Books – Page 6

Learn ABCs, Hanukkah-style

The Canadian Medical Association would probably not approve, but Rachel Teichman’s D is for Donut is a sweet way to teach kids their ABCs. (Pun intended … groan.)

For this hardcover (or ebook), Teichman again pairs up with Rebecca Wright, Teichman composing the rhyming text and Wright taking the colourful large-as-life photographs. D is for Donut (2023) and their previous collaboration, B is for Bagel (2022), are both published by the Collective Book Studio, grouped as the ABCD-Eats series, implying, perhaps, that there are more books on the way.

The Collective Book Studio describes itself as “an independent publisher dedicated to creating high-quality, beautifully crafted books that celebrate diverse voices and empower storytelling.” On their website, under Collections, one can find Jewish Voices, which, in this time of increased antisemitism, is even more nice to see. The ABCD-Eats books are included here, as are two cookbooks that the Independent has reviewed and enjoyed: 52 Shabbats: Friday Night Dinners Inspired by a Global Jewish Kitchen by Faith Kramer, and NOSH: Plant-Forward Recipes Celebrating Modern Jewish Cuisine by Micah Siva. Collective also published Tali and the Toucan, which the JI reviewed (positively!) in its Nov. 29 issue.

D is for Donut is more proof that the Collective Book Studio really does produce beautiful, high-quality books. Whether or not one agrees with teaching kids their letters by also introducing them to the wide variety of sugary toppings that can be put onto fried dough, D is for Donut makes for a fun and eye-popping read. It begins with a brief summary, poetically written, of how donuts are made, from “First, flour, yeast and milk are mixed together and left to rise” through the frying then the frosting and sprinkles. “Did you know donut holes come from where the donut’s shape is cut?” asks Teichman. (I did not.)

image - D is for Donut by Rachel Teichman, with photos by Rebecca Wright, includes the letter S, for sufganiyah — D is for Donut by Rachel Teichman, with photos by Rebecca Wright, includes the letter S, for sufganiyah.

The bulk of the book is the letters, and a global range of donut types. For example, “A is for apple fritter with fruit and cinnamon inside”; “L is for loukoumades dipped in honey and piled high”; “S is for sufganiyah filled with jam when they’re made” (happy Hanukkah!); and “Z is for zeppole, they’re a real work of art!”

“Donuts are delish, frosted and fried! So tell me … which ones have you tried?” asks Teichman.

D is for Donut includes two recipes: one for Raised Donuts, which takes more time and requires some tools people may not own (to be exact, a two-quart pot, cooking thermometer and heat-resistant slotted spoon), and one for Quick Baked Donuts.

Inspiring with chutzpah

Most of us could benefit from a little more chutzpah, as defined by Julie Esther Silverstein and Tami Schlossberg Pruwer, authors of Chutzpah Girls: 100 Tales of Daring Jewish Women (The Toby Press, 2024).

According to Silverstein and Pruwer, chutzpah is: “ A Jewish superpower: the daring to speak when silenced, to take action when others won’t, to try when they say it’s impossible, to persevere in times of doubt, to be yourself when it’s easier to conform, to stand tall when made to feel small, to believe when it all feels hopeless, to shine your light in the face of darkness.”

With Chutzpah Girls, Silverstein and Pruwer “hope to power up a generation of knowledgeable and confident Jewish kids by zooming in on Jewish women with extraordinary stories across the diverse Jewish experience.”

Chances are that many of the adults reading these stories will also be inspired, learning about several, if not a dozen or more, Jewish women they’d never heard of before: brave and action-oriented women from all over the world, from ancient Israel (1500-587 BCE) to the 21st century.

image - Prophetess Abigail, from Ancient Israel, whose portrait was created by Rinat Hadar — Prophetess Abigail, from Ancient Israel, whose portrait was created by Rinat Hadar.

The 100 are listed alphabetically by first name, rather than chronologically, which gives a timelessness to the feats of each woman. Whether one is a prophetess in ancient Israel, a philanthropist in the early modern era, a trade unionist in the emancipation era, a human rights activist in the 20th century or an intelligence and cybersecurity official in 2024 is mostly irrelevant to the courage one can show.

There is a timeline at the beginning of the book that outlines the eight time periods into which each of the 100 Chutzpah “girls” is placed. Near the end of the book is a map, showing their global and historic presence: Argentina, Bahrain, Ethiopia, Germany, Kurdistan, Mesopotamia, Persia, Russia, Ukraine, the United States, Yemen, and others.

There are three Canadians who made it into Chutzpah Girls: Judy Feld Carr, Lori Palatnik and Rosalie Silberman Abella. And they illustrate how people who are just like us can do impressive things and step up when need be.

Carr was a musicologist, she had a young family. Then, she read an article about Syrian Jews who, after Israel won the Six Day War against its Arab neighbours, were suffering. “Although she was far away, she wanted to help,” write Silverstein and Pruwer. “She reached a rabbi in Syria’s capital city of Damascus by telegram and began sending boxes of needed supplies, including religious books.”

Even after the sudden death of her husband left Carr a single mother, she continued to help, recruiting volunteers from her synagogue. “Using religious terms as coded messages, they started a secret communication system with the Syrian Jewish community. Judy’s home turned into the hub of an underground escape network to help the Syrian Jews flee to safety…. She negotiated ransoms, planned elaborate escapes, and even smuggled people across heavily guarded borders.”

Carr helped save more than 3,000 Jews.

Palatnik is founding director of Momentum, a global organization that connects women to Jewish values and to Israel, and encourages them to take action to promote unity that embraces difference.

“One day, Lori was asked if she’d donate her kidney to a stranger,” write Silverstein and Pruwer. “Hesitant at first, she drew on her sense of achrayut, the responsibility we have for one another. ‘For someone I don’t know?’ she wondered hesitantly. ‘But someone knows her. This is someone’s wife, mother, daughter, friend. Why would I pass up this mitzvah just because I don’t know her?’” (Years earlier, Palatnik had been willing to donate a kidney to a friend, but hadn’t been a match.)

Abella (née Silberman) was the daughter of Holocaust survivors. Born in a displaced persons camp in Germany, she was 4 years old when the family “immigrated to Canada with little more than hope for a better future.” She became “the first Jewish female judge in Canada and the youngest in the country’s history,” never trying to hide that she was Jewish to succeed, write Silverstein and Pruwer.

