A group of people at a Hillel gathering, 1970. Back row, left to right: unidentified, Richard Bass, Rabbi Marvin Hier, Bob Golden, unidentified, unidentified. Front row, from left: unidentified, unidentified, unidentified, Hildy Groberman. (photo from JWB fonds, JMABC L.11673)
If you know someone in these photos, please help the JI fill the gaps of its predecessor’s (the Jewish Western Bulletin’s) collection at the Jewish Museum and Archives of B.C. by contacting [email protected] or 604-257-5199. To find out who has been identified in the photos, visit jewishmuseum.ca/blog.
Joseph’s Tomb, inside the gate. (photo by Gil Zohar)
“The bones of Joseph, which the Children of Israel brought up from Egypt, were buried in Shechem in the portion of the field that had been purchased by Jacob.” – Joshua 24:32
“‘And he bought the field where he pitched his tent.’ (Genesis 13:19) Said Rav Yudan bar Simon, ‘This is one of the three places regarding which the nations of the world cannot slander Israel and say, “You stole them!” The places are the Cave of Machpelah [in Hebron], the Temple [in Jerusalem] and the Tomb of Joseph [in Shechem/Nablus].” – Bereshit Rabba, 79:4
There’s little inspiration to be found in the unadorned tomb of Joseph, the favourite of Jacob’s 12 sons. The holy site, located in the gritty eastern outskirts of Nablus among parched olive groves and graveyards of wrecked cars, is today a flashpoint between those who revere the site – Israeli Jews, Palestinian Muslims, Christians of all stripes, and the 600-member Samaritan community living on Mount Gerizim overlooking this West Bank city of 160,000. The traditional anniversary of Joseph’s death on Tammuz 27 (which fell on July 31 this year) is considered an especially auspicious pilgrimage time.
The group of 1,200 pious Jews, armed with permits and prayer books, arrived at the shrine in a convoy of bulletproof buses protected by the Israel Defence Forces. Most were Bratslaver Chassidim, who set great store in their practice of praying at the graves of tzadikim (righteous ones).
The IDF-escorted pilgrimage on the first Tuesday of every month often leads to riots. IDF sappers neutralized a pipe bomb hidden at Joseph’s Tomb prior to the visit of the 1,200 pilgrims and 12 Palestinians were injured during clashes with the IDF. The list of security incidents, arson and terrorism is long and bloody.
In the secular West, the story of Joseph – whose 11 jealous brothers sold their 17-year-old sibling into slavery in Egypt – has been popularized by the rock opera Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. Librettist Tim Rice and fellow Academy Award-winning composer Andrew Lloyd Weber, along with actor Donny Osmond as Joseph, captivated audiences from Broadway to the West End with their account of Joseph’s rise to become the vizier, second only to Pharaoh in the Egyptian empire.
But Joseph, the hero of Bible and Quran stories, has hardly been given the royal treatment by Middle East politics. Dotan, where Joseph was thrown into a pit, called Jubb Yussef (Joseph’s Well) today is a ruined caravanserai that collapsed in an earthquake in 1837. Joseph’s tomb, enshrining the bones brought back from Egypt by the Children of Israel some 3,300 years ago together with the remains of Joseph’s sons Ephraim and Manasseh, has fared better.
The plain one-storey is called Qabr an-Nabi Yúsuf (Tomb of the Prophet Yúsuf) in Arabic and is revered by Jews as Kever Yosef ha-Tzadik (Tomb of Yosef the Righteous). The whitewashed limestone building is capped with a cupula and protected by a massive black gate. Barbed wire crowns the looming walls. Signposts in Arabic and English indicate the nearby sites of Tel Balata and Jacob’s Well. None directs visitors to Joseph’s Tomb.
Balata refugee camp. (photo by Gil Zohar)
Tel Balata is the nondescript Canaanite/Israelite Iron Age stratified archeological mound that few tourists bother to visit. Jacob’s Well is covered by a 20th-century Greek Orthodox basilica marking where the patriarch camped when returning to Shechem (ancient Nablus) from Paddan Aram in today’s Iraq. In one of the Torah’s three real estate deals – along with Abraham’s purchase of the Cave of Machpelah in Hebron and David’s acquiring of Mount Moriah in Jerusalem – Jacob bought the plot of land from the sons of Hamor, the father of Shechem. There, Jacob pitched his tent and erected an altar (Genesis 33:18-20).
