AllPointsNorthManuscript

t,
$: Co"tents
Introduction
Zob'Fal11
Garabka Hooyadhey
Asba Mohamud
,
A Memory is a Blessing
Marsha Auster
The Olejers in Eufope;
Cassandra Jersen :
Charming Marielle
Zoii Caron
,,
Finding a Voice
Alman Mobaned
A Different I ife
Abmed Hassan
Between Past and Present
Paiuash Rohani
A Mother's Love
Shobow Saban
Yu Li Huang
A Salry Story
Bonnie Margolin Faiman
Memoii of an Unknown Young gfsmrt
Emi$ Rand Breiner ,
Acknowledgrnents l

$; f"troduction
The collection of stodes and photographs that you hold in
your hands is an attempt to stimulate a sense of curiosity
about our neighbors. Contrary to the myth of Maine's
cultural singularity, the state's people and their stories
are diverse, and well worth investigating. !7hile there are
countless stories like the ones found in this book to be
heard and told across the state, All Points North focuses on
the diverse immigrant population of Lewiston-Auburn.
Together, the Twin Cities of Maine comprise the second
most populous area in the state, most recently becoming
the locus of Somali and Bantu refugee resettlement.
To illustrate the ever-evolving cultural makeup of the
communiry we have collected stories from the Somali,
Polis h, Rus sian, Franco-Am ertcan, Vietname s e, hanian,
Djiboutian, and Kenyan immigrant communities.
{
.trt,
SThile the collection began with a focus on fuoily
heirlooms, you will notice that many contributors simpiy"'""
tell the story that needs to be told. As writer Cassandra
Jensen so aptly puts it, immigrant stories have a "charm
and anguish-which wil1no doubt influence each of their
descendants to come." Throughout the process of editing
this book, I have learned that if you lend someone your
whole attention, they will tell you what they must, and quite
often what you need to hear. For this, I owe deep gratitude
to the contributing writers-our neighbsls-1yfus made this
project possible through their honesq and generosity.
Zod Faby

{iar*bka }-l*ovailhev
I have robbed you of something I take for granted.
I beg God to restore your sleep.
I ask him to have his Angels shower you with praise
loud enough for the Prophets to know your beautiful name.
When God created women, he intricately placed the clavicle,
garabka, the shoulder bone to keep our heads held high
despite the many obstacles we overcome.
God gave Somali women daughters to be that figurative
shoulder bone.
But I have failed you.
I have become your obstacle.
I canhear the fear in between your "be careful hooyo"
S7e aren't packing my belongings,
I can see you grabbing lessons and stories of
arawelo and Egal shidad, and trying to stuff them into my
suitcase so I won't forget where I come from.
I can sense your ffustration, knowing that I will return to
you
speaking alangaage in between my mother tongue and the
foreign one.

We hugh at the others who come back to the mothedand
not beihg able to ask for a cup of tea,let alone
communicate with their grandmothers,
but you know I will return as an other.
In Somali, "daqanceelis" means "the return of tradition."
It happens when alchild becomes too $Uesterr,, t.o alien and
unknown to hris parents.
It happens when children forget the countless sacrifices
theit parents rnake.
Don't thirrk for a second I dont know that you sold the
jewelry
father gave you on the day of ylour wedding Or that the
28-year-old-ring
that was taken off my grandmother's finger upon her death
has now &sappeared.
I can only pray you witl find it in your heat to forgive me.
Ttiough your soul may, "Hoolo caloosbeedhl," is ie[entless.
Yorr womb will ache, fe,eling like the pits of hell,
it will rip tkough your delicate skin, longing for my return.
Asba Moharnud
L.ewiston

P ,f L,Xemorr. is a lSlessing
Beautiful memories abound when I look at this picture.o$$$ .
.::
my mother saying the Friday rught Berakhah (Hebrew woid
for "blessing") over the candles, my mother's voice singing
softly with her Russian accent. I remember how proud she
was to become a citrzer' in the U.S.A.
She spoke most of the time to the four of us, her children,
in Yiddish. My parents spoke Russian only when they did
not zant ouf young, innocent eafs to understand.
My mother said that when she was a young child in Russia,
she truly believed that, in America, the streets were lined
with goid.
My memories are golden.
Marsha Auster
Auburn