“In her career, Rosalie worked tirelessly to eliminate the disadvantages faced by people with disabilities, women, people of colour, and the native aboriginal community. After 25 years as a champion of human rights and equality, Justice Rosie became the first Jewish woman to sit on the Supreme Court of Canada.”

Written in a concise, clear manner, there is a lot to learn about some amazing people in Chutzpah Girls. Every entry comprises the name of the woman, her era, when she was born and in what country, her job or title, a writeup about one of her chutzpah aspects, and a quote from the woman that reflects what she did or general words of wisdom.

image - Jewish defenders Zivia Lubetkin, who helped command the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, and her granddaughter, Roni Zuckerman, an Israeli fighter pilot, as envisioned by Shiri Algor — Jewish defenders Zivia Lubetkin, who helped command the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, and her granddaughter, Roni Zuckerman, an Israeli fighter pilot, as envisioned by Shiri Algor.

Alongside the text for each woman is a beautiful, colourful, expressive portrait created by one of the dozen-plus illustrators and graphic artists that Silverstein and Pruwer enlisted for this book. The styles are so varied, but all are bold and capture the essence of the woman portrayed.

The last story and portrait in the book are left blank for the young (or old) reader to add their tale of chutzpah and a drawing of themselves.

But the book isn’t the end of it. Readers are encouraged to let Silverstein and Pruwer know who you’d like people to know more about – “a favourite figure from the Torah, a changemaker in your local community, or a leading lady in your own family. It’s even possible our next Chutzpah Girl is you!”

To send your suggestion(s), email [email protected]. To learn more about the writers and the artists, visit chutzpahgirls.com.

Knowing how precious life is

Lillian Boraks-Nemetz speaks at the Nov. 24 launch of her latest book, Hidden Vision: Poems of Transformation, which she wrote under the name Jagna Boraks. (photo by Rhonda Dent)

Lillian Boraks-Nemetz launched her latest book, Hidden Vision: Poems of Transformation, written under the name Jagna Boraks, at the Sidney and Gertrude Zack Gallery Nov. 24. Co-presented by the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre and the JCC Jewish Book Festival, the event featured Boraks-Nemetz sharing some of her poems – on themes of identity, resilience and remembrance – with musical accompaniment by Wendy Bross Stuart.

Divided into six sections, the poems in Hidden Vision travel from the Holocaust to after the pandemic, from a nadir of human experience to a zenith of hope and gratitude.

In her introduction, composed shortly after the Oct. 7 Hamas attacks, Boraks writes, “Destruction is the opposite of creation. To survive in this world, in any crisis or situation, we need to strengthen ourselves and each other – spiritually. We begin by respecting ourselves and others.

“Understanding that each human life matters, and that each culture and creed are all a part of the world’s flowing river. There is greater strength in this belief than hatred and intolerance.”

The book begins in the spring of 2020, when the world was in the throes of COVID-19 and all that it brought – isolation, fright, shifts in personal and professional behaviour, and, of course, widespread sickness. In the poem “My Street,” written on March 29, 2020, Boraks confronts these issues:

“I will not wait like the brides / I will unlock my door and step outside / where the air feels fresh and crisp / breathing deeply I will begin my walk / towards life.”

Further on, she looks towards her literary influences, one of whom is Adam Mickiewicz, regarded by many as the national poet of Poland, but who also had an impact on the literature of neighbouring countries. In “The Autumn Muse,” inspired by Mickiewicz, Boraks asks: “has anyone ever written an ode / to old age – when the bird of youth / becomes time’s vulture / lurking in mid-air / its malevolent claws seeking to destroy?”

Within the later sets of poems, there is a poignant tribute to Alex Buckman, who, like Boraks-Nemetz, had been an ardent campaigner for Holocaust education in British Columbia. Buckman passed away in Warsaw in 2023 while on a March of the Living trip, where he served as a mentor to young students. In a tribute titled “In Memoriam for a Friend,” Boraks writes: “you chanted your life’s song / like the thorn bird / which sings till his heart might break / you chanted your fear of the dark / as you sang to the children / to appease their fear / as you sang to the students / to teach them lessons / of those barbaric times / when human life was cheap.…”

Despite countless social ills, personal struggles and humankind’s propensity for cruelty, Boraks ends the compilation on an upbeat note. For example, her poem “Hope” reads: “but father time in tune with God / will move the frozen earth into the sun / there – flooded by the light / a new earth will bear fruit / a new man woman and child / will behold the magic of a spring day.”

photo - The launch of Hidden Vision at the Zack Gallery drew a standing-room-only crowd — The launch of Hidden Vision at the Zack Gallery drew a standing-room-only crowd. *(photo by Rhonda Dent)*

Born in Warsaw, Boraks-Nemetz is a child survivor of the Holocaust. She lived in and escaped the Warsaw Ghetto, then hid in Polish villages under a false identity. Her family came to Canada in 1949.

Boraks-Nemetz graduated from St. Margaret’s School in Victoria, going on to study at the University of British Columbia, where she earned a bachelor of arts, then a master’s in comparative literature. Upon earning a certificate in ESL from George Brown College, she taught English, before eventually teaching creative writing at UBC’s Writing Centre, from 1980 until 2015.

Boraks-Nemetz’s previous volumes of poetry are Out of the Dark, Garden of Steel and Ghost Children. She has also penned three award-winning young adult novels: The Old Brown Suitcase, Sunflower Diary and The Lenski File. The Old Brown Suitcase was placed on the recommended reading list for BC schools.

In 2017, Boraks-Nemetz published Mouth of Truth, a novel exploring a family’s past and the trauma of the Holocaust. She has also translated the works of Polish poets Andrzej Busza (Astrologer in the Underground) and Waclaw Iwaniuk (Dark Times).

To order Hidden Vision, contact the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre at [email protected] and 604-264-0499.

Sam Margolis has written for the Globe and Mail, the National Post, UPI and MSNBC.

A voice that’s missed

Four years have passed since the loss of Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks (1948-2020), and more than one year since the outbreak of the Iron Swords conflict. In these turbulent times, we can only imagine the wisdom that Sacks – who was a global religious leader, philosopher, award-winning author and respected moral voice – might have shared, the guidance he would have offered. His voice is profoundly missed, especially now, when his words could have offered clarity and hope. This longing to “hear” his perspective propelled me on a journey.

