In my first blog post, I outlined the basic timeline for my project at the Southern Food & Beverage Museum, name-dropped a few of my advisors, and briefly mentioned how researching Southern Jewish foodways made me feel more connected to my own heritage.
However, as time progressed and my project evolved, I started to realize how complicated public history can be. First of all, what story should I tell? Secondly, what objects represent that story? And most importantly, why aren’t people responding to my emails?
After completing my initial research, I started to contact different people, organizations, and restaurants that might be willing to donate items for the exhibit. Sending out emails to complete strangers is definitely nerve-racking; but, once you realize that these scholars, chefs, and business owners are just regular people who are also interested in Judaism and food, it gets a little easier.
Essentially, I’m trying to reach out to several people in each of the 15 Southern states and Washington, D.C. I’m looking for cookbooks, family recipes, vintage menus, old signs, and memorabilia—anything that can help me tell this story. While some of my emails seem to vanish in the large internet void, others garner immediate responses. And let me tell you, that feels amazing.
When someone emails me back saying that they want to participate in the project, I get so excited. I don’t really know how to describe it. I just feel very connected to these random people who are scattered across the country. We may be states apart, but we both care about Southern Jewish identity and foodways, and that’s pretty cool.
These past few weeks have definitely pushed me outside of my comfort zone. While I love having the freedom to pursue my project independently, it’s also sort of stressful. I’m used to having a lot more guidance. Even though it’s scary, I think I’m becoming more confident in my abilities as a public historian. I know I can research and write and communicate…and even send a professional email or two.