Last summer, after my patient Mrs. Price heard me say that her blood sugar was 204, a single tear ran down her cheek as she said,  “My eldest granddaughter is getting married next year.”  A blood sugar measurement over 200 is one way to confirm a diagnosis of diabetes.  Her parents had both died in their 60’s from complications of chronically elevated high blood sugars.  Here is what I told her.

“The most important difference between your situation and mine right now is that your body is no longer able to keep its blood sugars in the normal range by itself.  But that doesn’t mean you are going to suffer the terrible complications that your parents did.  Kidney failure, blindness, heart attacks and amputations are not inevitable complications of diabetes.  It’s not diabetes itself that’s the problem; it’s uncontrolled diabetes.”

“There’s good news here: First, we found out about this before it turned into a serious problem.  Secondly, as long as you learn to keep your blood sugars in the normal range, your risk of developing complications will be pretty close to mine, which is to say, low.  A diagnosis of diabetes doesn’t mean that you’re going to have trouble.  It just means that your body can’t control its sugars automatically anymore, and it’s going to need your help.  But as long as you give your body the help it needs, and you learn how to conserve your insulin, the payoff will be huge.  I have no doubt that we will be able to get your sugars in the normal range.  You’re just going to need to involve your brain in the process.”

“You’re not going to be able to keep your blood sugars in the normal range automatically anymore, because if you could, your blood sugars wouldn’t be over 200.  And I can’t keep your blood sugars in the normal range all by myself either.  But if we work together, we can and we will.  So let’s figure out what we need to do to get your sugars under good control.  And then let’s do it.”

When I take care of patients with diabetes, I have lots of goals.  I want to get their average blood sugars under 125.  I have goals for total cholesterol, triglycerides, HDL and LDL.  I want blood pressures below 135/85, and I want kidney function in the normal range.  I want strong peripheral pulses and I want my patients’ feet cared for expertly, at home and by the podiatrist.  I want my patients’ eyes checked at least once a year.  And so on.

“But you, Mrs. Price,” I continued, “have only one goal.  Your goal is to dance at your grandchildren’s weddings.  Not just attend them, but dance at them.  All of them.  Starting next summer.”  She smiled a little.

“Did you know that one hundred years ago, before we had medicine for diabetes, the only treatment for diabetes was a high fat diet?,” I asked.  She did not know that.

I taught Mrs. Price how to conserve her insulin using the “Four Recommendations.”  She stopped buying the cereal and orange juice she’d been eating at 11:30 a.m. for years.  I prescribed a medication “to make my insulin more efficient,” as she put it.  We made an agreement that she would begin to walk 5 minutes every day, and that she would begin to increase that number by 1 minute a month.  I reminded her that “Slow but steady wins the race,” because I certainly didn’t want her to sprain an ankle or get shin splints, two complications that would prevent her from getting much exercise at all for months.  She also made a rainy-day plan — to walk in the nearby mall in bad weather.  This is Cleveland, after all. 

We got Mrs. Price a glucometer, and I showed her that she could actually figure out which foods were causing blood sugar spikes by testing before she ate and then an hour afterward.  As time went by, she got better and better at predicting which foods were going to cause unacceptable spikes, and which foods kept her blood sugars in the normal range, more or less.  She stopped buying foods that spiked her blood sugar, except once in a while “special for the grandkids,” as she put it.  She started eating a protein-rich breakfast at 8 a.m., and noticed, to her surprise, that it resulted in significantly less after-dinner snacking.  As the year went by, we watched her 3-month blood sugar averages drop from 190 to 150 to 120.

Last weekend, I am pleased to report, Mrs. Price danced at her granddaughter’s wedding.

In his blog Torah Flora, Dr. Jon Greenberg shares his unique insights and vast knowledge on Judaism and plants (or as he more articulately puts it, “biblical ethnobotany”). Some of us had the chance to witness that knowledge first hand today at the New York Botanical Garden, where Dr. Greenberg gave an enthusiastic group a “Torah Flora Tour.”

