Personal Narrative: Jewish Holidays

As I begin to recollect past experiences and events growing up, Thanksgiving is the holiday that appears most meaningful. I choose to illuminate Thanksgiving because this is a time when family and friends would forget their worries and differences and collectively came together at grandmother’s house to partake of the Gullah dishes. Furthermore, it serves as a vehicle in stimulating family health and wellbeing, while passing on the identity of the family throughout generations. As I reminiscence, I can recall the air was bursting with love, hugs, laugher and kisses; a sight to behold. Grandmother’s house was small but no one seemed to care as it was inviting. Every area of the house was utilized from the kitchen to the narrow stairway that lead upstairs to the bedrooms. Children were outside playing working up an appetite although there was a chill in the air often going unnoticed, still we were bundled in our hats, coats and mittens. This was not a formal affair but we were all neatly dressed. The house was filled with distinct smells that was heavenly. Steam came from the kitchen as finishing touches were placed on meals. Watching my aunts sweat trying to maneuver in a tight kitchen hoping to avoid bumping into one another was hilarious, but I paid close attention for one day that would be me

After gorging on the offerings of Thanksgiving, while still seated at the table, we realized it was time for us to fulfill a family tradition born out of an early-90s phase of my mother’s with a fascination for all things new-age. Each of us awkwardly crammed all we were thankful for into a thirty-second impromptu monolog. When the warmth of the spotlight focused on me, I let the estrogen flow, disregarded the patience of the less emotionally in-touch family so obviously seated in frustration, and offered a long-winded exposé on how each of my relatives before me contributed to all that I am thankful for. It was with the conclusion of my verbose explanation on all my mother does for me, that she took this occasion to voice how, with every mother she has the chance of meeting, she tells the story of, but for her, I might not be alive today.

Before I begin this assignment, let me clarify, I am not Jewish in any way.

My aunt whom just so happened to be one of my role models passed away. I was devastated. Not only was I confused, but I was lost as well. A woman I looked up to was gone forever. I missed a few days of school and starting falling behind on work. It took me awhile to process my aunt's’ death. I finally realized that I have to move on. I knew that she would not approve of me being sad. I started remembering all of the positive memories my aunt left behind. I gained a tremendous amount of knowledge from her. Until this day, I carry what she taught me everywhere I go. I strive harder to make her

Thanksgiving is a week away that's about the only thing on my mind, my dad's mind, my mom's mind, everyone’s mind. Plus my dad just got back home from doing five years in prison, so yea it was something to look forward to, sitting at the table as a complete family again. Anyway we had just picked my dad up from work, that night we ate steak and potatoes, my favorite! It was a school night I had just gotten my school clothes ready and was headed to take my shower. I stopped in my parent’s room, because I saw my dad up getting dressed to go out that night. We talked for a minute or two then he told me goodnight he'll be back, so I continued to do what I was doing. I really had no idea this would be the last time I saw my dad. Around 7 a.m. the

At the beginning of sixth grade, I met my two future best friends, and I did not like them. I found one boring, the other frustrating and hard to understand. I couldn’t connect with the first, and I didn’t want to bother trying to get to know the second. Not long after, however, we became inseparable. So now it’s the three of us— my Jewish identity, mathematics, and me.

Whether it's trying strange food like quail eggs, searching for bargains at flea markets, or singing Broadway songs at the top of our lungs, my aunt, Lisa Vogel, and I have enjoyed many unique experiences together and developed a very close relationship. Lisa lives close to Minneapolis and she is a teacher at a special needs program for students after high school. She is very involved in theatre, loves to sing, is involved at her church, is a great cook (and hey, I definitely benefit from her marvelous fettuccini alfredo), enjoys craft projects, and especially loves her nieces and nephews and her dog Lulu Cupcake. Lisa is so important to me because of the inspiration she gives me, her caring and loving nature, and the experiences we've had

Thanksgiving is a wonderful holiday in October where you surround yourself with your loved ones; as well as eat enough food to hibernate all winter. However, Thanksgiving of 2003 was not what I expected. Around eleven in the morning my family and I arrived at my cousin Jessica’s house. I expected everyone there to be in a good mood; well I was wrong.

