Week 11: "Around the World in Four Weeks"

The alarm clock sounds at 6 AM, we load the dough into the car (real dough, not the green variety), and we’re bound for Palo Alto. It’s the last session of the four-part family cooking Havurah at the Oshman Family JCC, and I’m bringing my husband and my daughter along for the experience. For it’s Aviva who in a sense was the inspiration for the whole “Challah-it-Forward” endeavor, and I’m eager to show her how it’s manifested. I wrote about Session 1 for Week 7’s post, and here we are, one month, and dozens of challah later!

What has the journey been like? Quite doughy, thank you very much! I never thought I’d spend so many Saturday nights quintupling already large challah recipes in preparation for early morning classes. There were minor catastrophes (forgetting to put the pumpkin in the pumpkin-infused challah dough and having to start again from scratch at 10 PM; mixing the whole wheat dough and realizing that it was much too sticky and would need major help in the morning), and a very big learning curve (measure all of the ingredients for the dough that families will mix in class before the families arrive!). But by and large, the classes were a great success: most sessions had between 7-10 families, with children ranging from ages 3-13; parents and grandparents alike participated; and smiles and laughter were evident throughout, with “Oohs,” “Ahhs,” and “That tastes really good!” common refrains.

We made Czernowitzer Challah from the Ashkenazi tradition, Pan de Calabaza from the Sephardic tradition, Noon Shabbati from the Near Eastern Tradition, and Whole Wheat Challah from the Really-Healthy-For-You tradition! For the final class, we sampled breads from all four weeks, and they were all delicious!

The highlight of every class was definitely carting the just-baked challahs up the elevator to deliver them to members of the Moldaw residencies. For it was here that bread was graciously given and eagerly received. It was here that introductions were made, and small connections forged. And it was here that I would look around the room and see up to four generations sharing a moment…together.

Week 10: "The Best Medicine?" or "Just What the Doctor Ordered"

Common to many Thanksgiving gatherings is the tradition of going around the room prior to the meal and sharing that for which we are grateful. Certain themes arose this past Thursday at our dinner table, “family” and “health” the definitive favorites. Luckily (and knock on wood) there was relative health in our immediate and extended family this year.

Unfortunately, in that moment I failed to think of and mention my three-year-old daughter’s pediatrician, Dr. Wolffe Nadoolman, who had been in the hospital for the past month, recovering from surgery and its accompanying complications. Dr. Wolffe, as he is affectionately called, is not your average doctor; starting out in the world of NYC finance, medicine is a second career for him, and his dedication is tangible and heartfelt. This is a doctor who does housecalls (with a briefcase!) at the drop of a hat, a man for whom no question or concern is too small or large. This is a man who’s looked into Aviva’s eyes and listened to Aviva’s heart, and this time it was his own heart that needed care and attention. The tables were turned; the caregiver became the cared for.

And how do we care for those in need within our tradition? Luckily, there are many avenues; we can recite the Mi Shebeirach, the Prayer for Healing, which Debbie Friedman so beautifully sings:

“Mi shebeirach avoteinu,
M’kor habracha l’imoteinu

May the source of strength,
Who blessed the ones before us,
Help us find the courage,
To make our lives a blessing,
And let us say: Amen.

Mi shebeirach imoteinu
M’kor habrachah l’avoteinu

Bless those in need of healing,
With r’fuah sh’leimah,
The renewal of body,
The renewal of spirit,
And let us say: Amen.”

We can also fulfill the mitzvah of Bikkur Holim, Visiting the Sick. This mitzvah extends to people of all ethnic and religious backgrounds. The purpose of these visits is to alleviate suffering, and can be traced to the rabbinic adage that the visitor relieves the ill person from one sixtieth of his suffering (Leviticus Rabba 34)!