$: fn* Otejers in Europe
My grandmother died of lung cancet five months after her
diagnosis, and my grandfather succumbed to a combination
of grief and pneumonia one yearlater.In addition to
writing the latter's obituary, I assumed the task of helping
my mother and uncle dismantle my grandparents' Silver
Spring, Maryland, apartment shordy after my grandfather's
funeral. Grandpa and Oma had lived in New York City as
man and wife for fifty-five years before Grandpa's health
concerns necessitated relocation to the more southerly
habitat of their son and son-in-law. Yet they didn't really
leave New York behind. Relations and longtime friends
observed how uncannily the Silver Spring apartment
resembled the I(ew Gardens one: yellow-and-white
trimmed kitchen,lace cookies in a bowl on the coffee
table, Toulouse-Lautrec posters ofl the bedroom walls (my
grandfather was a printing salesman)i Nor did their choice
of music change: ever and always, only the finest local
classical station sufficed for this Mozart-loving pair.
X/e had to sell the apartmentafter they died, though. My
uncle the pragmatist had funneled through half a century's
worth of artwork, music, fur coats, and coin collections in
less than two months, consolidating his mother and father's
lives into boxes with designations like "For PhylJis and
Hilmar," "For Norman andJack," "ForElana, Brian, and
Cassie," and "For the Trash."
Rummaging through your late grandparents' possessions
unearths expected srn6ti6ns-sorfou/, guilt, nostalgia-as
well as unexpected ones, like eagefness and curiosity.
Certainly it's a different expedence from that of their
children, one's uncle and mother (how strange to think of
them as children!), for whom the process seems nothing
short of harror,iing. I made a thousand tiny discoveries
about my grandparents that day. Oma kept the same
combination of pocket mirror, tissues, and lipstick in the
inside pocket of every handbag. Grandpa left his bankbooks
in scrupulous order. According to her teacher evaluation
fuom 1,971, Oma ran a disciplined and attentive eighth-grade
Ftench class.
Uncle Norman had left the remainders of his clean out in
the wardrobes and alcoves, so this was where I explored.
Inside the guest room closet, never oflce opened during

all those summer visits, I unburied a mahogany-colored
briefcase, distended from too marry documents. After
struggling with the latch I stepped back, as the top sprung
open and a bundle of yellowing photographs cascaded
to the floor. I gathered them up one by one, studyiflg the
faces intendy, before replacing them in an old manila folder
marked "The Olejers in Europe."
My grandmother's maiden name, Olejer, derives from
Slovak, according to one source, and means "dealer in oil."
As far as we know, however, Oma's family wasn't Slovakian:
dudng the mid-nineteenth century most of them lived in
Warsaw, Poland, while a few hailed from nearby Sokolov.
Fed up with Cheder (a traditionalJewish school room) and
entertaining cosmopolitan ambitions, my great-grandfather
EIi entered the fur trade during the nineteen-teens and
earned his certificate in Paris. Perhaps dissatisfied to return
to Poland after his brush with X/estdrn Europe, Papa EIi
married my great-grandmother rnDanztg and then whisked
her off to Bedin.
Though rip-roaring in the twenties, Bedin went fascist
not ten years later
-
and my gfeat-grandparents, the
Olejers, were Jews. They were also alone: most of their
famlLy members, even the more assimilated siblings, Jike
Eli's older brother Mofltz, had remained in $Tarsaw: TVo
children and many close shaves later, Papa Eli and my
great-grandmother Cesia managed to escape Germany in
1939 with my grandmother and her little brother
-
fi1s1 16
Pads, where Papa Eli had received his furrier's license, and
then to New York. The rest of their relatives were nor so
fortunate. Those in Warsaw who survived the Ghetto went
to Auschwitz, and only two cousins ever resurfaced. The
photographs that had spilled onto the floor contained the
countenances of those vanished relations. What was more,
some of them had names and dates scrawled on the back.
It seemed I had yanked open a treasure trove of O1ejer
keepsakes: photos
-
some picture-postcards with
handwritten paragraphs
-
from Olejer uncles and aunrs
and cousins and friends who had died during the Holocaust.
I sank onto the floor with likenesses and letters al1 around
me, gazing at foreign handwriting and wishing I had studied
Yiddish or German. Eventually I did regain my senses and
dashed down the hall to report the discovery to my mother
and uncle. I took the mahogany-colored briefcase home to

