I grew up on Staten Island, New York. As a product of a Jewish mother and Italian Catholic father, I knew that I was Jewish by birth, but always felt close to the Italian side- my stomach has always been Italian. When I enrolled at Manhattan School of Music for vocal performance as a teen, I met my future girlfriend, fiance, and wife, Lisa, who introduced me to her lovely Conservative Jewish family. Vocal Performance morphed to Philosophy/Advanced Mathematics at St. John's College in Annapolis, Maryland. Even though I had studied French, Italian, German, Medieval French, Ancient Greek, and Russian, I didn't know a letter of Hebrew. In Annapolis, my true love for Jewish Music, and my path to the Cantorate, was born. At the same time, I began to study Hebrew with a professor at St. John's College, and attended an Orthodox synagogue that was a mile away from campus. The young rabbi at the synagogue had infinite patience with me and would answer every single question that I asked. The cantor had a gorgeous singing voice and great love for Jewish music. I began studying Hazzanut (Cantorial Music) with the cantor and fell in love with the cantorial way of lifting one's voice to G-d. Before all of this change occurred, my mother died, and my father mourned and then remarried. When a child changes his lifestyle, it often feels like "a dagger in my heart" to the parents or extended family. The "dagger in my heart" was a phrase that my Aunt Rose, of blessed memory, said to me when I wanted to leave my family's home on Staten Island and move to Manhattan, closer to school.
My father, of blessed memory, loved his only son, his only child unconditionally. I drove him crazy by not getting to any event on time-or in his world, a half hour before the event. He didn't care that I didn't become a Catholic, but he did care that I became an observant Jew. When you begin to keep Kosher in a non-observant home, it separates you from the rest of the family. However, it doesn't separate you from the rest of the family if you have some common sense and family members who love you and respect you. My Italian Grandmother, Mary, of blessed memory, cooked every kind of non-Kosher food for me, and just for me. She would point to a dish and say, this is for Frankie. When I began to keep Kosher, I privately scrutinized the methods in which she made some of my favorite vegetarian dishes that I could enjoy from her huge arsenal of dishes, and gently moved her towards more "kosher" methods of cooking. She would still ask, "Frankie, why can't you have the pork?" I would start explaining about Kosher laws, and she would quickly cut me off with a smile, and say, "Ah, go scratch your ?*!*#!." (The censored word rhymes with crass.) My father, Nick, wanted to spend time with his only child, and so on Thanksgiving he would do everything possible to make me comfortable, kosher-wise. For Thanksgiving, he would purchase a huge Kosher turkey and go to one of the numerous Kosher butchers in Brooklyn for all of the side dishes. This enabled Lisa and me to enjoy the traditional Thanksgiving feast. Friends and extended family have often told me stories about how their families did not show respect for or acknowledge their vegan or kosher lifestyle. I remember the hurt that was infused in their words. But, in the Tamarazo family, even though there was a difference in opinion, there was no change in the great love, devotion, and respect that we felt for each other. This is why Thanksgiving is not about giving thanks while overeating exquisite food; I can binge eat any time and Jewish prayer includes a prayer of Thanksgiving three times each day. For me, Thanksgiving reminds me of the tremendous kindness that my father showed to me each Thanksgiving Day to make me feel loved and respected.
