Liba Baitelman, the 2021 JI Chanukah Cover Art Contest winner, was commissioned to create this year’s cover of the Jewish Independent’s Passover issue. (photo by Merle Linde)
Liba Baitelman, daughter of Rabbi Yechiel and Chanie Baitelman, is a fun-loving, always religiously correct and mischievous 10-year-old. Her artistic talent and vision of a completed painting is not taught, it is spontaneous. She is so receptive to learning new techniques and this year’s Pesach cover showcases her skills.
When Liba started her Pesach painting with pencil sketches, she knew she wanted: two candles, four cups of wine, six seder plate symbols and three round shmura matzos. What worried her was her lack of drawing skills. To overcome this, she used templates throughout the design: margarine tub lids for the curves of the ribbons, flattened paper cups for the goblets, small plastic cups dipped into silver paint for the dishes, self-adhesive vinyl letters used for outlines and diligently painted with a very thin brush.
Her joy and pride with the completed painting should spearhead a lifelong hobby.
The head of Hatshepsut, in Pergamon Museum, Berlin, 2018. (photo by Richard Mortell, 2018)
As we all know from the Passover story, Pharaoh was one stubborn guy. On five occasions, Moses and Aaron tried to persuade Pharaoh to let the Hebrews go, but Pharaoh wouldn’t budge. In Exodus 7:13 and 7:22, Pharaoh hardens his heart in response to Moses’ pleading. Moreover, Pharaoh made his heart heavy in three other instances, as described in Exodus 8:11, 8:15 and 8:28. What would have happened if Moses and Aaron had come up against a female Pharaoh? Would the story have played out differently?
Let us begin by recalling that, if it hadn’t been for the curiosity and kindness of Pharaoh’s nameless daughter – though, in Judaism, she is later referred to as Thermuthis and even later as Bithiah – Moses would not have been rescued from his floating basket. The future leader of the Hebrew exodus from Egypt would not have lived, and the exodus would not have occurred as we know it.
There were at least six female rulers during the long period in which pharaohs ruled, and perhaps as many as 12. From what has been pieced together, these women sometimes had to disguise their female identity. Some adopted king titles, others exercised force to get their way.
Take Hatshepsut, for example, who was pharaoh of the New Kingdom, or Egyptian Empire, from circa 1479 BCE to 1458 BCE. She nominated herself and then filled the role of pharaoh by claiming her father (the earlier pharaoh) had wanted her to take over from him. Probably understanding that her position was tenuous – both by virtue of her sex and the unconventional way in which she had gained the throne – she reinvented herself. In visual art, she had herself portrayed as a male pharaoh, and ruled as such for more than 20 years. (See “The queen who would be king” at smithsonianmag.com.)
Initially depicted as a slim, graceful queen, within a few years, she changed her image to appear as a full-blown, flail-and-crook-wielding king, with the broad, bare chest of a man and the false beard typical of a male pharaoh. But Prof. Mary-Ann Pouls Wegner notes, however, in a 2015 article on toronto.com, that Hatshepsut’s statues have thin waists, “with nods to her female physique.”
Hatshepsut also took a new name, Maatkare, sometimes translated as truth (maat) is the soul (ka) of the sun god (Re). The key word here is maat, the ancient Egyptian expression for order and justice as established by the gods. Maintaining and perpetuating maat to ensure the prosperity and stability of the country required a legitimate pharaoh who could speak directly with the gods, which is something only pharaohs were said to have been able to do. By calling herself Maatkare, Hatshepsut was likely reassuring her people that they had a rightful ruler on the throne. She seemingly succeeded, as her 20-plus-year reign was a more or less peaceful time.
One important way pharaohs affirmed maat was by creating monuments, and Hatshepsut’s building projects were among the most ambitious of any pharaoh’s. She began with the erection of two 100-foot-tall obelisks at the great temple complex at Karnak. She likewise had important roads built. Still, her most ambitious project was her own memorial. At Deir el-Bahri, just across the Nile from Thebes, she erected an immense temple, used for special religious rites connected to the cult that would guarantee Hatsheput perpetual life after death. (See livescience.com/62614-hatshepsut.html.)
In life, Hatshepsut felt compelled to depict herself as a male ruler. In death, however, her true colours (pun intended) seem to surface. Exams conducted on her mummy reveal that, at the time of entombment, she was wearing black and red nail polish. Furthermore, according to sciencedaily.com, Michael Höveler-Müller, former curator of the Bonn University Egyptian Museum, reports that a filigree container bearing the queen’s name may have contained the remains of a special perfume, an incense mixture.
Nefertiti similarly hid her femininity, even though today she is the most visually reproduced ancient Egyptian female ruler. According to Prof. Kara Cooney, author of the book When Women Ruled the World: Six Queens of Egypt, Nefertiti cleaned up the mess that the men before her had made. She wasn’t interested in her own ambition, it seems, as she hid all evidence of having taken power, ruling alongside her husband. Yet, at the Karnak temples, there is twice as much Nefertiti artwork as there is of Akhenaten, her husband, who was king from about 1353 BCE to 1336 BCE. There are even scenes of her smiting enemies and decorating the throne with images of captives.
The Nefertiti bust in Neues Museum, Berlin. (photo by Philip Pikart, 2009)
Despite her great power – she and her husband had pushed through a monotheistic form of pagan worship – Nefertiti disappears from all depictions after 12 years of rule. The reason for her disappearance is unknown. Some scholars believe she died, while others speculate she was elevated to the status of co-regent—equal in power to the pharaoh – and began to dress herself as a man. Other theories suggest she became known as Pharaoh Smenkhkare, ruling Egypt after her husband’s death, or that she was exiled when the worship of the deity Amen-Ra came back into vogue.