To Be a Jew is a booklet that was born from a deep desire to find meaning in the current historic moment. Distributed freely across the globe, with more than a quarter of a million copies printed in Hebrew and English – and soon to be available in additional languages – it shares the timeless lessons of Rabbi Sacks with all who seek them. Below is a small selection of his enduring wisdom. For the full booklet, available as a free download, visit sivanrahavmeir.com/to-be-a-Jew.

Growth from crisis

Every tragedy in Jewish history was followed by a new wave of creativity. The destruction of the First Temple led to the renewal of the Torah in the life of the nation, exemplified by the work of Ezra and Nehemiah. The destruction of the Second Temple led to the great works of the oral tradition, Midrash, Mishnah and the two Talmuds. The massacres of Jewish communities in northern Europe during the First Crusade led to the emergence of Hassidei Ashkenaz, the German-Jewish pietists.

The medieval encounter with Christianity led to a renewal of Bible commentary. The meeting with Islam inspired a renaissance of Jewish philosophy. The Spanish Expulsion was followed by the mystical revival in Safed in the 16th century. The greatest catastrophe of all led to the greatest rebirth: a mere three years after standing eyeball to eyeball with the angel of death at Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen and Treblinka, the Jewish people responded by their greatest collective affirmation of life in 2,000 years, with the proclamation of the state of Israel.… Jews [do not] give way to defeat or despair. They are the people of hope.

The Chinese ideogram for “crisis” also means “opportunity.” Perhaps that is why Chinese civilization has survived for so long. Hebrew, however, is more hopeful still. The word for crisis, mashber, also means a “childbirth chair.” The Jewish reflex is to see difficult times as birth pangs. Something new is being born.

(Sacks, Future Tense, pp. 54-55)

Response to terrorism

The first prime minister of Israel, David Ben-Gurion, said, “In Israel, to be a realist you have to believe in miracles.” For Jews, faith is as necessary as life itself. Without it, the Jewish people would simply not have survived.

In 2001, after the Oslo peace process had broken down and the suicide bombings had begun, I told the then-Israeli ambassador: “In the past, Israel’s enemies have tried to put it in a military crisis and failed. Then they tried to put it in a political crisis and failed. Now they are about to put it in a spiritual crisis, and they may succeed.”

That, ultimately, is what 21st-century terror is about, and Israel has been its most consistent target. The suicide bombings brought war from the battlefront to the buses of Haifa, the shops of Tel Aviv and the restaurants of Jerusalem. There were times when Jewish parents sent their children on the school bus not knowing whether they would see them alive again. The missiles of Hezbollah and Hamas placed two-thirds of Israel – the north and south – within their range. As I write, there are 7-year-old children in Sderot who have only known safety in a bomb shelter. The delegitimization of Israel among some media, academic and NGO circles has left its people feeling abandoned and alone. The aim is to intimidate and create despair, and it needs immense resources of faith and courage not to be affected. That is the spiritual crisis.

(Sacks, Future Tense, pp. 18-19)

Where is man?

When I first stood at Auschwitz-Birkenau, the question that haunted me was not, “Where was God?” God was in the command, “You shall not murder.” God was in the words, “You shall not oppress the stranger.” God was saying to humanity, “Your brother’s blood is crying to Me from the ground.” God did not stop the first humans eating forbidden fruit. He did not stop Cain committing murder. He did not stop the Egyptians enslaving the Israelites. God does not save us from ourselves. That, according to the Talmud, is why creating man was such a risk that the angels advised against it. The question that haunts me after the Holocaust, as it does today in this new age of chaos, is “Where is man?”

(Sacks, Judaism’s Life-Changing Ideas, p. 7)

Everything has purpose

Life is meaningful. We are not mere accidents of matter, generated by a universe that came into being for no reason and will one day, for no reason, cease to be. We are here because a loving God brought the universe, and life, and us, into existence – a God who knows our fears, hears our prayers, believes in us more than we believe in ourselves, who forgives us when we fail, lifts us when we fall and gives us the strength to overcome despair. The historian Paul Johnson once wrote: “No people has ever insisted more firmly than the Jews that history has a purpose and humanity a destiny.”

(Sacks, Ceremony & Celebration, p. 22)

Everyone has a mission

God enters our lives as a call from the future. It is as if we hear him beckoning to us from the far horizon of time, urging us to take a journey and undertake a task that, in ways we cannot fully understand, we were created for. That is the meaning of the word vocation, literally “a calling,” a mission, a task to which we are summoned.

We are not here by accident. We are here because God wanted us to be, and because there is a task we were meant to fulfil. Discovering what that is, is not easy, and often takes many years and false starts.

(Sacks, Studies in Spirituality, p. 24)

Sivan Rahav-Meir is a primetime news anchor who lives in Jerusalem. She has a weekly podcast on Tablet, called Sivan Says, and has published several books in English. Her “Daily Thought” on social media has hundreds of thousands of followers and is translated into 17 languages.

Jewish Mexican food excites

Paletas can be made in many flavours. Sabor Judío includes a recipe that uses Manischewitz wine. (photo by Ilan Rabchinskey)

The minute I saw the cover, I wanted to try some of the recipes in Sabor Judío: The Jewish Mexican Cookbook by Ilan Stavans and Margaret E. Boyle. Not only did I learn how to make some very tasty food, but I learned a bit about the Jewish community in Mexico and its history.

Published by the University of North Carolina Press, with hunger-inducing colour photographs by Ilan Rabchinskey, and written by two Jewish Mexican scholars (now living in the United States), Sabor Judío was a cultural experience for me, never having been to Mexico before and only ever having made a basic burrito at home. Of course, I’ve eaten at many Mexican restaurants over the years, but Sabor Judío features recipes you won’t necessarily find in a restaurant here in Vancouver, or even in Canada, though local Jewish community members with Mexican roots might make some of these dishes at home.

There were two very important inspirations for Sabor Judío.

One was Stavans’ grandmother, Bobe Miriam, whose recipe book, written in a mix of Yiddish and Spanish, was started in the 1920s, after she immigrated to Mexico from Poland. It evolved over decades, as she figured out what worked and what didn’t, and as ingredients changed. The notebook “wasn’t just about cooking; it was also a time capsule that chronicled, through dishes, the Jewish family’s process of assimilation into Mexico and the way La Comunidad, as the Jewish Mexican community is known, showcases its personality to the world.”

The other was Boyle’s great-grandmother, Baba Malka, also a Polish immigrant to Mexico: “While Baba Malka was still actively cooking, her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren took turns observing and documenting her work in the kitchen in Mexico City, filling the notebook’s pages with notes and adaptations in Spanish, Hebrew and English as the family generations expanded across Mexico and into the United States.”