I (.1
Maine, and over a period of months spent hours of free
time piecing together a pre-war Olejer family album.
From left, EIi Olejer and Moritz Olejer
This image intrigues me most. It's my grezt-grandfather Eli
and his oldet broth er Moritz. The two looked enough alike
to be mistaken for twins. They both had joie de vivre and a
taste for the finer things in life. My great-uncle Peter claims
his father had a reputation as king of the tango in several
Bedin nightclubs; Eli used to tell his wife he'd be back by
morning (though he'd never specify which morning). He's
pictured elsewhere as a youth, tall and slender, sledding
or camping or smoking cigars. Dappet, fair-haired Moritz
made a living as an accountant. His letters-penned in
German, then the lingua fnnca of Poland-addressed Papa
Eli ftequendy as Mein Lieber Bruder! (my dear brother),
and Oma recalled him as the pleasantest of hosts when
she visited Warsaw as a little gid. To escape the Polish and
Russian X/orld'War I draft, which sought service from
Jewish men whom those same countries'laws oppressed,
the brothers had their eardrums punctured. As a result, both
suffered frompartial deafness for the rest of their lives.
Perhaps most significant of all, their wives were siblings:
my great-grandmother Cesia had a sister, Rushka, to whom
Motitz was married.
Moritz and Rushka's children would have shared not only
the name Olejer, but also roughly the same gene pool, with
my Oma and great-uncle Peter. The thought seems chilling
now, knowing what I know: thatMotitz, Rushka, and any
children belonging to them breathed their last in the Polish
ghetto or the gas chambers. For as long as I knew her, Oma
spoke of survivor's guilt, though she wasn't a "sufvivof"
in the customary sense of the tefm. ",Why was I so lucky?"

1,L
she used to say. Her children and grandchildren thought she
might live to 100; she had her father,Eli's, slender frame
and hearty constitution. In fact, she didn't survive rhe cancer
that struck her in her eighties. Nor:did Papa Eli survive the
heafi attack that took him at sixry-nine. But their mementos
endure. Every time I glance at one, like the photo of Eli and
Moritz,I feel something stronger than nostalgia. I feel the
power oi the stories these people told about themselves and
one another;immigrant stories, the charm and the anguish
of which will no doubt influence each of theit descendants
to come.
Cassandra Jensen

12
Charming l,Iarielle
The French Canadian population in Lewiston is one that
is often overlooked, but crucial to this city's development.
Many families flocked to the area, looking for a new life,
one that would ensure a good future for their descendants.
One of these families'was the Roys, a husband and wife
with seven children. One of these children was Marielie, my
grandmother. She was born in 1940 on October 5, in the
quaint town of Saint Eleuthere, Province Quebec. She was
a small child, weighing a mere sevefl pounds when she was
five months old. Her fragSlrty and ailing health worried her
own grandmother, who decided that it would best that the
young Marielle go to Iive with her on her farm. There she
was fed cow milk and eventually reached a normal weight.
Howevet, she still did not go back home. Het grandmother
nurtured and cared for her until she was seven. At this
age, her family moved to New Bruns'wick, ani she had no
choice but to go as well. It was in this new home that she
first began to learn English, something that would be very
important in her future.
My grandmother attended the local elementary
and later high school, excelling in all her classes, ,"; ;;;"
skipping two grades. She was riot deterred by anything,
even ari almost life-threatening car collision. At the age of
sixteen, on her way to school, my grandmother was thrown
from a taxi after it hit an oncoming car. She landed in a
nearby field and reahzed she had broken her coilarbone.
After regaining consciousness, she was in the hospital for a
week. She still managed to graduate at the top of her senior

