Two Queen Esthers
By J. Kott-Wolle Oil on Canvas, 20x20, painted 2019 Original photograph taken - 1972 Purim was the holiday that made me love being Jewish. It had all the elements: costumes, hamentaschen cookies, candy, a good story, a seriously fun carnival and lots of noise. I remember my father always opted out of the megillah reading because he couldn’t take the clattering sound of the groggers (noise-makers) cancelling out Haman’s name. But this was the one time in the Jewish calendar year when I fully opted in. I even won the best Queen Esther costume in the ‘under 3 with a bottle category’. It was great.
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The Four Questions on Jeanne Mance Street
By J. Kott-Wolle Oil on Canvas, 18x24, painted 2019 Original photograph taken - 1968 My mother’s family lived in Montreal. Growing up, we didn’t take many family vacations, so getting in the car and driving from Toronto to Montreal seemed pretty glamorous to me. We were five sisters stuffed into the back seat of the car - no seat belts and definitely no WiFi. We just had Archie comic books and 8-tracks of Tchaikovsky to entertain us. The greeting we received by my mother’s extended family upon our arrival was like walking the red carpet on Oscar Night. My grandparents’ home was a duplex and we had to climb two flights of stairs to get to it. I remember them standing at the top of those stairs bursting to see us. Cousins, aunts and uncles were all waiting to greet and hug the Kott Sisters and my seriously attractive parents. As the grandchildren of Holocaust survivors there was something about our generation. The older relatives regarded us as nothing short of a walking miracle on earth and to see us participate in our Jewish rituals (in the safety of Canada) was a victory for them after everything they’d been through. Hebrew High School Graduation Day
By J. Kott-Wolle Oil on Canvas, 24x36, painted 2019 Original photograph taken - 1986 If it’s possible for a child to be both equally compliant and rebellious in the same moment, that would describe me and my relationship to after-school Hebrew school. I went to my synagogue's religious school for two and a half hours every Monday, Wednesday and Sunday from the time I was 6 until I turned 17. I hated every second of it but the obedient child in me never argued with my parents about enrolling year after year. The ‘rebellious’ part of me rejected literally every single ounce of information imparted there. I showed up, I tuned out the teachers and I socialized, I traded stickers and, not surprisingly, I doodled elaborate drawings in my ‘machberet’ (blue notebook). Somehow I still received a certificate of completion even though I learned almost NOTHING. A couple of summers after my graduation I went on a teen tour to Israel. When I got to Jerusalem and saw the Kotel (Western Wall) I had no idea what I was looking at. I was overcome with emotion – most of it disappointment in myself for not paying attention at Hebrew School and for not knowing who I was or where I came from. It was Shabbat In Jerusalem when I came face to face with my Jewish illiteracy and at 19 I made a big decision. I wanted to make up for lost time and try to learn as much as I could about Judaism in college and beyond. And even though having children seemed a million years away, I swore to myself that my future kids would never feel as ignorant and stupid as I felt that day. That explains our decision to enroll them at Solomon Schechter Jewish Day School. Sabra Tours
By J. Kott-Wolle Oil on Canvas, 28x30, painted 2017 Original photograph taken - 1978 I’ll never forget the first time my parents went to Israel. It was monumental because they had never gone on a real vacation before. I remember my mom shopping up a storm to have just the right outfits for the Middle Eastern climate (and vibe). Those were the days when parents didn’t think much of leaving their teenaged kids at home alone for a couple of weeks to hold down the fort in their absence. (Of course everything that could go wrong did go wrong! Caroline got the mumps and I had a horse riding accident at camp…). When they returned I saw that my dad (in particular) was profoundly moved by the whole experience. If I think about the arc of history I am amazed by the shift in mentality that took place for Jews in the space of 25-30 years. My parents were born approximately 15 years before the establishment of the modern State of Israel and my sisters and I were born approximately 15-20 years after it. The Jewish State was a fact that I took for granted for my entire life. But when my parents were children they experienced unthinkable insecurity and danger as Jews living in Europe. If Israel been there when the Nazis came to power they could have escaped there and never would have endured so much pain and loss. That must be difficult for their generation to reconcile. Visitors Day Camp Massad 1976
