Free Girl Wallpaper Biography
I grew up in a small town in south Jersey that had a non-existent Jewish population and therefore no Jewish deli. Every Sunday my father would get up at the crack of dawn and make the trip into Philadelphia to go to Famous Delicatessen. He would bring back bagels, lox, whitefish salad, pickles, and creamed cheese. Upon his return my dad would walk down the bedroom hallway and declare that, “breakfast was served!” He would open the curtains in each of our rooms and continue to convince us to wake up. Following the smell of the platters of onions and fresh bagels, my brothers and I would scramble downstairs to the feast. We were often greeted by our family friend and neighbor whom would already be picking at the lox and drinking coffee. This tradition carried on through divorce, college, adulthood and even through “low carb” diets. Despite the lack of Jews in our neighborhood, a few towns over there was a synagogue that became our home away from home. My mother was president of the synagogue and my siblings and I attended Hebrew school 3 days a week after conventional school. Of course, we were all bar/bat mitzvahs and if that is not enough, upon one brother’s return from Israel where he spent time on a kibbutz, we became kosher. For holidays, as both sides of my family are of European descent, we had, shall I say, a plethora of Jewish recipes from which to choose and plan our meals. Besides lots of time in services each holiday, big or small, was celebrated with an abundance of food that included challah bread, matzoh balls, knishes, blintzs and kugel. So, needless to say, I know Jewish and I know Jewish food.
I grew up in a small town in south Jersey that had a non-existent Jewish population and therefore no Jewish deli. Every Sunday my father would get up at the crack of dawn and make the trip into Philadelphia to go to Famous Delicatessen. He would bring back bagels, lox, whitefish salad, pickles, and creamed cheese. Upon his return my dad would walk down the bedroom hallway and declare that, “breakfast was served!” He would open the curtains in each of our rooms and continue to convince us to wake up. Following the smell of the platters of onions and fresh bagels, my brothers and I would scramble downstairs to the feast. We were often greeted by our family friend and neighbor whom would already be picking at the lox and drinking coffee. This tradition carried on through divorce, college, adulthood and even through “low carb” diets. Despite the lack of Jews in our neighborhood, a few towns over there was a synagogue that became our home away from home. My mother was president of the synagogue and my siblings and I attended Hebrew school 3 days a week after conventional school. Of course, we were all bar/bat mitzvahs and if that is not enough, upon one brother’s return from Israel where he spent time on a kibbutz, we became kosher. For holidays, as both sides of my family are of European descent, we had, shall I say, a plethora of Jewish recipes from which to choose and plan our meals. Besides lots of time in services each holiday, big or small, was celebrated with an abundance of food that included challah bread, matzoh balls, knishes, blintzs and kugel. So, needless to say, I know Jewish and I know Jewish food.
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