“Let’s go to Grandma’s house!” Although it sounds like a quote from “Little Red Riding Hood,” it’s a call voiced by kids everywhere yearning for the tenderness of a doting bubby who is always ready to stuff you with her homemade goodies. Oh, how my mouth still waters for some of Grandma’s marvelous apple pie with just the right amount of jelly oozing out at the edge of the crust. And what a treat it was to be there when her yummy honey cookies came out of the oven. Who didn’t have a grandmother who made the best gefilte fish, not to mention challah every Friday. My late mother followed Grandma’s challah recipe, and said, each time, “It’s not like Grandma’s.”
But her loving kindness and palatable delights were only a few of the reasons I loved visiting my grandmother Eva Friedman, a”h.
* * *
Just getting there was an adventure. First was the trolley car, which mother and I boarded every Thursday after school in front of our Garrison Boulevard home. Transferring streetcars on Eutaw Street just couldn’t be done without a stop in Wagner’s Drug Store for a chocolate sundae and to buy a box of Cracker Jacks – more for the enclosed toy than for the candy itself.
More good times became a reality when we disembarked from trolley number two at the hub of Jewish shopping, Lombard Street, better known today as “Corned Beef Row.” What an array of aromas greeted us! Our shopping jaunt began with a visit to the poultry store. I was fascinated to view cage after cage of live 
chickens right on the sidewalk. At the same time, I was deeply saddened as I realized the fate of these imprisoned fowl creatures, whose clamor sounded as if they were engaged in some major political protest. Perhaps they were.
My remorse turned to glee as we approached my favorite store: the bakery. Each one of the several sweet shops on this wonderful street must have had a magnet in its windows as I found myself drawn to each one, drooling as we passed. I remember how we always bought my sister’s 
favorite blueberry muffins and, of course, some cookies to appease my all-too-frequent noshing urge.
We stopped next at Jake’s grocery/deli. I remember Mr. Jake’s kindness to me as Mother selected our groceries, which he would later deliver to our home. But my most vivid recollection of that store was the sawdust on the floor, a feature I thought characterized it as an authentic market!
Next door to Jake’s was Smelkinson’s. Mostly dairy products were sold there, but my stronger recollections are its physical characteristics. Most businesses along this “Great Jewish Way” were level with the sidewalk or had one small step at the entry. Smelkinson’s seemed to rise above all the others with two or three steps, the first of which seemed to be the highest one in Baltimore! Beyond a screen door was a horseshoe-shaped counter, and always standing behind the center section in a most upright stance, with her hair in a neat bun, was Mrs. Smelkinson who served us in a friendly yet businesslike manner.
Our shopping spree concluded at Saler’s dairy store, an array of aromas in itself, with its huge tubs of sweet butter and sour cream and enormous hunks of cheeses. Here’s where Mother purchased her farmer cheese (known then as pressed cheese), which was later transformed into delectable delights, especially her homemade blintzes! But my favorite item in this sea of cholesterol bliss was geared toward satisfying my ever-present sweet tooth: the large loaves of halvah, sliced to your specification, in a choice of chocolate, vanilla, and marble. Somehow the pre-packaged versions available today do not seem to measure up to the flavor of this sesame treat we enjoyed so long ago.
* * *
Leaving Lombard Street, feeling five pounds heavier, we proceeded down Exeter for two blocks, arriving at Pratt Street. Now we were in famous Little Italy (minus the many epicurean establishments of today). On this busy corner of Pratt and Exeter, only one block from St. Leo’s Church, in the heart of the Italian mecca, stood my grandmother’s house and Jewish business.
Now begins the true thrill of my travelogue as this was no ordinary visit to Grandma’s house but a fun-filled trip to Grandma’s store. For here, located in what would have been the living room of this corner edifice, was the backbone of my grandmother’s life.