The Cleopatra clan sharply contrasts with the above two peacekeeping female pharaohs. In a December 2018 National Geographic interview about her book, Cooney explains that, when it comes to incest and violence, Cleopatra family members were no slouches. Cleopatra II (who ruled in the second century BCE) married her brother, but then they had a huge falling out and the brother/husband ended up dead. So, Cleopatra II married another brother. Her daughter, Cleopatra III, then ended up overthrowing and exiling her mother. Cleopatra III took up with her uncle, Cleopatra II’s brother, who sent Cleopatra II a package containing her own son, cut up into little bits, as a birthday present. Eventually, they all got back together for political reasons. (See nationalgeographic.com/culture/article/queens-egypt-pharaohs-nefertiti-cleopatra-book-talk.)
Shown wearing a heavy wig, the queen also has a headband with a coiled uraeus serpent above her brow. Of the seven Ptolemaic queens named Cleopatra, this head may represent Cleopatra II or her daughter, Cleopatra III. (photo from Walters Art Museum)
It’s time to return to the question posed at the beginning of this article, about whether the exodus story would have turned out differently if there had been a female pharaoh in charge.
Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg, on myjewishlearning.com, analyzes the actions of the pharaoh Moses and Aaron encountered. She reminds us of what Rabbi Simon ben Lakish wrote about this pharaoh. In Exodus Rabbah, ben Lakish states, “Since G-d sent [the opportunity for repentance and doing the right thing] five times to him and he sent no notice, G-d then said, ‘You have stiffened your neck and hardened your heart on your own…. So it was that the heart of Pharaoh did not receive the words of G-d.’ In other words, Pharaoh sealed his own fate, for himself and his relationship with G-d.” Only at this point does G-d intervene by hardening Pharaoh’s heart, so that the plagues can end and the Hebrews can leave Egypt.
According to When Women Ruled the World author Cooney, the emotionality of female pharaohs is key. In that 2018 National Geographic interview, she says, “that ability to cry or feel someone else’s pain…. It is that emotionality that causes women to commit less violent acts, not want to wage war and be more nuanced in their decision-making. It is what pulls the hand away from the red button rather than slamming the fist down upon it. These women ruled in a way that kept the men around them safe and ensured their dynasties continued.”
There is the possibility then that, had Moses and Aaron encountered a female pharaoh, she might have concluded that all the pain and suffering from the plagues wasn’t worth it – neither for herself, personally, nor her Egyptian subjects. Perhaps without a big fuss, or at least with less of one, she would have let Moses lead the Jews out of Egypt.
Deborah Rubin Fieldsis an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.
Many years ago, in the village of Chelm, there were two families, the Chiribim and the Chiribom. They were enemies. They fought over everything. They fought over land, they fought over water, they fought over cows and horses and chickens. They fought over air.
The Chiribim and Chiribom didn’t talk to each other. They were stubborn. They didn’t look at each other.
In the synagogue and village hall, they would sit on opposite sides of the room and glare or shout or scream. Or spit. It was disgusting.
The feud had been going on for years, decades, perhaps centuries. No one knew where it began or how it had originated. What insult had provoked the first Chiribim to scorn the first Chiribom? It was long ago and long forgotten.
Sometimes the anger came to blows, but, fortunately, so far no one had been seriously injured or killed.
Rabbi Kibbitz, the oldest and wisest of leaders, was sick of it. He was tired of the malice, tired of the hatred, tired of the tension. He was tired of mopping spit off the floor of the synagogue.
So he decided to solve the problem. The Chiribim and Chiribom needed to come together to work out their differences. They were farmers, they worked the land. They were neighbours, living so close to each other but so far away.
The problem was that he couldn’t get them all in the same room without someone blowing up.
It had been pouring rain for most of the week of Passover, and everyone was cranky.
In those days, after a long rain, everyone in the village would go out into the woods to pick mushrooms. Mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers and sisters would all pack up their lunches, bring along empty baskets, and hunt for wild treasure. The youngsters would find dozens of kinds of fungi, and the elders would teach them which ones were tasty, which were revolting, and which might kill you.
During the rainstorm, Rabbi Kibbitz sent a note to the Chiribim, asking them to join him in the forest for lunch. He also sent a note to the Chiribom, asking them to join him for lunch in the same place, at the same time.
Early the next morning, the rabbi pulled on his boots, put a basket over his arm and plodded into the Black Forest. First, he would find the Chiribim and then the Chiribom. And then they would work it all out.
Unfortunately, he forgot his glasses, so he was having a hard time seeing where he was going.
Soon, he came upon a group of people.
“Chiribim?” he asked them.
They shook their heads. “Chiribom,” they answered.
Sighing, the rabbi continued his search.
He realized he should change his tactics. He would meet with the Chiribom first, and then the Chiribim.
Soon, he came upon another group of people. “Chiribom?” he asked them.
Another group of people were asked, “Chiribom?” and they answered, “Chiribim.”
The next group were queried, “Chiribim?” and they replied “Chiribom.”
The rabbi was getting frustrated. “Ai Chiribiri biri bim bom bom! Ai Chiri biri biri bim bom bom!”
Back and forth the rabbi went racing through the forest. If he asked, “Chiribim?” they told him, “Chiribom.” If he asked “Chiribom?” they told him, “Chiribim.”
“Ai Chiri biri biri bim bom bom. Ai Chiri biri biri bom!”
Until Rabbi Kibbitz decided to put an end to their feud, one could never have imagined the Chiribim and the Chiribom speaking, let alone dancing together. (“Chassidic Dance” by Zalman Kleinman, 1964)
The Chiribim and Chiribom were stubborn. They loved an argument, and neither group liked to be pinned down or admit to anything. Perhaps they were playing tricks on the rabbi. Perhaps they were just being obstinate.