The recipes in Sabor Judío are “dishes collected from grandmothers and other beloved home cooks, professional chefs and bakers, and a variety of historical sources,” writes cookbook author Leah Koenig in the preface. Even she came across ingredients she had never used before. “I learned the hard way that nopales (cactus paddles) should always be handled wearing gloves, lest the prickly spines leave your hands stinging for the rest of the day.”

The recipe for Cactus Tomato Salad does include a note about the proper handling of cactus leaves. But, not sure of where I could buy cactus here, I inadvertently saved myself the trouble of removing the spines, boiling the cactus and cutting it into 1/4-inch pieces by buying a jar of cactus that was already prepared in that way. This substantially eased the process of making this salad, which was very good, though I’m sure fresh cactus would have made it even better.

I chose what to make from Sabor Judío by looking at what the cookbook authors recommended as a festive Hanukkah meal, which includes the Cactus Tomato Salad. I had already singled out the Falafel Taquitos because I liked the idea of mixing Mexican and Middle Eastern flavours. In the end, there was a bit of a disconnect for me between the taste of the falafel centre and that of the corn tortilla shell. In eating leftovers the next day, I greatly enhanced the enjoyment of this dish by adding some fresh-cut tomatoes and cucumber.

I also had already eyed Agua de Horchata because of the first sentence in its description, which says that the rice-milk drink – which is believed to have 11th-century North African origins – “accompanies a good Mexican Jewish meal.” I was very pleased with how it turned out. I will definitely make it again.

The Latkes con Mole were as labour-intensive (grating potatoes and onion) and delicious as other latkes I’ve had, and I would happily swap out my usual apple sauce every so often for mole and crumbled queso fresco, even though it takes a lot of time to make mole.

I tried a second fried item, it being for Hanukkah and all, and the Sor Juana’s Ricotta Buñuelos were so good, if that’s a thing. The anise really made them pop, and I ate way too many.

Lastly, knowing how much I like paletas, I couldn’t resist making the frozen treats using Manischewitz. The wine most definitely tastes better frozen, after being steeped in cinnamon, cloves and orange.

There are other Hanukkah – Janucá – meals, as well as suggested menus for other Jewish holidays. In total, there are about 100 recipes in Sabor Judío, including desserts. One thing you’ll learn from this cookbook is that the Canadian and Mexican concepts of breakfast, lunch and dinner differ somewhat. You’ll learn some Spanish, some history and more. You’ll be introduced to some new-to-you ingredients and ways to combine those ingredients.

As Stavans and Boyle wish readers at the end of their book’s introduction, perfectly capturing the fusions taking place throughout it: “¡Buen provecho! Mit a gutn apetit! Kome kon gana!” Enjoy your meal(s).

FALAFEL TAQUITOS
(serves 6; prep takes 30 minutes plus overnight soaking and a 30-minute chilling time; 20 minutes to bake)

for the taquitos:
1/2 lb dried chickpeas, soaked overnight in water, then rinsed and drained
1/2 medium yellow onion, roughly chopped
2 tbsp fresh parsley, roughly chopped
2 tbsp cilantro, roughly chopped
2 medium garlic cloves, roughly chopped
1 tsp kosher salt, plus more as needed
1 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp ground coriander
1/8 tsp cayenne
vegetable oil, for brushing
12 (6-inch) corn tortillas

for the tahini sauce:
1/2 cup well-stirred tahini
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1/4 cup cold water

1. Add the chickpeas to a food processor bowl along with the onion, parsley, cilantro, garlic, salt, cumin, coriander and cayenne. Pulse, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed until a textured paste forms. Taste and add more salt, if needed. Transfer to a bowl and refrigerate the mixture for 30 minutes.

2. Heat the oven to 400˚F and brush a 9-by-13-inch baking dish with about 1 tablespoon of oil. Lay one tortilla on a flat surface and place a scant 1/4 cup of the filling along one edge, nudging it into a line. Roll up the tortilla tightly and place it seam-side down in the prepared backing dish. Repeat the process with the remaining tortillas and filling.

3. Brush the tops of the tortillas with more oil and bake until crispy and golden, 15-20 minutes. Meanwhile, whisk together the tahini, lemon juice and water. Serve the taquitos hot, drizzled with tahini sauce.

AGUA DE HORCHATA
(serves 8-10; prep takes 10 minutes, plus overnight soaking and a 4-hour chilling time)

2 cups long-grain white rice, rinsed well and drained
1 cinnamon stick
6 cups room-temperature water, divided, plus more as needed
3/4 cup granulated sugar
2 cups whole milk
2 tsp vanilla extract
ice, for serving (optional)

1. Place the rice and cinnamon stick in a large glass bowl and add 4 cups of the water. Cover the bowl and let the mixture soak overnight at room temperature (at least 8 hours).

2. Pour the soaked rice mixture into a high-powered blender along with the sugar and blend until smooth. (You can tear the cinnamon stick into smaller pieces to facilitate its blending.) Pour the mixture through a fine mesh sieve into a large wide-mouth pitcher, stirring and pressing the mixture with a spoon, if needed, to help the liquid pass through the sieve. (Discard any remaining solids.)

3. Whisk in the milk, the remaining 2 cups of water, and vanilla. Cover the pitcher and chill the horchata in the refrigerator until cold, at least 4 hours. (The mixture will continue to thicken as it chills.)

4. Just before serving, stir the horchata well and pour into glasses (over ice, if desired). If the horchata gets too thick, you can thin it with a little more water.

SOR JUANA’S RICOTTA BUÑUELOS
(makes 10-15 fritters; prep takes 40 minutes, plus 1-hour resting time; 30 minutes to cook)

1 cup ricotta cheese
6 egg yolks
1/4 cup granulated sugar, plus more for serving
2 1/2 tsp ground anise
3 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for rolling
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
vegetable oil, for frying
jam, for serving

1. Combine the ricotta, egg yolks, sugar and ground anise in the bowl of a stand mixer and beat on low until combined. Whisk together the flour and baking powder in a medium-sized bowl.

2. Add the flour mixture to the ricotta mixture in stages, beating on low and scraping down the sides of the bowl as necessary, until a thick and sticky dough forms. Cover the mixing bowl and let rest at room temperature for 1 hour.

