When Bubby’s cat, dog, and bird tricks wore off, she would eagerly teach me pithy Yiddish proverbs about the value of true beauty and wisdom
CHERISHED It has taken me many years to fully digest that Yiddish phrase. No matter how old you are no matter how many children you have or don’t have or never had — you always remain that demanding deserving unique and cherished child of your mother
I was a poor eater. After finally being weaned at the age of two I was not interested in ingesting any non-white substance that didn’t flow smoothly down my little esophagus. By the time my third birthday arrived my once cherubic cheeks had disappeared along with my desire for food.
When my eternally patient mother began to lose it Bubby would race to the rescue whisking me out of our second-floor apartment on Independence Boulevard in Chicago’s old West Side to the narrow creaky wooden porch overlooking the alley. Armed with apron bib and an array of homemade delicacies she was determined to feed me.
Food was serious business for Bubby who had earned her living as a cook ever since she left Minsk and stepped off the boat in Baltimore in 1895. A few years later she found a better job — and a husband also from Minsk — in Chicago. Bubby and Zeidy were blessed with three children and when Zeidy passed away Bubby lived with us.
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