Friedman’s Hebrew Book Store was very familiar to Baltimore Jewry for 69 years. Founded by my great-grandfather, Hyman Friedman, in 1898, it was the first such business in the city. The store originally merchandised basic utensils, such as pots, pans and assorted china, gradually adding various religious articles. Assisted by his wife, he ran the business until his death in 1908, at which time his son, my grandfather Louis Friedman assumed its operation aided by his wife Eva. When Grandpa passed away in 1936, the business continued to flourish under the efficient management of Grandma until she took ill in 1967.
Customers shopped at the store for religious essentials, such as siddurim, yarmulkes, mezuzas, havdala candles, etc., as well as for the more fun and luxurious items, such as jewelry, children’s games, coloring books, greeting cards, and Bible stories, which Grandma even sold in a comic book format.
I most enjoyed observing the young boys, usually accompanied by their fathers, as they shopped for their upcoming bar mitzva requirements. First, they needed their Maftir portion, which was available in pamphlet-sized booklets in assorted colors. Then he needed to be outfitted for his attainment of manhood. After trying on several styles, a tallis was selected, followed by tefilin and then Grandma’s gift of a new yarmulke.
Purchasing wedding gifts also brought customers to Friedman’s – perhaps a set of candlesticks, a becher (wine cup), a spice box, a challah tray, or an embroidered challah cover, plus many other lovely selections for the Jewish home.
Another happy event was the birth of baby boy. For this joyous occasion Grandma stocked the tiny yarmulkes for the infant to don at his bris.
Although daily needs and special occasions are vital to the success of any business, its actual survival is contingent upon its holiday volume. It was at these times that most of the pleasures of storekeeping were derived. As each Yom Tov approached, an aura of excitement came along as we unpacked the newly arrived merchandise geared to the upcoming event. One of my favorites, perhaps because it catered largely to kids, was the Festival of Lights. How the showcase gleamed from the vast and beautiful selection of Chanuka menoras. I especially loved the musical ones that played “Maoz Tsur.” Naturally, I had to test out the spinning capabilities of all (perhaps not quite all) the dreidels. They came in wood and plastic, in all sizes and colors, not to mention the real treat - peering into the large ones filled with toys and candies.
As winter concluded, could Purim be far behind? This was the noisy season because, in addition to carrying booklets on the story of Queen Esther, the store was fully stocked with Haman drayers for making a racket in shul at the mention of Haman’s name during the reading of the Megillah. Of course, they first had to be tested by every juvenile customer before deciding which one to purchase!
Pesach came next and with it a beautiful grouping of Seder plates, matza covers, and Haggadahs. There were also story books and greeting cards in commemoration of the Exodus from Egypt.
Probably the biggest and most important season was the High Holidays. Many worshippers purchased a new set of Machzorim either to replace an old set or to conform to the format when changing shuls. Greeting cards were a major item at this time of the year. How honored I was when Grandma allowed me to work with the salesman to order the assortment I considered the most attractive and most sales worthy, and upon its receipt, I was in full charge of setting up the racks by category and in assisting customers with their selections.
The festival that definitely created the most havoc was Sukkos. Grandma sold the traditional esrog and lulav as well as all accompanying accessories, including the hadassim and the aravos. Since these two latter items would be spoiled 
by exposure to warm air, food in the Friedman refrigerator became sparse as space was allotted to these leafy plants. Disruption to the living quarters also occurred in the dining room, where the table was totally obscured by the lulavim and esrogim. Our entire family, especially my cousin, the late Cantor Hillel Lipsicas, assisted – either by making the rings that encircled the lulav, packaging in preparation for shipping, taking telephone orders, waiting on customers, and any other necessary function. Excitement dominated, along with a bit of apprehension as one patron after another examined and fortunately approved the point of the lulav and the shape of the lemon-like esrog, both of which had to meet certain standards to guarantee kashrus.
Right after Sukkos came another fun holiday for the younger set and a joyous one for all: Simchas Torah. Flags were a big seller. How vividly I remember marching in shul with a flag topped off with a big red apple on its point.