3. On a large, floured work surface using a floured rolling pin, roll out the dough to a 1/8-inch thickness. Use a sharp knife and a plate or bowl with a 4-to-5-inch diameter to cut out circles. Gather the scraps and repeat the rolling and cutting process, if desired.

4. Heat 1/4 inch of oil in a medium frying pan set over medium heat until it reaches 350˚F on a digital thermometer, and line a large baking sheet with paper towels. Working with one circle of dough at a time, slip it into the hot oil and fry, turning once, until puffed and golden, 30 to 60 seconds per side.

5. Transfer the fritters to the paper towels to drain and cool slightly. Serve warm, sprinkled with more sugar or dolloped with jam.

PALETAS MANISCHEWITZ
(makes 6; prep takes 40 minutes; freeze 5 hours)

1 (750-ml) bottle Manischewitz sweet red wine
3 wide strips orange peel
4 whole cloves
1 cinnamon stick
2 cups water
thinly sliced limes and tangerines (optional)

1. Add the wine, orange peel, cloves and cinnamon stick to a medium saucepan set over medium-high heat. Bring the mixture to a boil, then lower the heat to medium and cook, stirring occasionally, until the liquid reduces to 1 cup, 30-35 minutes. Remove from the heat and let cool, then strain out and discard the spices and orange peel.

2. Stir the water into the strained wine syrup, then divide the mixture evenly among 6 paleta or flat popsicle molds. If desired, add a slice of lime or tangerine into each mold. Freeze until solid, at least 5 hours.

Book a cautionary tale

Selina Robinson will release her memoir, Truth Be Told, in a special launch event on Dec. 18. Robinson, who served in senior cabinet portfolios in British Columbia’s government, was fired earlier this year after offhand remarks about the land on which Israel was founded.

In Truth Be Told, Robinson tells the behind-the-scenes story of what happened as she worked with the Jewish community to confront the antisemitism that erupted after the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas terror attacks on Israel. Dubbing herself the “Jew in the Crew,” Robinson was the voice of the BC Jewish community in government.

Then, when anti-Israel protesters and a group of Muslim clergy threatened the government unless Robinson was fired, Premier David Eby called a meeting of the entire New Democrat caucus – except for Robinson herself – and immediately afterwards she was told that she needed to resign.

The book is a cautionary story of the dangers to ethnocultural communities, multiculturalism and democracy itself when leaders stay silent – or worse, capitulate – in the face of coercion and place expediency ahead of principles.

Robinson will launch the book in conversation with Global BC legislative reporter Richard Zussman at 7:30 p.m. on Wednesday, Dec. 18, in Vancouver. The specific location will be shared the morning of the event for security reasons.

There is no charge to attend the event, but registration is required at selinarobinson.ca. Copies of the book can be reserved on the website and will also be on sale at the event, with Robinson on hand to sign copies.

– Courtesy Pat Johnson

Two great books for giving – Tali and the Toucan & Oy, Santa!

Honestly, I think adults would benefit from reading children’s books, even if they don’t have kids. Generally, the books impart good messages, like how to overcome challenges or be proud of who you are, and their illustrations are works of art. The two I reviewed for this issue of the Jewish Independent are prime examples.

Tali and the Toucan by writer Mira Z. Amiras and illustrators Chantelle and Burgen Thorne (Collective Book Studio) is set in San Francisco. The young protagonist, Tali, longs to tumble, swing and cartwheel like other kids, and she would love to take martial arts. But she is debilitated by fear – that the world will shatter, that she will break into a million pieces, that she will get hurt. Then, one night, she has a dream. At first, it’s kind of a scary dream, with a storm raging, chickens flapping about. One chicken makes it to the roof, pecks a hole in the window glass, and transforms into a toucan. The colourful-beaked bird teaches Tali how to tumble and soar in the sky. She awakes with new spirit and courage, no longer feeling like a chicken but like a toucan, ready to fly – and fall – with the other kids.

While not spelled out in the story, at the end of the book, there’s a note that explains that Tali’s fear of the world shattering “is taken from Jewish teachings that the world is indeed broken and that our job, called in Hebrew tikkun olam, is to put it back together again – starting with ourselves.” In addition to the “hamsa she wears – an amulet common to peoples of the Middle East worn to protect children – her dreams lead her to conquer her fears, begin her tikkun and follow the path of Aikido, the Japanese martial art of nonviolence that teaches harmony, mutual assistance and peaceful resolutions to conflict.”

Other than the fact that Tali wants to do martial arts, the text of Tali and the Toucan doesn’t touch upon ideas like multiculturalism, cooperation or what a well-functioning society looks like, but rather expresses these concepts through the artwork. There’s a lot to look at in the illustrations and they beautifully capture Tali’s emotional journey.

Oy, Santa!, or There’s a Latke to Learn about Hanukkah by writer Joyce Schriebman and illustrator Gil von Meissner (Intergalactic Afikoman) also expresses so much with its artwork. Whereas Tali’s hamsa makes an appearance on almost every page of her book, different kinds of light run through Oy, Santa! – white swirls full of stars, hanukkiyot with candles lit, strings of Christmas lights and exploding fireworks. While Tali and the Toucan only hints at multiculturalism and doesn’t explicitly talk about Judaism, Oy, Santa! puts both topics front and centre.

On Christmas Eve, young Oliver Overstreet writes an email to Santa: “I know you’re busy making toys, so I won’t write much. But I’m Jewish. And that means you don’t have to come down my chimney on Christmas Eve. I just wanna make sure you know.”

And so begins a delightful – and educational – email exchange between Oliver and Santa, who assures Oliver that he knows that both Oliver, and Oliver’s friend Ibrahim, do not celebrate Christmas. Oliver rails at Santa’s signoff, wishing Oliver a “Happy Chrismukkah!”

“Dear Santa,” he writes. “I know you’re still very busy. But please don’t write Chrismukkah. That’s not my holiday. I celebrate HANUKKAH. And Hanukkah and Christmas are different….” Oliver goes on to explain the story of Hanukkah and some of the fun ways the holiday is celebrated.

Santa and Oliver talk about many things in subsequent emails, from elves getting time off to celebrate whatever holidays are in their culture, to miracles and how reindeers fly, to whether it’s acceptable to put ketchup on latkes, and more. The conversation even gets a little heated, but – spoiler alert – Oliver and Santa work things out.

Oy, Santa! is a wonderful read, with lots of humour, fun illustrations, and great takeaways about identity, diversity, culture, civil discourse and friendship.

