Like me, some of you may have pondered the significance of dairy on the festival of Shavuot. I have mixed feelings about the various explanations I have heard for this association:

• Since the rules about not mixing milk and meat had just been revealed at Sinai, there was no time for the Israelites to buy a second set of dishes so they had to have a dairy meal to celebrate the giving of the Law.
• Using gematria, the letters in the Hebrew word chalav (milk) add up to 40 - the amount of days the people waited at Sinai (or the number of years they wandered in the desert)
• As long as the Israelites followed the words of Torah, they would inherit the land flowing with milk (and honey)
• Just as Torah has been compared to water, so it has been compared to milk (i.e. “Milk and honey are under your tongue” (Song of Songs 4:11).

It’s this last idea on which I’d like to focus the remainder of this essay. When it comes to Torah as milk, the following Talmudic passages some up the values behind this metaphor nicely:

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“Do not wrong one another, and you shall fear your God; for I, The Eternal, am your God.” (Leviticus 25:17)

[This verse] forbids wronging others with words…And if you say: “Who knows if I had evil intentions?” For that reason the verse continues: “You shall fear your God”…[Regarding] anything which is a matter of conscience, known only to the person involved, [The Torah adds]: “You shall fear your G-d.” (Rashi on Lev. 25:17)

“Death and life are in the power of the tongue.” (Proverbs 28:21)

While researching for a d’var torah for this week’s parasha, I came across the following midrash, courtesy of a Union for Reform Judaism TableTalk by Barbara Binder Kadden:

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My last omer-centric post celebrated the yeastiness of a sourdough starter. Today I wanted to focus on barley. Let’s not forget that the omer period itself is named after the measure of barley, known as an “omer” that was brought to the Temple on the second day of Pesach, marking the beginning of the transition from the barley harvest of early spring to the later wheat harvest of Shavuot.

Hmmm…yeast, barley….what else might be used to celebrate this period? Some commentators say that the transition from barley to wheat marks the transition of the Israelites from a slave people (who lived like animals, the main consumers of barley) to freedom (since wheat bread marked the culmination of civilization). Not so fast, says professor Charlie Bamfourth in a recent Scientific American article: Read more »

(image and recipe below via deliciousdays.com)

Growing up in the late 70’s and early 80’s, my mom often participated in the gastronomic equivalent of a chain letter: a sourdough “Amish friendship bread” called Hermann. A friend or neighbor would give us a cup of this mysterious goo, which my sister or I would lovingly “feed” a cup of milk, flour, and 1/2 cup of sugar every fifth day, stirring on the days in between (yes, other kids had dogs or cats, we had a sourdough starter that lived in the fridge. This might explain some of my food issues as an adult…). Every now and then, we’d give some Hermann away to friends with care and feeding instructions, or use a few cups of Hermann to bake a delicious coffee cake.

Hermann is the perfect post-Pesach pet. You count the days between feedings as you count the Omer, and revel in the sheer yeastiness of the experience, and the resultant baked goods. Plus, you get to share him with friends, and as you give him away, Hermann’s value only increases (much like the Torah we receive anew from Sinai each Shavuot…).

Here’s instructions for starting your own Hermann, and a great recipe for a Hermann coffee cake is after the jump. Happy feeding! Read more »

Idea and image courtesy of flickr user Rodrigo Piwonka.

Jews have always been good at “repurposing” - pagan agricultural festivals, indigenous artforms, or the latest technology are all fodder for making our Jewish lives richer, more varied, or, well, simply more portable.

(Note: Even “Food-safe” plastics raise multiple health issues. You probably wouldn’t want to make a habit out of carting your lunch around in a container that you got of the shelf at Staples. Still, an entertaining idea nonetheless).