* * *
Being located in the heart of the Italian neighborhood was not without its fun and confusion – like the many times my late Aunt Ida’s dark hair and complexion mistakenly led people to believe her to be Italian. Or when Ida Esposito, the Italian lady who, with her husband and children, occupied the third floor of Grandma’s house, entered St. Leo’s Church and the priest asked her what she was doing there. He said that he thought she was “the Jew lady’s daughter.” Mrs. Esposito, who remained a close family friend until her death about two years ago, joyfully recalled the time she substituted as the storekeeper while Grandma was away and sold a mezuza – an empty one! After all, how was Italian Mrs. Esposito to know that a handwritten scroll was required! Needless to say, the concerned customer returned the mezuza to Grandma, who immediately folded the delicate parchment into the mezuza, making it kosher.
* * *
In June 1951, the Friedman’s store and residence were relocated to Park Heights Avenue, just below Cold Spring Lane, between the popular Park Lane shopping center and the famous Avalon Theater. Here, along with her acquisition of many new customers, Grandma brought with her a large following of previous patrons. At both addresses, she was always assisted by my uncle, the late Reuben Friedman, my mother, Esther Luwisher – and me. We were her staff! We were her family sales team!
When thinking of Grandma’s sales process, I am amused to recall her “cash register,” a great contrast to the computerized versions in stores today. When you sold something at Friedman’s, you merely opened a drawer that revealed a wooden tray consisting of four or five indented sections, each for a different denomination of change. The paper currency was inserted in the bottom section of the drawer by pushing the coin tray inward. Adjacent to the drawer, on top of the showcase, Grandma kept a dated sales book in which she recorded the total of each sale in the left column, followed on the right by the amount of sales tax.
In spite of all of Grandma’s assistants, when customers thought of this store, they thought only of Mrs. Friedman, “that nice lady” who ran it. To borrow a term from department store lingo, she was definitely from the “old school,” a true professional and a sharp business woman. She served each customer with kindness, exhibiting a sincere concern for his or her satisfaction by always striving to offer her best and most suitable merchandise. Her aim to please was not financially motivated. Rather, she truly cared for people and believed that everyone was entitled to all that was good. How often I heard her offer customers a “special reduced price,” when she felt they could not afford to pay more.
The store was a social outlet, where many of Grandma’s peers stopped in to chat and express their problems, as well as to kill a few lonesome hours. Grandma always received them warmly, listening with her ears and her heart, offering whatever consolation or advice she could. So, through Grandma, the store served a variety of people with a multitude of needs. It’s no wonder she was so popular and so respected by her friends; her customers, including most members of the local rabbinate; and, of course, by her family. Yes, indeed, Grandma was Friedman’s Hebrew Book Store.
Grandma loved people and loved serving them and never wanted to quit even as she endured growing health problems. With G-d’s help and her own strong drive and determination, she ran her business until she was almost 90 years old. She passed away at the age of 93, on the fifth day of Chanukah, a most befitting yahrtzeit for a woman who was herself “a miracle of light.”
Since Grandma was so very devoted to her family, I 
would feel remiss if I neglected to name the late relatives that were dearest to her. First are her four children and their spouses: my parents Esther and Isador Luwisher, a local real estate broker; my aunt Ida Marton, a former Hebrew School teacher and her husband, Rabbi Nandor Marton of Weirton, West Virginia; my uncle Reuben Friedman, a mathematics instructor at the Baltimore Polytechnic Institute, and his wife Leah; and my uncle Rabbi Hyman Friedman, spiritual leader in Winthrop, Massachusetts, and his wife Yehudis. Grandma was also the proud grandmother of eleven girls and three boys. In addition she was extremely close to her two brothers: the late Benjamin Mirvis, co-owner of a department store known as The Busy Corner at Broadway and Eastern Avenue; and the late Philip Mirvis, proprietor of a tea and coffee shop, as well as a prominent Zionist leader.
