Folks,
Bread occupies a special place for many Jews; especially challah. We say a blessing when we make it, and when we break it. The smell of fresh-baked bread, turning us into a cartoon character from the 1930s, lifts us off our feet and sends us floating down the street to a place of Jewish memory. Now, when we are forced to be at home, we remember this bread, this stuff that takes us back, and we want to make it again in our kitchens, as I know some of you do. In my journalistic way, I have felt the knead too. So baked into this issue, for your nourishment, is that sense of time and place, our connection with the holy loaf, and those of our weekday tables. B’tayavon.
Keep your witz.
Edmon J. Rodman
Story photos courtesy Lee Whitten
The memory of a deli cast in stone
Edmon J. Rodman
If future archeologists want to know what a twisted challah looked like, they will need to dig into the story of Billy’s Deli in Glendale. There for a time, up until 2015, the curves and rises of a challah as well as many other items long-associated with a Jewish deli were, literally, preserved in stone.
From 1970, in downtown Glendale, a unique piece of American Jewish history could be found on display as part of a wall that blocked the sun from a small storefront deli.
Though challas are often displayed in the windows of Jewish bakeries and delis, they do not often wind up turned into near three-dimensional ceramic tiles and incorporated into architectural building feature. That took the touch of an artist: a son of the deli’s owners, Lee Whitten.
Lee’s parents, Jack and Molly Whitten owned the deli from the late 1940s until the mid-1970s. When the deli moved to a nearby former furniture store, they soon realized that window shades alone would not keep the afternoon sun from over-heating their patrons.
“It was the on east side of the street facing the Sears parking lot,” said Whitten in a recent interview with MegilLA. “It was hot. There was a rock wall which helped.” But Whitten thought the only good solution was to eliminate the windows. “It made sense to do a mural there,” he said.
His dad, Jack, had first started working in the deli in 1949. Before that, he had been working at Lax’s Deli in Hollywood. “He worked at the deli by night and played baseball by day,” said Lee. But he broke his leg playing baseball, and lost his job in Hollywood.
Fortunately, his friend, Lou Feinberg, co-owner, along with his brother Herman, of Union Made bakery, a long-established wholesaler and retailer of breads, rolls and cookies, knew of a job.
“Lou told him that there that there was a small shop in Glendale, really small, and the woman needed help, and he could work while in the cast,” said Lee. Shortly after Jack began working there, he “realized the owner wanted out.”
Jack was interested in buying, but didn’t have the bread.
“Lou fronted the money, along with the Vienna Beef Company, so Jack could buy the business, though Lou was the primary benefactor. “It was a tiny eight-stool place, and didn’t cost a lot.” But, the deal “made a lifelong customer for Union Made.”
To keep renovation costs down, the deli’s neon sign was kept, only two letters were changed: Billies became Billy’s, and to his customers, Jack became Billy. Under new ownership, even in the stalwartly Waspish Glendale, the deli took on a more Jewish flavor.
Billy's benefited from a nearby Jewish audience as well, as Temple Sinai of Glendale opened its new building in 1949.
After taking ownership, they visited Lou frequently at Union Made. “I thought the world of him. When I was 7 or 8, he would always reach into the giant glass cases with the cookies, and pull out a handful for me.”
Not all was sweetness In Glendale after the deli’s purchase, however.
Late one night, not too long after the deli changed hands, in 1949 or 50, there was a break-in. The next morning, they found “damage everywhere and swastikas painted on the wall,” said Lee. “The opening money was untouched, and eggs thrown everywhere.”
Jack called the police. However, “what the Glendale policeman really wanted to know was which employees were angry with my dad, overlooking the whole thing,” said Lee. “We caught that he wasn’t going to do anything about it.” At that time, “Glendale was a hot bed of the worst of the worst,” he added.
Jack recovered from the anti-Semitic attack, and won over the local restaurant-goers. “It was great food, and was reasonable, and there were countless customers who supported him,” said Lee.
Billy’s moved to a larger location, and then to the former furniture store spot. By then, Lee had earned Master's degree in '64 in Ceramics and Art History at UCLA. At his first job in ceramics at Architectural Pottery, under David Cressey, he learned the fundamentals of how to cast objects in clay. He also began teaching art at L.A. City College.
For the 17 feet by 19 feet wall to represent the day-to-day business of the deli, Lee decided to cast the foods they sold. In 1969, he asked Union-Made to bake a large braided challah.
Lou came personally in a bakery truck to deliver it, as well as a large rye. “They looked great. He was extremely proud,” recalled Lee.
Vienna delivered a very large bologna, and another supplier, Crescent Cheese Co. had a giant provolone shipped from Italy. Also included in the design were Swiss cheeses, turkeys, cold cuts, and the food gift baskets which his mother prepared.