By J. Kott-Wolle Oil on Canvas, 24x36, painted 2019 Original photograph taken - 1976 My earliest memory of overnight camp was in the summer of 1976. I was seven years old and my parents had shipped off all four of my sisters to sleep-away camp. I remember sitting quietly in the back seat of my dad’s car beside my Zeidi and driving for hours into Ontario’s cottage country as we set out for Visitors Day. As soon as we pulled into the grounds of Camp Massad I was smitten. There was something about that place – the sparkling lake, the sounds of screen doors slamming, cool kids everywhere, Hebrew music over the loudspeaker, Israeli and Canadian flags draped on the walls of the ‘chadar ochel’ (the mess hall). I wanted to grow up fast so I would be old enough to go to camp. What makes Jewish camp special? On Friday nights, the mood shifts to something magical when campers dress up in white for weekly Shabbat dinners; Saturday services by the lake are usually accompanied by Shabbat-only treats such as donuts or chocolate cereals; lazy Sabbath afternoons are spent hanging out with great friends, discussing life’s biggest questions while making macramé bracelets in the bunks; Shabbat concludes at sundown with Havdalah (candle lighting) and raucous song sessions with the whole camp community arm-in-arm. As a child so much of being Jewish during the school year felt limiting (‘don’t eat this – it’s not kosher’; ‘you can’t go there because you have Hebrew School’). But camp is different. For many kids Jewish spirituality is sparked at camp. Jewish overnight camp is a uniquely American invention and studies have shown that attending Jewish camp is an important predictor of Jewish affiliation into the future. It remains an American Jewish success story and my kids love their Jewish summer camping experience just as much as I did. The Pines Resort in the Catskill Mountains
By J. Kott-Wolle Oil on Canvas, 24x24, painted 2019 Original photograph taken - 1961 If time travel was possible and I had to make a list of my top ten places to visit I’d have to say I’d choose any one of the Jewish resorts in the heyday of the Catskills. This is an experience that exists only in my imagination from movies like “Dirty Dancing” and more recently from the hit Prime series “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel”. After my friend Brad’s mom passed away he gave me the privilege of going through their family photos and I came across this gem. He told me that growing up this was how his older siblings and parents spent the better part of the summer. In my research I discovered that within the last five years there was a photographer who travelled to the Catskills to take pictures of the now abandoned and decaying resorts. It was heartbreaking to see the condition of the Pines. I have a feeling someone will revive the concept and when they do, I’ll be the first one to sign up for tango lessons! Our Turn to Host Rosh Hashanah
By J. Kott-Wolle Oil on Canvas, 16x20, painted 2019 Original photograph taken - 2010 I have this theory that you are not officially a grown up until it is your turn to start hosting the family for holiday observances. As the youngest in my family, I got away with never having to host a holiday meal until I was well into my adult life. But then the Toronto shul where my husband’s parents belonged had shut down and they weren’t sure where they would go to services for the High Holidays. Naturally, I invited them to travel to our shul and be our guests. I saw this as a significant moment in my adult life. The torch had been passed to me – it was time to finally grow up and make Rosh Hashanah dinner at my house. I was thrilled that Bubba Sara, at 95, was willing and able to travel to Chicago to be with us. I love this image – four generations together bringing in the Jewish new year of 5771. The best part was when we cooked the meal. Bubba was in charge of the gefilte fish and the apples and honey, my mother-in-law made the chicken soup and matzo balls. I was reasonably confident that my brisket would be tasty enough to serve to these two women who had hosted countless delicious holiday meals around their dining room tables. It was a priceless experience and we never had the opportunity to do it together like that again. Bubba became too frail to travel after that year. Gordon Beach
