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I made biyalis this morning. Or at least, I came as close as I can -- not many people know what the originals were like any more. The town in Poland where they originated was so famous for them that it's called Biyalistock, but after the Holocaust, the 60,000 Jews who had lived there were murdered or scattered, there wasn't a single biyali bakery left. There's a fascinating book about it by Mimi Sheraton called The Biyali Eaters. She scoured the globe to find a single survivor in Australia, Pesach Szsemunz, who could help her refine something as close as possible to the real thing. If something as intrinsic to a place as its namesake product can be all but gone with such a horror, think of how many smaller things must be lost. The local legends, folk medicine, religious traditions. Hundreds of thousands of family recipes. The best way to get candle wax out of the holiday tablecloth. How your grandmother got her middle name. All things change and fade away; this is true. Bu…

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