To create the challahs for the wall, which was completed in 1970, he cast one of the breads, making a mold, and then fired four reproductions. “At that time, I don’t think anyone had cast anything with that amount of projective depth or relief,” said Lee.
The turkeys were another matter. He just couldn’t find one large enough, so he sculpted them instead. He also sculpted bottles and jars using the shapes found in the deli.
In 1973, Jack died. Lee, ran the deli for a year. Then, the family sold the business in 1974, to Jack Kaminsky, “A veteran deli guy” said Whitten. He resold it, about five years later.
Around that time, there were funds available from Glendale to preserve the mural. “There were people on the Glendale City Council who were up for that. But they couldn’t convince the owner to accept it,” said Lee.
Around 2015, the building was sold, and the new owner, a night club, wanted to tear the wall down. Lee’s sister-in-law, Sidney Higgins-Whitten, started a movement to save it. Money was raised through a Go Fund Me campaign, and a company, Silver Lake Conservation, was hired to disassemble the wall’s 323 tiles and put them into storage.
More than ceramic memories remain of Billy’s Deli. The restaurant’s neon sign is part of the collection of the Museum of Neon Art in Glendale (MONA), and until the pandemic closure, the sign was scheduled to part of a show on delis at the Skirball Cultural Center.
Though, Lee, who is now retired, doesn’t think the wall “will ever come out of storage,” and some elements are in need of repair, he definitely is open to seeing the wall reassembled somewhere. “I have some thoughts about sections of it being used by other commercial enterprises,” he said.
For the record, his favorite sandwich at Billy’s was the #17: turkey, pastrami and Swiss cheese, and Russian dressing; which through his art, he transformed into a very solid memory.
Raymond Luna, president Diamond Bakery.
GUIDE FOR THE JEWPLEXED
A Diamond hoping to regain its sparkle
Edmon J. Rodman
A slice of Los Angeles Jewish history is in danger of disappearing. During the pandemic, Diamond Bakery on Fairfax, for generations, the go-to place for anyone desiring a fresh-baked loaf of corn rye, raisin pumpernickel, or a braided egg Challah with a Jewish flavor, has fallen on hard times.
In my 20s, I lived a 10 minute bike ride away, and when I wanted something sweet, would pedal over for one of their banana cake. I would pull a number, and impatiently wait my turn.
Those days are pretty much gone.
In the past, you may have waited in line to order for the Jewish holidays, or bought their baked goods at Nate ‘n Al’s, or Ralphs, but today, the pandemic has “hurt our business, said Raymond Luna, bakery president. “All of a sudden, the pandemic pulled the rug right out from under us.”
“Outside of Los Angeles, Diamond is not a known institution,” said Luna. “Canter’s had Barack Obama and Slash come in. But we have been around just as long. Not that many people know us, but if you do, you’re part of a club.”
Canter's also has a huge Jewish community mural on their parking lot wall, and Luna, who knows the Fairfax area's Jewish lore well, though he isn't Jewish, would like see a mural on Diamond bakery's parking lot as well.
“Back in March we actually shut down operations for about two months. We didn’t want to risk the health of our employees. A lot of our restaurant partners also shut down,” Luna explained.
The bakery, which opened on Fairfax in 1946, relies on retail customers for 20 percent of their business, 80 percent is wholesale, said Luna.
He is part of a group of employees who bought the business and just as importantly, its recipes, in 2019. Luna invested a lot of his own money in much needed renovations, including an espresso bar. “We didn’t do it to make a quick buck,” said Luna.
Since the early 1970s, the bakery was owned by the Rubenstein family, Nathan (who died in 2002) and Ruth, and then their son, Steve. The Lottman family were also co-owners, during that period. Regulars will recall Ruth Rubenstein, or Gutka, a Holocaust Survivor, working behind the counter. “She is almost 98,” said Luna.
When I was in college at UCLA in the 1970s, I recall going into Diamond to buy a corn rye, and when one of the bakery ladies handed me the bag, I saw a number tattoo on her forearm; the first time I had seen one. After that, my trips to Diamond went beyond just buying bread.
In the 1970s, the bakery was the news center of the neighborhood. “If a shopper orders a fancy cake, everybody has to know whom the party is for; if someone wants more than the usual number of rolls, well, who’s coming for Sunday brunch,” said a 1977 article in the Los Angeles Times.
Though “Fairfax is changing, it makes me sad to see so much of local history die out. My father worked here for over 30 years. I’ve been coming here since I was five,” said Luna, who has been working at Diamond for the better part of the last decade. “The bakery has 14 employees. Many have worked here for decades,” he added.
Recently, Luna has put the word out on social media that the bakery, it currently is open, needs the return of its regulars to “survive in these hard times.” Diamond has also started a Go Fund Me campaign with the goal of raising $28,000. To date, over $26,000 has been raised.