€", clas, of twenty-five students. The year was 1957. In just a
)i few months, my grandmother's life was going to be quite
different.
Soon aftet my grandmother graduated, her family decided to
make one final move. They chose to settle in an apartment
building in Lewiston, Maine. She quickly found a job at a
local departmeflt store, I(resge's. She was placed as the head
of the cosmetic counter, a role she took very seriously. She
pdded herself in maintaining the counter, noting that it was
easily "the cleanest one in the store." Kresge's was also the
place that my grandmother met my grandfather, Paul Roy.
He was a simple teenager, raised on a farm and working as
a stock boy to help support his family. It did not take too
long for the young, beautiful Marielle to catch his eye. He
was smitten almost instantly. My grandmother, however,
could not have cared less. His plaid shirts, plaid pants, and
"farmer smell" did not atttact her, but father'repelled her.
They rarely conversed until they went on a double date
to the Rollerdrome, a hotspot for teenagers at the time.
My grandmother was with another boy, whose name she
wasn't able to recall. My grandfather was with a girl named
Venise, who would eventually become his sister-in-law. It
was obvious that he had his sights set on someone else that
night. To charm Marielle, he decided he would teach her how
to roller-skate. They paid less attention to their dates, and
more to each other. Despite his advances, by the end of the
night he was not very successful. Of course, my grandfather
was so madly in love he didn't carc that my grandmother
had different feelings. He decided to keep pursuing her, and
hoping that one day she would change her mind. In this case
persistence was key. Eventually, my grandmother fell head
over heels, but it did take quite some time.
My grandparents were married on June 2, 1962, at Saint
Mary's Church,in Lewiston. It was a wonderful celebration,
with both families coming together to witness their union.
About ayear later, their first son,James, was born. Together
they raised four children. My grandfather worked thirty years
as a firefighter, while my grandmother stayed home, caring
for her kids. Eventually they opened Roy's Bicycle Shop,
which still stands today. It was a business that prospered
because of hard work and endless dedication. They have
provefl that anyone, no mattef where they stated, can be
successful, as long as they have a love for what they do.
Their mzrflage and family represented the joining together
ii

14
of cultures, something that is p.ominerrt,i
then and now. Where you are from, who you grew up
with...none of this matters when you find people you will
always love.
Zod Caron
Ltati.rton

t5
$; ft;"aing a roice
My name is Ayman Mohamed, and I was born in Djibouti.
I started school when I was six years old, progressing from
kindergaten through high school. During those years I lived
with my mother and brother. As the youngest in the family,
I was taught about my culture and my family. One day I
asked my mother about my father. She told me he had died
when I was thtee years old. At first, I didn't trust my mother
and what she said about my father. After that, I spent time
alone, missing my father and waiting for him to come home
to hug me and show me his love. During those years my
mom worked for us and she didn't let us miss our father.
X/hen I entered middle school, my mother couldn't afford
the cost, so my uncle, my father's brother, took me with him
and promised to take carc of me. He paid for my school
and made me feel like his son. On the weekends I went to
see my mother and brother, but during the week I lived with
my uncle and his family.
My uncle decided to send us to the United States where
we could receive a better education and live in safety. We
arrived in America in December 201.0.I came to Lewiston,
Maine, without knowing anyone or a word of English.
The first person to help us was Julia Sleeper. She helped us
enroll in school, and I started as a sophomore at Lewiston
High School. I met m^ny new people, but could only talk
to my teachers with signs because I was too nervous to try
English words. The schooi year was almost over and I still
was barely speaking. I went to Julia and she told me to come

16
to her work place, Tree Street Youth. I agreed. My first time
at Tree Street, the kids and staff were nice and talked to me
with respect, even when I didn't understand them. After that
day, I was hrppy because I liked being there and challenging
myself to speak. I would sit with the amazinE kids everyday.
They would make fun of me because I didn't know how to
communicate with them other than with siqns. However,
after a few days, I kept trying to talk and said something. I
never believed I could speak like that. I practiced everyday
to improve my English. Along with playing with the kids,
I would help clean the building and collect the trash. I also
participated in the Hip Hop Dance Group atTree Street
and performed in front of an audience for the first time. I
was very scared and nervous.
In my juniot yea4I took the classes I needed to be on
track. A11 of my teachers'were proud of me and of the
improvements I made to my English'over the'summer.
Now I am taking an electricity class and it has inspired me
to become an electrician after I finish high school. It is my
goal to finish my senior year and go on to college because I
am rcady for a new challenge and to continue on my path to
reaching my goals.
.!yruan Mohamed
Lewiston

