Last week, I had the pleasure of catering at Ovation Communities, and it brought up a flood of memories and emotions for me. I truly love working in this part of our community. There is something deeply grounding about food, memory, and connection in spaces like these — it always feels like coming home.
When I first started Hannah’s Kitchen, my grandfather was living at Chai Point, Apartment 902. That’s where I did my very first cooking demo. My grandfather, Sy Dolnick, recruited a ton of residents to attend. I demonstrated homemade pita chips and cilantro hummus, and when it was over, he called me over to sit down — and then proceeded to tell me everything I did wrong. That was Sy. I wasn’t surprised. I took it in stride, and honestly, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
Later on, I had the great joy of serving as the consulting chef at Sarah Chudnow, right up until it was sold. That chapter was truly a light for me. On Fridays when I didn’t have my kids, if I was free, I would go there — walking through the dining room during Shabbat dinner, checking on residents, seeing how people were doing, getting feedback, and talking with the kitchen team. Depending on my catering schedule, I led weekly cooking demos, helped serve on the third floor, oversaw large dinners, and worked on five Holocaust Remembrance Seders, led by Rabbi Adams.
Those seders were especially meaningful. I sat through committee meetings helping choose menus and stories to highlight, and I tested recipes that weren’t polished or standardized — they were true family recipes, written just as they had been passed down. My role was to honor them while making sure they worked in a professional kitchen. One year, my staff didn’t yet understand that it was okay to adjust a recipe if it didn’t quite work — they wanted to honor the recipes exactly. The result was famously hard matzah balls. I remember the residents laughing about it — and honestly, so do I. Oops. 
Every year at Sarah Chudnow, I also worked extra hours around Passover — helping with menu planning, kashering, cooking, and seder prep. One night at dinner, a resident said to me, “Hannah, I just wish you could bring in a sponge cake from New York City.” I smiled and said, “That’s hard — and to make one for the facility would mean separating 40 eggs. It’s a lot of work.” She shook her head.
So I went into the kitchen, cracked 40 eggs, nervous I would mess it up — and I made a sponge cake for the next night’s dinner. When I walked into the dining room to help serve it, she had tears of joy in her eyes.
That moment made it all worth it.
Over the years, I’ve catered so many events in the Rubenstein — bris celebrations for babies whose great-grandparents lived in the building, 90th birthdays, shivas, and everything in between. The layering of generations in those spaces is incredibly powerful. I vividly remember sitting in the Oasis having lunch when my grandfather pointed out a woman who had gone to grade school with my grandmother.
Another moment that stays with me: one summer, when Rebecca was at camp, I shared a photo of her sitting with a girl I didn’t know. Someone I went to camp with — CJ Wagner — commented, “That’s my niece.” I realized that girl’s mom grew up at MJDS with me, her aunts and grandmother grew up with my mom, and her great-grandmother — Sala Mydlak — was a resident at Sarah Chudnow and a close friend of my grandparents. I went to show Sala the photo, and she smiled with such joy. It was truly special.
Years later, during a meeting planning another Holocaust Remembrance Seder, someone slipped me a note saying Sala had passed away and that I should call her daughter. I will never forget that moment — or her.
I also remember her machatunim — the Yiddish word for your in-laws’ parents — Felisa Grant. Felisa had endured so much in her life to survive and fight for her family. She was such a strong woman. Once, after hearing my story as a divorced mother of three, she told me I reminded her of herself. I was shocked — nothing I went through came close to what she had endured — but it felt like an honor, even if I didn’t feel worthy of the comparison.
I also feel incredibly lucky to have had Dorothy and Ted Sattler as residents at Sarah Chudnow. Having them there gave me time with my bonus grandparents that I would not have had otherwise — time that felt both ordinary and sacred. When I first started out, Toby Sattler was also a resident. Though she was only distantly related to my ex-husband, she saw me fully as part of her family. That kind of generosity — of claiming people, of holding them close — is something I saw again and again in those halls.
Beyond the professional memories, there are deeply personal ones. My grandfather lived at Chai Point and later received hospice care there. My girls and I visited him regularly — and yes, latkes made appearances, because Grandpa loved dogs, food, and joy. Later, my Uncle Stu was also there for hospice, and our family spent a lot of time together in that space, enriched by seeing familiar faces everywhere we turned.
One of my favorite memories is attending a seder there when Mimi was a toddler. My friend Randi was there with her son, the same age, visiting their grandparents. Mimi got antsy, so I took her out of her high chair — and she took her first real steps, walking around the table. That same night, Rabbi Emmer asked if Eva would say the Four Questions. I truly thought, no way, but told him he could try. He told her he’d give her great-grandpa $5 after Yom Tov if she did it — and she did. I didn’t know Rabbi Emmer at the time, but I remember him handing me a Haggadah with transliteration. I smiled, shook my head, and turned to the Hebrew.
There are so many stories held within those walls. To this day, there are residents at Chai Point who know me simply as Sy Dolnick’s granddaughter — and that means more to me than I can say.
Food is so important in communities like Ovation. It’s social time. It’s something people look forward to. Understanding that — and seeing the joy something as simple as an ice cream cup can bring — is truly special.
And it’s why being back there last week felt so full circle.
