Finally, I was crying so hard I had to leave the room. I felt very blessed." Mrs. Behar's "great sadness" is that "we never had time to build our own syn- agogue." The Sephardic Community holds Shabbat, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services at the Zionist Cultural Center. Shirley Chicorel met her future hus- band, Marcel Behar, when she was 20. She was attending a Chanukah party when Mr. Behar's mother approached her. "She saw me, and she fell in love with me. She was thinking about me for her son, an engineer. It was almost an ar- ranged marriage." Marcel Behar was born in Egypt, the son of an agronomist from Bulgaria who, at 38, married for the first time. His bride was 20. The two moved to Egypt, "which was then considered the land of milk and honey," and lived a life of luxury, Mrs. Behar says. They had a chauffeur, an elegant garden and a full-time housekeeper. When young Marcel and his sister sail- ed for the United States, they wore tux- edos and traveled first class. They were visiting Spain when Egypt, in 1948, join- ed other Arab nations in an attack on the new state of Israel. The Behars never went back to Egypt. They had no complaints about life in the United States. "They loved America," Mrs. Behar says. "They were so proud to be Americans." Marcel Behar and Shirley Chicorel were married in 1955. Following Sephar- dic custom, no chuppah was used; instead, a tallit was placed over both their heads during the ceremony. Today, the Behars belong to Congrega- tion B'nai David. But they retain such Sephardic traditions as passing the seder tray above each guest and pouring wine into a bowl when "Dayenu" is said at Pesach. The Passover meal always in- cludes the customary mena, meat pie. Richard Behar, Shirley's son, serves on the Sephardic Community board. Shirley Behar is the only one of the Chicorels' children to marry a Sephardic Jew. Her own children date and have married Ashkenazim. "I would have liked for them to marry Shirley Behar: "Once when I heard my father sing I was so moved I started crying. I felt very blessed." Photo by Glenn Triest Jacob Chicorel, a chazzan with a lilting and soulful voice who spoke nine lang- uages, worked as a peanut salesman on Belle Isle. Each night, his wife would roast the nuts for Jacob. Judith Chicorel hated Detroit. "It was the worst time in her life," Mrs. Behar says. "It was horrible. Cockroaches were everywhere. They didn't have any beds. My mother said she cried all her tears that first year here." Language also was difficult for the Chicorels who spoke Ladino (Judeo- Spanish). Some Ashkenazi Jews refused to believe the Chicorels were Jewish be- cause they did not know Yiddish. Though always on good terms with Ashkenazi Jews, their traditions —every- thing from foods to the tunes they sang in synagogue — were foreign. So the Behars began to establish a community with other Sephardic Jews, holding their first High Holy Day services in their home in 1917. They later created the Spanish Jewish Community of Greater Detroit, with Jacob as president. "The richness of the Sephardic culture stayed with them in so many ways, like poetry and a certain attitude — being polite, gracious, warm and loving," Mrs. Behar says. Judith Chicorel cooked only from scrat- ch. Some of her specialties were roast lamb in lemon juice and a vegetable frit- tata of spinach and eggplant. And for dessert, she prepared buisquochico, small, sweet biscuits. The parents of six children, the Chicorels' initial frustration with their new life in the United States faded as Jacob prospered professionally. He left his peanut-selling job for a position with Ford, where he became a supervisor. "He was very proud of that," Mrs. Behar says. Jacob Chicorel later opened his own business, a quick-order hamburger res- taurant, and purchased the Victory Bowling Alley on 12th Street. He also became more involved with Detroit Ashkenazi Jews. The Chicorels joined Temple Beth El and sent their children to the congregation's Sunday school. "It was another world," Mrs. Behar says of the temple. Sephardic services "were and still are so different." Unlike large congregations, the Sephardic Community is small enough to allow members to frequently participate in services, Mrs. Behar said. There is separate seating for men and women, and congregation members lead the service. The synagogue is filled with a curious col- lection of tunes and davening styles reflecting the different birthplaces of the members. When a man walks to the bimah as he is called to the Torah, his family stands. He kisses his parents before he recites the blessing. "We sing the same tunes my parents used," says Mrs. Behar, a piano teacher. "I was always tremendously moved when my father led services. He sang from his soul. "Once when I was 16 I heard my father sing, and I was so moved I started crying. THE DETROIT JEWISH NEWS 29