1l
$: a llifferent Life
My life has had m^ny phases. I was born in Kenya. When
I was fwo years old I became sick from the extreme heat
and dusty conditions. I had two brothers who died from
the same illness. Fearing for my life, my parents, sent me
to live with my grandparents, who had the medicinal plaflts
needed to cure me. I grew up in my grandparents' house
as an only child, helping them with daily chores such as
cartying v/ater from the refugee camp to the village where
we lived. I remember many details of this period in my life.
I remember the water being so hearry. I remember having
to walk four miles each way to get the water. I remember it
would take me two hours to get to and from the village, and
I remember traveling to the refugee camp when we would
fun out of food. I remember taking cate of our cows. Each
Saturday and Sunday from dawn till dusk I spent my days in
the middle of the jungle, alone with the cows, spending time
with them like they were the siblings I never had.
When I turned fourteen I left my grandparents and came
to the United States with my pareflts. I left Kenya as a third
grader and entered school in Chadotte, North CaroTtnz,
as a seventh grader. Instantly, I had skipped four grades.
Then, not even ayezrlate4 my family moved to Lewiston,
Maine. I was placed in an eighth-grade class at Lewiston
Middle School. Note, throughout this time in America I
could neither speak nor comprehend a word of English.

l8
Though my teachers taught, I failed to learn. My teachers
would kindly say, "You will learn English someday." As a
freshman at Lewiston High School, my ability to understand
and speak English improved. X/ith time, my grades rose
and I became invested in deepening my understanding of
the wodd around me through my studies. lTithin that first
yearl was able to progress from ELL1 (English Language
Learner) to ELL 3.
As I enter the next phase of my life, I will be the first
person in my family to graduate high school and go to
college. This next phase will be the most important phase
of my life for two reasons. It will empower me with the
strength necessary to proceed through life successfully and
happity. Just as important, this phase will inspire my younger
siblings to find their passion iust as I have found mine.
My life would have been very differeht had I ltayed in
I(enya. In Africa, I would have inherited my grandparents'
land and cows. Today, my family struggles. I invoke my
story and my circumstances not to ask for sympathy, but to
provide the reasoning for my desire to continue my studies
as a college student.
Ahmed Ha.r.ran
Lewiston

l9
Berrveen Past and Present
It is customaty tnI:an that when a child is born there is
a naming ceremony and the oldest member of the family
gives a gift of some kind to the baby. When I was born :
my grandmother gave my mother apLfi of aBahz'tprayer
for protection carved into a pendant as a gft for me. She
instructed my mother to give me the pendant at my age of
maturity, so that when I was 15 years of age, my mother
gave me the pendant to wear. I always kept it around my
neck. It gave me courage to tackle the many ups and downs
of life. Not that the pendanthad any special power but I
had faith that the pluyer did. I always felt safe having it close
to me. At age 18, during the revolutionrnlgTg in Iian, my
house was burned down because we were not Mus]im. We
belong to a minority religion called the Baha'i Faith. It is
the youngest of the wodd teligions. We lost everything we

20
fr)
S: naa but my necklace wzs safe a.round my neck. It became
my sole possession and continued to be my only source of
comfort and link between my past and present. $7e had to
move to another town for safety, Soon after I had to leave
-y.orrrrtry and my homeland and move to lndia. Now it
remains my only materialreminder of my life spent in Iran
and a link to my past. My grandmother's pr^yer pendant
reads:
"Keep safe Thy servants u"a ifry handmaidens, O my
Lord, from the darts of idle fancy and vain imaginings,
and give them from the hands of Thy grace,a draught of
soft-flowing waters of Thy knowledge. Thou, truly, art the
Almighry the Most Exalted, the Ever-Forgiving, the Most
Genefous."
Pari_uash Roltari
Aubarn

.i
iii'.
ffi']i:,
&ila
ffi,i
ffi
I am Shobow Saban. I was born in Somalia tn 1993,
and due to the civil war that broke out in Somalia, I
was raised in I(enya in a refugee camp for twelve years.
Somalia, a country on the East coast of Africa, seems to
decline because of its eternal civil wars. Throughout these
challenging years of my life I learned and experienced many
things from my mother. She taught me how human beings
can overcome any obstacles that face them without having
regrets about the decisions they made in their past.
I have grov/n to learn that parents are our true eyes. They :
see what we can't see. Mothers bear us for nine months
in their wombs during pregnancy and delivery. Through
hardship they raise and guide us to be the person we want
to be in the future. From them we learn what is right and
wrong and how to work through even the toughest times.
In Somali we have a saying, "Hooyadu waalama huran,"
which means, "Is not necessary to live with a mother; is
hard to live without mothef." In Somali, we also say, "Sid
iyo sayal bilood ayzahoyadaa ku so wadey," which means,
"Your mother was holding and raising you for nine months
inside her stomach." Of course, she raises you from the day
you entered the wodd until the day you became an adult and
an independent person. I am lucky to have always had my
mother and continue each day to try and make her proud
and pay her back for the sacrifices she has made for my fir.e
brothers and me.
"Coming to I(enya was safe for my farrrtly," was the answer
my mother gave me when I asked why we left Somalia. She
explained how Somaliaw^s a bloody country because of the