The goal of the tour (and blog), according to Dr. Greenberg, is to “use knowledge of plants and nature to better understand Torah and Halacha.” He cites a long-lost relationship during the biblical era between Judaism and nature, and a wish to reconstruct it.

Turns out this relationship goes well beyond the obvious of using Lulav and Etrog on Sukkot and bitter herbs on Pesach (though he discussed those as well, with exhibits A, B, and C proudly on view). This symbiosis exists in ways we have overlooked in our learning, in the very language of Tanach. Dr. Greenberg quoted Devarim in comparing a bitter man to wormwood, and wondered about the true identity of the desert Juniper in Jeremiah. It seems we’ve always turned to our green, leafy friends, for culinary, spiritual, and literary inspiration!

With every plant we passed, Dr. Greenberg pointed out its identifying marks and place in Jewish history (confirmed and fabled; Legend has it that it was a Jewish friend who showed Thomas Jefferson how to eat tomatoes…), and threw in some fun facts to sweeten the deal. He quoted sources with impressive speed and skill, citing the Talmud, Rambam, and Josephus in his fascinating botanical history lesson. Eventually, my intended event-reporting soon became a long list of “Who Knew?” facts and ideas I couldn’t wait to share on JCarrot!

For instance, while many Midrashic sources list the four species of Sukkot as metaphorical representations of people or senses, the Rambam sees them in an entirely original light: as an agricultural history of the Jews: The Lulav (date palm) grows in the desert, where the Jews wandered for forty years. The Aravot (willow) is a water-loving plant which finds its home on river banks, and represents our people’s crossing of the Jordan River on their way to Israel. The Hadasim (myrtle) grows in the Israeli highlands, where the people eventually spread out and settled, and the Etrog (citron, a cultivated fruit) represents the orchards that finally signaled the Jews’ agricultural growth in the land.

But the lessons didn’t end with interpretations of Judaic ritual items, oh, no. Some of the highlights of the tour were the “fun facts,” the stuff we might not use but sure are glad to know! For example, did you know that the word “scallion” comes from the Latin name for it, “Ascelonium”, so-called since the plants were imported from Ashkelon? I sure didn’t. Or that the original Maror (bitter herbs) probably wasn’t horseradish at all, but sea holly, the “prickly lettuce?” Dr. Greenberg and his wife offered us some samples of this spicy plant. Man, is it bitter. It could kick wasabi and romaine lettuce both to the curb come Hillel sandwich season. Funny thing is, sea holly starts out sweet. But as it matures, it becomes bitter and spiny, until it reaches a point where it’s no longer edible; just like the Jews’ experience in Egypt started pleasantly and ended in unbearable oppression!

As we walked among the rows of flowers and fruit, grateful that temperature had dropped a few degrees for the occasion (“I’ve got connections up there,” Dr. Greenberg joked), we came across familiar plants with hidden stories. “Not all of our favorite vegetables were always popular,” Dr. Greenberg shared, explaining how potatoes and tomatoes, both members of the Nightshade family, were once thought to be poisonous. In fact, eggplant took quite a while to find an audience. Quoting an Italian source from the 1890’s, he told us how the purple food was described as “a disgusting vegetable fit only for Jews.” Gee, thanks, guys. I’ll take that Eggplant Parmesan to go.

Dr. Greenberg spoke with such aplomb and excitement; it made me glad that I’d driven across the Throgs Neck Bridge to be there. Where else could I have heard so much about our shared history with nature? Next time I’m choosing my farmers’ market apricots, I’ll think for a moment about how some sources identify it as the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge in Eden.

At one point, we arrived at an ordinary, flowering sage plant.

“What does this look like to you?” Dr. Greenberg asked.

“A Menorah!” some brave or eager volunteer announced.

