Through food, Southern belle preserves Sephardi legacy

by Linda Morel
Jewish Telegraphic Agency

Emily Amato, a member of Congregation Or VeShalom, an Atlanta synagogue with Sephardi roots, gushes as she describes her congregation’s Hanukka bazaar: “We open our doors to the whole city,” she says, offering a silent auction, game-room arcade, vendors selling wares from jewelry to art to crocheted afghans — and the irresistible aroma of Sephardi cuisine, such as home-made Greek salads, marzipan, and baklava.

The Or VeShalom Hanukka Bazaar, which this year took place Dec. 7, is such a happening that Jews and non-Jews alike flock there for the fun — and the fabulous food.

“We cook for months ahead of time,” says Amato, 82, who has worked on the bazaar since the ’50s. Starting before Rosh Hashana, almost two dozen women meet every Tuesday to prepare the delicacies, including burekas.

Turnovers stuffed with cheese, potatoes, rice, eggplant, spinach, and other vegetables, burekas are the signature dish of Jews from many Sephardi countries. Sinfully delicious, they are a bit labor-intensive, which is why people don’t mind paying between $15 and $18 a dozen for this delicate pastry that the synagogue’s women stockpile in the freezer during the months before Hanukka.

Potato latkes are at the heart of the Ashkenazi tradition; by contrast, many Sephardi Jews cherish burmuelos.

“Burmuelos are fritters, sort of like doughnuts — but not really,” Amato says, describing the round ball of dough that has inspired a wide range of recipes.

Because Amato’s family has lived in Atlanta for a century, Amato speaks with a lilting accent, as sweet as the syrup drizzled on Hanukka burmuelos when they’re pulled crisp from a pot of sizzling oil.

Seeking an education, Amato’s father left the Greek Island of Rhodes at age 16, shortly after the turn of the last century. He went to Atlanta and set down roots. When it came time to find a wife, he turned to the Jewish community of Rhodes. After exchanging letters and photographs with a young woman, they conducted a romance through the mail. Five years later, she traveled from Rhodes with her widowed mother to marry her long-distance beau.

Raised on olives and feta cheese, Amato’s mother came to Georgia steeped in a cooking style considered exotic. “No one in Atlanta knew what yogurt was in those days,” Amato says. “But we had yogurt from day one, because every week my mother made a new batch.” She also rolled her own phyllo dough for sweet and savory delicacies.

The rebbetzin of Or VeShalom encouraged Amato and other Sephardi members to collect their recipes in a cookbook. First published in 1971 by the sisterhood, The Sephardic Cooks, a fabulous collection of easy-to-make recipes, has been updated three times, most recently in 1992.

Like Amato’s family, most of the founding members of Congregation Or VeShalom, which was established in 1910, came from Rhodes; others hailed from Turkey and Tunisia.

But during the 20th century, Atlanta saw an influx of Jews from Eastern Europe. Today the congregation is 60 percent Ashkenazi.

“Over the decades, our kids have married Ashkenazi Jews,” Amato says. And while she has welcomed the newcomers, she also feels sad over its fading Sephardi past. Eager for her legacy to survive, she is teaching her mother’s recipes to her grandchildren.

“Sephardi cooking is about the best in the world; it’s a pity you can’t get it in many restaurants,” says Amato. “I’m afraid these recipes will be lost.”

Once there’s a Jewish generation in Atlanta who doesn’t know a good Quajado de Spinaca (Spinach and Macaroni Casserole) or Marouchinos (Almond Macaroons), the world her parents nurtured in Georgia will disappear like steam off a pot of boiling Avgolemono (Egg Lemon Soup).

That’s why Amato spends so much time preparing food for the Hanukka bazaar. As long as she entices people with the vibrant taste of Sephardi cuisine, she is keeping the flavor of her heritage alive.