It was in this spirit that I suggested to my daughter Aviva that we visit Dr. Wolffe, soon after he had returned from the hospital. So we drove to his apartment complex this past weekend, rode the elevator to his floor, and trotted our way through the maze of hallways until we saw his glowing doorbell. Once inside, we went to his bedside and presented to him not the traditional jar of chicken soup, but rather a fresh loaf of homemade challah, with LOVE as the magical elixer! Dr. Wolffe’s eyes lit up, as we next gave him a hand-drawn card, followed by a reading of the Caldecott award-winner “A Sick Day for Amos McGee,” a delightful little story of zoo animals that take the number 5 bus to visit their zoo keeper when he’s stuck at home with a bad case of the sniffles.

I missed the opportunity to publicly wish Dr. Wolffe a return to full health at our Thanksgiving table, so I will belatedly offer my well-wishes now:

“Thank you, Dr. Wolffe, for helping to keep our daughter healthy over these past three years, and may you now have a speedy recovery, with the love and support of friends and family, and the sweet taste of Sabbath challah, fresh from the oven.”

Week 9: Guest Challah Bloggah!

This week we continue the Guest Challah Bloggah! tradition with a post from none other than Barbara Kline. The dancer, arts advocate, and mother of three amazing friends from our time in New York City is also an incredible maker of challah. The most powerful ingredient in all her loaves: LOVE! Enjoy this blog as she details her experiences passing the tradition to her grandchildren. A Happy Thanksgiving to all!

I’ve been baking challah every Friday morning since my husband showed up at home with an envelope of yeast forty-five years ago. The most enjoyment, however, has come with retirement and time to make challah with my three grandchildren. Ela joined in the fun before she turned two. Gila and Nomi joined us in one-and-a-half year increments. All three little girls learned how to measure out a tablespoon of yeast and one of sugar, then with child-size whisk, mix the two together, first dry and then with added warm water. We counted the number of cups of flour, filled the quarter-cup measure with sugar, the teaspoon measure with salt. I whisked the dry ingredients together and one child carefully dug a hole in the center. Together we "oohed" and "aahhed" over the bubbles the yeast mixture formed, poured it into the hole and carefully covered it up with the dry ingredients. Then one of the children dumped the over-flowing tablespoons of oil I measured out into the flour mixture. Next they “smashed” the eggs and “plopped” their contents into a small bowl accompanied by shouts of “no shells!” or sighs of “oops” while carefully removing them. The best part of all followed when we stuck our hands in the large bread-making bowl and squished the egg yolks into the flour mixture, making “monster hands” and shouting with glee.

Each child got a lump of dough to knead. We’d switch about every minute or so, giving me the opportunity to do a good kneading and them to see quicker results as the dough became a smooth mass. Of course, there was the tasting. All three seemed to think raw flour a delicacy and each had to taste the kneaded dough to make sure we had just the right amount of flavoring.

Standing on the step stool and washing the bowls, measuring utensils, whisks, and large spoons with lots of soapy bubbles topped off the morning’s activity. The kitchen became one unbelievable mess, but I never minded. Our youngest started all-day kindergarten this year. She called me up on the first Thursday evening, worried that I wouldn’t be able to make the challah correctly without her help. I still smile recalling that loving, concerned call.

Before moving to Brooklyn and my closet-size efficient kitchen, I had a very large one with lots of counter space. We had room enough for each girl to shape her personal mini-challah in addition to the large challot I braid in six strands for the family. The larger kitchen allowed us to bake flower and heart shaped challot, twists, or whatever inspiration came our way. Luckily the girls don’t have school on the holidays, so on Sukkot, I make a six-braid for the top and they continue to make twists for the sides of the challah Sukkah. The top gets decorated with candied fruits (for Sabba and me) and the sides get doused with honey but no fruits for the children and parents. During Shavuot we make the Ten Commandments. Ela, now ten, has taken over Sabba’s part of creating beautiful dough Hebrew letters for the numbers. Sometimes we make a dove out of dough to go along with the tablets.

Our challah ritual never ends with the baking, for every week the girls’ abba asks, “Where did you buy this challah?” And the girls answer, “Kline’s on 3rd Place.”