“Exactly. And where did we light the Menorah?”

“In Jerusalem, on Har HaMoriah.”

“Right. ‘Moriah’ is Hebrew for ‘sage.’”

Wow.

Dr. Greenberg will be speaking next at the Association of Orthodox Jewish Scientists in Southbury, Connecticut on Sunday, July 25^th. Those interested can register for the event at aojs.org.

Trans fats,�an invention of the 20th century, permitted the development of such synthetic�food-like products as margarine and coffee whiteners.� Neither of these products�existed around the time my great-grandparents caught their first sight of the Statue of Liberty.� Nevertheless, as a result of focused, sustained, and wildly successful marketing campaigns to gain their recognition and acceptance,�they became an integral part of what is now considered �traditional� kosher cooking.� In 1912, for example, after Procter and Gamble of Cincinnati launched a nationwide campaign for Crisco, its new vegetable shortening,�it enlisted the support of American orthodox rabbis, notably Rabbi Moshe Zevulun Margolies (the �Ramaz�) of New York, to endorse Crisco as ritually pure.� P&G advertised that �the Hebrew Race had been waiting for 4,000 years� for a solution to its shortening problems.� Mazola worked with the Hebrew Ladies� Aid Society in Fargo, ND, to teach interested parties how to use their product, and made contributions to the local women�s burial society for every unit sold.� Other examples abound.

I went to my local supermarket to check out the ingredients in�pareve margarine and coffee whitener.� Mother�s lists �liquid and partially hydrogenated soybean oil� first. �Fleischmann�s lists partially hydrogenated soybean oil second, after liquid corn oil.��The first three ingredients in original Coffee-Rich are, in order,�water, corn syrup and partially hydrogenated soybean oil.� The first three ingredients in fat-free Coffee-Rich are, curiously, identical.� �Partially hydrogenated� means trans fats.

What’s wrong with trans fats?� The problems are numerous, diverse, and well established.� Trans fats cause heart disease.� They increase insulin resistance, which causes diabetes.� Trans fats decrease good cholesterol and increase bad cholesterol. �They suppress the immune response, interfere with reproduction, and decrease the nutritional quality of milk.� They alter the properties of cell membranes.� They enhance deposition of abdominal fat.� In a famous study of 85,000 women conducted by Harvard University,�individuals with heart disease were found to have eaten significantly higher amounts of trans fats.

Trans fats have been banned in other countries, and in several cities throughout the U.S., but they have yet to be banned across our nation.� What the Food & Drug Administration (FDA) has mandated is that food containing less than � gram of trans fat per serving may be advertised as�”trans-fat free.”� That�s not good enough.� In the case of Coffee-Rich, a serving is 1 tablespoon.� This morning I felt like making my�coffee extra light, so I put 4 tablespoons, or � cup, of milk into�the mug.� If I had used Coffee-Rich, that would have added up to almost 2 grams of trans fat.� Just for the first cup.� So it would be easy, on any given day, to consume quite a bit of trans fat solely from trans-fat-free food.� That�s a problem.

What are our alternatives?� First and foremost, skip the coffee whitener.� Drink your coffee black, or choose tea with honey or lemon.� Try coconut, almond, soy, or rice milk if you�d like.� Bake pareve as our foremothers did for a thousand years, with coconut oil, which stays solid below 75 degrees Fahrenheit.� Decline to make�recipes that call for pareve margarine.� Don’t use it in place of butter; make different recipes.� We vote every time a bar code passes over a scanner, so don�t buy margarine or coffee whitener for your home, office, or synagogue.� There is no place for synthetic trans fats in a healthy community.

If you haven’t had a chance to see Food, Inc., carpe diem! PBS recently aired it on POV, television’s oldest showcase for independent non-fiction films. POV has also put the entire film on their site for free viewing for a limited time. It’s only up until April 28, so check it out today!

