Greiving the Loss of Kazansky's

As one ages and moves well into the second half of life expectancy, your friends start dropping off - first you see your cohort encountering diseases that used to only happen to geezers, and next you're going to funeral homes and realizing that all those graybeards are your contemporaries.

In another way, as you age you necessarily outlast some things. You out-survive them. I feel old when I outlast businesses and institutions. I become uncomfortable when I pass by "stuff that's gone", like White Swan Park. I don't grieve their demise for their own sakes, I grieve their ending because it's a loss for me and also because it reminds me of my own mortality.




I had that selfish, egocentric grieving feeling today when I learned that Kazansky's Deli had gone mechuleh, gone forever, and even worse it closed last May and I didn't even know about it till now.

We had a relationship. We'd been a regular thing once but with kids and jobs we'd moved apart, seeing each other only a couple of times a year. But there was still something there. At least I thought so. This could be the sort of moment John Donne wrote about.

At the end of the day, Kazansky's is closed and my comforts are diminished, and now I need to find a good kosher place for periodic noshing. I have needs. I need a legit Reuben, a knish, borscht, and red cabbage soup. And if I could find a good egg cream, would that be too much to ask for?

I grieve the loss of Kazansky's. Ask not for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for me.