“Bim!” the rabbi shouted.
“Bom!” they answered.
“Bom?” the rabbi yelped.
“Bim!” came a chorus.
“AAAGH! Bim bom bim bom bim bom!”
He began to twirl about.
He asked another group, “Bom?”
They answered, “Bim!”
The next had to be … “Bom?”
“Nu. Bim!”
“Impossible! Bim bom bim bom bim bom!”
The rabbi was running and twirling, almost dancing. “Ai Chiribiri biri bim bom bom.”
His hair was everywhere. His coat was open. “Ai Chiri biri biri bim bom bom. Ai Chiri biri biri bim bom bom. Ai Chiri biri biri bom.”
Well, the Chiribim and the Chiribom started laughing. They couldn’t help themselves. Their rabbi, this wise old man, was acting like a chicken with his head cut off, like a frog trying to escape a pack of curious boys, like a school teacher with a cube of ice dropped down his back. All the time he was muttering to himself like a crazy man, “Chiribimbombimbombimbom.”
They laughed and they grinned and they smiled, and then they looked up.
Across the forest they saw something that they had never seen before.
They saw each other smiling and laughing and grinning.
They looked and they realized that they all wore the same kind of clothes. They had the same kinds of shoes and hats and hair. They all held baskets full of mushrooms.
So the Chiribim and the Chiribom came together in the middle of the forest and shook hands, and they kissed cheeks, and they hugged.
And, of course, they had a Passover lunch.
Such a feast! Chopped liver on matzah with fresh-picked mushrooms. Beet salad. Brisket. And Mrs. Chaipul’s light-as-a-feather lemon meringue pie. So delicious!
When they were done eating and finished cleaning up, they lifted the poor rabbi up on their shoulders, because he was still too dizzy to walk, and all together they carried him back to the village of Chelm, singing: “Ai Chiri biri biri bim bom bom….”
From that day on, they were no longer known as the Chiribim or the Chiribom, but as the Chiribimbombimbombimbom…. Bim…. Bom.
“Ai Chiri biri biri bim bom bom.
“Ai Chiri biri biri bim bom bom.
“Ai Chiri biri biri bom….”
Izzy Abrahmson is a pen name for author and storyteller Mark Binder, who lives in Providence, R.I., and tours the world – virtually and in-person. Abrahmson’s Winter Blessings: Warm Stories from the Village was a National Jewish Book Awards finalist. This story about Chiribim and Chiribom is from his latest book in the Village Life Series, The Village Feasts: Ten Tasty Passover Stories, which is available on Amazon and at books2read.com. To listen to the audio version of this story, narrated by Binder, visit izzyabe.com.
With Passover approaching, the meal planning has begun. Looking into my Passover folder for something new to share, I found a few side dishes – and many desserts. I hope you are able to try some of them out, and that you enjoy the ones you do. Chag Pesach sameach!
1 large cauliflower separated into 1-inch florets 3 tbsp olive oil 1 finely diced medium onion 1 tsp salt 2 tbsp finely chopped fresh parsley leaves juice of half a lemon
Trim cauliflower florets, cutting away as much stem as possible. In three batches, break up florets into a food processor and pulse until mixture resembles couscous.
Heat oil in a large frying pan. Add onion and stir to coat. Continue cooking, stirring frequently, until onions are golden brown at the edges and have softened, about eight minutes.
Add cauliflower and stir. Add salt and continue to cook and stir three to five minutes, until cauliflower has softened. Spoon into a large serving bowl. Garnish with parsley, sprinkle with lemon juice, salt to taste. Serve warm.
LEEK PATTIES (From the Jerusalem Post, April 2015. Makes 12 servings.)
2.2 pounds leeks 1 large, peeled boiling potato 3 large beaten eggs 3 tbsp matzah meal salt and pepper to taste oil
Wash leeks carefully, slicing then vertically to remove all the grit. Dice the white base and the palest green part of the leaves.
Place water and salt in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Add leeks and cook for five minutes then drain.
Place water in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Add potato and cook until it is soft. Drain.
Place potato and leeks in a processor and blend. Add eggs, matzah meal, salt and pepper. Remove to a bowl and form into patties.
Pour oil into a frying pan and heat. Spoon patties into the oil and fry until golden brown on each side. Drain on paper towels and serve immediately.
PASSOVER SQUASH PUDDING (From Annice Grinberg. Makes 6 servings.)
2 pounds peeled summer squash 2 peeled carrots 1 1/2 cups matzah farfel or broken matzot 1/4 cup oil 3 eggs, separated salt to taste
Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease a casserole or baking dish.
Heat oil in a frying pan. Add farfel or broken matzot and brown.
Place squash and carrots in a saucepan with water, cook until soft. Drain and mash. Add farfel or browned matzot, salt and egg yolks.
Beat whites in a bowl until stiff. Fold into vegetable mixture.
Spoon into a greased casserole or baking dish and bake for one hour, until golden.
MOM’S CREAM PUFF BUNS (Makes 9-12 servings.)
2/3 cup water 1/3 cup oil 1/4 tsp salt 1 tbsp sugar 3 eggs 1 cup matzah meal
Preheat oven to 350°F. Spray a cookie sheet with Passover vegetable spray.
Place water, oil, salt and sugar in a saucepan. Bring to a boil.
Add matzah meal and one egg at a time. Blend well.
Spoon dough in pieces on a cookie sheet. Bake for 30 minutes.
When cool, cut a little off top of each. Fill with a favourite custard.
