Right from the beginning, I knew learning more about Chicago’s Romanian community was going to be a challenge. My apprehension came to fruition when I began my quest to find a subject to interview—completely unaware that my research would bring me to a stainless steel, kosher butcher shop in Rogers Park.

Characterized as a burgeoning and vibrant community, Romanians living in Chicago have a very proud heritage. The younger generations speak fondly of their parents, recalling stories of how they immigrated to America, in search of the freedom that only a democratic society could give them.

But all that was before I decided to begin my research on the community. Despite the appearance of progress and American-immersion that many acclimated Romanian immigrants put on, they are still very guarded and unwilling to open up to a reporter.

Where was this fifth-largest population in the country? Where were the estimated 65,000 Romanians living in the Chicago area?

After many rejections and an inability to find a true community location, I naturally came upon the Romanian Kosher Sausage Co., 7200 N. Clark St. Remembering that I had passed this lesser-known treasure in the North Side during my travels, I hastily returned and arranged to meet with the owner. Unfortunately, when I returned he was nowhere to be found.

I was begrudgingly greeted by a man with a heavy eastern European accent. When he realized I was not interested in purchasing any combination of chopped liver and brisket, his welcoming demeanor vanished almost entirely.

“It’s kosher food, but only a couple Romanian recipes. It’s just named that because of where the owners are from,” he said dismissively, requesting that his name be kept private.

I could tell he was not interested in helping me, nor would my request to interview the owner be granted. I was puzzled: How could a store named “Romanian” be unaffiliated with the Romanian community?

“The owner’s parents started it. They’re now deceased,” he said in response to my query about the store.

The more cold his demeanor, the more sense I made of the unsavory situation. Delving into the recesses of my knowledge of Romanian history, I knew that after many years of communist oppression under Dictator Nicolae Ceaucescu, Romanian citizens became skeptical of revealing too much, lest their opinions be revealed to members of the political party. I knew it was wrong of me to rush to assumptions, but I was sure that if the butcher were at more of a liberty to say, he would agree.

In the middle of the twentieth century, community groups formed, especially among the Protestant Romanian population, according to the Chicago Historical Society. Groups like Bucovina Mission helped immigrants settle in Chicago and others, like the Romanian Missionary Society, Romanian American Alliance, and Romanian Freedom Forum were founded in the 1980s and ’90s to organize for political rights and protest Communism in Romania. In 1998, the Illinois Romanian American Community united these groups together in a Chicago-wide alliance. Many of these organizations have since disbanded.

It seems as if total immersion has seemingly come to the community. A full-American assimilation that has resulted in a re-organization of historical priorities. The Romanian-Americans I attempted to contact maintained the old-world fears of revealing too much, coupled with disinterest.

However I was still puzzled over the mysterious Sausage Co. How was it possible that a predominantly Christian population come to open a kosher shop? Perhaps it was my bashert (Yiddish word meaning “destiny”) to continue my quest of this illusive group.

Before I turned to leave the immaculate store, I looked to my interviewee one last time to ask if his store was affiliated with any other Romanian organizations in the city.

“There’s a couple of Romanian recipes, but it’s not a Romanian store,” he insisted again.

As I retreated to the exit, I noticed flyers posted to the door. The papers were displayed in every color imaginable and in all shapes and sizes—the black font on each, mainly written in Romanian.

-Ileana