The hillula is a complex, rich phenomenon–just the simple fact that Alex Weingrod can devote an entire book to it evidences its complicated nature. Against the backdrop of the religious ritual of saint veneration is a colorful canvas of entertainment, minority cultural affirmation in the face of assimilation, and healing practices. I was really fascinated by the way in which the hillula “is, or has become, a kind of attraction”–that is, this pilgrimage has become a “noisy, popular event,” a “celebration [that] undoubtedly brings many persons to take part” (45). It is clear that having a good time is not the sole motivator behind these spectacles, but that fun reality, full of dancing women, rhythmic melodies, and shared food, is an undeniable part of the hillula experience (sounds like a good time if you ask me!).
Near the end of his study, Weingrod attempts to compare the hillula (and in this case more so the mimouna, which is more of an ethnically Moroccan/secularized festival) to American communal celebrations. His comparisons to Juneteenth and Fourth of July fêtes don’t quite pack the punch or paint an accurate comparison of the North African hillula, because these examples lack the necessary religious grounding and ethnic affirmation of the original. Reading through this section, I tried to pick through my own mind to come up with better examples, and I think I’ve finally found an equal (or, at the very least, closer) equivalent to these Jewish pilgrimages.
I come from the Coal Region in Pennsylvania, a working class area with strong immigrant roots in Eastern Europe, Italy, and Ireland. There are several ethnic celebrations that happen throughout the community’s calendar, and I could just as easily pit them alongside the hillula and make a tidy comparison, yet they would really be more like the mimouna than anything else. But every summer, in the hottest days of July, all the local Catholic churches throw a block party. Children run up and down barricaded streets and play carnival games, old ladies twirl to polka music in the bandstand, and everyone enjoys Polish foods like pierogie (potato or cheese filled dumplings), halushki (cabbage and butter and eggs noodles and lots of cholesterol), halupki (stuffed cabbage; also called ‘pigeons’), and bobka (this one evades a short qualifier–it’s a sort of fried potato casserole wedge?). Elderly churchgoers sweat onto the griddle where potato cakes are sizzling; children throw down crumpled dollar bills in hopes of winning the day’s raffle. All of the proceeds of these summertime celebrations go to the church for its weekly collection and help to fund religious programming throughout the year. Those who were lucky enough to move away from the Coal Region often return these weekends to visit family and stop by the block party for some good food and company.
Perhaps its because I know these festivals intimately, but I’m shocked by how many similarities hillula and block parties share. In both instances, “traditional” foods are shared between participants, homesick people gather from many different places to remember something of the past, and participation in the event is predicated on service to a higher, religious order. Weingrod writes that “Rabbi Chouri’s hillula has the quality of enhancing ethnic group solidarity and affiliation and drawing a boundary of positive affect around the North African participants” (83). So too did Coal Region block parties exist as a sort of solidarity enzyme, as a venue for immigrants to gather once a year and celebrate being a minority ethnicity as well as to honor their faith tradition. These gatherings represented an opportunity for people to be proud to be Polish (or Ukrainian, or Italian), a chance for people to throw off the heavy coat of conformity and embrace their true origins. Perhaps hillula and block parties tell us something greater about ethnicity, the immigrant experience, and belonging–perhaps, in order to get by in a new, foreign home, one must gather with friends, share old recipes, and break it down to some folk jams.