June 13, 2014
Author: Phyllis Westling
Once upon a time, in the early 1900s, there was a boy who came to the U.S. from Bialystock, Poland. His name was Abraham Rosenfeld and he was my father. He married my mother, Esther Droutman and together they had 5 girls. My father made a career for himself as a baker and for 25 years, together with Esther they owned the Famous Bakery in Union City, New Jersey. My father has been gone 20 years, but his memory lives on when I see my grand-daughter Sadie who is 2 years old, baking her own perfect challah like her Zaide once did.
The dough was mixed by machine, but all of the bread was made by hand at great speed. My father’s fingers and hands were big and strong. His bread was so good that he had a delivery truck that my mother drove and she would deliver the bread before dawn to restaurants and grocery stores. I remember my father making enormous challot. That is why when my second
granddaughter Livie was born, it was so necessary for me to have the bakery make the largest challah for the kiddush. It was 6 feet long! If my father was alive, this would have been the norm!