Page 96 - issue
P. 96
Road in their pickup trucks with all kinds and having to wait a long time while the Talmudical Academy, located at Cot-
of scary costumes that, to me, seemed to they cooked and prepared the dishes you tage and Springhill Avenues. Near Televi-
project something menacing. ordered. My favorite was meatloaf and sion Hill, the highest point in Baltimore,
the thick, brown gravy that came with which had broadcasting antennas for
uuu it. There were at least two kosher baker- WJZ-TV-Channel 13, the elevation was
ies – one called Schmell’s and the other befitting a Torah institution that, like a
In the Fifties and Sixties, the center Azman’s. You heard as much Yiddish as mikdash m’at, was broadcasting a spiri-
of the Jewish population in Baltimore you heard English. tual channel of its own.
was Lower Park Heights. Glen Avenue
was the suburbs. I remember visiting my Once in a while on Sundays my father Before I turned five, my father was
Aunt Sophie and Uncle Avrom, who had (with a lot of prodding from my mother) looking into a day school to send me
a small dry goods store on Park Heights would take me to Gwynn Oak Amuse- to. I have to give him a lot of credit. He
Avenue, across from the Agudas Achim ment Park. I remember the rides, the Fer- was trying to “break in” into American
synagogue, a large, stately building with ris wheels, the cotton candy vendors, the life. The “refugees,” as the other (even
classical Greek columns in the front. They shows (once they hosted the Three Stoog- Orthodox!) Jews called them, felt like
lived in the back and on top of the store. es). Sometimes we would go to Druid Hill outsiders trying to fit into American
Park, which was safe in those days. society. They wanted their children to
To me, visiting Aunt Sophie was like be part of the mainstream, and pub-
traveling to the “Old Country,” (although The beautiful compact, Jewish- lic school was the way to go. None of
I also remember the stash of science fic- ly-charged atmosphere of Lower Park our Jewish neighbors sent their kids
tion books in my cousin’s bedroom). Oc- Heights would one day vanish. Syna- to a Jewish school. Father had limit-
casionally, I would sleep over or stay for gogues would close their doors and shut- ed earning capacity at that time. Day
Shabbos. Their neighborhood projected ter their windows, and more often than school was not free like public school.
a whole different energy from the “New not, they were sold to churches. Such And even though my parents belonged
World” of modern suburbia where I lived. is the transient nature of Galus, even if to an Orthodox shul – the Woodmore
Baltimore was a little American version Hebrew Congregation – they weren’t
It was packed with shuls and Jewish of Jerusalem. shomer Shabbos (yet). The Holocaust
stores, all within blocks of each other. had traumatized them, as it did most
We used to eat at Silberman’s restaurant, uuu
run by a European couple. I remember
the heimish and bustling atmosphere, The pearl of Lower Park Heights was
88 u www.wherewhatwhen.com u
of scary costumes that, to me, seemed to they cooked and prepared the dishes you tage and Springhill Avenues. Near Televi-
project something menacing. ordered. My favorite was meatloaf and sion Hill, the highest point in Baltimore,
the thick, brown gravy that came with which had broadcasting antennas for
uuu it. There were at least two kosher baker- WJZ-TV-Channel 13, the elevation was
ies – one called Schmell’s and the other befitting a Torah institution that, like a
In the Fifties and Sixties, the center Azman’s. You heard as much Yiddish as mikdash m’at, was broadcasting a spiri-
of the Jewish population in Baltimore you heard English. tual channel of its own.
was Lower Park Heights. Glen Avenue
was the suburbs. I remember visiting my Once in a while on Sundays my father Before I turned five, my father was
Aunt Sophie and Uncle Avrom, who had (with a lot of prodding from my mother) looking into a day school to send me
a small dry goods store on Park Heights would take me to Gwynn Oak Amuse- to. I have to give him a lot of credit. He
Avenue, across from the Agudas Achim ment Park. I remember the rides, the Fer- was trying to “break in” into American
synagogue, a large, stately building with ris wheels, the cotton candy vendors, the life. The “refugees,” as the other (even
classical Greek columns in the front. They shows (once they hosted the Three Stoog- Orthodox!) Jews called them, felt like
lived in the back and on top of the store. es). Sometimes we would go to Druid Hill outsiders trying to fit into American
Park, which was safe in those days. society. They wanted their children to
To me, visiting Aunt Sophie was like be part of the mainstream, and pub-
traveling to the “Old Country,” (although The beautiful compact, Jewish- lic school was the way to go. None of
I also remember the stash of science fic- ly-charged atmosphere of Lower Park our Jewish neighbors sent their kids
tion books in my cousin’s bedroom). Oc- Heights would one day vanish. Syna- to a Jewish school. Father had limit-
casionally, I would sleep over or stay for gogues would close their doors and shut- ed earning capacity at that time. Day
Shabbos. Their neighborhood projected ter their windows, and more often than school was not free like public school.
a whole different energy from the “New not, they were sold to churches. Such And even though my parents belonged
World” of modern suburbia where I lived. is the transient nature of Galus, even if to an Orthodox shul – the Woodmore
Baltimore was a little American version Hebrew Congregation – they weren’t
It was packed with shuls and Jewish of Jerusalem. shomer Shabbos (yet). The Holocaust
stores, all within blocks of each other. had traumatized them, as it did most
We used to eat at Silberman’s restaurant, uuu
run by a European couple. I remember
the heimish and bustling atmosphere, The pearl of Lower Park Heights was
88 u www.wherewhatwhen.com u