Cooking the potato latkas is my favorite part. Potato latkas are creamy mash potatoes that are fried in sizzling oil resulting in the crispy goodness of a perfect potato pancake. I remember the first time we made them, they were disgusting! They were too salty and mushy, others burnt and others turned out black which was certainly not appealing to the tastebuds. The irony of the situation was that my dad is somewhat of a chef and he had never made anything unappetizing until that day and as a result of that farcical moment we have adjusted the recipe, but Hanukkah has never been the same. In spite of the fact that it was our first failed attempt, the memory allows me to remember that incident every Hanukkah hence making it a tradition in my household. Once we began making the potato latkas I realized that there is no Hanukkah without them. I reminisce about sitting around the table with my family, enjoying laughs as well eating the potato goodness that melts in my mouth for every bite I take

I have so many cherished memories through food. Ever since I was young we have been traveling down to Fort Lauderdale Florida to visit my Dads family for Christmas. For Christmas eve, my Aunt Zaida throws a giant party with large amounts of Cuban food. The house always smells strongly of garlic and plantains. The house is filled with sounds of my aunts yelling at each other and loud roars of laugher soon after. My family spends days preparing the food for this event. My dad is originally from Cuba, so Cuban cuisine is a very essential part of my life. A traditional meal that my family serves on Christmas eve consists of a full pig, plantains with garlic sauce, beans and rice, sweet plantains, and a slice of Cuban bread. My favorite part about

Bar and bat Mitzvah both translate to the meaning “son (or) daughter of the commandment.” The most commonly spoken language of the Jewish people and most people in the Middle East starting in 500 B.C.E – 400 C.E is the vernacular language known as Aramaic (Weinstock 2). The words: bar, bat and mitzvah all come from this language. The term “bar (bat) mitzvah” refers to two different things: first off, when a boy or girl comes of age (12/13), they have become a “bar (bat) mitzvah,” and then are recognized by the Jewish tradition as having the same rights as a grown man (Blas 1, Weinstock 2). They are now both responsible for the decisions and actions they make. The second thing it refers to is the religious ceremony that accompanies them

I come from a big family with many loving aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. As I was standing there all alone I thought back to the time when I got to spend a week with Fran. Almost a year ago to the date, most of the family was together for my other uncle's wedding. All the cousins sat at the same table and we had such a good time together. He was a busy person, he

My grandmother, Esther Turner, has impacted my life in more ways than just simply being there for me, as a grandmother. She’s much more than that, in my eyes. Being the eldest of three, I’ve always taken on more responsibility as the older sister. It was my job to show my little brother and sister which paths were safe to take in this wild, confusing maze called life. At times, I felt like a mother myself, and at a young age, I found myself slightly intimidated by all the responsibilities that were laid on my shoulders. The main person I could talk to freely and openly, without judgment, was my grandmother. We have always been able to speak to each other about any and everything, nothing was off limits. That’s what I think brought us so close, the fact that she accepted me entirely for the person I presented to her.

“But why potato pancakes?” asks one Jewish foodie. Any food fried in oil could be equally symbolic. Donuts (sufganiyot) are another traditional Hanukkah food, and are more popular than latkes in Israel. To be fair, the humble latke lost out primarily because sufganiyot were a job creator. As the late Jewish food historian Gil Marks discovered:

The tradition began on Christmas day in 1994, when my great grandmother Doris Murray gave a simple housewarming gift to my mom and dad, as they had just moved in to their first house together. The gift was a cookbook she had purchased from a local church in which she was a frequent visitor to. Little did our family know that within this cookbook would be a recipe that evolved in to a tradition that would be made at all of our following family gatherings. Together, my mother and great grandmother cooked a lasagna that would be a part of the meal for Christmas supper, and almost every family function that followed. As my great grandmother was the oldest member of my father’s side of the family she was