Of all the foods that play an important role in Jewish ritual life, perhaps the most overlooked in terms of its transformative symbolism is the lowly breadcrumb. Each Rosh Hashanah we loft these penitential panko into flowing waters, then stand at the ready with spoon, feather and candle as they mysteriously wash ashore six months later inside our toaster, behind our fridge, or surreptitiously planted, like the murder weapon from a bad episode of Law and Order, in an easy-to-reach corner of our home, waiting to be swept up, pronounced null and void, and burnt to a (inedible) crisp. Normally sitting innocently atop our mac & cheese, or (not so innocently) in our clams casino, why were these crumbs chosen to represent our most hidden sins, or (as the chasidim teach), our haughtiest arrogance? Why must we Jews endure this twice-yearly crouton crucible? Read more »

One of the most curious notions concerning the festival of Purim is the concept of Adloyada - a drunkenly-slurred reference to the following quote from the Babylonian Talmud, (Megillah 7b):

“Rava said: It is one’s duty to make oneself fragrant [with wine] on Purim until one cannot tell the difference (ad d’lo yada) between, ‘cursed be Haman’ and ‘blessed be Mordecai.’”

Many Jews take this talmudic dictum literally, and you’ll never see as much sincerity surrounding drunken revelry as in many a shul on Erev Purim. As the cantor of a suburban shul where Purim is focused as much on our kids’ sense of merriment as our own, I can’t very well break down the doors of perception using Manishewitz as my own personal peyote during the congregational megillah reading. No, I have to find some other way to get at the subversive heart of adloyada - a way to spin my world upside down for one brief moment each year, to gain new insights into our world through the temporary reordering of our religious and cultural norms. But how? Read more »

It figures that my first post not having to do with chocolate would be on Valentine’s Day. Not that I’m not a romantic at heart. Just look at this great new service I signed up for, in honor of the occasion! That’s right, soon my fidelity to my wife will be earning me big bucks, as people pay me to stay faithful in order to “offset” their cheating ways.

Obviously, this site (and my post so far) is satirical in nature. But there’s a very real point behind it: how much do we really know about the now-burgeoning carbon offset industry? Thanks to Al Gore, well-meaning eco-citizens can offset their entire carbon footprint here, or even here if they’re feeling particularly Jewy. But as with anything meaningful in life, it’s not as simple as we’d like it to be.

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This past weekend, about 75 people gathered at my congregation for a Tu Bisvhat seder sponsored by our community’s Tuv Ha’aretz CSA. I wrote previously about the emphasis on Fair Trade products at our seder this year, specifically via four cups of Fair Trade coffee and Fair Trade chocolate fondue for dipping all the various fruits and nuts. It was great to see such a diverse group of people - kids and seniors, synagogue members and local CSA supporters, as well as a much-appreciated “guest-appearance” by Hazon’s own Leah Koenig, all learning, singing, and, yes, dipping together. FYI, if you’d like to try a chocolate fondue seder, I highly recommend it. We used this chocolate, and this recipe (minus the added sugar), and I was able to prepare fondue for 75 people in less than 15 minutes! Just microwave 1 bag of chocolate chips + 1/2 cup half & half + 1 tbs. butter in a microwave safe bowl for 1 minute 30 seconds, wisk vigorously, and repeat for each serving - each bowl serves a table of 12, and stays dippable (if not hot) for over an hour, no fondue pots necessary!

After the jump, I’d like to share a few thoughts about the mysterious end to the Tu Bishvat seder, and the strange eating of No Fruit… Read more »

The least favorite part of my childhood Tu Bishvat seder was when they passed around the carob. I had never tasted so vile a substance, and the experience was only worsened by its supposed similarity in taste to chocolate. I’m sorry, but carob is to chocolate as Kenny G is to Coltrane. Since the third grade, I’ve been on a “no-carob” diet.

But that’s not the reason that our Tuv Ha’retz community, which is hosting our synagogue’s Tu Bishvat seder, decided to celebrate chocolate (a “p’ri etz hadar” - “product of a goodly tree” - if ever there was one) at this year’s celebration. Read more »