Some 1,500 years later, Jesus “came to a city of Samaria called Sychar, near the field which Jacob gave to his son Joseph. Jacob’s Well was there.” (John 4:5-10) Drinking water, he chatted up a Samaritan woman, known in Greek as Photine (the luminous one; hence, the church’s name, St. Photini). Christian pilgrims flock to the site to reverently drink drafts of cool water from the deep well in the church’s vault.
Across the street is Balata Refugee Camp, administered by the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA). Today the largest camp in the West Bank, it houses 27,000 people in a quarter-square-kilometre site that was designated for 5,000 refugees when it was established in 1950.
Ottoman Sultan Abdul Hamid II’s clocktower, erected in 1906. (photo by Gil Zohar)
Even for an intrepid, multilingual tour guide like this writer, it is daunting to find the unmarked way to the holy site. The drab building is located next to the Qadari Tuqan School, along a dusty unnamed road where only recently were sidewalks laid. The easiest way to find the landmark is to look for the Palestinian Authority police vehicle parked outside the locked gate. Then, one must locate the pair of PA police officers loitering in the shade nearby, smoking cigarettes and nervously fidgeting with their rifles. Ask politely in Arabic and they’ll let you in, no questions asked, no baksheesh (tip or bribe) required – just don’t mention that you’re Jewish.
Inside the locked gate, you’ll find a simple barrel tomb and the stump of a column of indeterminate age. There’s no evidence of the repeated vandalism that has punctuated the tragic history of Joseph’s Tomb since 1995, when Israel withdrew from the West Bank city, ending the occupation that began in 1967 with the Six Day War.
A photo from 1900 shows the well-maintained compound around Joseph’s Tomb. A carriage road facilitated the pilgrimage of pious Jews from the Old Yishuv who regularly came to pray there. The holy site stood in isolation. Nearby was the Arab hamlet of Balata, with eight houses.
The name Nablus is a corruption of the Latin Colonia Julia Neapolis, which was founded by the Roman emperor Vespasian in 72 CE. In the old city, in 1906, Ottoman Sultan Abdul Hamid II erected a clocktower to celebrate 30 years on the throne of the Sublime Porte.
In the Six Day War, Israel captured the territory, which had been occupied by the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan since 1948. Once-somnolent Nablus experienced a burst of prosperity, though today, under PA self-rule, the Palestinian economy is floundering. Expanding from a population of 30,000, the city spread out to swallow the nearby villages, including Balata. Joseph’s Tomb became entangled in urban sprawl.
Jewish settlers began to frequent the mausoleum. By 1975, Muslims were prohibited from visiting the site, which some claimed was the tomb of Sheikh Yúsuf Dawiqat, an 18th-century Sufi saint. In 1982, St. Louis, Mo.-born kabbalist Rabbi Yitzchak Ginsburgh established the Od Yosef Chai (Joseph Still Lives) yeshivah at the site.
Palestinian Authority police by Joseph’s Tomb. (photo by Gil Zohar)
Conflict mounted following the Oslo Accords. Tensions boiled over in September 2000, in the wake of then-prime minister Ariel Sharon’s controversial visit to Jerusalem’s Temple Mount. A full-scale battle broke out.
On Oct. 1, 2000, Border Police Cpl. Madhat Yusuf, 19, of Beit Jann in the Upper Galilee, was wounded in the neck in a clash with Palestinians at Joseph’s Tomb. Over the course of four hours, the Druze warrior bled to death because the IDF considered it too risky to evacuate him without a ceasefire.
A week later, on Oct. 7, 2000, the site was handed over to PA police. Within hours, Joseph’s Tomb was pillaged by Palestinian protesters. Using pickaxes, sledgehammers and their bare hands, they demolished the holy site. It was rebuilt by Italian stonemasons.
In the Bible, Joseph – the chaste and handsome prisoner – is wooed by an unnamed would-be lover only identified as Potiphar’s wife. Though many midrashim about Joseph are incorporated in the Quran’s 12th chapter, known as Surat Yusuf, the lady’s name is similarly omitted. However, within several centuries, various Islamic sources identified her as Zuleika. Among these medieval texts, the most popular was the epic Farsi poem “Yusuf and Zulaikha,” composed in 7,000 Persian couplets by 15th-century poet Jami.
