Steppin’ Out : 7,000 Celebrate Growth of Jewish Community in Daylong Festival of Culture at Fairgrounds

When Lori Feinstein moved to Orange County in 1972, “I couldn’t find Hanukkah candles to save my soul,” she said. “At that time, when you said you were moving to Orange County, your family would think they’d never see you again.”

But times have changed.

“More Jewish people have come out of the closet,” others have moved south from the strongholds of Los Angeles, and Orange County’s Jewish community has come of age, said Feinstein, 36, of Huntington Beach.

On Sunday, she joined more than 7,000 others at the Orange County Fairgrounds in Costa Mesa for a daylong festival of Jewish culture.

The 13th annual Israel Fair, sponsored by the Jewish Federation of Orange County, celebrated many things Jewish--as well as a surprising sprinkling of things Latin--with a wild array of food, games and booths.

Festival-goers could buy Israeli panty hose, learn how to crochet yarmulkes and find ways to invest their money in Israel.

They also ate nachos, churros, lox and bagels, corned beef sandwiches and snow cones, and watched a break-dancing juggler in red flight pants. Performers entertained them by singing traditional Jewish folk songs, with a chorus or two of “Besame Mucho” tossed in for good measure.

To federation spokeswoman Chele Friedman, Sunday’s turnout was proof that the county’s Jewish community has grown to become a substantial and tight-knit community. Although some Jews have lived in the county for the last half century, she said, their numbers in recent years have swelled to an estimated 75,000 to 100,000.

“I’ve been here almost 20 years,” Friedman said. “There were once three synagogues; there are now 22. . . . We are no longer just an organization in Fullerton, another in Irvine. What you see now is evidence of community growth.”

At one booth, Dr. Ronald Cyrulnik of Long Beach was on hand to explain the importance of a kosher bris , or ritual circumcision. A scanty crowd gathered around the television beside him, which showed a videotaped ceremony.

“What we are publicizing is the fact that a kosher bris , which is a Jewish way of doing circumcision, is much less destructive to the tissue,” Cyrulnik said. “It is a commandment from the Torah. It is a mitzvah (blessing.)”

Fair-goers could take out their frustrations at a much less common ritual--a car bash. Armed with safety goggles and a sledgehammer--a large one for adults and a tiny one for children--people who had paid 50 cents whacked a rusted, engineless jalopy.

“It’s just to vent frustration,” fair volunteer Susan Brumer said. “And it’s a good fund-raiser.”

Not everyone was convinced. “It’s crazy,” said one incredulous spectator. “You beat the hell out of that car for nothing .”

One booth advertised “Hugs and Knishes.” Another promised “No More Lonely Nights.”

But there was an underlying political edge to the festivities, with many in the crowd wearing brightly colored buttons that read “No More Soviet Jewry.”

And in the corner of one bustling exhibit hall was a Holocaust memorial, a solemn display filled with concentration camp memorabilia, photographs of skeletal survivors with shaven heads and the artwork of children who will never forget what happened to their forebears during World War II.

One plaque--a sincere if not polished effort by third grader Sammy Moskovitz of Temple Beth Emet School--was emblazoned with a six-pointed star made of ice cream sticks and studded with gold glitter. In awkward hand, it read:

“I hope there never is a Holocaust again. The last one killed 6 million Jews. I will tell my children about the Holocaust.”