ALMOND CAKE WITH CITRUS SYRUP (From Chef Peter Hoffman, in Food & Wine. Makes 6 servings.)
citrus syrup: 2 1/2 tbsp sugar 2 tbsp fresh lemon juice finely grated zest of half a large lemon
cake: 1 1/2 tsp oil 1 tbsp matzah meal 1/2 cup sugar 1/2 cup ground almonds 1/4 cup finely chopped blanched almonds finely grated zest of half a large lemon 4 eggs, separated confectioners sugar (optional)
Combine sugar, lemon juice and lemon zest with 1/4 cup water. Bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve sugar. Simmer over moderately low heat for two minutes. Remove from heat.
Preheat oven to 325°F. Oil a springform pan bottom and sides, and line bottom with parchment paper. Oil the paper. Evenly coat bottom and sides with matzah meal. Refrigerate the pan.
With a wooden spoon in a large bowl, mix sugar, almonds, lemon zest and egg yolks.
In another bowl, whisk egg whites until stiff peaks form. Stir one-quarter into almond mixture. Gently fold in remaining egg whites in three additions.
Pour mixture into prepared pan and bake on lowest shelf of oven for one hour or until cake tester inserted into the centre comes out dry. Cool for 10 minutes. Run a knife around the edge of the cake, remove pan sides and invert cake onto wire rack. Peel off parchment and let cake cool.
Reheat and strain syrup. Transfer cake to a plate and prick all over with a fork. Pour syrup over cake and let sit at room temperature for at least three hours or overnight. Sift confectioners sugar over cake (optional).
MIRIAM’S PAREVE ICE CREAM
2 10-ounce packages frozen fruit, slightly thawed (strawberries work very well) 4 egg yolks 6 egg whites 1 cup sugar (if using frozen fruit with added sugar, decrease this amount)
In a bowl, beat egg yolks. Add fruit.
In a second bowl, beat egg whites until peaks are formed, gradually adding sugar.
Gently add fruit and yolks to whites. Place in a container and freeze. Stir once or twice to keep fruit from settling to the bottom.
PASSOVER SORBET
4 cups strawberries or other fruit 1/2 cup sugar 1 tbsp lemon juice 1 egg white
Place strawberries or fruit, sugar and lemon juice in a food processor and process until mixed. Place in a container.
Whip egg white in a bowl. Add to fruit. Spoon into a container and freeze.
Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, author, editor/compiler of 10 kosher cookbooks and a food writer living in Jerusalem. She leads English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda and writes restaurant features for janglo.net.
In my world, you can never have enough lamb. Or, to be more specific, lamb shanks. It used to be what I called “fancy food,” for which I splurged only on special occasions, like New Year’s Eve, or a birthday ending in zero. But since the pandemic started, up is down and right is left, and every day that you’re healthy is a day that’s meant to be celebrated. Goodness knows we could all use a little splurging. So, hubby Harvey sold a kidney and bought five pounds of lamb shanks. Lest you think we’re complete chazers, let me add that we had another couple over for dinner. For the first time in two-and-a-half years.
After two years of strict isolation and adherence to Dr. Bonnie Henry’s pandemic protocols, it was a wondrous event, to be sitting less than six feet away from two close friends, masks discarded, acting as though we did this every day. There wasn’t a shred of anxiety anywhere to be seen, and it just felt so normal. To say I felt ridiculously elated and grateful at the same time would not be an exaggeration. It was pure joy. I wondered why we hadn’t done it sooner. And then I remembered … that pesky pandemic. Oh, and my COVID anxiety, which can often be seen from space.
But back to the main event. The lamb. I’d sent Harvey to the butcher to pick up the lamb and, when he returned home, he handed me the bag-o-meat. Which weighed nearly as much as me. I asked him: “So did they throw in a ram for free?” To which he replied: “I told them I wanted the biggest lamb shanks they had.” Long story short, each shank was the size of a small country. Maybe slightly bigger. All of a sudden, my four hours of estimated cooking time was looking more like half a day. Luckily, I’m an early riser.
I hauled out my biggest roaster, proceeded to dirty every fry pan, pot and utensil in the apartment – we’re talking squeezers, mincers, graters, peelers, a multitude of various-sized knives, cutting boards and a healthy shot of Scotch (just kidding about the Scotch, but after it was all said and done, I sure could’ve used a glass) – and had at it.
The recipe, which Harvey found on the internet, is called Tom Valenti’s Lamb Shanks, and it’s spectacular! I won’t bore you with the details – Google it. Never mind that it calls for a bottle of wine, four cups of broth and a whole whack of other stuff. When it was all assembled, I couldn’t even lift the roaster, never mind take it in and out of the oven every 30 minutes for the next five hours. I happily handed over the reins to Harvey to do the heavy lifting. While I sat around and ate bonbons. Not.
All modesty aside, the lamb shanks were a huge hit. But, I was left with cups and cups of gorgeous, rich, winey braising liquid, flavoured with onions, carrots, celery, garlic and thyme, to name just a few of the players. I actually considered drinking it. Is that wrong? Of course, the thyme sprigs might get caught in my teeth.
So, I did what any self-respecting 21st-century cook with a few gallons of leftover braising liquid would do – I Googled it. Which is where I found an article by Mackenzie Stratton in The Spruce Eats, called “What to do with leftover braising liquid.” Imagine that. I learned many things, like the fact that chefs often refer to braising liquid as “liquid gold” because of its ability to transform whatever it touches into something fabulous.
I know some of you will wonder why I bothered keeping the seemingly useless flotsam and jetsam of a meal. It’s because I hate throwing stuff out that I could possibly use. Operative word here is “possibly.” My father, alav ha-shalom, always used to rib me about how thrifty I am. He’s right. I hate to waste food and, if I can repurpose it, why the heck not? When I told Harvey my plans for the braising liquid, he informed me that the army used to call that a “force multiplier.” May the force be with you, too.