"The Ten Commandments"

Week 8: "It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood"

The routine is familiar. Every weekday, after the morning rituals are through, we open the front door, pass through the swinging gate, turn left past our cohousing neighbors (pictured above), hang another left at the corner, and walk the mile to my daughter’s preschool. We go by the same houses, cross the same streets, and see the same mini-parks. There’s a familiarity to all this, and in a way it’s comforting. Sometimes when we do something so often, however, we stop noticing, stop really looking at where we are, for we assume we know all that surrounds us, and come to believe there’s not much more to explore.

But there’s always more than meets the eye, and our Challah-it-Forward journey thus far has begun to peel the layers of our neighborhood in rich and meaningful ways. For who would have thought that right next to Strawberry Creek Playground, with its uber-long slide, climbing discs, and swing-lines, sits Chaparral House, a gem of an eldercare community that’s been in the neighborhood since the early 70’s. As part of their rich offerings that include beautifully maintained gardens, regular music appreciation, and art classes, Chaparral House provides Friday night services and Kiddush for its small but active Jewish community. When I contacted the volunteer manager back in September to see if we might be able to share our challah, he invited us to a Friday night service, which turned out to be the first of now-monthly visits.

Who knew that right next to Charlie Dorr Park, with its tot-swings (Aviva is almost too big for them now!) and massive sandbox, sits the almost-hidden and un-marked Women’s Daytime Drop-In Center, which has provided a huge array of services to homeless and low-income women and their children for over 25 years? What a pleasant surprise when we first discovered that the volunteer coordinator at the Center had grown up attending local synagogues, and was now a regular at Urban Adamah, one of our favorite neighborhood institutions. And what an impression she made on Aviva when she personally thanked her for doing her part to ensure Tikkun Olam (Repair of the World). 

What other neighborhood discoveries will we make over the coming year? Only time will tell (if there are West Berkeley readers who have ideas, please let us know!). I can only hope that as my daughter grows, she’ll continue to look past the familiar and beyond the known, continually making new discoveries and connections along the way.

Week 7: "Challah-it-Forward...Forward!"

It's the first Saturday evening of November, Halloween has come and gone, Shabbat is over. What to do?

Stay up really late preparing ten pounds of challah dough, of course. Seriously? You bet!

This is the situation I found myself in two weeks ago, the night before I was going to lead the first of a four-session "Family Cooking Havurah: 'Challah-it-Forward' and Build Community, Together!"

I had barely begun my challah-making adventure, and here I was, about to conduct a challah-baking class--how did this crazy turn of events come about?! It actually sort of fell into my lap, via a longer chain of events. The quick narrative: Soon after I started Challah-it-Forward in September, I was on the phone with Rachel Brodie (CJO-Chief Jewish Officer!) of the San Francisco JCC, and while brainstorming ideas about my shadow puppetry work over the coming year (I am a Teaching Artist who uses this unique art form to explore stories across the curricula), I mentioned the challah project, and inquired as to whether she thought families within the wider Jewish community might be interested in baking-it-forward as well. Initially thinking that baking and puppeteering were two distinct parts of my life, and not really related at all, Rachel made me re-evaluate by suggesting that I use shadow puppetry to perform the "Challahs in the Ark" story, which had in fact helped to inspire me to pursue the baking project in the first place. A puppet version of the tale could provide similar inspiration for families to "take the plunge" and challah-it-forward themselves! After more conversation, a date was soon set to pilot this program model with JCC preschoolers and their families in The City By The Bay!

Soon after this, I was on the phone with Tehila Hendel, Family Engagement Director at Palo Alto's Oshman Family JCC. It just so happened that the JCC was in the process of organizing a Family Cooking Havurah for this fall, and when Tehila heard about my project, she invited me to lead the four-session series. 