The Sufi master regarded the story of Joseph’s temptations as an allegory for the mystical striving after divinity. In Nablus today, pilgrims continue to come to Joseph’s Tomb seeking that union. Alas, Israelis and Palestinians have not found a coat of many cultures to fit them both equally.
Gil Zohar is a writer and tour guide in Jerusalem, Israel.
Focaccia straight from the oven. (photo by Shelley Civkin)
Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines, please. Or, in this case, your yeast. From zero to focaccia in one hour.
My unpremeditated transformation from water-burner to bread-baker is shocking even to me. Or especially to me. When hubby Harvey came home one day with a cast-iron pan, I got über excited, thinking I could now fry like my father used to. Though, when frying became a dirty word in the 1990s, he called it sautéeing. But, somehow, sautéeing seemed too prosaic for the mighty cast iron, so I started investigating what else I could do with the skillet.
Thanks to Google and Pinterest’s cookies, they now know that I like baking bread. I automatically get links to recipes for cast-iron bread-baking. Every. Five. Minutes. Enter focaccia, stage right. Or, if you’re Italian … entra nella scena della focaccia a destra.
I perused the myriad recipes and took a few of them on a test drive. Or test bake, as it were. The following recipe overtook the others by a mile, and won in the finest focaccia category. Here’s a link to the winning One-hour Rosemary Focaccia Bread I’ve come to love: flavorthemoments.com/one-hour-rosemary-focaccia-bread. (It actually takes an hour-and-a-half, if you include the time it takes to preheat your oven.)
It’s my go-to quick bread recipe. It’s truly no-fail. Feel free to ditch the garlic and Parmesan, or add more rosemary. You can’t screw up this bread. After my first try, I was hooked. I let the gorgeously golden focaccia cool, sliced it into small rectangles, like they do in Italian restaurants, and dipped it in EVOO (shorthand for extra virgin olive oil). Which made me wonder what an “extra virgin” is? Something to ponder another time. Never mind. Not relevant. Anyway, I’ve made this focaccia several times. Needless to say, I am not getting thinner. But my Italian is improving.
Now that I’ve pretty much nailed down challah and focaccia, I decided to branch out and try making a no-knead round crusty bread. You know, like sourdough. Minus the sour. The kind that requires you to have a Dutch oven. Google and Pinterest are way ahead of me, so they’ve been sending me nonstop recipes and pix of Dutch oven bread. All I had to do was think about crusty bread and they were on it.
I recently learned that not all Dutch ovens are created equal. They’re mostly made from cast iron covered in enamel, but not all of them can withstand the high heat you need to use. Thing is, for crusty bread, you have to heat the Dutch oven to about 450 degrees – empty. Then you put the dough in it. You don’t want to ruin a fancy shmancy Dutch oven over a loaf of bread. Even though my Dutch oven isn’t one of those $400 Le Creuset ones – it’s a $65 one from Costco, which works perfectly for pot roast, chicken and everything in between – I’m loathe to risk ruining it over bread. Sure, I could go buy one of the fancy Dutch ovens but, seriously, $400 for a crusty loaf? Not in this lifetime. I worked too hard to fritter my money away like that. And, like I always say, just because you can afford to buy something, doesn’t mean you should.
So, I improvised and used an ancient Magnalite aluminum-magnesium alloy Dutch oven that belonged to my friend’s late mother. I’m hoping I don’t get Alzheimer’s, what with the aluminum connection, but it’s not like I’m going to be making every single meal in it. Anyway, the bread was a marginal success. The outside looked gorgeously crusty but, once I cut into it, parts were doughy and uncooked. Bake and learn. I’ll try it a few more times, tweaking the temperature, increasing the rising time, etc., and hope for the best. If at first you don’t succeed, well, suck it up and try again.
I can hear some readers wondering why I would want to waste half a day baking bread from scratch, when I could just go out and buy a loaf. Well, there’s something indescribable about the smell of fresh baked bread wafting through my home. It’s a little like a comestible aphrodisiac. It makes me weak at the knees, thinking about the butter melting slowly over the hot bread, as I sniff it lovingly with anticipation. Wait, this is becoming a little X-rated. I need to get a grip. Sorry. Suffice to say that my husband and I adore fresh bread and appreciate the effort it takes to make it. And, since I’m a notorious multi-tasker, I busy myself with other things while the dough is rising, so there’s no wasted time. Like now, for instance. I’m writing this article while waiting for my rosemary and Kalamata olive bread dough to double in size.
