FEAST: Folklore Education & Storytelling for Teachers

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Spring 1991

Amongst the many family stories that are well remembered and frequently told in my family, there is one about my maternal grandmother which I liked very much. When my grandmother was a young maiden, she lived in Haneda, the southern tip of Tokyo. It was well before World War II, and Haneda was more like a village rather than a town. The community was small, so everybody knew everybody else. My great grandmother was a landowner. She was a strong and fierce person. On the contrary, my grandmother was a quiet and shy person; she was always passive. However, unlike my great grandmother, she was an exceptionally beautiful woman. In Japan, such a girls tends to be called, with affection, by a name with a suffix, “-komachi” which means “a local beauty.”

Since her beauty was a rare find, all the young men in Haneda wanted to have her as their wife. However, for fear of the reaction from my great grandmother, none of them dared to ask for my grandmother’s hand. They often guessed who would be the lucky one. Then, one day, a young man moved to Haneda from the far away country-side and married my grandmother. At the time a wedding was still a community event. A long procession was held. My grandmother, in a white kimono and a white cap on her head, marched solemnly beside my grandfather. It is said that all the villagers were disappointed and felt tricked, for their beauty was taken by a stranger. They also wondered what kind of a man my grandfather was. For a while, he was a local legend who swept the local beauty away from them.

The story always ends with jeers and a big laugh that my grandmother didn’t leave any trace of her beauty in her daughters nor in her granddaughters. Whenever my mother tells this story, she looks like a young girl, smiling a little naughtily and feeling warmed by the episode. There is also a Japanese families saying that, when it suddenly starts to rain on a sunny day, foxes are having a wedding procession. Somehow, in my mind, the story of my grandmother’s wedding is associated not only with my mother’s voice and people’s laughter but also with the image of a fox’s wedding. In any case, this story is one way we remember my grandmother, who is now senile and has lost most of her memories, in a most vivid way.

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Spring 1998

I recall a lullaby my grandmother sang to me. Whenever my eyes conceded to the tiredness of a young child’s day, I lay my head in her cushioned lap, allowing her wrinkled fingers to graze through my hair and warmly stroke my hand. In a rasped voice, weary from age, she soothed me:

IN DEM BEYS-HAMIKDESH IN A VINKLE KHEYDER,
In the corner of the Temple
ZITST DI ALMONE, BAS-TSIYOYN ALEYN
The widowed daughter of Zion sits,
IR BEN-YOKHIDL YIDELEN VIGT ZI KESEYDER
Rocking her only son Yidele to sleep
UN ZINGT IM TSUM SHLOFN A LIDELE SHEYN:
She sings a tender lullaby:

“UNTER YIDELES VIGELE
“Under Yidele’s cradle
SHTEYT A KLOR -VAYS TSIGELE,
Stands a snow-white kid,
DOS TSIGELE IZ GEFORM HANDLEN
This kid has been to market.
DOS VET ZAYN DAYN BARUF:
That will be calling:
ROZHINKES MIT MANDLEN;
Trading raisings with almonds;
SHLOF ZHE, YIDELE, SHLOF.
So sleep now, Yidele, sleep.

ES VET KUMEN A TASYT FUN AYZNBANEN,
There will come a time when trains
ZEY VELN FARFLEYTSN DI BANTSE VELT;
Will cover the earth;
AYZERNE VEGN VESTU OYSSHPANEN
You’ll travel on iron roads
UN VEST IN DEM OYKH FARDINEN FIL GELT.
And earn great wealth.

UN AZ DU VEST RAYKH, YIDELE
But even when you become rich, Yidele,
ZOLSTUZIKH DERMONEN IN DEM LIDELE:
Remember this lullaby:
ROZHINKES MIT MANDLEN;
Raisins with almonds;
DOS VET ZAYN DAYN BARUF!
This will be your calling!
YIDELE VET ALTS HANDLEN,
You will trade everything,
SHLOF ZHE, YIDELE, SHLOF.”
So sleep now, Yidele, sleep.”

When I was six years old, I remember sitting beside my Grandfather on the front porch of my house. It was a sunny day, dusk in late spring, that time of day when the sun seems to blind you. A police officer walked up the driveway to tell us that my Grandmother had been hit by a car in the parking lot of a supermarket at the end of our block. We ran as fast as we could to the corner. My Grandfather was immediately guided to the ambulance while an officer sat with me in the back of a police car. I knelt on the seat and leaned against the window, watching as they lifted the stretcher into the ambulance. Softly, I soothed my self: “Unter Yideles VigeleΣ” as my Grandmother would.

