//features//
Spring 2017
"A Taste of Home"
The Origins of Columbia’s Kosher Café
Tova Kamioner
 Students enjoy the Moroccan atmosphere at Cafe Nana in 2005. Photo credit: Akiva Zablocki, GS '07.
Hours before he was set to meet with the director of Hillel, Edoe Cohen (GS/JTS, ’07) received a phone call. “Listen, we’re not going to do it in the end,” said the restaurateur who had originally agreed to run the new café in the Kraft Center for Jewish Student Life. Although Edoe was a full-time student with no culinary experience, he and his friends decided to go ahead with the project anyway, and Café Nana was born.
Few Columbia students know that Café Nana, the restaurant on the second floor of the Kraft Center, began as a student project in 2005. Today—filled with students pretending to focus, the occasional gathering of elderly people, and two Israeli men calling out Panini orders 5-30 minutes after they are requested—the café is known more for its delicious (though somewhat overpriced) menu than for its history. A Café Nana regular, I only found out about its past when a family friend, Ben Muller (GS, ’07), mentioned it in passing over winter break. Ben connected me with two of its founders, Edoe and Deborah Plum (CC, ’07), so that I could follow up on my curiosity [1]. Nana Then: A Home Base for Israel Advocacy Edoe Cohen spoke to me from California on speakerphone with his wife and children in the car, pausing occasionally to answer his toddler’s interjections. We had some trouble finding an interview time because he and his wife have a newborn, so this was how we made it work. Edoe apologized for playing phone tag, and I thanked him for making time to talk about the café. “Of course,” he replied. “I’m happy to hear it’s still kicking.” Edoe first arrived at Columbia in 2003 as a General Studies student after spending six years in the Israel Defense Forces, transferring to the joint program between GS and the Jewish Theological Seminary. During the semesters leading up to the café’s founding in 2005, the atmosphere surrounding Israel on campus was particularly fraught. A documentary called Columbia Unbecoming had been released the year before, claiming that professors in the Middle Eastern, South Asian, and African Studies Department were silencing and intimidating Jewish students in conversations about Israel in the classroom. At the same time, the Second Intifada was raging in Israel, causing the State Department to put Israel on its list of places not to travel and Columbia to remove Israel from its list of study abroad options. “On the one hand we thought, okay, we can speak to the administration and change the policy of allowing students to study abroad. That’s probably going to take forever,” Edoe said. “On the other hand, we can help encourage students to go study in Israel. So that’s what we did; we did a huge study abroad fair on campus.” Various organizations joined in orchestrating the fair as a reaction to the Columbia Unbecoming film, Edoe explained, which made the fair “a big production.” In addition to its booths for various Israeli study abroad programs, the fair also featured a mock Israeli market—a shuk—selling Israeli crafts as well as fresh food from an Upper West Side kosher Israeli grill. The shuk’s success gave Edoe an idea: Why not open a full-time kosher restaurant on campus? It would offer an alternative to the kosher options on the Upper West Side at the time, which were sparser than they are today, and fairly expensive. Edoe added: “There were [Kosher options in dining halls], but you can only have so much dining hall food.” First, he needed to find a space for the restaurant. “At the time, the second floor of Hillel was kind of barren space. It was like this lounge, with a TV, some couches, that was really not being used very much,” Edoe recalled. He pitched the idea of converting the space to an Israeli-style café to the director of the Hillel at the time, Simon Klarfeld, and to the Upper West Side Israeli grill that catered the fair. Both parties endorsed the idea. To Edoe’s disappointment, the people from the restaurant called to cancel their partnership on the day of the meeting with Klarfeld. “So, at that moment, I was like, okay, maybe I can do this.” He and his friends told Klarfeld that as long as they