And that is why I found myself standing in the kitchen, kneading ten pounds of dough, wondering what I had in fact gotten myself into! Contemplating what would befall me if the dough didn't turn out right, too dry or too oily, too salty or sweet. Luckily, I had an incredible resource to help me out, Maggie Glezer's "A Blessing of Bread: The Many Rich Traditions of Jewish Bread Baking Around the World." The author literally takes the reader around the world, sharing challah traditions and recipes from kitchens across the Jewish Diaspora. Different chapters cover breads from the Ashkenazi, Sephardic, North African, and Near Eastern Traditions. She even has a section entitled "New Traditions," featuring whole-grain recipes. 

The recipe I chose for my inaugural class was Ashkenazi Czernowitzer Challah, a very-moist (courtesy of generous amounts of oil) loaf that is virtually fool-proof. After preparing five-recipes-worth on Saturday, I drove to Palo Alto early Sunday morning, a huge pot of dough filling up my car with the aroma of anticipation! After setting-up-shop for the class (with needed help from Tehila and Co.), the families arrived, and the mayhem began! First I introduced the ideas behind the baking series; the joys of baking together as a family, and then sharing with the wider community, fulfilling the Mitzvot of Gemilut Hasadim (Acts of Loving-Kindness). The families then kneaded, braided, and egg-washed the dough I had prepared the night before. As these loaves were then placed in the ovens, I helped the families make new dough from scratch, which they later took to bake at home!

While the baked loaves were cooling, I shared the "Challahs in the Ark" story, and helped them to create character and scenery shadow puppets. We then re-enacted favorite moments from the story, further reinforcing the values held therein. All this, with the aroma of fresh bread surrounding us!

Finally, the families each received the two loaves they had made. One was (for the most part) eaten immediately, and heartily enjoyed. The other loaves were then brought up, en masse with families in tow, right then and there, to the Moldaw Residences (located right on the Taube Koret campus), where a group of seniors were having lunch. The joy on the faces of the seniors for having received the bread, and the families for having given the bread, was palpable and powerful. Who would have thought that the mixing of flour, yeast, water, oil, and eggs could create such a memory?

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The clean-up and drive back to Berkeley were exhausting. I was tired. But I was also somehow more awake, more alert to the power of simple gifts that bind us together as families and as communities. And when I walked into my home and saw my family waiting for me, I picked up my daughter and held her close, hoping to convey my gratitude for the simple gifts she has given me throughout our journey together thus far.

Week 6: "About Time!"

My daughter is all about Time these days: “Was I a baby?” “Am I am a big girl now?” “Is Olivia (our teen neighbor) turning into a woman?” “Will I be a woman?” “Will you (Abba and Papa) get old?” “Will Sasha (my mother-in-law’s dog, who at nine is showing signs of aging) die?” This, at three-and-a-half. 

It’s questions like these that remind me how as youngsters, we have to learn about the knotty concept of time (should I inform her now that we never really stop asking such questions—think “Where has all the time GONE?! I’m getting so OLD!”).

Earlier this month, soon after writing the “Let Me Tell You a Story” post, in which I explored the beauty and wonder of the Image (unburdened by any accompanying text), I found myself wandering into that same local bookstore, unknowingly in search of more “wordless picture books,” perhaps myself missing the beauty of the image.  After perusing a few titles, I hit upon “Before After,” in the children’s section, a whopping 176 page “image book,” comprised of double-page spreads, one side the “before,” the other side its “after.” Think acorn→oak tree, caterpillar→butterfly, egg→chicken (followed by chicken→egg!), rocking horse→rocking chair, baking ingredients→fantabulous wedding cake—you get the picture! 

I was immediately enchanted, and I had a hunch that it would be wonderful to share with Aviva, a few pages here, a few pages there. As I quickly learned, I was right about the wonderful-to-share part, and absolutely wrong about the few-pages-here-and-there assumption. She quickly devoured it, and now insists on “reading” the entire book at every sitting. Be careful what you wish for!

What is it about this book, and why is it so captivating? I think it goes back to the architecture of story. For though this volume is broken up into two-page spreads, they are each in fact “mini-stories,” waiting for us as readers to decipher, find meaning in, and tell—to ourselves and others. How does an acorn become a tree? How does an egg become a chicken, and how does that chicken then hatch another egg, starting the process again? How can a crawling caterpillar transform into a flying wonder? And how can a fantabulous wedding cake turn into one lonely slice, surrounded by nothing but crumbs?!

