the Village of East City Cinemas, it was an amazing time. At the end, we walked over to the Yiddish Walk of Fame to gaze at amazing stars such as “Fyvush Finkel” (true story) who are forever immortalized on the Yiddish Walk of Fame, located in front of Chase Manhattan Bank.

And my own recap on the Lo-Down blog:

They came from the Bronx. They came from Boston, They came from Newfoundland and yes, they came from the Lower East Side. They came to join in the knish processional and some of them were people I had never seen before.

Second Avenue Revival

Great news:

Get ready for a homecoming.

The Knish takes (back) Second Avenue.

I will be participating in the Conflux Festival and leading a knish processional on Sunday, October 10, 2010 at 4:00 p.m.

That morning, the Yiddish Theatrical Alliance will make its annual trek to Mount Hebron cemetery in Flushing, Queens, where my great-grandfather is also buried. He was not a thespian, alas, but a saddle-maker, according to his death certificate. I like the idea of making the pilgrimage en masse and am eager to meet members of the storied Alliance. I hope Fyvish Finkel, one of the last greats, will be on hand, but he’s also got a show in the works.

Come one, come all. Knish lovers, knish enthusiasts and new initiates of all sizes, shapes, affiliations and taste preferences are welcome to join in the procession — or to join the flocks of onlookers.

The Difference Between Cholent and Peace

Cholent, a secret agent of peace?

I’m honored. And humbled.

In a first-ever e-mail addressed to Knish Hunter (well said!),
native Yiddish speaker and soulful singer Wolf Krakowski
kindly pointed out my most-fallible phoneme mix up:

Hi Knish Hunter:

I sing “shulim” (sholem) not  ”cholent”
in “Shabes, Shabes.”

It’s my poylish dialekt.

blaab gezint ‘n shtark
un hob a git, gezint yor

Quite a thrill to get an email from the guy whose music you
listen to near daily, I must say. And, on the eve of Yom Kippur,
I echo his sentiments:

Stay healthy and strong.
And have a good, healthy year.

Amen to that.  Here’s to a year replete with Poylish dialect and
cross-cultural, cross-national, heart-filled encounters.

Sounds of Bialystok

Listen:

Bialystok

by Hilda Bronstein

The song is also on a Polish album of Jewish songs

My first stab at transliteration:

Bialystok meyn shteytele, Bialystok, mein heymele
Shayn is du geveyn, ungefilt mit kheyn
Di shayne hot gehot in yeden vinkele

Bialystok meyn shteytele, Bialystok, mein heymele
hartzike un shayn, bist du doch geveyn
Bialystok meyn shteytele, mein heym.

Fun geseleklh, fun heiselekh, fun shteibele, fun klaitelekh
geklingen hot di Yiddishe sprakh
Bialystoke maidelekh, Sorelekh un Freydelekh
ver iz __ geveysen zi ____

Bialystok vi shabesdik, Bialystok vi mekhayedik
is ___ in meyn, a vitz fun kinderyorn,
Bialystok, meyn shteytle, meyn heym.

Fin Bialystok, meyn shteytle, meyn heym.

Ikh gedenk di kinder yor, shayne __ kinderyor
in hartzen eingekreist, zeynen zay bei mir.
In di zikhroynes, kinder Leyn in haltz

Vi shayn is geveyn, a mol in meyn alter heym.

Bialystok meyn shteytele, Bialystok, mein heymele
Shayn is du geveyn, ungefilt mit kheyn
Di shayne hot gehot in yeden vinkele

Letting Go

All that great writing I did yesterday? The three or four installments of 1,000 words?
The transcripts of our family time in Knyszyn which made me giggle chuckle and offered good insights and poignant, potent morsels?

Gone.

Well, I still have the audio. As for the written pages: I forgot to back them up. Or forgot to copy it to my hard disk. I didn’t backup my backup and I spaced it. I was busy with my music, which I did backup. And the rest? The pages about my first trip to Poland? Gone. About knish-infused love affairs? Also gone.

The beauty is, well, I’m not that upset. The groove is more important than the output right now. Don’t get me wrong, the output is also important. but I can catch up. More important is having begun the dredging.

Of course I do prefer to have the fruits of my labor available to sink mine teeth into, but for now, I’ll content myself with the fact that there were fruits. And I’ll remember to preserve them each day — in more than one way:

1. On my hard drive.
2. Emailing them to myself.
3. On my mobile.me/nyu accounts.

Oy vey. Better to learn this early on.