::
$2 civil war. Though Kenya'was more peaceful for our family, it
)n was there that my father got very sick. Many people brought
different diseases and spread them into the camps. Doctors
in the hospitals were not professionals and could rarely cure
the sick. My father passed away under these conditions,
leaving my mother to care for us all on her own. It was at
this time that I decided I wanted to work in the medical
field and help heal those who are sick. The loss of my father
caused my mother great hardship but she always moved
forward, accepting circumstances for what they were and
making the best of it. She became the head of our famtly,
working hard to provide everything possible for my five
brothers and me.
fught after the death of my fathe4 my mother struggled to
find the best way to raise us; she felt lonely, helpless, and
hopeless. Though she struggled, she always wanted me to
be happy. She never said anything to'hurt my'feelings or
discourage me and doesn't want any moment in time to
be sad for me. She always keeps me in her sight, but still
allows me to become an independent man. She wants me
to be the same as my father-funny, open minded, friendly,
welcoming, hrppy, and motivated.
S7e came to the United States on June 16,2006, andl
began school shortly after.I faced many challenges when
I first weflt to school. My accent was quite different from
the English accent that the Southerners were speaking,
and I couldn't understand English in this Southern accent.
I overcame all of these difficulties with my mother's
encouragement. She always says, "Shobow, it's not where
you come from that matters, it's about who you ate and
where your destination is."
With her support I became very successful both in school
and on the soccer field. I began playing soccer while in
middle school and then made the varsity team my first year
of high school. Lewiston High School is my favorite place
because I have a lot of friends al1 coming from different
backgrounds and experiences. My teachers are really
wonderfui people who have taught me about many different
things and encouraged me to always reach for my dreams,
Iike my mother always has.
I wouldn't be who I am today without my mother. She
always encourages, motivates, challenges, and inspires me.

23
Her life is a testimony to how people, even those who
may suffer greatly, can always overcome their challenges if
they work hard, have courage, and strive for their dreams.
Now it is clear to me that when a person works hard, he
or she will succeed, and I'm glad that today I'm heading
into my 1[ild year at Assumption College, in NTorcester,
Massachusetts. This all has to do with my mother's love,
support, motivations, and encouragement, as well as those
people who taught me from middle school to high school. I
am so grateful to have a mother who is always there for me,
and for my teachers, coaches, and my guidance counseior,
who greatly supported me through my college application
Sbobow Saban
ltaiston

fI
ia
$: S.tf-Anah,sis
My name is Yu Li Huang; I was born tn 1.975 in Guang Ning,
Vietnam. My fathet is Chinese and my mother is Vietnamese.
By late 1979, Vietnam and China were at war. So my parents
tried to take my siblings and me to the U.S., but instead we
were kept at a refugee camp in Hong Kong for two years.
Finally the Chinese government sent us to a small isolated
village surrounded by mountains in Fujian, China. Our only
income was $3 dollars from the government every month for
the whole family. My parents worked very hard as farmers
to suppoft my three sisters and brother and me, but we were
often hungry. Once a month my mother had to climb over
food for the family, leaving before the sun rose and coming
home after dark. When I was ten yeats old, my two older
sisters went to junior high school in another town and only
came back home on the weekend. My mother was very ill,
and we almost lost her. I was the only one who couid take
care of my parents and my younger sister and brother at that
time. The tough Iife forced me to grow up and become very
independent at a young age.
My father wanted to find a better life for us and finally, in
1987, we moved to Xiamen City. But the money that we
borrowed to buy a house in the city put us on a long-term
diet. My two older sisters had to drop out of school. My
parents and my sisters worked very hard to put food on the
table for us. Life was challenging for us but made us stronger.
the mountains to the market place in the next town to