Never having been one to let grass grow under my feet, my next culinary foray will be gravlax. Ever since tasting my friend Roxanne’s heavenly gravlax last Pesach, I’ve been itching to give it a go. Since salmon season is upon us, there’s no time like the present. Harvey’s on board too, but not as a cook as much as a taste-tester. From what I can tell, it’s a ridiculously easy thing to make, as long as you have truckloads of salt, sugar, dill and time. No, not thyme. Once I perfect the recipe, I’ll share it with you. But not until then.
You can try till you’re blue in the face to convince me that store-bought food is just as good as homemade, but I’m not buying it. Literally or figuratively. There’s just something about the laying on of hands, the investment of love and effort, and the satisfaction at the end of it all, that makes homemade food so very worth it.
I suspect I might have made a very dedicated homesteader. As long as I had an electric stove and oven, and a good refrigerator. Oh, and maybe somewhere close by where I could get a good decaf, low-foam, lactose-free latte while I was growing my own food, baking bread and churning butter. Am I country girl at heart? Hell, no! I am about as cityfied as they come. To wit, my idea of camping is a Motel 8. And outhouses? They should be outlawed.
Enough said.
Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review, and currently writes a bi-weekly column about retirement for the Richmond News.
Lil Shapiro with three unidentified men, at a Jewish National Fund event, 1960. (photo from JWB fonds, JMABC L.11896)
If you know someone in these photos, please help the JI fill the gaps of its predecessor’s (the Jewish Western Bulletin’s) collection at the Jewish Museum and Archives of B.C. by contacting [email protected] or 604-257-5199. To find out who has been identified in the photos, visit jewishmuseum.ca/blog.
Whether you go to farmers markets or elsewhere to buy your summer produce, cucumbers are a must. In Jerusalem, we have all kinds of cucumbers year-round but my favourite in Machaneh Yehudah is one with a fuzzy, pale green skin called melafafon beladi (native, urban or indigenous to the country) or, in Arabic, fauze. Much more expensive than regular cucumbers, the taste is special, but the following recipes will taste great with regular cucumbers.
CUCUMBER SALAD BOATS This recipe came from Gourmet Magazine probably more than 30 years ago. It makes 6 servings.
2 large cucumbers, peeled and halved lengthwise 1 cup grated carrots 1 cup grated radishes 2 tbsp olive oil 2 tsp lemon juice salt and pepper to taste
In a bowl, combine grated carrots, radishes, oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper.
Scoop out some of the seeds, then place cucumbers on a plate and fill with vegetables. Wrap in plastic wrap and chill for at least one hour. To serve, cut each cucumber into thirds.
SEAWEED AND CUCUMBER SALAD 4 servings
1/2 cup washed seaweed 1/2 bunch green onions 4-6 cucumbers 2 1/2 tbsp lemon juice 1/4 tsp sesame oil 3 tbsp soy sauce or teriyaki sauce 2 tbsp sesame seeds or chopped cashew nuts (optional)
Chop seaweed and green onions in a bowl. Chop cucumbers coarsely and add to bowl.
In a jar with a lid, mix lemon juice, sesame oil, soy sauce or teriyaki sauce. Pour over salad. Sprinkle sesame seeds or cashew nuts on top before serving.
TURKISH CUCUMBER AND YOGURT SALAD This dish is often called cacik or jajik. Recipe makes 4-6 servings.
2 large cucumbers, sliced salt to taste 1 crushed garlic clove 2 tsp white vinegar 1/2 tsp chopped dill 2/3 cup yogurt 1 tbsp chopped fresh mint 2 tbsp oil
In a bowl, combine cucumber slices, salt, garlic, vinegar, dill and yogurt and blend.
Sprinkle mint and oil on top before serving.
Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, lecturer, book reviewer and food writer in Jerusalem. She created and leads the weekly English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda, she has compiled and edited nine kosher cookbooks, and is the author of Witness to History: Ten Years as a Woman Journalist in Israel.