If Mackenzie Stratton is to be believed, you can elevate just about any dish with leftover braising “gold.” But first you have to let the “gold” cool overnight in the fridge, then skim off the fat from the top. You’ll be left with a lovely (?) gelatinous bowl of the aforementioned “gold.” Next step requires you to sacrifice your ice cube trays. Fill each one with a big glob of “gold,” freeze them, and then put the nuggets in a Ziploc baggie or in small containers for future use. This is where the “gold” comes in, because at $16 to $18 a bottle for the wine and another $60 for the lamb and the rest of the ingredients, it’s not something you relish throwing down the sink once everyone’s had a good burp.
What all can you do with these little brown, gelatinous gems? You can incorporate them into other recipes, like soups, pasta or grain dishes; use them to poach chicken or tougher cuts of meat; or put them in stews. You can also use them as the supreme weapon of decadence: boil potatoes in the thawed braising liquid, then turn them into the ultimate side of mashed potatoes. I have no words. The drool is dribbling down my chin.
I usually like to include a photo of my culinary creations/discoveries and, well, not to be crass or anything, but Harvey says these “gold” blobs look like something people pick up with those little green baggies on their hand. Need I say more? Now just try and un-see that visual.
Like the thrifty Accidental Balabusta that I am, you might just be on the receiving end of my leftover braising “gold” next time you come for dinner. But you won’t know it. To paraphrase John F. Kennedy: ask not what your lamb shanks can do for you – ask what you can do for your lamb shanks.
Once again, you’re welcome. Bon appetit!
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. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.
As meaningful and fun as most of the Jewish holidays are, there’s a lot of running around, cleaning, cooking and other preparation that generally goes into them. Three recently published children’s books – two about Passover and one on Shabbat – capture the joys of the holidays, and the craziness that can sometimes precede them.
Passover, Here I Come!, written by D.J. Steinberg and illustrated by Emanuel Wiemans was put out this year by Grosset & Dunlap. It’s a compilation of short poems, all related to Passover, from “Scrub-A-Dub-Dub!” preparations to “Bye-bye, Bread!” and “Hello, Matzoh!” it goes through pretty much every aspect, including the Passover story, what’s for dinner and the search for the afikomen.
“Made by Me!” is about making up the seder plate, and all the plate’s items and their symbols are noted alongside the illustration. For the poem “Our Magic Table,” the drawings and words again combine to wonderful effect. We see the tables from set-up to guest-filled, and the typesetting, leaving gaps between the letters forming the words “g r o w s a n d g r o w s,” communicate the truly magic nature of a Pesach table that does seem to fit an enormous number of people, when we’re lucky to have many friends and family join in our celebrations.
Steinberg’s verse and Wiemans’ drawings work well together, simultaneously entertaining and teaching. The basics of Passover are all covered in Passover, Here I Come! which even includes a recipe for Mom’s Matzoh Brei after the four-line poem “World’s Best Breakfast.”
A Persian Passover (Kalaniot Books) by Etan Basseri with illustrations by Rashin Kheiriyeh, also contains a recipe – for hallaq, which is Persian-style charoset. In addition, the end of the book features a brief description of Passover and what goes on the seder plate, a glossary of Persian and Hebrew words used in the story, and a couple of paragraphs on Jews in Persia, known today as Iran, though, notes Basseri, “the culture and main language of this region is still called ‘Persian.’”
Set in Iran in the 1950s, A Persian Passover follows siblings Ezra and Roza, who are helping their family get ready for the holiday. Everyone is put to work and Roza is finally old to enough to accompany older brother Ezra to the synagogue, where families bring their own flour “to be mixed, rolled and baked into soft, delicious matzah.” Though older, Ezra is not necessarily wiser and he’s still a kid, with energy to burn. Not having learned from an earlier collision with a neighbour – as he ran a lap around the house, being timed by Roza – Ezra once again asks Roza to measure how fast he can run to the next street corner, freshly baked matzah in hand.
“But he didn’t see the rut in the road up ahead. ‘Oof!’ yelped Ezra as he tripped and fell. Splat! went the bag of matzah as it dropped into a puddle.
“‘The matzah!’ they exclaimed together.
“‘That was all the matzah we had for the week. Now it’s gone. What will we tell Mama and Baba?’ asked Roza.” (The glossary notes that baba means dad in Persian.)
Ezra and Roza set out to find replacement matzah before the seder starts, and we meet more of the neighbourhood folk. Hopefully, it won’t be too much of a spoiler to know that the kids succeed – not only receiving kindness, but also showing kindness to others along the way.
The last book that recently came out has to do with matzah, but not with Passover, which is why it’s included in this brief roundup even though it’s about Shabbat. Good for year-round reading, Bubbe and Bart’s Matzoh Ball Mayhem, written by Bonnie Grubman and illustrated by Deborah Melmon, was published by Seattle’s Intergalactic Afikoman last November. Created by two dog lovers, it begins, “This is Bubbe’s story. Believe me that it’s true. Her puppy loved each Friday night like Jewish puppies do.
“When Bubbe made her matzoh balls, Bart was at her feet, waiting for a ball to fall, and not some doggie treat.”
While Bart’s begging doesn’t achieve the desired result, he does get to eat all the matzah balls he’s able to catch. Bubbling away in the pot on the stove, the matzah balls grow so large that they blow off the lid and zoom all over the room. Not to be held back by “a better lid, and some very sticky tape,” the balls continue to fly. And we get to count them as they do. (Another spoiler alert: Bart gets to eat an awful lot of matzah.)
Eventually, with a little magic, calmness is restored and dog and house are cleaned up in time for Shabbat dinner with the family.