had the space, they could piece it all together. “That was kind of how it all started.” Edoe joined forces with his friends Deborah Plum, Ben Plum, Allyson Tash, Akiva Zablocki, and Barak Ben Ezer, as well as with his brother, Ben Cohen [2], all of whom were NYC students or recent graduates. The café opened for business in February 2006. For Edoe, the café was part of an Israel advocacy effort from day one. “What I discovered from that study abroad fair was that a good way to promote Israel is to celebrate Israel––to celebrate the culture and music,” he said. “So for example, Hadag Nachash [a popular Israeli band] performed at the end of the fair. We did other projects after that—we brought Idan Raichel [another popular Israeli musician] and he performed at the church.” I marvel over the sight of an Israeli pop sensation in the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine. “These are more emotional things that people can connect with, kind of like going away from the politics for a second, and from the conflict, and celebrating identity and culture, food, music, film. That’s really the origin of Café Nana.” Israeli culture permeated the café, starting with the menu. “Each sandwich was a different Israeli character,” said Edoe. “So, for example, we had the chayal [Hebrew for “soldier”], which was a sandwich using tuna and corn, because those are the ingredients that you eat a lot when you’re a soldier… So things like that, you know, just a way to educate people about Jewish history and Israeli culture.” Next was the decor: Café Nana originally hosted four large Moroccan tents, the building of which was planned and organized by Ben Plum, another founder of Café Nana and an amateur carpenter. Ben and Edoe bought the materials for the tents in the Arab market in Jerusalem’s Old City in the summer of 2005, including a lantern and fabrics. They made sure to attach wheels to the bottoms of the tents so that the café could easily accommodate Jewish and Israeli-focused poetry readings and music nights. It was especially important for Edoe to showcase Jewish diversity: “The Jewish community at Columbia is very Ashkenazi based, and I wanted to really show other Jewish identities and cultures.” One example was a photography exhibit of the Abayudaya congregation in Uganda, a group in a remote African village that converted to Judaism in the early 20th century. A Columbia student volunteered in the area, and his photos were displayed in the café. The fair trade coffee they sold was farmed by this same Abayudaya congregation—for each package bought, one dollar was donated to support the community’s projects. They named the café ”Nana,” a term for mint tea, to garner the feeling of gathering. “I love naming things,” Edoe laughed, “and we had a few names. I think “bete’avon” [Hebrew, lit. “with appetite,” used in the same way as “bon apetit”] was one of the names, but Café Nana… Nana in Israel gives a feeling… it’s hospitality, it’s togetherness, it’s people eating together.” Edoe continued: “I think later I discovered that Nana is also a nickname for grandmothers, but I didn’t know that... Our slogan was 'A Taste of Home,' so that was the idea, of giving people a beautiful home.” |
[1]He included himself in the email chains so that he could take part in the nostalgia. If you're reading this, Ben, thanks for all that ensued.
[2]May his memory be for a blessing
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 A student runs the counter at Café Nana. Photo credit: Akiva Zablocki, GS '07
For Deborah Plum, Ben’s sister and another student founder of Café Nana, the taste of home was the whole gist. “I never thought of it as advocacy… I grew up going to Israel, I lived there when I was a kid because I have family there, and so for me Israel was just a very culturally warm place to be,” Deborah mused. “For me, it was bringing a taste of that community or feeling to campus. So if that’s advocacy, it might be, but I guess I never really would have described it that way… I was just thinking: I love the culture, I love the food, why not bring it to campus and have people see it?” If anything, Deborah explained that it may have been a form of cultural advocacy: “It certainly gave a different picture than what you were seeing on campus about Israel.”