In planning our new (improved?) kosher home, we looked at everything that went into our mouths � from dairy to diet soda; meat to mints, chocolate to cheese. One area I hadn�t thought about until Rabbi SpiceRock brought it up was wines.

I�m happy to say that I�m not hung up with the thought that �kosher wine� is synonymous with �diabetes-inducing sweetness�. So the wine needs a hekshur. OK.

�Uh, no there�s something else�. The good Rabbi offered. �It�s called mevushal, which just means �cooked� in Hebrew and��

�Hold the phone, Reb,� I cut in. �COOKED wine? Are we talking about mulled cider kind of cooked, or that I can only drink sherry and marsala or��

�It means,� he said, taking control of the conversation before I got out of hand, �that the wine has been heated. It used to be up to boiling, but these days it just has to get up to 180 degrees. Basically it needs to be pasteurized.�

�And where in Torah exactly does it say to do this?�

�It� doesn�t,� he admitted.

So why, I demanded to know, would� I allow this abomination to be performed to an innocent and unsuspecting bottle of Chardonnay? The answer lies (like so many things, and especially with the laws of kashrut) in Talmud. It seems our old buddies Akiva, Hillel, Gamliel and the rest of the gang were concerned about idolatrous waiters (the scourge of every dinner party I�ve ever been to. I�m sure you�ve had the same experience.). They worried that they would open a bottle in the back room, make a quick toast to Zeus or Baal or Uma Thurman and then serve the rest of the bottle to the (Jewish) guests. Thus, unwittingly, would the guests participate in idolatry themselves.

The solution, reasoned the Rabbis (who clearly developed their wine palate by chewing on rock salt) was to boil any wine that Jews would consume but might be handled by non-Jews. Because no idol-worshipper would use BOILED wine in a libation to Loki. Logical, no?

The result was an explosion of interest in home wine-making by every Jew on the planet (including the esteemed Talmud commentator Rashi who grew� a whole freakin� vineyard)� and the coining of the term �BYOB�.

After Rabbi Spicerock left for the evening, I thought about the ramifications of this new information. I am not at all a oenophile (wine fanatic, and yeah I had to look that one up too). But there are statements about the world that go along with concept of mevushal that made me uncomfortable, beyond the idea of pre-percolated Port.

Here is the decision I arrived at: Bjorn isn�t standing by the waiter station popping the top on a �95 cab-sav and saying �here�s to you Thor. You rock!�

I just can�t buy into the view of my world � my home town, my work, my day-to-day experience � where anyone is making idolatrous libations any more. And certainly not with my wine.

So, for now at least, my wine choices will not include �flame broiled�.

On April 18, my co-steering committee member Sylvia Frankel and I were invited to speak to the congregation of St. Andrew Lutheran Church in Beaverton, Oregon, a nearby city most famous for being the home of Nike. It was an opportunity to address the congregation for one of a series of learning and study sessions; this one was called Food and Spirituality from a Jewish Perspective.

About 25 people attended, including Lead Pastor Mark Brocker and Associate Pastor Robyn Hartwig, and members of the St. Andrew Green Team, a group of congregants who work on sustainability issues within the St. Andrew community.

My co-presenter Sylvia is a Professor of Jewish Studies at Lewis & Clark College and also teaches at the Florence Melton Adult Mini-School in Portland. She spoke first, talking about the ancient Biblical connections between Jews, the land, and food, as well as the practice of gleaning. I talked about social justice in Jewish faith and practice, and how that relates to food, fair treatment of farm workers, and environmental stewardship as a Jewish ethic.

The group was very receptive, commenting on aspects of our talks, and asking provocative questions, including how to preserve the dignity of poor people in need. I mentioned Maimonides‘ eight levels of charity, the highest form of which is self-empowerment of the poor.

This was a great opportunity to do interfaith community engagement; both Sylvia and I really enjoyed the interaction and hope we can participate in other interfaith discussions about ethical and sustainable food. We’d like to thank Ecumenical Ministries of Oregon, an interfaith nonprofit based in Portland, which hosted an Earth Care Summit in February, where we met members of the St. Andrew community.

