Somewhere in the vast and diverse landscape of Judaism, there’s a powerful intersection at which the physical world meets the mystical. A belief exists that holy sparks can be unleashed through worldly actions, revealing a spiritual beauty much bigger than ourselves.
For Philadelphia-based winemaker Eli Silins, that concept extends into the art and science of wine. The process of working with his hands connects tangible physicality to the celestial. And it’s through the quiet work he carries out under the Camuna Cellars label that he’s breathing new life and new expressions into some of America’s forgotten grapes.
Chambourcin. Traminette. Norton. Cayuga white. These are just a few of his subjects. He’d not even heard of these grapes until he moved to Pennsylvania in 2020 after a stint working in the California wine industry.
A simple online search shows that Silins is not shy about speaking with curious wine writers, many of whom focus on the fact that the wines of Camuna Cellars are kosher certified. And while that’s one of the big reasons I reached out to him — after all, Passover is just around the corner — my primary focus was about his immense talent at bringing out new and intriguing voices from wines made by hybrid grapes.
We spoke recently by phone. Here’s a bit of our conversation:
How did you find your way to hybrid grapes, in particular?
When I moved to Pennsylvania, I wanted to work with what was nearby. Organic viticulture doesn’t really exist in my ecosystem in this area, so I’m partnering with a vineyard project as part of this group nearby in New Jersey. We started a vineyard last year.
I’d never heard of a lot of these grapes until I got here, but they are the ones that grow well. Given the fact that people I buy fruit from aren’t growing organically, the hybrids are the ones that don’t need as much because they are suited to grow in this environment. And then, after awhile, I fell into this whole world of people who are into them, too.
It’s a lot different from the traditional wine world, where some of these grapes are still kind of maligned.
Has the work involved you breaking any of your own preconceived notions about these grapes?
When I was working in California, there were very few hybrids planted at all. I thought about them, but didn’t think they’d make good wine.
Coming out here, to Pennsylvania, they are still sort of considered a range of grapes that don’t make good wine. One reason for that is that people really haven’t been as creative with them. I hate to sound like a downer, but when you come to smaller wine regions, you find people have been using hybrids to make mostly sweet wines.
I want to see what we can make here.
What’s your favorite one to work with?
I don’t know. I still feel like I’m really exploring hybrids. I was really into chambourcin. I like it because it grows really well here. It can be beautiful and it’s good in blends. In fact, I’ve started blending it with a little bit of norton because it has some of that richness that chambourcin lacks.
And then I have this one grape that was just named last year, right after we planted. It’s a complex hybrid of cayuga and riesling. I think it used to be called NY 81 and then they changed it to aravelle. I haven’t worked with it yet, but I’m excited about it. We planted it in the vineyard in New Jersey.
Have any of the grapes surprised you?
Yeah. Last year, in 2023, I finally got my hands on some traminette, and it’s just amazing. An aromatic white, it has that honey element. They’re just these grapes that you really don’t associate with a climate like this, and yet you can grow them here because they are complex and resilient. They are the melting pot that some people think makes America interesting.
I have your 2022 Ein Soif and the ‘That’s Us / Wild Combination’ here at home. So that’s fredonia, niagara, cayuga white, and vidal blanc. What have you learned about the personalities of these grapes?
So fredonia, you’ll see it if you go to East Coast wineries. Fredonia and niagara are related to concord, predominantly v. labrusca.
The Ein Soif is my cabalistic wine pun — the infinitude of the divine and glou glou table wine. That one, in particular, is my homage to kiddush wine. It’s challenging notions of what grapes make good wine and why we think some are good and some are bad.
What do you mean?
I’m here to mess with people a little bit. Some of these grapes, they have what Americans think of as ‘grape flavor,’ that concord flavor that’s not common in other countries. So it has this nostalgic element — at least for me. Also with Christians, it’s used with communion wine. That’s the taste of kiddush wine — grape drinks. And there are wine people that fucking hate it. And then there are some that love it.
But for me, it’s fruity, not sweet. It’s light. I would put it in the chillable red category.