Bubbe and Bart’s Matzoh Ball Mayhem ends with a couple of paragraphs about Shabbat, “a very special day of the week,” and a short glossary.
One PJ Library holiday offering is Passover is Coming by Tracy Newman and Viviana Garofoli.
Long a trusted resource for Jewish families in more than 35 countries around the world who receive their free books each month, PJ Library offers fresh reading, audio stories and tasty treats for families celebrating Passover this year, April 15 to 23.
Hundreds of thousands of children are receiving new books this month, each providing a carefully curated selection of age-appropriate reading related to Passover. New this year, families will also receive a colourful illustrated “Matzah Mania” fold-out that includes recipes for homemade matzah, matzah trail mix, and matzah pizza lasagna, along with ideas for serving a seder grazing board. The keepsake fold-out includes culturally inclusive information about seder traditions, and the Four Questions of the seder, which are printed in English and Hebrew.
PJ Library’s Haggadah is available in five languages, including English and French. As well, PJ Library has many other Passover resources, such as children’s books about the holiday.
In the PJ Library program, which was created by the Harold Grinspoon Foundation, families who sign up may receive free books for children from birth through age 8. For kids ages 9 and up, PJ Our Way allows kids to select and review books on their own each month.
In April, two new Passover-themed episodes of the PJ Library Presents podcast network will launch. These new podcasts bring Jewish traditions, culture, holidays and values to life through audio storytelling. On April 4, Kiddo Learns about Passover will be the latest Afternoons with Mimi audio story, and Humpty Dumpty and the Passover Feast will be the newest tale in the Beyond the Bookcase series. Families may listen to the award-winning podcasts on all major streaming sources, and more information is at pjlibrary.org/podcast.
PJ Library has become one of the leading sources for family-friendly Haggadot, with its illustrated In Every Generation: A PJ Library Family Haggadah. Since 2018, the organization has shipped more than 675,000 individual Haggadot to more than 110,000 PJ Library families for free. (For non-subscribers, the printed Haggadah is available for purchase via Amazon.) PJ Library also offers a digital version that can be downloaded in five languages: English, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian and French. This Haggadah is filled with songs, blessings and explanations and is available as a free printable PDF from pjlibrary.org/haggadah.
This year, PJ Library has updated its Passover hub – pjlibrary.org/passover – with new book lists and dozens of fresh ideas and resources for families, including stories and songs, games, activities and recipes.
According to the Nov. 11, 1918, Winnipeg Tribune, Rose Schwartz and Abraham Lachterman were married in a plague wedding in Winnipeg, Man. More than 1,000 people attended, Jews and non-Jews.
Relatively early in the evolution of the coronavirus pandemic, in March 2020, there was an unusual wedding in Israel. The ceremony took place in Bnei Brak’s Ponevezh Cemetery. The bride (kallah) and groom (hatan), both orphans, had not previously known each other. Even in the ultra-Orthodox community, where there is a range of arranged to forced marriages, such an event – a black (shvartse) or plague (mageyfe) wedding – is extremely rare.
Written accounts of plague weddings date back almost 200 years, to eastern Europe. In these accounts, one learns that “targeted” couples were people who were orphaned, homeless, or had physical or intellectual challenges. In these scenarios, the community contends it is doing a favour to these brides and grooms, as it assumes that the couple has only a slim chance of marrying otherwise.
Had this contemporary couple under the wedding canopy been free to choose, or had they been coerced or something in between? Were they promised something to get them under the chuppah? Maybe they were gifted, respectively, their wedding dress and suit? There again, however, these outfits could have come from a wedding gemach, a charity warehouse from which people borrow items of clothing. Or perhaps, as was customary in earlier times, some well-to-do community member offered to “set up house” for them.
One thing is clear: even though it wasn’t their families who sat down and discussed terms, this was an arranged marriage. The couple had been picked to stop the ravages of the coronavirus. In a way, they were a sacrificial appeasement to G-d, who was thought to have brought on the pandemic.
The wedding was purposely not conducted in a synagogue, in a wedding hall or in someone’s house. The reasoning was that the community hoped that the souls of those interred in the cemetery would reward this act of marrying two orphans and intercede to block the evil decree. Perhaps, G-d would be induced to have pity on the couple and, by extension, halt the spread of disease.
The first record of a plague wedding goes back to 1831, in Russia, during a cholera pandemic. Another written reference to this type of ceremony dates to 1849, in Krakow, Poland. Another publication, from the early 20th century, deals with stories about Rabbi Elimelekh Weisblum of Lizhensk, who apparently arranged such a marriage in 1785, during a cholera outbreak. Some historians argue that the tradition is older still. In any case, the ritual became firmly entrenched in the Jewish communities of the Russian Empire during the 1892 cholera outbreak. (See Jeremy Brown’s comprehensive article, “The plague wedding,” at traditiononline.org/plague-weddings.)
Over time, the ceremonies became more elaborate. Hanna Wegrzynek writes of “several instances” where part of the cemetery was demarcated, symbolically closing off the affected area, so to speak. Some ceremonies were accompanied by feasts and dancing.
Brown notes that Eastern European Jews who resettled in the United States early in the 20th century brought the plague wedding custom with them. Across the country, during the Spanish flu epidemic (in which my own maternal grandfather almost died), desperate Jewish communities married off dozens of young couples. One of the most celebrated and widely reported plague weddings took place between Harry Rosenberg and Fanny Jacobs in October 1918 at a cemetery near Cobbs Creek in Philadelphia. The event was attended by more than 1,000 people. Unfortunately, genealogical research suggests that neither Harry nor Fanny survived the Spanish Flu, dying along with 50 million others.