On the night that my sister returned from the hospital with her new son, she placed a sack of Rozhinkes mit mandlen beneath the baby’s bassinet. We had no idea where the custom had come from or whether it was superstition. The sack was placed there lovingly and remained there, regardless. And on the tape of bedtime songs that my sister often plays for him is Rozhinkes mit mandlen.

These symbols marked my fiancé’s Aufruf as well (literally, going up, in Yiddish, or the calling to the Torah of the groom before the wedding.). After he read from the Torah, our friends and family showered us with tiny sacks of raisins and almonds, blessing us with a life built upon Jewish values and happiness. At our wedding, I could not think of a more appropriate song with which to escort my Grandmother down the aisle. As the doors to the sanctuary opened and she paused for a photograph, the violins began to play “In Dem bes-hamikdesh in a vinkl kheyderΣ” Her lullaby has touched so many moments in my life.

This traditional Yiddish song has always been meaningful to me, neither for the words, its inherent message, nor the lulling melody, but simply because my Grandmother sang it with tenderness. Nonetheless, as I grow into an adult and envision the life ahead and children of my own, I reflect on the essence of the lullaby. Each milestone, like my wedding or the birth of my nephew, illuminates its meaning further. It speaks of bittersweet history, a vastly transforming future, and tradition at risk. Almost with dejection, it appeals for the mere remembrance of heritage amidst a rapidly changing world. The mother who sings to her Yidele, her little boy, reveals little faith in cultural continuity. Sadly certain that he will abandon the legacy of tradition for the riches of technological advancement, she warns him of his assimilated fate with the hope that he will at least remember this lullaby as a relic of a time and culture gone by. The intended message of course is very much dependent on the time and dynamics in which the song was written. Likewise, the personal theme rests on cumulative history and experience.

For me, it is a reminder of how delicate and yet how powerful culture is. Even when tradition seems like stagnant embers of a burnt-out fire, it may suddenly reemerge and invigorate the spark between us and our ancestry. Through my observance of tradition, I unknowingly sustain a cultural legacy greater than the mere memory a lullaby.

A Childhood Memory

Spring 1997

My curriculum focuses on houses around the world. In our study we are also looking at the people who live in these communities. I have attempted to make the curriculum more real by sharing stories with them about the different types of homes and places that I have been to, especially as a child. I also share with them the various games and songs that I learned while visiting these places. Other children and adults also share their stories about the homes they lived in or visited as well at the things they did as children.

In our storytelling sessions/discussions (I use the term discussions since invariably the stories are interrupted by the children who relate to what I’m telling them or have a question.) I hope that the children will begin to notice or even discover the similarities in children’s lives both cross-culturally and cross-generationally.

The group that I work with are 2nd and 3rd graders. I would begin a discussion by telling the children about my visits to grandfather’s house in South Carolina when I was a child.

Every summer, my mother would pack up me and my sister to go visit my Grandfather in Summerton, North Carolina. I liked going to my granddaddy’s house cause it was like going back in time. It was like going on an adventure. He had no bathroom. We had to use the outhouse in the backyard. The outhouse was a small wooden shack and inside there was a wooden bench with two holes to sit on. It smelled something awful. At night we had to use a bedpan cause it was way too dark to go outside. The outhouse was in front of a field and anything that lived in that field could get into that shack. There wasn’t any running water either. We had to pump the water. Right on the back porch was a pump. You had to pump the water out. It wasn’t that easy either. I can still remember the sound of that pump. We did have electricity though. That was something. You see, everybody that lived on that road didn’t have electricity. My Grandfather, and my Great Grandmother, who lived in the Big House had electricity. And, every time it rained and there was thunder and lightning we had to turn off everything. I hated that because I wanted to watch TV. But instead, I would sit by the window, inventing some story in my head about being stuck out in that storm with no place to go.