I managed to do well in school and was accepted at college
but had to drop orfi aftet one term because we didn't have
enough money for me to continue. Then my cousin, who
owned a restauraflt in Maine, showed my photo to a young
Chinese-Vietfiamese man, Cam Luu, who worked for him.
Cam came to visit me in China and asked me to marry him
and, in 1998, my dream to come to the U.S. came true.
It was so scary for me to leave the family and the country
that I knew and was comfortable with and to come to the
U.S, and to start everything over again. But my parents have
been a big influence on me. They never give up and are
never afraid of any challenge. They always tell me, "If you
believe, everything will be possible." I think I am a big risk-
taker like them.
Right afterl arrived in Lewiston,I signed up vdth Literacy
Volunteers and enrolled in the LewiSton Adult Education
program to study for my GEq which I got in 2001. During
that time, I worked with my husband at the restaurant,
helping to clear the tables and serve people.
Finally we decided we were ready to start our own business,
so in 2002, my husband and I opened Wei-Li Restaurant on
Route 4 in Auburfl, near the Auburn Mall. Our hard work
finaily paid off. Today we are very busy with many loyal
customers, and we have fwo young daughters, I(atie and
Mai, who are learning to help out.
After my dream of opening a business was achieved, I
wanted to reach my goal of higher education. I enrolled
in Central Maine Community College in 2003. Now I am
thtough earning a degree in Business Management with
a grade point average of 3.5. I will go for my bachelor's
degree after that.
I am very busy with my business, my children and my
school but am very happy and so grateful to be in the U.S.
with my family. I like who I am- independent, enthusiastic,
generous, friendly, 2fld h6nss1-and am very comfortable
with it now. The high level of stress only motivates me to
go further.
Yu Li Hwang
Auhurn
lf

A Saitv Sr*::r.
We all come from somewhere. I'm from here, Auburn,
Maine, but I'm a product of a long line of Jews from, well,
from everywhere.
My grandpareflts are from Minsk, Russia, on one side,
and from London, England, on the other. My paternal
gtandparents bore two children in Pennsylvania, while my
maternal grandparents had a son born in England, and six
more children born in Auburn.
Their oldest daughter, Pead, met and married a man from
Philadelphia named Henry Brody. He was very learned in
the ways of the Jewish religion and was warmly embraced
by -y mother's family. He became our official leader of the
Passover Seder $ewish dtual feast). .
We always celebrated this holiday in Lewiston at the home
of the next gefleration of descendants: Adele Brody
Silverman and her husband Mords. Uncle Henry ran the
servi.ce. Uncle Henry davened (prayed) and looked very
officialin his yarmulke (skull cap) and tallis (prayer shawl).
He spoke in Hebrew. We asked questions. He answered in
English.
Adele, put the whole celebration together. She followed the
traditions with great care. Dip the parsley in salted water to
remember the tears of our ancesto-rs. Salt the chicken before
you bake it, according to the laws of keeping kosher. Put
a little more salt on the potatoes. Pass the salt. There can
never be enough salt.
On one Passover in 1958, I remember finishing a whole
plate of fruit slices covered with sugar. I eyed the candies
with almonds inside, too, and ate lots of Passover kichel
(sweet cookies), and anything dipped in honey. Salt wasn't
doing it for me. While Adele served candied fruit slices, my
Aunt Ada served salads, salt free. I would come for lunch on
school days and we'd eat "healthy," as it is now called. That
was never my cup of tea. It wasn't in my nature, nor was it
in my heritage. At home we'd have chopped beef liver with
onions fried in chicken fat, or potato latkes (pancakes) fried
in a skillet with melted butter and served with sour cream.
Mandel bread consisted of lots of eggs, lots of sugar, lots
1/.