When I entertain during the summer, my favourite drink is sangria, the Spanish wine punch whose name means blood. As I walk past the wine store on Agrippas Street in Jerusalem, just before entering the shuk, I marvel at the array of wines and think what great sangria they would make.
Traditional sangria is made with red wine and fruit, a little sugar to sweeten and orange juice. A version of the drink has been around since the early Greeks and Romans, who added sugar and spices to their wines. When Spain was under Moorish Islamic rule, until 1492, sangria disappeared but then returned. When the 1964 World’s Fair was held in New York City, sangria was a popular feature at Spain’s pavilion and it became popular among Americans. Here are a few recipes to try.
TRADITIONAL SANGRIA 8 servings
3 cups red wine 1 1/2 cups lemon-lime soda 1 1/2 cups orange juice 16 slices of limes 16 slices of lemons 8 slices of oranges 1/2 cup brandy 1/4 cup sugar 2 tbsp orange liqueur 2 tbsp grenadine 2 tbsp lemon juice 2 tbsp lime juice
Place wine, lemon-lime soda and orange juice in a large pitcher.
Add lime slices, lemon slices and orange slices.
In a small bowl, combine brandy, sugar, liqueur, grenadine, lemon juice and lime juice and blend. Pour into pitcher. Add ice cubes and chill several hours before serving.
WHITE SANGRIA 6-8 servings
1 1/2 cups brandy 1 can frozen lemonade concentrate 1 thinly sliced lemon 2 cups ice cubes 2 cups dry white wine 2 cups club soda 1 cup sliced strawberries (optional) mint sprigs
Combine brandy and lemonade concentrate with lemon slices. Refrigerate one to four hours.
In a pitcher, add ice cubes, brandy mixture, wine and club soda. Add strawberries, if using. Garnish with mint sprigs.
PEACH SANGRIA 6 servings
4 cups dry white wine 1/4 cup peach-flavoured brandy peel from one large orange ice cubes 2 cups chilled club soda 1 1/2 quartered, pitted peaches
Mix wine and brandy in a large pitcher. Add orange peel and chill.
When ready to serve, add ice cubes and club soda. Place a peach quarter in each glass and pour brandied wine over each.
Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, lecturer, book reviewer and food writer in Jerusalem. She created and leads the weekly English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda, she has compiled and edited nine kosher cookbooks, and is the author of Witness to History: Ten Years as a Woman Journalist in Israel.
In the photo above and those below: People socializing at an unidentified event, possibly a University of British Columbia event in honour of Harry Adaskin, 1985. (The above photo is from JWB fonds, JMABC L.13764)
If you know someone in these photos, please help the JI fill the gaps of its predecessor’s (the Jewish Western Bulletin’s) collection at the Jewish Museum and Archives of B.C. by contacting [email protected] or 604-257-5199. To find out who has been identified in the photos, visit jewishmuseum.ca/blog.
(photo from JWB fonds, JMABC L.13784)(photo from JWB fonds, JMABC L.13775)Sol Kort, middle. (photo from JWB fonds, JMABC L.13762)
Babka gone bad: The Accidental Balabusta’s first attempt at this Jewish treat was less than a stellar success. (photo by Shelley Civkin)
After I conquered challah and cholent, I felt it was time to tiptoe into the forbidden realm of babka. I say the word with a great deal of reverence, because, well, if you’ve ever eaten a spectacular babka, you know it’s something awe-inspiring. There are limitless variations of babka: chocolate, Nutella, boozy, apricot and cinnamon, pumpkin, butterscotch and more. I even found a recipe for babka ice cream sandwiches and babka bread pudding. This is not diet food. Never was. Never will be.
Babka is comprised of a basic challah dough or a butter challah dough. Every recipe is different and, sometimes, to achieve the perfect babka (which I am far from accomplishing) you need to do a bit of mixing and matching of recipes.
My first attempt at making chocolate babka was an unmitigated disaster. Not only was my dough so velvety soft that I couldn’t even roll it, but the filling was so thin that it smooshed out all over the place. Part of the problem was math. I have always been math challenged. In fact, I have a pair of socks that say: “The three things I hate most are math.” My brain shuts down when faced with mathematical conversions (yes, I know there are apps for that). Long story short, I mistakenly used a half-pound of butter instead of a half-cup of butter for my babka dough. Hence, the flaccid, unresponsive dough. Nobody likes flaccid dough. Most people don’t even like the word flaccid. Except sex therapists. Anyway….