My granddaddy was a farmer. He grew all kinds of food like corn, peanuts, collard greens, peas, watermelon and anything else you could think of. He was also a hunter. He kept over 100 hunting dogs across the road in a large dog pen. He had bird dogs and hunting dogs. Sometimes I’d go sit in the pen to play with them. They barked like crazy, but I wasn’t scared of them. I loved them. No one else could come in that pen like that but my granddaddy. My grandfather was always either out in the fields or out hunting. Of course, I couldn’t go hunting, cause I was too young, and I didn’t go into the fields cause there were snakes out there.

I spent most of my days playing in the road, making up games using rocks and sticks. I would play these games for hours. It was hot out there but I would still stay out there and play. Some days I would go visiting other people’s homes down the road. There were three other houses along that road. Just about everybody was related to me in some way. They were cousin this and cousin that. Like I said, my grandfather’s house was the only one with electricity. So whenever I went into someone else’s house it seemed awfully dark, even with the sun beaming in. They used oil lamps and candles for light when it got dark.

This story tells something about life in the rural south and something about some of the homes that people lived in. It also explains something of how what was available to me shaped what I did, how I played, etc. I can use this same story to talk about and introduce some of the games that I played. Imbedded in these stories are traditions as well as beliefs on what children could and couldn’t do and what was considered appropriate behavior. Imbedded in these stories are my family and my relationships with them. These stories are intended to be a window into my experiences and another means by which to create meaningful curriculum for my students.

Celebrating No-Ruz: A Family Tradition

2001

My husband and I have celebrated No-Ruz (the Persian New Year) for the last ten years. In harmony with the rebirth of nature, this two-week celebration always begins on the first day of spring. It is a time to clean the environment, cleanse the self, make or buy new clothes and bake pastries. It is time to light bonfires, have parties and a time to throw away the bad deeds from the year just passed.

It has only been in the last four years that the preparations for the No-Ruz have become a ritual in our home. It has become a ritual because we now have three children to share it with and they have become an important part of the festivities. In early March, on a Saturday or Sunday, we take the children to the local pet store where they each get to pick out their very own goldfish. These goldfish are just one of the many items which symbolize the Persian New Year celebration.

When we arrive at the pet store the children race to the back of the store where the goldfish are waiting to be picked. Our children spend a long time first watching the fish and then carefully selecting the one they want. Usually they pick the goldfish with unusual markings or colors. On our ride home we talk about the meaning of the goldfish and how this tradition is an important part of our heritage.

When we get home we place our new goldfish into a glass vase that has already been place at the haft-sinn (literally “seven dishes’ setting,” each one beginning with the Persian letter sinn). the seven dishes stand for the seven angelic heralds of life- rebirth, health, happiness, prosperity, joy, patience and beauty. They include: sabzeh, germinated sprouts; samanu, a wheat sprout; sib, apple; senjed, the sweet fruit of the lotus tree; seer, garlic; somaq; and serkeh, vinegar.

To set up the Haft-Sinn or ceremonial setting I place a beautiful piece of antique Persian cloth on my sideboard in my dinning room. I have set out the “seven dishes” along with a copy of the Koran, a few coins and some painted eggs. There is also a mirror, a hyacinth plant and some candles. All of these items have symbolic meanings, representing rebirth and goodness. Now the children are able to bring the goldfish, which represents life to join the food items in the haft-sinn

Another important ritual which is associated with the Persian New Year and that our children partake in is the growing of the germinated sprouts, which represent rebirth. In early March, we begin to grow the sprouts that also need to be placed at the haft-sinn. My two eldest children pour out a bag of lentils onto a large flat platter. They spread the seed out so that there are about two layers of lentils. Then they place a damp cloth over the seeds and place the platter in a cool protected area in our kitchen. It is their job to check the towel each day for about one week and make sure that it is always damp. After about one week they can remove the towel if they have started to see the lentils sprout. They are responsible for watering the sprouts every day so that they remain moist. It takes about two weeks for the lentils to grow about four-five inches tall which is about as tall as they will get. At this point we tie a colorful ribbon around the entire bunch and then place the platter alongside the other items in the Haft-Sinn.

Celebrating the Persian New Year has become a very important tradition in our family because it is a link to our family’s heritage and helps our children connect with a way of life that is both faraway and very different from our own. It is also a connection that we have within our own family and also with the families in our extended Persian community. It will always be a part of our lives and hopefully our children will one day teach their children about the wonderful tradition of No-Ruz.