of nuts, and at least a jar of preserves, not to mention oil,
flour and of course, more salt. Hear,ry, European foods are
also known as comfort foods to me. $7ho needs salad?
$7e often ate Russian rye bread with caraway seeds, like
people in the old country. We ate pumpernickel loaves,
a German peasant bread with poppy seeds, and braided
challah, the cholesterol maker of grand proportiori.
On school vacations I sometimes went to a friendt
"pL^y." Her mother would make kosher meztloaf iandii;lc=EEl
on pita bread with a kosher dill pickle, sometimes salted.
I(oo1-Aid was bright red and somewhat tasty, but not exacdy
a ttadiionalJewish drink. Sometimes she served lunch to a
neighbor at the other end of the dining room table. They
would have toasted bagels imported from Portland, cream
cheese, scallions, and thinly sliced smoked salmon, salty and
delicious.
My Bubbie, the very religious European mavefl (expert),
spoke mosdy Yiddish. She was the one who kept tradition in
traditional style. She always had a jar in her refrigerator filled
with beets, rvhich were previously soaked overnight, peeled,
boiled, sliced, and cooked with peppercorns and kosher
salt, lots of salt. This was a milchiga (dairy) lunch topped
off with a dollop of sour cream. Add to that Lipton teas
served in a Pyrex glass, piping hot, and a piece of pull-apart
challah. You'd think you were in aJewish neighborhood in
I{ensington. Well, maybe in the Republic of Belarus, Russia.
Hidden on the steps to the attic was anotherlarger jar of
taiglach (pastries) covered with honey, a favortte dessert.
Each sugary doughy piece, tied into a knot, swam in honey

28
and was equal to an entire day's worth of calories, and
week's worth of cholesterol. How did those folks from the
shtetl (small town with large Jewish population) ever make it
past childhood?
Fifty years ago, my father and his brother-in-laws would
break the fast after Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) with
a shot of whiskey. The dining room table would be set with
traditional dairy foods: kugel, (noodle pudding) herring,
egg salads, and white 6sh. But the men would come in and,
even before they took off their coats and hats, would say,
"L'Chiam" ("to life") and send the whole shot down in one
swoop. The foods were highly salted on the day, more so
than any other, because it was thought that the body needed
to replace the salt lost by fasting. Maybe so. It's better than
whiskey, but not much.
My mother made the best meat knislies (baked dumplirgr)
in the wodd. Of course, the dough around the ground
beef was soaked in salted rav/ eggs, just like her mother
used to make. And, her mother made the best gifilte fish (a
dish made from a mixture of ground boned fish), but she
started with a real fish, which she filleted herself. One of
the best tsimmes recipes comes from a little old Ashkenzi
(Jews most from Germany and Eastern Europe) iady
from Auburn. Yummy carrots and apricots were baked with
honey and sugat (some salt too) and served piping hot.
It's fun to think back on food, holidays, and practices, and
how they began in Europe and developed and stayed here
long after those immigrants from the oid country left but
kept their traditions with them.
B o nni e Margo lin Fairn an
Auburn

29
$: rr,,t**oir of an trinkno rn bung Woman
I was sick the whole way over.
Jammed into steerage
I wanted the feel of solid
ground under my feet.
I kept to myself, as I do now.
I was afraid of the man
my father sent me to,
waiting on the dock, holding up
his photograph, this stranger.
Our neighbof's son went to the New World
to farm. The land in our village is thin,
played out, no money in that.
Many leave. Last spring one wedding only
when the fruit trees bloomed.
So they are sending me to him.
I hold his picture in my hand
-how dark his eyes stare.
I have never been with a m^tl
Mother cried and said good-bye
for ever. Father squeezed my shoulder.
"You'te a good gid," he said
and walked out irito the field.
Mother says I am a good seamstress.
I made clothes for my young brothets
and sisters. Grand-mdre taught me to embroider.
I have a cushion with me that I embroidered
all over with poppies and vines. Months before
I left I came home with skeins of thread
-orange, gold and green. Mother didn't scold
though we knew the cost. Each night
I worked the colors into the cushion
-flower shapes I know by heart.
It is to be a pi11ow on my marriage bed.
My children will see
how beautiful was their mother's home
in her springtime.
Enifi Rand Breitner
West Boothbal Harbor

30
ll
Jl
F M Points Narth
Stories of Immigrgtion to Lewiston-Auburn, Maine-
ZoeFahy
Bonnie Margolin Fa:mnn
Pfrvllis GtaberJensen ,
TammyrRoy Caron ', i
Pintirug
Penmor Lithographers
ZoEFahy and Phyllis GraberJensen
Produced with generous support from the Bates College
Harward Center for Comrnunity Partnerships. Many
thanks to Documenting Maine Jewry, the Arthur B. X/ein
Charitable Foundation, Temple Shalom S5rnagogue-Center,
Tree Street Youth, Anne Kemper, Robert Farnsworth, and
especially to this publication's contributing writers for the
gifts they have shared
insidefront and back coaers
fabric detail, Lisbon Street store wrndow. Lewiston
May 201,4

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