Anyone else have similar experiences, within a Hazon CSA or otherwise? Please share!

Check out this great article in the L.A. Times about the Progressive Jewish Alliance organizing a tour of food deserts in Los Angeles. Here’s an excerpt from the article:

“Jewish community groups aim to broaden the growing local and national campaigns to attract more supermarkets to poor neighborhoods, where limited access to healthful food has been linked to obesity, diabetes and other diseases. Programs are sprouting up in Louisiana, New York, Michigan and Pennsylvania.”

Read more here.

It’s sort of funny when two worlds collide unexpectedly, especially when one comes to the aid of the other. Take for example my recent search for the perfect milk alternative. I don’t dislike good ol’ cow’s milk, nor am I allergic to it. But as an observant Jew, I often find myself at odds with the fridge staple, usually after I’ve just enjoyed a delicious turkey sandwich.  I am what some would call a Fleish-a-phobe: I rarely eat meat if I can avoid it out of dread for the five hours and one minute to follow, when I will be barred from my favorite treats: ice-cream, chocolate, cheese, milk-based pie, the list goes on.

And so I’ve spent some time searching for that perfect alternative, that wondrous, dairy-free concoction that will replace milk in my cookie recipe and help me whip up the perfect pareve pumpkin pie.  Recently, my best friend and I (with both health and Halacha in mind) unofficially took it upon ourselves to taste-test every non-milk available to us, from various brands of soymilk to the less orthodox (and rarely Kosher) hemp milk, with varying results.

Soymilk is chock full of protein and readily available (call me crazy, but I don’t think the taste is that bad, either), but it’s also full of added sugar and contains estrogen. You know what they say about too much female hormone… Rice milk was the best tasting, but full of empty carbs and calories. Almond milk was pleasant and nutty, but was (as all nut products) high in fat. (Plus, as this website states, although almonds are among the most healthful nuts out there, the amount used in the milk is so small “you’re better off just eating the nuts”). I like to point out that real milk isn’t without its problems (hello, cholesterol), but two foodies can dream, can’t they?

A fourth, hemp milk seemed the healthiest: filled with Omega 3 fatty acids, high on the protein, but it proved near impossible to find Kosher. On the day I finally saw that the strange mark on one box was a legitimate Teudah Kashrut, I snatched it off the shelf, never mind the eight dollars a carton.

We found it quite good, definitely a few steps up from the starchy powder my friend had been mixing into his drinks for a protein boost (he’d once remarked to me that it tasted like sawdust), and I happily realized that it had virtually no aftertaste: it was just like rice milk! And one look at the ingredients told us why. The second ingredient was rice milk, and it had brought so many empty calories with it. So much for the cannabis smoothie.

Aside from our dilemma, we grappled with the idea that we may just seem a little, well… nuts to be searching so seriously. I got a few stares from my family when I announced that I’d found hemp milk Kosher. Why did I care so much? Use plain soymilk in baking and be done. Who likes the taste of that stuff anyway? (I countered with something like “I shamelessly enjoy the taste of soymilk, and this argument has been milked to death anyway,” pun totally intended.)

And then last week we sat around the Shabbat table, and the subject turned onto Ma’aras Ayin – the idea that an act might be forbidden not because it technically breaks any laws, but because it looks like it does, and if -one would see us doing it, they would think we were breaking Halacha. My Daf-Yomi-learning brother cited a passage in Gemara that mentiond two types of milk: the old favorite, cow’s milk and almond milk. My father looked up from his beef and potatoes and asked “almond milk? Like milk with almonds in it?”

