Jonah Parsoff was said to have beaten the Manhattan store workers with an umbrella after they tried to prevent him from walking off with the cherry pie.
Once upon a time in the 90’s, I pitted my first quart of sour cherries looking out on the woods. We were a shaggy group of New York artsy types: half in Birkenstocks, the others in boots. There on the back porch of a summer cottage named Ravina, I wondered about how those bright red cherries had traveled from an orchard in the Catskills to the Union Square Greenmarket in New York City then back up to the Catskills to this cabin to be among trees again.
My maternal grandparents had come to America from Eastern Europe; my grandmother from Minsk, my grandfather from Riga. While the reason was religious persecution, their houses and apartments they set up felt void of Jewish rituals. But of course, they were Jewish to their cores.