Stanislav Umansky raises a tumbler of vodka to his lips in a tri-lingual toast.
”L`chaim,” he says in Hebrew, then, in Russian, ”Na zdorov`e.”
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”To life, to health,” explains Umansky in halting English.
And welcome to Hanukkah, Eastern European style, on North Kenmore Avenue. The latkes you eat here would taste no better in Kiev.
These thin potato pancakes, a Hanukkah staple for centuries, are trademarks of a festive, eight-day celebration that begins this year at sundown on Dec. 7.
According to legend, wives of Maccabean soldiers fried flat pancakes for their husbands before battle against Hellenistic successors of Alexander the Great. Potatoes did not emerge as a traditional ingredient until centuries later.
Umansky`s toast consumated in gregarious fashion, the host, 66, passes around the table a platter laden with potato latkes made by his wife, Dora, and their daughter, Margarita. Next comes Dora`s noodle soup, another proffer of vodka, then more food and wide smiles.
”More latkes? How about chicken?”
Umansky gestures to a plate piled high with oven-baked chicken. Buried among that piled assortment of wings, legs and breasts is a food oddity by American standards but a tasty one–chicken necks stuffed with onions.
They go fastest.
”How about wine?” he asks. ”You want Moogan Dahvid?”
Umansky is observing his seventh Hanukkah in the United States. A taxi driver in Kiev before steering a course for Chicago, Umansky and his wife left Ukraine in 1979, following by two weeks daughter Margarita, her husband, Simon Starodubsky, and their two children, Yuri and Rosti.
”We came to Chicago because my husband`s best friend, our sponsor, lives here,” Margarita explains.
In 1981 the Starodubskys opened Kavkaz, 6405 N. Claremont Ave., a restaurant specializing in Russian and Georgian food. Umansky works there as a host.
At Kavkaz, guests rub elbows with immigrants from Eastern Europe. They sample a traditional menu, including herring and bowls of hot borsch, and listen to Russian music after 8 p.m., often with a bit of vodka or wine.
An estimated 12,000 Soviet Jews emigrated to Chicago in the last great wave of immigration in the late `70s. Many took up residence in the Rogers Park and Edgewater neighborhoods.
”It is an irony that in Chicago we are called `Russian Jews,` ” says Elizabeth Birg, a social worker and translator for the area`s Jewish Community Centers.
”In Russia, there is no such thing as a Russian Jew. We are Jews, or we are Russian, but we cannot be both; they are mutually exclusive.”
Birg works with older Soviet Jews such as the Umanskys, many of whom have lost touch with Jewish traditions, the result of decades of antireligious government mandates.
However they are mistakenly known, Soviet Jews here brought the gift of rejuvenation to several deteriorating neighborhoods.
On North Kenmore Avenue, adjoining a courtyard building inhabited by the Umanskys and more than 20 other Jewish families from the Soviet Union, there is a new language enclave of Yiddish, Hebrew and Russian. Five large apartment buildings in the immediate area are inhabited largely by Soviet Jews. Several have been renovated extensively.
”We pay our rent on time, and we are clean,” says Dora Umanksy, with pride.
Ironically, many of these immigrants discovered holidays such as Hanukkah only since moving to the United States. It has been four decades since some have gone to Temple, lit Shames or could admit they are Jewish without shame. The extent of their loss becomes evident in a visit to the Devon-Sheridan Jewish Community Center, where Jewish immigrants assemble daily to learn unfamiliar customs of an old culture as well as those of a new country.
Two dozen women and one man are gathered for a language class with Birg. Tears and expressions of anguish come readily for most, who try to recall childhood Hanukkah traditions. Most are frightened of reprisals against relatives still in the Soviet Union. Those consenting to interviews speak through Birg, a linguist who emigrated from Minsk in 1979:
”I was always impatient for Hanukkah,” recalls Anna Dubinsky, 71, who grew up in Kiev and came over in 1980. ”My mother was born on the third candle of Hanukkah. She always put kopkees under my pillow at night.”