In November 1918, Rose Schwartz and Abraham Lachterman were reportedly married in a similar ceremony in Winnipeg, Man.
Yizkor, or memorial, books of Jewish communities wiped out in the Holocaust record a number of black weddings. And three of the most famous 20th-century Yiddish and Hebrew writers make reference to plague weddings.
In 1945, I.B. Singer wrote about a cemetery wedding in his short story Gimpel the Fool: “It so happened that there was a dysentery epidemic…. The ceremony was held at the cemetery gates, near the little corpse-washing hut. The fellows got drunk. While the marriage contract was being drawn up I heard the most pious high rabbi ask, ‘Is the bride a widow or a divorced woman?’ And the sexton’s wife answered…. ‘Both a widow and divorced.’ It was a black moment for me. But what was I to do, run away from under the marriage canopy?”
S.Y. Agnon mentions such a wedding in his 1945 Only Yesterday – “and they’ve already held a wedding for two orphans on the Mount of Olives to stop the plague.”
This past summer, Jerusalem’s Khan Theatre performed a dramatic adaptation of I.L. Peretz’s 1909 short story In the Time of Pestilence, in which there is a discussion about orphans marrying during an outbreak. The theatre company performed the work at Hansen House, the site of a former hospital for people suffering from Hansen’s disease (also called leprosy).
Since the 1800s, when the first plague wedding was reported, there have been a number of global pandemics. In chronological order, they include cholera, bubonic plague, measles, Russian flu, Spanish flu, Asian flu, HIV/AIDS, SARS and COVID-19. (See “Pandemics That Changed History,” at history.com/topics/middle-ages/pandemics-timeline.)
Even though plague weddings don’t seem to be at all effective in stopping outbreaks of diseases, for the guests, at least, the ceremonies could be seen as a means of escape, for a short time, from worry and despair.
Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.
Maureen Abood’s verion of ma’amoul. (photo from maureenabood.com)
There are many different Purim foods around the world. In an article from several years ago on aish.com, Dr. Yvette Alt Miller gives recipes for a dozen lesser-known treats. Among them are kreplach, which she describes as a “hidden” food in that the filling is covered up by dough; therefore, it’s appropriate for Purim because of all the hidden aspects in the Purim story.
Other baked treats Miller suggests are French palmiers, to evoke the ears of Haman; Russian kulich, a long, sweet challah loaf, resembling ropes like those Haman wanted to use to hang Mordechai and on which he was hanged; Moroccan Purim bread, boyoja ungola di Purim, using hard-boiled eggs to represent Haman’s eyes; the Bulgarian pasta dish caveos di Aman (Haman’s hair); the Israeli orecchi di Aman (Haman’s twisted ears) and Persian nanbrangl (Haman’s fleas). For all the recipes, visit aish.com/purim_foods_around_the_world.
Here are three other recipes to try. Jews from Syria, Lebanon and Egypt make ma’amoul (which means filled) for Purim – the filling can be nuts (including, but not usually, almonds) or dried fruits, like dates or figs. I’ve also made poppy seed pound cake for the holiday, and my friend (cookbook author) Joan Nathan’s recipe for figs stuffed with walnuts.
MA’AMOUL (makes 36 cookies)
filling: 1 cup finely chopped nuts (pistachio or walnuts) 1/4 cup sugar 1 tsp orange-blossom water 1 tsp water
dough: 3 cups white flour 1 cup unsalted butter or margarine, cut in pieces 2 tbsp water 1 tbsp orange-blossom water confectioners’ sugar
Preheat oven to 400°F.
In a bowl, place flour. Cut in butter or margarine until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Sprinkle orange-blossom water over dough. Stir and knead about three minutes.
Form into 36 balls with a scant tablespoon for each ball. Hold each ball in your hand, make an indentation in the middle and work dough out to form a small cup about a quarter-inch thick.
Combine nuts, sugar, orange blossom water and water for filling. Fill each ball with one teaspoon filling. Pinch dough, sealing in filling and molding the top to resemble a gumdrop. Using the tines of a fork, decorate the cookies.
Place cookies one inch apart on ungreased cookie sheet. Bake 20 to 22 minutes until light brown around bottom edges and pointed tops.
Before serving, cool and then sprinkle confectioners’ sugar on top.
POPPY SEED POUND CAKE
1/3 cup poppy seeds 1 cup milk 1 cup margarine 1 cup sugar 4 eggs, separated 1 tsp vanilla 1/2 tsp almond extract 2 1/2 cups flour 1 tsp baking soda 2 tsp baking powder 1/2 cup sugar 1 tbsp cinnamon
Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease a tube pan.
In a bowl, mix poppy seeds with milk and let sit five minutes.
In a larger bowl, cream margarine, 3/4 cup sugar, egg yolks, vanilla and almond extract.
In another bowl, combine flour, baking soda and baking powder. Add alternately to creamed mixture with poppy seeds and milk.
In another bowl, beat egg whites then add 1/4 cup sugar. Carefully fold in to batter.
Combine sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl.
Pour half the batter into the greased tube pan, sprinkle with half the cinnamon sugar then pour in the rest of batter and top with the remainder of the cinnamon sugar. Bake for 55 to 60 minutes.
FIGS STUFFED WITH WALNUTS (This recipe comes from Joan Nathan’s Jewish Holiday Kitchen. It makes 6 servings.)
Open the centre of each fig and place a walnut half inside, then roll the stuffed fig in grated coconut, if using. Place on a dish with other fruit and serve.
Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, author, editor/compiler of nine kosher cookbooks (working on a 10th) and a food writer living in Jerusalem. She leads English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda and writes restaurant features for janglo.net.