Virtuoso musician, impresario

The reasons why Wendy Atkinson, who owns Ronsdale Press, wanted to publish Have Bassoon Will Travel: Memoir of an Adventurous Life in Music by the late George Zukerman, are the reasons people should read it. Zukerman had a long and impressive solo career as a bassoonist, was a pioneer in organizing concerts and tours, and gave remote communities across Canada the rare chance to hear classical music performed live.

“She recognized that his anecdotes capture a vital period in Canada’s musical history and are vivid reminders of the lengths musicians will go to tour our vast country,” reads the afterword. “George’s memoirs go beyond simply capturing a life. He expanded the cultural reach of classical music in Canada; no small feat and Canada is better for it.”

How Zukerman’s memoir came to be is an example of the communities he created in his life. When he died Feb. 1, 2023, in White Rock, the manuscript had been written, but it took several volunteers – each with their own connections – to bring it to publication quality and get it printed. After reading Have Bassoon Will Travel, you will know why they did it. Not only was Zukerman a world-class musician and impresario, but he was a world-class human being: humble, funny, innovative, hardworking, fairness-driven, adventuresome, the list goes on.

Zukerman was born in London, England, on Feb. 22, 1927. Well into the book he talks about how he never liked his name, George – his parents, both American citizens living abroad, named him after the United States’ first president, George Washington. His middle name, Benedict, was in honour of 17th-century Jewish philosopher Baruch (Benedict) Spinoza, who was expelled by his community for his ideas. Zukerman also discusses his surname, the spelling of which differs across family thanks to the North American melting pot. There is something to be said about living up to one’s name, and Zukerman certainly was a leader in his fields of music, both as performer and impresario; he certainly forged his own path, uplifting the place of the bassoon in the orchestral world, creating opportunities for fellow musicians to perform and bringing classical music to the remotest of areas; and he lived in several places and traveled, mostly for work, around the world.

It is incredible how much of life is directed by (seeming) happenstance. Zukerman’s first encounter with the bassoon was at 11-and-a-half years of age. It was an accidental meeting, as his older brother showed him around the London prep school Zukerman was about to attend.

“We wandered past the windows of a basement chapel and glanced down to where an orchestra was rehearsing,” writes Zukerman. “A row of tall pipes seemed to reach for the ceiling. I could see and hear very little through the moss-covered stone walls and grimy opaque windows of the old school, and I wondered what on earth these strange-looking instruments were. My brother, already in Form IV, authority on much, including most musical matters, declared them to be bassoons, and the piece in rehearsal the annual Messiah. We walked on to explore my new school, and any awareness that I would spend my life playing that instrument would have been uncannily prescient. The bassoon remained buried deep among early memories.”

His next encounter was as random. As the Second World War began, the family – less Zukerman’s journalist father, who joined later – left London for New York City. There, Zukerman attended the newly established High School of Music and Art.

“By way of an audition,” he shares, “I played [on the piano] my one and only party piece (a simple Beethoven sonatina). To my surprise as much as anyone else’s, I was admitted to the class of 1940! Dare I suspect that my acceptance had as much to do with short pants and an English accent as with any evident musical skill?”

On the first day of school, the kids were told to pick an instrument. “No British prep school could have readied me for such democratic and independent action, so I hesitated,” writes Zukerman. “On all sides of me, the pushy American kids ran furiously and grasped what they could most easily identify. The violins, clarinets, flutes, trumpets, cellos and drums disappeared into groping hands. When I finally reached the shelf, all that remained was an anonymous black box. I lifted it gently and carried it toward a teacher standing nearby. ‘Excuse me, Sir,’ I asked timidly, ‘but what is this?’

“He looked down, and a broad smile covered his face. ‘Why, you are our bassoonist!’ he declared.”

With faint remembrance of the tour with his brother, he thought, “Was I now going to play such an instrument?”

Indeed, he was, and to eventual great acclaim, both as part of orchestras and as a soloist. But, as you can imagine, bassoonist was not exactly a living-wage career, at least not in Zukerman’s time, and his parallel career arose from a need for more work. Having learned during his time with the St. Louis Sinfonietta in the 1940s about community concerts – where money was raised in advance through subscriptions rather than individual ticket sales, and no contracts were signed until the money to pay for everything had been raised – Zukerman, who was by then living in Vancouver, brought the idea to Canada. His offer to an American company to be their representative here declined, Zukerman decided to do it on his own.

“Canada was coming of age, and Canadian communities were ready to make their own concert plans and to welcome Canadian groups and soloists, even if at the time they were equally unknown,” he writes. “Within a decade, Maclean’s magazine would write that I had successfully outsmarted the Americans at their own game.”

It is fascinating to read of Zukerman’s efforts to expand the reach of classical music in Canada and other countries – he visited the Soviet Union eight times between 1971 and 1992, as performer and concert organizer, and brought Soviet musicians to Canada to tour. Decades earlier, he spent a year-plus in Israel, part of the nascent Israel Philharmonic. He was also part of the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra in its early days, and of the Vancouver Jewish community – Abe Arnold, publisher of the Jewish Independent’s predecessor, the Jewish Western Bulletin, had a small but notable impact on Zukerman’s life.

Have Bassoon Will Travel is a truly engaging read. The way in which Zukerman writes is like how he would have spoken, though likely more concise and organized. The effect is that we the reader are having a chat with him, reminiscing. We get a feel for what life was like back in the day for a musician and entrepreneur. We feel nostalgia for a time many of us never experienced personally.

A harrowing survival story

Almost every Holocaust survivor’s narrative involves some combination of extraordinary coincidence, righteous humanity amid dystopia or a series of chance events that astonishingly result in survival against all odds. The number of such flukes in the life of Vancouver woman Malka Pischanitskaya may convince readers of the author’s conclusion that survival was her destiny.

Pischanitskaya’s memoir, A Mother to My Mother, is one of the latest releases in the Azrieli Foundation’s Holocaust Survivor Memoirs Program. Begun in 2005, the program has now published scores of firsthand testimonies of Canadian Holocaust survivors, many in both official languages, and all of them available free of charge to educational institutions.

Pischanitskaya’s Ukrainian Jewish family knew its share of misery before the emergence of Nazism and war. Her father abandoned her mother before Malka was born, in 1931, and she was raised in grinding poverty by her grandmother and great-aunt while her mother worked in a nearby village and saw Malka some weekends.