My other challenge was not realizing that you have to refrigerate the dough for a bit before rolling it out and filling it. There are tons of YouTubes on how to make babka – I recommend viewing several of them before attempting this at home. Also, check out lots of Jewish cookbooks, too. I stress “Jewish” because we Jews know how to accentuate the caloric value of our food so that it tastes impossibly rich and irresistible. Jewish baking is famous for a reason. If a recipe calls for eight ounces of dark chocolate, what the hell, 12 ounces must be better. Half a cup of butter – why not half a pound? Don’t bother pointing it out. I see the error of my ways.
If my first attempt at babka was less than a stellar success, it’s not just because of the aforementioned infractions. My main excuse is my miniscule galley kitchen. I lay the blame squarely where it belongs: on the almost-nonexistent counter. Things are so squished in my kitchen that there’s very little room for food. Or utensils. Take, for example, my long, articulated spatula. It’s the perfect implement for shmearing the chocolate onto the dough before rolling it up. I digress.
Back to the babka. I started shmearing the chocolate and, part way though, I had to sneeze. So, I put the long spatula into the bowl with the melted chocolate sitting on my teeny, tiny counter. The sheer force of my sternutation – it was probably a 7.8 on the Richter scale – caused the chocolate-covered spatula to fly out of the bowl and splatter chocolate everywhere, and I mean everywhere. It ended up on the walls, the floor, me, the counter, the carpet and Harvey, who looked on in mute husbandly horror. It was like something out of a slasher movie. Except the splatter was 85% bittersweet cacao chocolate instead of blood. I could have been arrested for assault with a confectionery weapon. All that was missing was the yellow police tape.
As if that wasn’t enough, the excitement of it all caused me to knock the recipe into the sink, which was filled with dirty bowls and brown water. At that point, I almost cried. But I didn’t. Instead, I casually looked at my chocolate-covered hubby and said: “OK, no one died. I’m going to try again.” I was determined not to let this babka get the better of me. I was going to show it who was the boss.
After wiping chocolate off my face, the walls and the counter (I may have licked the counter), I rolled up the flaccid babka, shoved it into the fridge and poured myself a teeny, tiny single malt Scotch. Just to shore up my nerves. Once I’d consumed the liquid fortification, I took out the babka, sliced it down the middle lengthwise, which is kind of difficult when it’s not really a shape, and proceeded to twist it so that that the layers of dough and chocolate showed on the outside. Then, I carefully laid it to rest in a parchment-lined coffin. I mean loaf pan. Said Kaddish.
Babka gone better: Subsequent babka attempts were more successful. (photo by Shelley Civkin)
Since I’d made enough dough for about 15 babkas (by mistake, of course … remember my math impairment?), I now had to figure out what to do with the rest of it. I was tempted to sell it on Craigslist, but how would I even describe it? “Blob of velvety soft dough for sale. Nearly house-trained. Enough to make several loaves of bread or a small border wall. If frozen. Pick-up only. $10 obo.” In all honesty, I would have paid someone to take it off my hands at that point.
Stuck with all that dough, I shmeared and shaped the rest of it into circles, rectangles and free-form sculptures, jammed them into every available pan I had, and shoved them into the oven to bake. The entire procedure took about 11 hours. My bone graft and tooth implant took less time. I think I started the whole process at around 9 a.m. and didn’t remove the final “babka” (I use that word loosely) until around 8 p.m. Of course, I’m also factoring in the time it took the restoration team to steam clean our entire apartment. Should have just moved.
By that time, there was no way I was making dinner. So, we ate three-quarters of one chocolate babka for dinner. Slathered in even more butter. I think I may have sent both of us into a slight sugar coma. Not sure. No paramedics were called, so it couldn’t have been that traumatic.
I put the rest of the evidence into the freezer, for when I want to scare some unsuspecting dinner guests. I promise, here and now, that my next foray into babka-making will start with single malt Scotch.
If I’m lucky, it may end there, too.
Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review, and currently writes a bi-weekly column about retirement for the Richmond News.
In Israel, asparagus is not widely seen in the outdoor markets but, when it is, I am always happy to buy it. There are at least 10 reasons why we should eat more asparagus.
