Growing up, I had one idea of my ancestry and culture. I was told an even mix of Polish, Ukrainian, German and Italian. When I took a course on ancestry and a DNA test, I realized that was very inaccurate.
I remember being terrified a few days before receiving results. I was scared that I would not be Jewish or Italian at all. It might seem like an odd combination, but those are the cultures I’ve held near and dear to me in the past years.
I had a very Italian upbringing with lots of food and family. I realized I was of Jewish descent when I was about 14. I have never really connected with it, but it is from my grandpa’s side of the family, someone I was very close to.
I had nothing to worry about. Jewish and Italian are my two highest areas, coming in at 24.7% and 20% respectively. I am the most Jewish out of anything, which caught me by total surprise.
With Hanukkah this year, I was faced with a few decisions.
I made the decision that I did not want to light a menorah because I did not know the proper prayers. That was a very personal decision for me to make.
I decided to spend the first night of Hanukkah the best way I knew how — in the kitchen.
I want to preface with the fact I’m not fantastic in the kitchen. Everything has turned out edible so far (knock on wood), but it’s been a true miracle. Latkes were an extremely daunting task to me, so I found the easiest recipe I could.
We don’t have a grater in our apartment, so I used shredded hashbrowns and I chopped the onion finely all by myself.
While I did not grow up Jewish, we frequented a Jewish deli with the Jewish side of my family — Harold’s New York Deli will forever hold a special place in my heart.
Every time we went there, I got potato pancakes. I knew what they were supposed to taste like and I knew what they were supposed to look like.
Making latkes for the first time when you’ve never seen it done before is humbling to say the least. I got burned by the oil and spent about two hours on the entire process. I ate half of my latkes while I was making them because it was taking forever.
This was a labor of love, but they turned out well. Beyond edible, they were practically perfect and tasted exactly how they should. An added bonus was the apartment smelled like potato and onion, which is just an amazing scent.
What’s even more amazing is that as I was scrolling TikTok at night, I realized I wasn’t alone. Clearly I knew latkes were Jewish, but I did not realize that everyone makes them for Hanukkah.
There was a 99-year old World War II veteran making them, and a Jewish woman in her twenties doing the same exact thing. I think it’s incredibly special that everyone from different places in life spends time in the kitchen making latkes as a labor of love.
I felt extremely at peace last night, in the kitchen making Jewish food.
I know there’s a really good chance my Jewish family who immigrated through Ellis Island made latkes too, and they probably did so in the old country, too.
I absolutely will continue creating traditions in the kitchen, and I absolutely recommend for others to do the same. It’s extremely nice to be able to connect with family long gone through food.