And though all these stories are different, they all share one thing in common, of course—the passage of time. Some are incredibly short (how long does it take for hungry guests to consume that cake?), and some are long (think seed to shining tree), but they all have an “in-between,” a process of getting from here to there, from the before to the inevitable after.

Since we began this baking journey together, we’ve had a weekly opportunity to see this “Before After” paradigm play itself out over and over. As in the "Challahs in the Ark" folktale, we “combine flour and water, add the yeast, knead the bread, and shape the braids.” Then we place the loaves in a very hot oven and wait…and watch through the “looking glass” door. Before our very eyes, we see the puffing up, the expanding out, and then the golden brown, signaling that all is complete. At least for that moment, there is a knowing satisfaction that we’ve created something from scratch, and it’s come to fruition. And for at least one of these loaves, we know another “Before After.” In a few hours, it will be placed on our Shabbat table, we will say the blessing over it, and then we will eat it, piece by piece, bite by bite, until there is nothing that remains. And we will be satisfied. And full.

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But what about that other loaf, the one we are giving away? We don’t know exactly how that story will end. Depending on who we are sharing it with (friends, an eldercare facility, a women’s day drop-in center, a homeless shelter), we are usually not there to see who is eating the bread, enjoying it (hopefully), and being nourished by it. 

I’m reminded of the famous "Honi and the Carob Tree" story. Honi is walking down the road and sees a stranger planting a carob seed. He asks the stranger why they are planting, as they surely will not be alive to enjoy its fruit. The stranger says that they are not planting for current enjoyment and sustenance, but rather for future, as yet unknown generations. Honi then falls asleep then and there for 70 years, wakes up under the shade of that very tree, and meets the descendants of the planter who are nourished by its fruit. 

Most of us lack the power to look into the future. We don’t know the end of the story, how the seeds that we plant today will come to fruition, if they come to fruition at all. 

And really, that’s okay. There is meaning sometimes in not knowing exactly how our actions will affect the world. In simply doing our best, for the sake of doing our best. We just plant a seed, as we should, starting the story and gently nudging it along…

Week 5: Guest Challah Bloggah!

This week I am proud to introduce the first "Challah-it-Forward" Guest Challah Bloggah! Guest bloggers will share insights about their own challah-making journey with family, friends, and the wider community. For the first such post, I've chosen my dad, Harvey Barash, who had a very unique challah-baking tradition with my grandmother Hilda. Enjoy!

Hilda Barash, Daniel's grandmother

I was thrilled to learn about Daniel's project of making challah with Aviva and sharing a portion of each week's loaves with others.

When he asked me several weeks ago to be a guest blogger, I was honored by his invitation and enthusiastically accepted. The invitation came because he remembered that I had once-upon-a-time baked challah weekly over a span of about 10 years with my mother Hilda, Daniel’s grandmother.

Instead of a father in his early 40's and his three-year-old daughter, this was a mother in her 70's and a son in his 50's. That mother is now deceased, having passed away 10 years ago at age 88, and that son is me, now age 75. I am Aviva's grandfather, known to my grandchildren as Zeide Laser (signed "Zdlsr" in text messages). 

Of note is the fact that both of my parents had been deaf and unable to speak since very early childhood. Sign language and lip reading was the way we communicated within our family. We were close-knit and from the beginning my sister and I spent many long hours with our parents, often acting as their interpreters, from the time we were children on into our adult years. Thus, after completing my medical training, I returned to Madison with my wife and four sons (of whom Daniel is the youngest) and from the get-go started having lunch with my father at a nearby Chinese restaurant after I finished my work at the hospital.