And you know, at first, I hated this wine. Some things were taste — and I was introspective about why I didn’t like this taste. Or it was something else. I tasted it with my mom — who is not a wine drinker — and she was like, “This one is my favorite.” And it started to grow on me actually. It’s like this herbal grape drink — fruity but not sweet, with flavors that remind me of my childhood.
It really speaks with this place and my experience growing up in Chicago, in the Midwest, in America, and as a Jew. And I like that wine has different points of entry for different people. And I also like the fact that — and part of this is because of the tremendous work of ABV Ferments and Jahdé Marley — we can push the boundaries of wine a little bit.
Do you consider yourself a natural winemaker?
I don’t know. I have lots of mishegas. I feel like I’m in the camp of natural wine, but I’ll fuck with sulphur if I need to. I mean, I’m not a zealot. I don’t have a goal to be a natural winemaker, but I think a lot of what I do resonates with the natural wine community.
At the end of the day, I’m going do what I need to do. I’ll make the best decisions with the resources I have available to me. These are the realities of not inheriting wealth and trying to do something in the world.
Speaking of mishegas, I have to ask a couple questions related to the kosher aspect of your wine. I mean, in some ways it further distinguishes your wine even in the hybrid community. Do you think this differentiating factor is impacting your sales? Like, do you expect to see an uptick as we approach Passover?
There’s a couple different parts of that. The kosher certification I have is not a widely used one. So very religious Jews won’t trust it. I’m looking to change this in my next vintage. At the end of the day, this isn’t a hill I’m going to die on, but I do want to sell wine and if I can sell to more people, my life will be a little easier.
There are people who keep kosher who drink my wine. And I also think it resonates with people who maybe don’t keep kosher during the year but for Jewish holidays maybe they will.
But you suspect at least some uptick?
Yeah. And if I was better at marketing I’d really do it. Hopefully someone will help me with that side of things.
Do you like getting questions about the spiritual or religious element of your wines?
I think that generally I like it. These are things I’m interested in.
What sits at the intersection of your spirituality and your interest in winemaking?
I wasn’t super religious growing up, but we were very culturally Jewish. My mom thought it was very important for me to have a Jewish education, and at the time it kind of really didn’t do it for me. But in college — like a lot of people in their twenties — I went through a process of discovering myself.
Embarrassing or not, there’s a Jewish musician named Matisyahu, and when his first album came out in 2004, it kind of showed me this approach to Judaism that I didn’t really think of, if that makes sense? My senior thesis in college was studying parallels and differences in halachic (Jewish law) agriculture and our notions at that time of sustainable agriculture. And that really opened up a lot for me.
What’s one example?
Think about the concept of Shmita. The sabbatical year. It occurs every seven years and the idea is that you’re to let your agricultural lands rest. And that really plays into the concept we know today of regenerative agriculture, not taxing the land or taking from it.
At the end of the day, and specifically with me being someone who is interested in environmentalism and agriculture and Judaism, the idea of releasing creative and spiritual sparks in the physical world, and working with my hands to connect our tangible physicality with the celestial, it’s very cool.
I love that. And not to pivot to a question that’s too cheeky, but with you making these wines, is anyone in your family still drinking Manischewitz, or have you freed them from those bonds?
Nobody drinks Manisschevitz, per se. But my mom, while she’s not really a drinker, she likes to support me and has my wine on hand.
What’s behind the name of Camuna Cellars?
On one foot, it’s a riff on community. It’s like a commune. Wine is a tool for communing with the land. It’s a way to bring people together. I see it as a tool for environmental change, and having conversations that ideally contribute to social change, too.
You know, I’m not trying to make the best wine ever. I don’t see myself in the role of some maestro. I’m trying to make wine that speaks of a place and it tries to bring good vibes to your table. I want it to be something that brings people together.
Very cool. I dig that. Last question: What’s next for Camuna Cellars?
In a general sense, I’m looking to become more established with a vineyard and with a dedicated space. And on a smaller level, I’m working starting a wine club. I just need to write an email about its release and actually start promoting it. 🍇
This interview was edited and condensed for clarity.