Recently, Brenda and I went to Diamond, bought a corn rye, bag of rugelach, and a couple of knishes. And no banana cake? It gives me a reason to return.
Torah on the Streets of LA
This week’s (8/22) Torah reading Shoftim, or “magistrates,” turns our minds and hearts in the direction of justice. Judges shall govern the people with due justice. They cannot judge unfairly, show partiality, or take bribes. In the classic verse which presents the ideals of Judaism we are told: “Justice, justice shall you pursue.” No wool-gathering here, we are to get on it. Why is "justice" said twice? Once for the judges, and once for everyone else? Once to remind us of the law, and again to remind us of compassion? Once for our neighbors to hear, and once for ourselves? I like once for the courtroom, and once for the street. On Robertson, a few blocks south of Pico, a mural on the south side of the Workman’s Circle Building, 1525 S. Robertson Blvd, by Eliseo Silva, reminds us that the pursuit of social justice, is also built into this famous verse. Painted into the mural is activist labor leader, social reformer, and feminist Rose Schneiderman, holding a sign which says, “Justice, justice you shall pursue,” which could read as the caption for her life. After the Triangle Waist Factory fire in 1911, Schneiderman loudly denounced all those responsible. From 1926 to 1950, she served as president of the Women's Trade Union League. During the Great Depression, President Roosevelt appointed her to the Labor Advisory Board of the National Recovery Administration. A tireless advocate for women’s rights in the workplace and for Woman’s Suffrage, she said in a speech that “the worker needs bread, but she must have roses too,” coining a slogan “bread and roses” that later made into a poem, and song. According to the Jewish Women’s Archive, Schneiderman strongly identified with being a Jew, and was active on behalf of Jewish causes throughout her career. Through speeches and letter-writing campaigns, in her life of perusing justice, she mobilized the resources of the labor movement and helped Jewish refugees escape from Nazi-occupied Europe.
Silk-screened bandana by Eric Sheslow.
Bandana reveals a struggle for bread
Edmon J. Rodman
A vibrant and thought-provoking bandana produced by a local artist tells the story of those who baked our bagels, challah and rye, and their struggle to put bread on the table.
Screen-printed in white on bright red fabric by artist Eric Sheslow, the bandana features an historic Boyle Heights Jewish Bakers Union logo and a message in Yiddish and English. Central to the design, two bakers hold a banner which says: “Health Security Under Union Supervision.”
Sheslow, who grew up in the San Fernando Valley in a Jewish household, was first inspired to create the design by an article written by Gustavo Ariano that appeared on L.A. Taco. The piece was “About the radical Jewish history of Boyle Heights,” the artist said in an interview with MegilLA. “I was really interested in the progressive politics.”
Through a meeting with Shmuel Gonzales, who has studied, written, and given tours about the Jewish history of Boyle Heights, Sheslow became even more intrigued by the area’s past. He sought more information, and Gonzales introduced him to Caroline Luce, associate director of the UCLA Alan D. Leve Center for Jewish Studies, who has written extensively on Boyle Heights’ Yiddish unions.
The union symbol for Local 453, upon which the bandana design is based, appeared in a Jubilee Journal celebrating 15 years (1924-1939) of the Bakery and Confectionery Workers International Union of America. “PROTECTION,” it read.
The union logo and label were often posted in bakeries who supported the union, said Gonzales, who leads the Boyle Heights Chavura where Sheslow is a member.
When the label appeared on a bread wrapper “You could tell something was produced by the Yiddish Bakers Union.”
Some customers were looking for the kosher symbol to elevate their eating experience to something holy, said Gonzales. Yiddish socialists and others hoped the Union label did something similar: “elevate the eating experience to a socially-aware experience,” he said.
Keeping in the spirit of the place where the members of Local 453 struggled to “better working conditions,” Sheslow, who speaks fluent Spanish, printed the bandana at Self-Help Graphics in East Los Angeles, an art-making place that sees itself as the “intersection of arts and social justice in the Boyle Heights community."
“It really made it real to see it printed on something,” said Sheslow. “As an artist, I definitely relate to union. I wish there was something like the Workmen’s Circle for Artists, built around progressive Jewish values.”
The Boyle Heights Yiddish Bakers Union Vintage-Style Bandana is available on Etsy.
Sabbath by Trudie Strobel
Artist Trudie Strobel, author Jody Savin, and curator Maya Savin Miller will have a Zoom discussion on Savin's book “Stitched & Sewn, The Life-Saving Art of Holocaust Survivor Trudie Strobel,” August 23 at 2 p.m. Reservations required.
Seen on the Way/ DWTN Alhambra
You know times have changed when David needs a mask more than a fig leaf.