Following my father's sudden death in 1987, I decided that Wednesday afternoons would be my time with my mom. She was a consummate baker, excelling in baking various breads and desserts (including banana cake, banana pie, lemon pie, upside down pineapple cake, chocolate chip cookies, and much more). Of course, challah was a big part of her repertoire! For as long as I can remember from my earliest childhood days, I can recall the wonderful smell of freshly baked bread wafting throughout our home. Thus, it was easy for us to decide to start baking challah together at her home in her kitchen in preparation for our family’s weekly Shabbat meals together.

Harvey baking challah (12 years ago!) with grandson Abe, named after Hilda's late husband.

She was a baker ‘par excellence’ and was thrilled that she would be my teacher, and of course, I was delighted to be her student. I remember especially how expertly she kneaded the dough, so artfully and efficiently. I was much stronger than she and had larger hands, yet she regularly had to give me critical pointers. I don't think that in the 10 years of baking challah together I was ever able to match her precision and technique. God forbid, that I might ever mention using a bread machine to do this important work, corrupting the purity of kneading by hand. Likewise, she was able to braid the dough beautifully and effortlessly, while I struggled trying to make my loaves look like hers.

Our challah recipe was not some rare secret formula. We used standard ingredients, but we did add sugar giving a sweeter taste than most. In addition, we routinely added raisins to half the batter, providing a choice of loaves with and without raisins.

Because my mother was unable to hear, it was my habit to stamp on the floor to get her attention, but she forbade this as well as closing doors with force and other loud noises and vibrations while baking challah, claiming that stamping would prevent the dough from rising properly.

Word about my mother and I baking challah together made its way around the Madison Jewish community, and after a few years we were invited to give a “challah baking” presentation as part of a Sabbath workshop. It was well attended and Hilda was especially happy and proud of the enthusiastic responses of our students.

Those Wednesday afternoons baking together through the years were memorable and I will cherish them forever. I am planning to soon partake in this lovely activity when we visit Aviva in December! I'm quite certain that my mother would be delighted to know that her great granddaughter is now making challah with her “abba.” The tradition continues, from generation to generation...

Week 4: "Let Me Tell You a Story"

“Let me tell you a story, Abba...”

A quiet, small voice in the dark. I’ve just tucked my 3-year-old in bed for the third, and (final?) time, but am called back once again as I try to take my leave. 

“Please?...”

I hesitate, and ultimately succumb. I know she’ll tell me the same story that she’s already told me 20 times throughout the day; a scared bird named Chicken escapes from inside someone’s house, and a crow is about to eat it. But she rescues the bird just in time, and brings it inside our house to keep it safe. This tale, inspired by an actual event that happened at her preschool, has many variations. The predator and prey roles sometimes change, but the basic ingredients of the story are always the same: a creature in need, the threat of danger, and a caring rescue. I don’t know what motivates her to tell and retell (and often ask her parents to do the same), but I’m guessing that she is working out what it means to be safe, what it means to care for one another. There’s a comfort in the arc of the story, and it bears repeating again, and again, and again…

Stories are like recipes.  A story has characters, some major and some minor; a recipe has ingredients, some essential, some serving to spice things up. Stories have a plot that moves events forward; recipes have steps to follow, one after the other. Stories reach a resolution, hopefully satisfying; recipes reach the plate, hopefully edible! 

Children understand the structure of stories from a very early age. This is due in large part to parents telling children tales from the day they are born. And in contemporary society, it’s due in no small measure to the genius of the picture book, which blends words and images in ever-creative and engaging ways. With both of these storytelling forms, children first listen and look, and then they begin to tell by themselves.

Since I’ve brought Aviva into the kitchen, I think she’s beginning to understand the structure of recipes fairly well, too. She’s beginning to get a sense of what ingredients to combine for our challahs, and when. 

But as I have relied on numerous cookbooks for our weekly recipe variations (Rosh Hashanah challahs, Yom Kippur loaves, Seven Species Sukkot challahs, honey-sweetened whole wheat), I’ve realized that most cookbooks are not geared for the younger set. While they often have a beautiful photograph or illustration of what the finished “product” should look like, most don’t provide images for the process, the step by step, the “bones” of the recipe. It’s just word after word after ordinary word. 