Birthdays in Russia in Dubinsky`s childhood were not remembered by calendar dates but by proximity to holidays and holy days. In the case of Hanukkah, also known as the Festival of Light, the tradition of lighting another candle each day for eight days provides a convenient marking of a birthday.
Several traditions of Hanukkah arise from the Bible: When a main Jerusalem temple was recaptured from Hellenistic soldiers of Antiochus IV Epiphanes in 165 B.C., rededication was necessary. (Hanukkah is a Hebrew word for ”rededication.”) But there was found in the temple only enough nondesecrated oil to burn for one day.
Somehow–miraculously, it is said–the flame remained lighted until more oil arrived eight days later. Because the Hanukkah story is considered of uncertain authenticity, the holiday is not considered a solemn one in Jewish law.
Hence the daily ceremony of candle lighting. The first candle is lighted on sundown Dec. 7 (in the Gregorian calendar), which is the 24th day of Kislev in the year 5746 of the Hebrew calendar. Seven more candles will follow.
Hanukkah gelt is a tradition of unclear origin, but the idea is to give gifts, typically small coins, to children each day of Hanukkah. Sometimes the transaction occurs with children wearing little pouches around their necks.
Birg recalls her own Hanukkah gelt:
”Even in wartime in Siberia mother collected kopkees for Hanukkah gelts. We collected for eight days in a row. But at the end, we always gave it back because we always had so little.”
Birg fled from Minsk to Siberia with her mother and two siblings during Nazi occupation. Only those who fled lived. They returned after the war to learn that 100 of their closest relatives in the Mishpocha family were dead.
”From my grandmother in Minsk I remember enough to be a Jewish girl,”
Birg says. ”I remember my mother fasting in Siberia for Yom Kippur. But we fasted all the time; so nothing was different.”
The dreidl is another Hanukkah standard. A four-sided top adapted for a game, often to wager Hanukkah gelt, the dreidl also has historical
significance.
”It`s a game of put and take,” explains Irwin Weil, professor of Russian Literature at Northwestern University and a frequent visitor to the Soviet Union.
Each side of a dreidl has a letter that has both Hebrew and Yiddish meanings. The meanings in Hebrew are ”miracle,” ”big,” ”was,”
”there”–or, ”A great miracle happened there,” Weil says. The same symbols in Yiddish–Nes, gadol, hayah, sham–are used in the game.
”Everyone antes candy or money in middle,” Weil says. ”Everyone spins dreidl. When a kid gets `G` he gets very happy.”
The winner depends on which side the top stops. One side exposes a letter symbol for ”Take the whole pot.” Another instructs the player to put one coin in the pot; another permits taking half the pot out; the last letter,
”N,” which stands for nit, or nothing, means a player neither takes nor puts.
Sima Gurevich, of Leningrad, barely remembers playing the dreidl. Her mother died when she was 5. She was raised Jewish by a stepmother for another five years but afterwards was raised by Soviet schools.
Because Gurevich had learned German, during the war she was an Army translator between imprisoned Nazis and their Russian captors. Afterward she became a bookkeeper, married an Army colonel, gave birth to two boys and moved to the China border. She remembered little about being Jewish; so she did not raise her sons in Jewish traditions.
”There were no other Jews around,” she explains.
Nonetheless, good jobs were denied because of Gurevich`s inescapable birthright, and her sons clearly were destined for similar treatment. So when the opportunity to leave the Soviet Union presented itself, she grabbed it. Here she begins to pick up where she left off 59 years ago.
”I regret not being allowed to be Jewish,” she says. ”My life would have been richer.”
At 2 p.m. Dec. 15, dozens of Soviet Jews from the Devon-Sheridan Jewish Community Center and other places will gather in B`nai Zion, 6759 N. Greenview Ave., for the last day of Hanukkah.
Birg, who has organized the event, calls it a samovar, for the Russian tea kettle, a symbol of warmth and getting together.
Here Soviet Jews, whatever their age, will tell stories, laugh and sing, maybe even play the dreidl. Things they hadn`t done in decades. ”It will be a wonderful spiritual atmosphere,” says Birg.
One woman in her 70s clearly looks forward to the occasion. She is afraid to give her name but not her thoughts.