The Stalinist-induced Ukrainian famine of the 1930s killed between three and five million people. The Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union, and its perpetration of the “Holocaust by bullets,” killed 1.5 million Jews, mostly shot at close range and buried in mass graves.

Young Malka’s earliest life, despite hardships, was not without happy memories of Jewish holidays and the changing of the seasons. These are tempered with stark recollections. Without electricity or anything but firewood for heat, she recalls Ukrainian winters so cold the ink at school would freeze solid.

image - A page from Malka Pischanitskaya’s memoir A Mother to My Mother, which includes paintings that she created for a 2019 exhibition — A page from Malka Pischanitskaya’s memoir A Mother to My Mother, which includes paintings that she created for a 2019 exhibition.

After the Nazi invasion of Poland and the beginning of the war, in 1939, five refugee families from Poland arrived in Romaniv (alternatively: Romanov).

“I have often wondered how much my community found out from these refugee families about what was happening under the Nazis in Poland and whether this made them more aware of the disaster that was to come,” writes Pischanitskaya.

What was to come was beyond imagining – which may help explain why Malka and her family remained in Romaniv when some other Jews fled further east into the Soviet Union.

“We were not ready – there had been no mental preparation for this moment – so we did not accept the offers to escape,” she writes.

Soon, the Nazis arrived and young Malka witnessed Jews being killed in the streets. The randomness of those murders was replaced with methodical mass executions. The story, starkly told, is predictably shocking, and differs significantly from what happened further west. Rather than ghettos and concentration camps, the Holocaust in the east was typified by summary roundups and mass killings of entire communities, usually in adjacent forests.

On Aug. 25, 1941, Ukrainian police gave Romaniv’s Jews 30 minutes to congregate in the centre of town.

“Those who were unable to walk had been taken out of their homes on stretchers,” she writes, disabusing Jews of the desperate idea they were being assembled to perform forced labour.

“We walked toward the beautiful park located a couple kilometres from the centre of town,” writes Pischanitskaya. “The crowd of close to 2,000 walked with visible sadness, expressions of disbelief.

“Men were rounded up, separated from their families, and then marched deeper into the forest where, previously, pits both massive and deep, had been dug. Women, children and the elderly were forced into rooms in the military building. Crowded in, there was hardly space to stand. Windows were locked. No fresh air; no water; no washrooms. People screamed, fainted, losing their minds; children were scared and restless.

“One by one, several groups of Jewish people were taken to slaughter. While we were kept in the building, waiting our turns, the heavy ring of machine gun fire instilled extreme fear and terror in all. The slaughter of the Jews from the Romaniv community continued from early morning until dusk – the sun had faded from our lives forever.”

Then: the first of the miracles that spared the life of Malka and her mother.

“Eventually, mothers with children were let go from the building,” she writes. “Perhaps the murderers were tired from their orgy of death and torture, or perhaps there was no room in the pits for the rest of us, but those who had to remain were slaughtered. We left them, still alive, when we had the chance to run for our lives.”

Here, Pischanitskaya catalogues the names of the many family members killed that day. She goes into grim detail about what witnesses reported from the pits.

Thus began years of hiding – and a succession of near-misses, any one of which would likely have been fatal.

The relationship that gives the book its title, of young Malka mothering her mother, is a story of a parent so paralyzed by events that she becomes almost incapacitated. Malka’s astonishing and perilous actions to ensure their survival form the bulk of the book. She begs door to door in the villages where they hide, often receiving small portions of food. At one home, she sees her own portrait on the wall, apparently pillaged from Malka’s family home after they fled – an uncanny and grotesque coincidence.

When, after the war, they returned to Romaniv, “Almost nothing remained except for memories.”

“Adult survivors went to the mass graves to pray for and memorialize their loved ones, and to bear witness,” writes Pischanitskaya.

Of all the people who survived and showed up alive after the war was Malka’s “so-called father,” as she calls him, a man whose sadistic cruelty Malka and her mother would have been better off without.

In a twist, the mother who had been “a dependent child” transformed into a courageous woman who pursued Polish and Ukrainian police for war crimes.

Like so many survivors, Pischanitskaya demonstrated improbable resilience, marrying, becoming a teacher, becoming a mother, escaping the Soviet Union, migrating to Canada and raising a successful family that continues to contribute to Vancouver’s Jewish and broader community.

A Mother to My Mother is illustrated with harrowing, moving paintings that Pischanitskaya created for an exhibition titled Romanov: A Vanished Shtetl, which was presented at the conference of the World Federation of Jewish Child Survivors of the Holocaust and their Descendants, held in 2019 in Vancouver.

To order a copy of A Mother to My Mother in print or ebook format, or any other survivor memoir, visit memoirs.azrielifoundation.org.

The first of many Shabbats

Faith Kramer’s Roasted Salmon with Citrus-honey Sauce. (photo by Clara Rice)

Somehow, I missed the cookbook 52 Shabbats: Friday Night Dinners Inspired by a Global Jewish Kitchen by Faith Kramer when it was published by the Collective Book Studio in 2021. Well, I now have a copy and, in an ideal world, my next year of 52 Shabbat dinners would all be cooked à la Kramer. Instead, it’ll probably take me several years to make all the special meals in this informative, well-laid-out, easy-to-follow cookbook – but at least I’ve gotten a head start.

In this last month of the Jewish year 5784, I made two of Kramer’s main dishes, a salad dressing and a dessert. Each recipe is prefaced with a blurb containing more information about the dish. Many recipes have suggestions of what to serve together (starter, main, dessert, etc.) to elevate the meal for Shabbat, as well as suggested variations and what can be made in advance. Kramer also provides explanations of lesser-known ingredients.

52 Shabbats begins with some discussion of different Jewish traditions around Shabbat and various Jewish communities’ ways of cooking food and the ingredients they use. Kramer gives a brief overview of Jewish dietary laws and shares her preferences for the common ingredients she uses throughout. The book is divided into the four seasons, plus chapters on side dishes and accompaniments, desserts, and fundamentals (sauces, etc.). There are additional resources listed near the end, as well as measurement conversions.

I chose the recipes to make from the fall section, focusing on Rosh Hashanah. I made a carrot and lentil main because, as Kramer writes: “Carrots are symbolic in Judaism of asking for prosperity and for our blessings to multiply. Combined with the sweetness of silan [date syrup] … or honey, they make an edible wish for a Happy New Year at Rosh Hashanah.” I also made a fish main, because fish is another symbol of Rosh Hashanah, with the hope that we be the head and not the tail, ie. a leader rather than a follower.