It contains lots of fibre, making it a good choice if you’re trying to lose weight, because your body digests fibre slowly, which keeps you feeling full in between meals. (It is also low in fat and calories: one cup is a mere 32 calories.)
It contains high levels of the amino acid asparagine, making it a natural diuretic. In other words, eating more of the spears can help flush excess fluid and salt from your body, which may help prevent urinary tract infections.
It is full of antioxidants that could help your body fight free radicals.
It contains vitamin E, another important antioxidant, which helps strengthen your immune system and protects cells from the harmful effects of free radicals.
It is a natural aphrodisiac, thanks to vitamin B6 and folate.
The minerals and amino acids in asparagus extract may help ease hangovers and protect liver cells from the toxins in alcohol.
It beats bloating by promoting overall digestive health – another benefit of all that fibre. And, thanks to prebiotics, which encourage a healthy balance of good bacteria, or probiotics, in your digestive tract, it can also reduce gas. Relatedly, since asparagus is a diuretic, it helps flush excess liquid, combating belly bulge.
It’s a rich source of folic acid, providing 22% of the recommended daily allowance of folic acid.
It’s filled with vitamin K, crucial for coagulation, which helps your body stop bleeding after a cut, as well as bone health.
It boosts your mood because it is full of folate, a B vitamin that could lift your spirits and help ward off irritability. Asparagus also contains high levels of tryptophan, an amino acid that has been similarly linked to improved mood.
Need I say more? Buy asparagus with straight stalks, closed compact tips and good green colour. Keep refrigerated and use within one or two days. Bend the stalk near the bottom to snap off the part that is too tough to eat. Cook in one inch of boiling salt water. Let the water boil again and cover. Cook whole stalks about five minutes and cut-up pieces about three minutes. Here are some ways to use asparagus.
VINAIGRETTE
1/4 cup olive oil or canola oil 1 tbsp red wine vinegar 1 tbsp Dijon mustard 1/2 tsp sugar salt and pepper to taste
Combine all ingredients in a blender and mix for one minute. Pour over cooked asparagus.
MICROWAVED IN LEMON BUTTER DIJON SAUCE (3-4 servings)
2 1/2 tbsp canola or olive oil 1 tbsp lemon juice 2 tsp Dijon mustard 1/2 tsp low-sodium soy sauce 1/2 tsp minced garlic 2 tbsp minced white onion salt and pepper to taste 1/2 pound asparagus chives or green onions for garnish
Arrange asparagus in a microwave steaming bag. Add oil, lemon juice, mustard, soy sauce, garlic, onion, salt and pepper. Microwave four to five minutes; let stand one minute. Place in serving bowl and garnish with chives or green onion.
FLAMANDE SAUCE 6 servings
4 mashed hard-boiled egg yolks 1/4 cup + 2 tbsp olive or canola oil or 1/2 cup melted margarine or butter 1/4 cup minced fresh parsley
Whisk oil or butter or margarine into egg yolks in a saucepan. Add parsley and heat sauce. Pour over cooked asparagus.
STEAMED WITH TARRAGON SAUCE (6 servings)
1 1/2 pounds trimmed asparagus 2 tsp olive oil 6 thinly sliced scallions 1 1/2 tbsp chopped fresh tarragon or 3/4 tsp dry tarragon 3 tbsp lemon juice or cider vinegar dash sea salt 3 tbsp water
Steam asparagus two to five minutes, rinse, drain and place in serving bowl. Heat oil in a pan and sauté scallions one to two minutes. Add tarragon, lemon juice or vinegar, salt and water; cook one to two minutes. Pour over asparagus.
Sybil Kaplanis a journalist, lecturer, book reviewer and food writer in Jerusalem. She created and leads the weekly English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda, she has compiled and edited nine kosher cookbooks, and is the author of Witness to History: Ten Years as a Woman Journalist in Israel.
Rochelle Levinson is second from the right. (photo from JWB fonds, JMABC L.10738)
If you know someone in this photo, please help the JI fill the gaps of its predecessor’s (the Jewish Western Bulletin’s) collection at the Jewish Museum and Archives of B.C. by contacting [email protected] or 604-257-5199. To find out who has been identified in the photos, visit jewishmuseum.ca/blog.