Oh boy, did this plant-obsessed foodie have fun. And a few days later, still fascinated by the idea that milk alternative was not a hippie-green-party modern invention after all but with connections to Judaism as far back as any gefilte fish, I brought home a carton of chocolate almond milk for my father to try. Then I went looking for that passage in Gemara Masechet Beitzah and found it pretty fast (thank you, internet!). In a question of whether Maras Ayin applies to Rabbinical laws or only to laws stated in the Torah, the Rama stated that “one is permitted to put fowl into almond’s milk without concern for Ma’arat Ayin because the prohibition of eating fowl with milk is Rabbinic.” But when marinating beef in the pareve, milk-like substance, we should place a few almonds on the side, as a sign that no, we haven’t lost our Halachic marbles. We’re just a little nuts.

So who won the battle of the milk alternatives? I’d like to think we did: we’ve got four awesome sources to turn to for once dairy cookies turned pareve. I’m not keen on shelling out eight bucks for hemp-enriched rice milk, but I’ve got a carton of chocolate soy in the fridge, and boy am I thirsty.

I often get asked if there is such thing as Jewish food. After all, Jews are not the only ones to smoke meat, eat couscous or make fish into little balls. So when I was asked to put together a short description of Jewish food to sit on the tables at the upcoming HAZON conference I was excited to try and answer the question. The topic is a big one but here on one foot is a good succinct overview.

What is Jewish Food?

Brisket, barches, blintzes, burekas, kugel, jachnun and shalet. The list of Jewish foods is endless. Since biblical times food has been a central part of Jewish life playing a role in Jewish life, culture and tradition. It would, for example, be impossible to separate out food from the story and observance of Passover. But in many ways Jewish foods have counterparts in other cultures. What for example is the real difference between a kreplach and a wonton? What distinguishes challah from brioche? While it is difficult to define specific foods as Jewish, it is easy to pinpoint some of the forces that have shaped Jewish cuisine. The triumvirate of Jewish food law, food based rituals, and Jewish history have worked together to shape Jewish foodways.

Many Jewish rituals require foods. Bread is blessed on Friday night. Maztah is eaten on Passover. Feasts and gifts of food are mandated to make the carnival festival of Purim truly festive. To celebrate the New Year, the Rosh Hashana table is set with edible omens for the year to come. Jews evolved recipes, such as hamantaschen and honey cake, to meet these ritual needs and enhance the festive nature of celebrations.

Additionally, there are many religious Jewish laws that deal directly with or strongly impact cooking and eating. The dietary laws, kashrut, are perhaps the strongest force in shaping Jewish eating patterns. Based on biblical verses, the rabbinic laws of kashrut prohibit the mixing of milk and meat not only within a given dish but within the same meal. Meat, fish and fowl were further divided into permitted and forbidden. No shellfish, no birds of prey, no pork. Prohibition against cooking on the Sabbath, meant that slow cook dishes became essential elements of the Jewish culinary repertoire.

Working in these parameters, Jews throughout history adapted to the historic and geographic circumstances in which they found themselves. Jews worked with the foods and flavors of the regions in which they lived. Moroccan Jews roasted vegetables and meats with spices and fruits. Hungarian Jews made goulash –but without the cream. In places like Poland, poverty meant that potato dishes became a mainstay of the diet. Expulsions and migrations meant that Jews brought new foods and modes of preparations from one country to another. Artichokes for example arrived in Italy with Jews from Spain.

In America, most of what is known as Jewish food is the Americanized version of Eastern European Jewish cuisine. Some historically Jewish American foods such as bagels and “deli” have crossed over into the mainstream while others such as chopped liver have fallen out of favor. As we sit here today, eating together and talking food seriously in a Jewish context, we are playing a part in a long and evolving conversation about what it means to be Jewish.

Questions for reflection:

1. Is a blueberry bagel Jewish? why or why not? what about a bacon bagel?
2. What is more Jewish? kosher sushi or ham and cheese on matzah?
3. Is the fact that a food is made by or eaten by Jews enough to make it Jewish?

This post was cross posted