A student in Columbia College at the time, Deborah fundraised for the study abroad fair and continued her role as fundraiser when Café Nana opened during her junior year. “Café Nana was run with the Hillel, so part of the café was run through the nonprofit, and part of it was an actual business,” Deborah said. “I was more involved in reaching out to donors and helping them figure out that relationship.” Café Nana created a sense of home that Deborah felt was lacking. “I had never felt, as somebody who didn’t grow up in a completely Modern Orthodox home, like there was a place for me at the Kraft Center. I think it was a very challenging community, from my perspective,” Deborah recalled. “I always thought that a café, or some sort of neutral lounge, that isn’t religious, isn’t foundational—it was kosher, yes, but that was sort of a given—it was a relaxed environment in that building that would invite people into it and make it more welcoming. That was my goal. I wanted it to be the kind of place that if you had open mic nights or poetry readings, or, I don’t know, artists came to perform, or people were coming and studying and hanging out—that’s why the tents were so important, to sort of create little nooks where you could sit and read—it would be this community gathering place.” Simon Klarfeld, the Hillel director at the time, had a similar vision for the café: “His goal was for people to come into the building, and to make the Kraft Center a vibrant community,” Edoe said. “The Hillel can be a place sometimes, between the Orthodox, and the Conservative, and the Reform, and the Israeli, that’s very separate. So the café would be a space that would bring people together.” Deborah was happy to report that the café did help Jewish students connect, as they had hoped. “I definitely met more Modern Orthodox friends because of that café than I ever would have. I mean, I don’t know what I am, but I grew up kind of Conservative-ish, sometimes Modern Orthodox, I never really know which denomination is the correct one,” explained Deborah. “I think some barriers were broken down a little bit between students who identify as Jewish for different reasons or in different ways.” She said that even her non-Jewish friends loved to eat, write, and play music at the café. “I don’t think I ever walked into any other religious building the entire time I was at Columbia, so I don’t think I would ever expect a non-Jew to just walk into the Kraft Center. The fact that they did, I think, is a great testament to what the café offered.” Above all, her friends loved the atmosphere. When a friend visited Israel for the first time for Deborah’s wedding, she was excited to see how much the culture resembled that of Café Nana. “My friend group was always just diverse, so I personally know that I changed people’s views of what Israeli culture was like to people who didn’t know it.” Students made and served the food during the early days of the café, contributing to its friendly vibe. When working around students’ schedules became too complicated, the founders hired a series of Israeli chefs who were already involved in the food industry to manage most of the production process, while Edoe and Ben Plum continued to manage orders and kitchen equipment. As Café Nana became busier, Edoe took time off from school to run it. This decision was met with a concerned intervention by his father: “We sat in the café, and he looked around and he was like, ‘Okay, this is very nice, but if you don’t go back to school I’m going to burn down this place.’” Edoe agreed to return to school for his senior year, and found an Israeli entrepreneur named Amir Shriki to help run the café. Amir helped Edoe transition away from the café during his senior year, and in 2008 found a buyer for the café named Avi. Without a last name, I assumed that this 2008 Avi was the same person as current owner of Café Nana, Avi Atia. Yet when I spoke with the current owner, he told me he bought the café in 2012. Atia explained that there was an owner before him, “also Avi,” named Avi Sema. Sema bought the café in 2008 to provide a job for his mother. When Sema’s father got deported, his mother returned to Israel with his father. Since his mother no longer needed work, Sema sold the café to the current Avi, who owned two restaurants in Brooklyn at the time. Nana Now: A Cosmopolitan Café The café is now filled with neutral-toned couches, light wood tables, and plastic chairs. The tents were taken down between the time that I was a prospective student and the time that I arrived on campus. Avi Atia runs the restaurant with an assistant who usually switches yearly: this year, another Israeli man named Michael. The menu reads with fewer Israeli references and more cosmopolitan café items such as pizza and sushi. The pictures that hang on the wall are from Hillel-sponsored events. There is still live music there in the form of “The Lounge,” a weekly event showcasing student performers, although there is no specific bend toward Jewish or Israeli