At the death of a kosher store

Situated in the Western side of Berlin, Schalom used to be one of the oldest kosher store in the city, created after the war as a family business. I discovered it on Sybelstrasse, close to Adenauerstrasse metro station, shortly after moving in the city, and for a long time it was my only source of kosher food. There were not too many at the time, with another one, bigger, but much expensier, close to the KaDeWe, closed one year ago because of the debts accumulated. 

Schalom was small, with very few products, but it had meat, which was a high commodity at the time. For Pesach, they used to have some gorgeous crunchy French matza that made me come back year after year, although I was already won over by other kosher options. It also used to be a source of information for various Jewish things going on in the city. I omitted to mention 'reliable' on purpose, because as the financial situation of the store was getting a bit worse, the information offered generously to the visitor was sometimes too much and not always friendly.

The other kosher options created, especially in the close neighbourhood, were killing the store. Bigger variety, better prices, neutral service, more space...The customers were more or less the same everywhere, but they were becoming people more interested in having at least once the week a full kosher meal as they had in Israel or America. When the overall prices of food are so cheap in Berlin, to convince non-religious people to buy kosher and thus, twice the usual price, needs a lot of persuasion. And even the religious families will prefer to save some money buying from a more convenient store, guaranteed that the kosher conditions are meet. Nowadays, you can find meat  with different hechshers accomodating various religious options and although Berlin is far way from the kosher richness of England it is much easier to survive Pesach or to prepare a fine family kosher dinner.

Meanwhile, Schalom store was sold shortly after Pesach, the space being probably used for an art gallery. It is over now, and a chapter is closed. This is the way of things. 

Those fine chains of sand that bind us

I finished reading this book in one long night, but took me some more weeks until all the impressions and ideas started to get together, less emotional and more clearly. 

Written from the perspective of British, sometimes too liberal, Jew - see the discussions about Israel and the religious compromise in a mixed family - it explores the identity stories of young Jews and Israeli, during the last war in Israel. If for an Israeli born and breed like Udi, being Jewish and Israeli is an identity to carry on with, for the successful banker Daniel from London, making aliya and eventually going to the Army is the confirmation of an identity that cannot fully develop outside Israel. For Daniel, taking part to a pro-Israeli manifestation in support of the three yeshiva kids kidnapped by Hamas, although confronting animosity and anti-Semitism, was this way to show his support. For Udi, in a British hospital after surviving a terrible car accident, facing the animosity of some of the nurses, was a part of life. 'But he knows that there will be always be those who hate Israel, and most of the staff are friendly and welcoming and blessing-sent'. And there is also Daniel's mysterious artist girlfriend.

There are a lot of discussions and cruel social realities, about Israel and the everyday tensions and the need to break free of all the drums of war, in a quiet sanitized European city. But somehow, those fine chains of sands are bringing us together or around the same (Pesach) table, everyone with its own truth. 

The book is well written and keeps you awake and curious to find out the rest of the story. The characters have depth and the tensions between idetities and love stories make it a captivating story. It is a book that makes you think a lot about your own identity, sometimes in a provocative, not always convenient, way.

There is an inaccuracy in the book, as the Iraqi Jews do not speak Farsi, but an Arabic dialect. I did find the choice for using 'yamaka' instead of kippa a bit awkward. 

Disclaimer: Book offered by the publisher via NetGalley.com

'They stole our childhood'...

'When I come in Europe with my family and watched my child going to school I realized that I never had my own childhood. I haven't been to school, I haven't play with other children, I have not toys and did not know to play at all'. My friend, a child survivor, dared to tell me about her life and memories. She haven't talk about this with her own son and avoids to repeat this story in public. 

My mother haven't lived long enough to reach that moment in life when you want to get the memories out of yourself and share it with the others. When the stories are too far away to hurt. But we never understood why she never played with us, why she never had toys and childhood friends. We not even misunderstand her, but we accused her of being cold and not a good mother and not loving us enough. Disappointing us, even in her afterlife.

My big S. said today: 'I was so lucky to be born not too late for getting to know Shoah survivors'. This, coming from a teenager who is still trying to find out herself, first by completely breaking up with her traditions and family customs, tells something about the emergency of sharing over and over again the stories. 

Suffering is incomprehensible and so are the ways of life during terrible times. For my children and the memory of my mother and many other like her whose pain was too big to share it, we need to bear witness. We, the children with toys and school and childhood. 

Teaching children gratitude: Yitzi and the Giant Menorah

This is not a book about Hanukah, but about being grateful and thankful for the gifts we are given and, in general, for good things that are happening to us. Aimed for preschool and first grade children, this very beautifully illustrated work of writing tells a story taking place in the famous - for the Jewish world - village of Chelm, in Poland. This place was known for the less gifted minds of its citizens, but being intelligent does not make you automatically a better human. The - Jewish - mayor of  Lublin sent to the people of Chelm a giant menorah for Hanukah, and they were all the time thereafter trying to find solutions about what to send him in exchange. At the beginning, they are not very lucky about that: the delicious latkes made by Rivka the Cook are eaten before delivery, the giant ice is melting. Finally, they decide about something more symbolic: they all get together and lit the menorah, with all the beautiful lights reaching as far as Lublin, where the mayor was invited to watch the gratitude show from a hill. This was the most beautiful gift, worth all the material presents because it magnified the gesture creating a bigger, majestic effect. And this is the essence of the holiday of Hanukah, to be grateful for the wonderful small things that happened to us.

This book can be used as the starting point of a long discussion about gratitude and interacting with the others peers, either at home or at school. The language is simple, and the illustrations are inspiring - either colourful, with a Chagall touch, or very strong black graphics.
At the end of the book, the holiday of Hanuka is explained at length.

The author, Richard Ungar, is an artist with a lawyer background that authored and illustrated many books, including a series based in Chelm.
The book will be available on Amazon beginning of September, which makes it a great gift for the Rosh Hashana or Hanuka.

Disclaimer: Book offered by the publisher via NetGalley.com, in exchange of an honest review.