By J. Kott-Wolle Oil on Canvas, 16x20, painted 2017 Original photograph taken - 1946 When my husband and I moved to Chicago in 2004 we quickly discovered the pleasure of renting a sweet little cottage every summer in Union Pier MI. Suntanned and rested upon our return, local friends would tell us stories of how their parents and grandparents used to rent or own homes there. I started researching the history of the region. As early as the 1920’s Jews, wishing to escape the heat and cramped conditions of living in downtown Chicago would flock to the sandy beaches of Lake Michigan for fresh air and beautiful sunsets. Eventually the region was dubbed the ‘Catskills of the Midwest’. In the 1920’s, however, Jews were not welcome at certain beaches and communities in Southwestern Michigan. Fences and armed guards were employed to keep ‘Jews and Dogs’ out at neighboring Lakeside. When anti-Jewish sentiment on the beaches along Lake Michigan became extremely rabid, Dr. Louis Gordon, a Jewish physician from Chicago, purchased a plot of land in Union Pier and built the Gordon Beach Inn, which became a popular destination for Jewish summer cottagers. I can honestly say we love our time Union Pier but when I see my children frolicking on those beaches, the same ones that were closed to Jews a few generations ago, I am haunted by the intolerance of the past and wonder about how it must have felt to know that there were places in America where Jews were simply not welcome. This painting is of my friend’s grandparents sun-tanning and enjoying a cigarette on Gordon Beach in the 1940’s. Kot Textiles
By J. Kott-Wolle Oil on Canvas, 24x36, painted 2019 Original photograph taken - 1969 My grandfather was the hero of my dad’s family during the Holocaust. In 1949, after ensuring their survival, Zeidi brought his family to Canada at the age of 50 where he quickly grew to understand that his best years were probably behind him and real opportunity was reserved for the next generation. Nevertheless hard work was expected and Zeidi and his brother Usher got into the shmata (fabric) business. They opened Kot Textiles on Queen Street. It never took off. Jewish success stories are often peppered with tales of shmata peddlers who turned their small operations into some of the biggest names in fashion today but this was not in the cards for Zeidi and Usher. I grew up visiting that store on weekends with my parents and sisters. I remember Zeidi reading the “Yiddish Forverts” (The Forward) and always having a brown paper bag full of chocolate bars from the corner store ‘fir de kinderlach’. Zeidi did not speak English well but I do remember the sense of importance I felt when he’d ‘test’ the quality of the fabric of my clothes by rubbing a swatch between his fingers and then give a nod of approval. The store smelled like Pine-Sol, reams of material and cigarette smoke. I was certain that if he just had some good and colorful signage (which I’d hand draw) sales would go up. The Conservative Rabbi & His Wife Leona
By J. Kott-Wolle Oil on Canvas, 18x18, painted 2019 Original photograph taken - 1978 My parents were founding members of Beth Tikvah Synagogue in Toronto. At the heart of that congregation was the charismatic, brilliant, funny but deeply serious Rabbi Herbert Feder. For my parents, joining a Conservative synagogue was the happy medium in the ever-present conflict between “Tradition and Change”. At Beth Tikvah we could observe strict adherence to traditional laws of Kashrut (Jewish dietary laws), Shabbat and holiday rituals but the environment felt distinctly modern. To my young eyes all the women there reminded me of Gloria Steinem - accomplished, forward thinking, chic and self-confident. I felt a certain amount of pride that the Rabbi considered my parents among his close circle of friends and would travel with them to Shakespeare festivals in the summer or come to our home for New Year’s Eve celebrations. Conservative Judaism is a movement born in America. It suited my parents because it was not the ‘rigid’ Orthodoxy of generations past nor was it the unfamiliar Judaism of the Reform movement, which played organ music on the Sabbath. Beth Tikvah Synagogue was never the same after Rabbi Feder moved with his family to Jerusalem in the mid 1980s. While some members stayed on, they did their best to maintain the environment and legacy created by the Feders. Sadly, a number of the founding families, including my own, simply stopped going to Synagogue - except for High Holidays. |