”Here we can say we are Jewish and not be ashamed. That is good.”
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This recipe is from Anna Coutler, whose mother brought it from Russia.
ROAST GOOSE WITH POTATO STUFFING
Eight servings
Preparation time: 45 minutes
Cooking time: About 3 hours
1 goose, about 12 pounds
4 tablespoons rendered goose fat
1 cup diced onions
1 cup chopped mushrooms
5 cups grated, drained, potatoes
1 egg, beaten
2 teaspoons salt or to taste
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1 tablespoon paprika
1 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon minced garlic
1. Remove as much fat from goose as possible. Melt the goose fat over low heat in a saucepan.
2. Heat 4 tablespoons of the fat in large skillet. Add onions and mushrooms; cook until light brown. Stir in potatoes and cook over low heat 2 minutes, stirring constantly. Cool 5 minutes. Mix in egg. Add 1/2 teaspoon of the salt, 1/4 teaspoon pepper and 1 teaspoon of the paprika. Taste and adjust seasonings.
3. Heat oven to 350 degrees. Mix remaining salt, sugar, paprika and garlic in small bowl. Sprinkle mixture in cavities and over outside of goose. Stuff breast cavity loosely with potato mixture. Truss the opening. Tuck wings behind goose. Tie legs.
4. Place on a rack in large roasting pan. Bake, covered, for 30 minutes. Remove cover and roast about 2 to 2 1/2 hours or longer, until goose is tender and brown and meat thermometer inserted in thickest part of breast reads 170 to 175 degrees. Remove from roasting pan. Let stand on serving platter 10 minutes before carving.
ANNA COUTLER`S FRUIT STRUDEL
12 to 15 servings
Preparation time: 1 hour
Standing time: 30 minutes
Baking time: 45 minutes
Dough:
2/3 cup cold water
1 teaspoon vinegar
2 1/2 cups sifted flour
1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 egg, beaten
4 tablespoons salad oil
Filling:
1 pound pitted prunes
2 tablespoons grated lemon rind
1 cup each: chopped walnuts, raisins
1 pound apples, peeled, cored, diced
1 cup coarse homemade bread crumbs
Oil
2 teaspoons cinnamon
4 tablespoons sugar
1. For dough, mix water and vinegar. Sift flour, salt and baking powder into large bowl. Make a well in center of flour mixture. Add egg, water mixture and oil to the well. Gradually work liquid ingredients into the flour. Gather into a ball. Knead on lightly floured surface until smooth and elastic. Place a warm bowl over dough, and let stand at least 30 minutes.
2. For filling, put prunes, lemon rind and walnuts into food processor. Process until finely chopped. Add raisins, apples and bread crumbs. Mix well. 3. Heat oven to 350 degrees. Divide strudel dough in half. Roll out half of the dough on lightly floured surface as thinly as possible.
4. Brush rolled dough with oil. Spread with half of the filling. Roll up jelly roll fashion. Put onto greased baking sheet. Brush with oil or melted butter. Sprinkle with mixture of cinnamon and sugar. Repeat with other half of dough and filling.
5. Bake until crisp and golden, about 45 minutes. Cool slightly on wire rack. Cut into 1-inch thick slices while hot.
STUFFED CHICKEN NECKS FROM DORA UMANSKY
Two servings
Preparation time: 30 minutes
Cooking time: 35 minutes
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Necks of 2 chickens
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 medium onions, grated or chopped
1 teaspoon chicken fat
Salt, pepper
Corn oil
1 cup boneless diced raw chicken
1. Carefully remove skin from necks without cutting or tearing. Wash skin well and dry with paper towels. Sew up one end with sewing thread.
2. Mix together flour, 1 chopped onion, the chicken fat, salt and pepper. Stuff loosely into chicken pouch. Do not fill too much. Sew up other end.
3. Put necks into boiling water in large saucepan. Simmer over low heat about 25 minutes. Remove necks from water.
4. Meanwhile, cook remining onion and pieces of chicken in corn oil in large skillet until chicken is opaque. Add chicken necks. Cook until golden brown, about 10 minutes. Remove thread. Serve on plate with potato latkes.