culture. Still, Café Nana remains a go-to place for students to convene. I sat with Avi at one of the tables. The café was mostly quiet after the lunchtime rush. Our mixed English-Hebrew conversation about Café Nana, the virtues of Brooklyn, and his encouragement and extensive advice for my move to Israel lasted for 20 minutes that he insisted he didn’t have [3]. To start, I asked Avi what he was thinking when he bought the café from Avi Sema. “What did I think?” Avi began, shrugging. “I saw that it was Columbia University, dealing with students, and dealing with Jewish people. That’s why I just got it. That’s all. Nothing special.” Somehow discontent with his answer, I pushed further. Avi continued: “Like, because I see the location, I see it’s dealing with Jewish people, and I like to deal with Jewish people. I cannot make food that is not Kosher. I have to taste the food. If you cannot taste the food, you cannot serve the food. So, this is the reason: dealing with the Kosher food. And it was a good potential.” The location in the Kraft Center was a particular draw for him. “I saw a synagogue, and all of the Jewish activities, and all the Jewish happenings, so I was going, ‘oh it’s safe.’” Avi explained that the menu no longer has its original Israeli cultural twists simply because his chef changed the menu items. There are still some Israeli names, though, Avi insisted: “There’s the Kna’ani, there’s falafel, hummus, stuff like that… The sushi also has Hebrew names. Tel Aviv, Netanya. Pizza is pizza.” When considering whether he would change the café back to be more culturally Israeli, Avi wavered. “We could, we could,” he said. Then, “I don’t know if it’s better… I don’t think it would be any different.” A few minutes later, he agreed that food could be an effective way of infusing culture: “Food reminds you. If you eat something, you know it Israeli name, you know, even if you forget you’re from Israel or Jewish, it reminds you.” The conversation eventually shifted to a comparison between Jewish life in Israel and Jewish life in America. Avi argued that though one can live a fully Jewish life in Boro Park—replete with Kosher restaurants and everything else one might need—it is not the same as living as a Jew in Israel. “It’s like, you take the original and you take the fake one. The fake one can never be like the original. It’s like, whatever you’re going to do, you want to copy it, like almost the same, but it’s still…You can bring everything. The bourekas, you see come from Israel, it’s like, everything you imagine. But land, from there to here, it’s impossible. And to bring land from here to Israel, it’s also impossible. And that’s the difference.” Although perhaps not into Boro Park, Edoe’s original vision for the café was to branch into JCCs and beyond “to promote Israel in the world.” “But,” Edoe conceded, “we would never be profitable off of something like that.” Although he now lives in California and is no longer connected to the café, he tries to visit when he is in New York and checks the Yelp page every once in awhile, “as more of nostalgia than it is keeping tabs on the place.” Edoe was happy with what I told him about the café today, even though it no longer functions as a self-conscious home of Israel advocacy. “I appreciate hearing what you said that it’s still a place that brings students together, that people are using,” he said. “The fact that it continued and that it’s there to serve students. I feel like some of the mission might not exist as much as it did back when I started it, and that’s okay. It’s a business at the end of the day, but to know that it’s working and that people are getting value out of it, that’s really amazing to me.” Deborah was a bit more shocked. Until I reached out, she had assumed the café shut down a few years after she and her fellow founders left Columbia. “You literally told me this,” she laughed. “That’s so amazing. Wow, I have to go see it. I had no clue that it was up and running.” Deborah now works in midtown Manhattan, and I offered to give her a tour of the café whenever she decides to make the trek to Morningside Heights. Even without the tents of Old City materials or tuna and corn sandwiches, as I write this in Café Nana with my shakshuka, listening to Avi’s mix of Hebrew and English, and surrounded by unique characters and journeys, I feel—for even a few moments—that I am getting a taste of Israel. Will Café Nana ever return to the mission it held as an Israeli cultural center? “Change, we can change,” Avi said, his words ringing oddly prophetic. “Not this semester, it’s already too late. But you know every year we just see what to drop from the menu, what more to the menu, it’s like, so we change it all the time. All the time.” |
[3]All the text has been translated from the original Hebrew.
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//TOVA KAMIONER is a senior in Barnard College. She can be reached at [email protected]. Logo design by Yaniv Uncik. Photos courtesy of Akiva Zablocki, GS '07.