Kramer recommended mini cheesecakes as the dessert for both of these mains, so I made those as well. I also made the Lemon, Za’atar and Garlic Dressing for a green salad, but much preferred the dressing as a marinade for blanched green beans. For space reasons, I’ve not included the recipe intros or the “make it in advance” suggestions, nor have I included the dressing recipe. The three recipes here will hopefully inspire you to get a copy of the cookbook, and perhaps start some new Shabbat traditions this year.

SWEET-AND-TART SILAN-ROASTED CARROTS WITH LENTILS
(serves 4 as a main, 8 as a side)

for the lentils:
1 cup green or brown lentils
3 cups vegetable broth
1/4 tsp ground black pepper
1/4 tsp ground cumin
1/4 tsp paprika
1/2 cup chopped fennel or celery
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 tsp minced garlic
1 tsp minced jalapeño, optional
1/4 tsp salt, plus more if desired

for the carrots:
2 tbsp olive oil, plus more for baking sheet
1 cup silan, honey or agave syrup
1/4 cup water
2 tbsp fresh lemon juice
1/4 tsp ground cumin
1/4 tsp ground cardamom
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper or paprika
1/8 tsp ground cloves
1 lb multicoloured carrots, peeled (cut large carrots into thirds)
1 tsp coarse sea salt
2 tbsp tahini
2 tbsp chopped fresh mint or flat-leaf parsley

In a large saucepan, stir together the lentils, vegetable broth, black pepper, cumin and paprika and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Stir in the fennel, onion, garlic and jalapeño (if using) and return to a simmer. Cover and cook, lowering the heat as needed to maintain a gentle simmer, until the lentils are tender and the liquid is absorbed, 15 to 20 minutes. Add the salt and stir well. Taste and adjust the seasoning, if desired. Remove from the heat, drain any excess liquid, and set aside while you make the carrots.

Preheat the oven to 450°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper or aluminum foil. Grease the parchment paper with olive oil.

In a wide, flat dish, whisk together the silan, water, olive oil, lemon juice, cumin, cardamom, cayenne and cloves. Add the carrots and toss until evenly coated.

Place the carrots in a single layer on the prepared baking sheet. Set aside any left-over silan mixture.

Lower the oven temperature to 400°F. Roast the carrots for 40 to 50 minutes, or until tender and browned, tossing in the pan juices every 10 to 15 minutes.

Reheat the lentils, if desired, or keep them at room temperature. Add any leftover silan mixture to the lentils and stir to combine. Transfer the lentils to a large serving dish and top with the roasted carrots. Sprinkle with the coarse salt, drizzle with the tahini and garnish with the fresh mint.

ROAST SALMON WITH CITRUS-HONEY SAUCE
(serves 4-6 as a main, 8-10 as a starter)

1/3 cup fresh orange juice
1/2 cup light-coloured honey
1/2 tsp dried mint
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper or paprika
1/4 tsp ground black pepper
1/2 to 1 tsp Sichuan peppercorns, lightly crushed, optional
vegetable oil for baking sheet
1 1/2 to 2 lbs salmon fillet
6 tbsp thinly sliced green onions

In a small bowl, mix together the orange juice, honey, mint, salt, cayenne, black pepper and crushed Sichuan peppercorns (if using) to make a marinade. Set aside half of the marinade to use later for the sauce.

photo - Faith Kramer’s Roasted Salmon with Citrus-honey Sauce — (photo by Clara Rice)

Grease a rimmed baking sheet with oil. Place the salmon, skin side down, in the pan and brush the top of the salmon with some of the marinade. Let sit for at least 30 minutes or up to 60 minutes, brushing often with the marinade.

Preheat the oven to 350°F.

While the fish is marinating, pour the reserved marinade into a small saucepan over medium heat and bring to a boil. Lower the heat to low and simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until the liquid is reduced by two-thirds, 15 to 20 minutes. Taste, and adjust the salt and other seasonings, if desired. Set the sauce aside.

Brush or spoon the remaining marinade over the salmon. Roast for 15 to 20 minutes, basting with the pan juices after 10 minutes, until the salmon is cooked to the desired doneness. For fully cooked fish, it should read 145°F when an instant-read thermometer is placed in the thickest part of the fillet. The flesh should be opaque all the way through but still be very moist.

Transfer the salmon to a platter and spoon the sauce over the fish. Sprinkle with green onions and serve warm, at room temperature, or chilled.

MANGO AND CARDAMOM MINI CHEESECAKES
(makes 24 individual cheesecakes)

24 ginger snaps, lemon snaps or wafers, or vanilla wafers
1 1/2 cup fresh or defrosted frozen mango chunks, divided
3 (8-ounce) packages regular or light cream cheese, at room temperature
3 large eggs, beaten
1 cup sugar
1/2 tsp ground cardamom
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp ground ginger
1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp fresh lemon juice

Preheat the oven to 375°F. Line two 12-cup cupcake pans with paper or foil liners. (If you don’t have enough tins, use foil cupcake liners on a baking sheet.)

Put a cookie in the bottom of each liner. Break cookies to fit and cover the bottom of the liner, if necessary.

In a blender, purée 3/4 cup of mango chunks until smooth. Set aside.

Cut the cream cheese into 1-inch chunks. In a large bowl, combine the eggs, sugar, cardamom, salt, ginger, vanilla extract and lemon juice and beat with an electric hand or stand mixer until light and lemony in colour, 1 to 2 minutes. Add the cream cheese chunks in 3 batches, incorporating each batch before adding the next. Beat on medium-high speed until totally smooth, 3 to 4 minutes.

Fill each cupcake liner two-thirds full. Place 1 teaspoon of the mango purée in the centre of each cake. Using a knife, swirl the purée through the batter to create a marbleized look.

Bake for 20 minutes, or until the centres of the cheesecakes are a bit loose and jiggly, puffed up and pale in colour. Turn off the oven, open the oven door and leave the cheesecakes there for 30 minutes. Transfer the cheesecakes to a wire rack and let cool. (The tops of the cakes will collapse.) Place the cheesecakes in the refrigerator until chilled.

To serve, remove the cheesecakes from the liners, if desired. Chop the remaining 3/4 cup of mango and spoon it onto the cheesecakes. Serve cold or cool.