Greek sheet pan chicken, using a recipe from the website Downshiftology. (photo by Shelley Civkin)
I know it’s pretty laughable that I only discovered parchment paper a few years ago, but there’s always someone late to the party. Parchment paper is your friend, and it’s so ridiculously versatile and handy, I can’t believe I baked without it for all these years! (Although, having been single until I was 53, I must admit to not having baked much in those years.) I even turned my husband Harvey onto it. Now he uses parchment paper for everything. I caught him the other day trying to make a fruit salad on parchment paper. We buy the stuff by the truckload now. It saves on clean up, eliminates the possibility of burned pans, and withstands high heat. Plus, it contains some sort of magic that results in perfect meals every time. Seriously, I haven’t had a fail since I became a parchment paper convert. I know. Crazy, right?
My latest foray into culinary exploration using parchment paper was Greek sheet pan chicken. Harvey tried the recipe first, and it scored a 10/10. Weeks later, he asked me if I wanted to make it and, quite frankly, I couldn’t say no. After all, he’s been making me pancakes for breakfast three times a week, so I was hardly in a position to negotiate. I was just worried that I wouldn’t be able to replicate it. But I sucked it up, donned my Disclosure Diner apron and got on with it. Without a word of a lie, this recipe produces the most juicy, harmonious flavours I’ve had in eons. And there was virtually no clean up – winner, winner chicken dinner.
The recipe is from the website Downshiftology, and it’s by Lisa Bryan. Thank you, Lisa. It’s a wee bit labour-intensive, with all the chopping, mincing, dicing and marinating, but what isn’t time-consuming these days? Caveat: the original recipe calls for feta cheese, but since I don’t mix meat and milk, I omit that. Believe me when I tell you that there’s plenty of salt in this recipe already. Feta compli! Just cook up a side of rice, orzo, quinoa or bowtie pasta and you’re set. Oh, and maybe whip up a salad if you’re feeling inspired.
Now, I know that lots of people prefer the leaner white chicken meat, but thighs are just more tender and moist. You can be the judge, but I can’t be responsible for the cooking time for chicken breasts, so you’re on your own there.
Give this recipe a go, and tell me if this isn’t Mediterranean cooking at its best. I generally have a rule to not use recipes that call for more than five or six ingredients, but I made an exception here, and it paid off in spades.
GREEK SHEET PAN CHICKEN
1/2 cup olive oil juice of 1 1/2 lemons (about 3 tbsp) 4 garlic cloves, minced 2 tsp dried oregano 1 tsp dried thyme 1 tsp Dijon mustard 1 tsp kosher salt 1/2 tsp ground black pepper 6 chicken thighs, bone-in, skin-on 1 medium zucchini, halved lengthwise and sliced 1 yellow bell pepper, chopped into 1-inch pieces 1 red bell pepper, chopped into 1-inch pieces 1/2 large red onion, thinly sliced 1 pint cherry or grape tomatoes 1/2 cup kalamata olives, pitted (more, if you love olives) 1/4 cup feta cheese (optional) 2 tbsp finely chopped fresh parsley
Preheat oven to 425°F. In a small bowl, whisk together the oil, lemon juice, garlic, oregano, thyme, Dijon mustard, salt and pepper.
Put chicken thighs in a bowl (or plastic bag) and pour two-thirds of the marinade on top. Then toss the chicken around in the marinade to make sure it’s well coated. Marinate the chicken for 15 minutes or more.
While the chicken is marinating, put a piece of parchment paper on a baking sheet. Spread the zucchini, bell peppers, red onion and tomatoes onto the sheet and drizzle the remaining marinade on top. Toss together to coat the vegetables.
Add the chicken thighs to the baking sheet and nestle the veggies around them. Bake for 30 minutes.
Remove the baking sheet from the oven, add the olives (and feta, if you’re using it) and then put it back in the oven for another 10 to 15 minutes, or until the vegetables are soft and the chicken is cooked through. You can always turn on the broiler for a minute or two at the end if you like the skin crispy.
Sprinkle the chicken and vegetables with finely chopped fresh parsley before serving.
Not only does this dish look gorgeous, but it’s got deep, rich flavour and the recipe is pretty easy to follow. Of course, if you’re serving it to company, it’ll take a bit of manoeuvring to transfer it to a platter because there are so many moving parts. But it’s a pandemic, so who’s having company over for dinner anyway?
Sometimes, I think to myself: do I really want to bother with all this dicing and chopping and slicing? Operative word: sometimes. This is a treat-yourself-to-a-sumptuous-dinner-and-stop-being-so-lazy kind of meal. Like my dad used to say: you’re the most important guest in your own home. Go nuts. Cook for looks. And taste. Like so many different meals, this one is just as good if not better the next day, since the flavours seem to marry overnight.
As for a pre-dinner treat, why not aim for easy but yummy. If you want to bump up the fanciness quotient a notch, make some toast points (crusts cut off), smear on some mayonnaise or egg mix, and top with caviar. I buy the inexpensive black lumpfish caviar for special occasions and it’s delish. It’ll impress the heck out of your partner, your guests, even yourself. And, you know what? You deserve it! Why should caviar be reserved just for New Year’s Eve or engagement parties? Those poor misunderstood fish roe – they deserve to be showcased all year round. If I weren’t afraid of all the judging that might accompany it, I’d eat caviar every day.
Another caveat: don’t eat this meal before you go for a blood test, because your sodium will be off the charts.
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. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.
Liba Baitelman, daughter of Rabbi Yechiel and Chanie Baitelman, is a fun-loving, always religiously correct and mischievous 10-year-old. Her artistic talent and vision of a completed painting is not taught, it is spontaneous. She is so receptive to learning new techniques and this year’s Pesach cover showcases her skills.
