Family Traditions
In the years before my marriage, my family celebrated certain Jewish holidays, but it was really about the food. My mother hated to cook, but on holidays, her special recipes for the ethnic food she made were stars of the day! She didn’t use a recipe. I tried a couple of times to write down what she was doing, but there were no measurements, and her explanations of what to do defied logic. She would be so proud of her efforts as the holiday table looked so beautiful and the food was delicious.
Thanksgiving was another holiday where my mom would use whatever culinary skill she had to produce a wonderful meal. It was not fancy, but it was something we looked forward to. I would wake up early, not to help, she didn’t want me in the kitchen to get in her way. I would turn on the TV and watch the Macy’s Day Parade. At the finale of the parade, Santa would ride down 5th avenue on his sleigh and usher in the Christmas season. It made me cry. Oh, I received tons of Christmas and Chanukah gift, but it wasn’t my holiday. Our neighbors in Brooklyn, an Italian family would decorate their house from top to bottom. The tree, the centerpiece, was always breathtaking. Each Christmas, Mr. Martorano, would dress up like Santa and entertain about 12 neighborhood kids in his house. I was lucky to be one kids, besides I had a crush on their teenage son, who called me Cookie! They had little bags of goodies and candy canes, and a little gift for each child. We all knew it was Mr. Martorano, but on that day he was the embodiment of Santa. I was 8 when we moved away, and sorely missed that interaction.
Christmas continued on, with me watching the parade, and crying. Not a loud sobbing, just a few tears escaping. I continued to get gifts.
My father, would try to make every occasion festive. He created traditions for us. On Chanukah, for example, he would bring home the change in the cash register, at least that is what he said. On the first night, he had a big bowl filled with pennies. My sister would reach in with one hand and all the pennies she could hold were hers. I was 7 years younger, so I got to use two hands. The next night was nickels, followed by dimes, quarters and half dollars. The last two nights was silver dollar coins. In those days, the 1940-50s they were in circulation. Those two nights reaching into the bowl was a real challenge. The silver dollars were put aside for us, and I am sure we each were given the same amount. It was the game that made it special.
On Passover, a piece of Matzah is hidden. It’s called the Afikomen. The head of the house hides it and it is the children’s job to find it and claim a reward for returning it. Dad, made it quite a challenge, giving clues and delighting in our failed attempts to retrieve it. Finally of course, the final clue led us right to the Afikoman and we were rewarded with more silver dollars.
July 4, my dad would show off his grilling skills as the hamburgers and hot dogs took center stage. My mother would make her “noodle pudding” which was made from noodles but definitely nothing like a pudding. It was delicious. Since we had a backyard, July 4 was always at our house.
When I met my friend Dianne, holidays took on a little twist. I celebrated Christian holidays with her family and she celebrated Jewish holidays with mine. How easily we blended into each other’s traditions.
Life goes on, and situations change. It became impossible to keep the same traditions when my parents moved to Florida, and I married. The new normal for holidays were just as great, but different. My mother-in-law ( Nonny) was a fabulous cook. She could feed an extra 10 people on a moments notice and she never had her feathers ruffled. Oh the food that came out of her kitchen! She taught me how to cook.
Thanksgiving became the family tradition extraordinaire. We would all go to New Rochelle to Nonny and Poppy’s house. The house was tiny, but to us it lived large. It amazes me now, when reminiscing about it, just how small that house really was. My sister-in-laws and I would help out and prepare either appetizers or desserts to add to the meal, but it was the things that Nonny cooked that stole the show. The men and children would go outside, no matter what the weather for a game of touch football, while we would set the table. Inevitably someone would come back filthy!
Not only that, but because my sisters-in-law and their family lived in Albany and Boston respectively, they all stayed over at Nonny’s house! Year after year, Thanksgiving became the highlight of the holidays for us. It truly is among the best memories we all have.
Towards the end of her life, Nonny knew it had become too difficult for her to carry on the tradition. After her death, Thanksgiving took a back seat. I revived it many years later when I had grandchildren of my own.