Thus, what a fun surprise it was to recently discover Molly Katzen’s “Pretend Soup and Other Real Recipes: A Cookbook for Preschoolers and Up" at our neighborhood bookstore. It’s in essence a “recipe picture book,” complete with a storyboard visual for every step of the process. In the brief time that we’ve had a copy, we’ve already made blueberry pancakes (repeatedly), popovers, and waffles. And because of the visuals, Aviva's been able to begin recounting the “recipe story” herself, telling Abba and Papa what to do next! 

This inspired me to create “Challah Cards” this past week, tiny flashcards featuring images of different ingredients and actions within the basic challah recipe. While the cards all started out in one big pile, as we progressed through the recipe, Aviva arranged them sequentially. Over the coming weeks, she’ll surely begin telling us which ingredients to add, and in what order; she’ll become the teller of her own challah stories. 

As she delights in these tiny recipe images and the picture books that fill her shelves, I’m actually a little bit sad, as I know that the days of her appreciation for the image are numbered. She’s quickly become fascinated with letters over the past weeks, choosing favorites ("A" for Aviva of course tops the list!), and attempting to write her name (very creatively)! Soon she’ll begin decoding the words that surround her, and by the end of this year may well be reading. She’s on the journey from a world of pictures to a world of printed words, and there’s no returning to the station. But it’s my hope that in her mind’s eye, she will delight in the wonder of images for the rest of her days. That she won't lose her ability to, in the darkness, actually see herself rescuing a little bird from danger as she gently falls asleep.

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Week 3: "If You Want Color in Your Life..."

Madelaine (Abba Gabba) and Aviva, mixing the dough!

Having sifted through countless baking books and websites for Sukkot, harvest-inspired challah recipes last week, two choices remained in the running; "Pumpkin Challah" and "Seven Species Challah." They were both a definite departure from my very limited repertoire thus far, but I could only choose one.

What to do, and how to decide?

The easier, but somewhat ubiquitous pumpkin, or the more interesting, but much more labor-intensive seven species, with count 'em: wheat, barley, grapes, figs, dates, pomegranates, and olives (all of which were found when the Israelites crossed from Egypt into Canaan, the land of Milk and Honey)?

Pumpkin or seven grain; remedial or advanced; novel or over the top?

Suddenly, a small but powerful voice vocalized this, and only this, somewhere deep inside me:

“If you want color in your life, you’ve got to paint it in!”

Simple words, from a very powerful woman, my grandmother Annabelle. She, who had lost her mother at the age of three to the flu epidemic, had chosen not to wallow in grief and bitterness while growing up, but instead proudly wore a badge of optimism, in technicolor hues--before technicolor was even invented! 

Grandma Annabelle Argand

While her oversized personality and ways of navigating the world sometimes complicated important relationships in her life, by the time we grandkids came along, she had mellowed (slightly), and all we experienced was a blazing, light-filled radiance, the path of a woman with a lot of wisdom to be shared.

And share it she did! While my grandparents had made Aliyah (from Jersey!) to Israel before my brothers and I were born, they made regular two-month trips to the states throughout my childhood. It was during these periods that I was fortunate to spend a lot of one-on-one quality time with Annabelle. It was she who taught me my colors as we marveled at well-groomed gardens on our neighborhood walks. And it was she who taught me that to have a colorful life, it was up to me to get the paints, ready the brushes, and fill the canvas!

Fast forward to the present challah recipe dilemma; though Grandma Annabelle had passed away more than nine years ago, her advice was still loud and clear: choose the road filled with color, and make that seven species challah! 

So I did. I went to the store, purchased the requisite ingredients (barley flour, anyone? figs? dates?), and picked up my daughter from school. And when we got home, who was waiting for us? Aviva's grandmother, Madelaine (my mother-in-law, affectionately named Abba Gabba by Aviva). Although she lives in San Francisco, she had just returned from a six-week trip abroad, and was eager to learn how to make challah from her youngest grandchild.

"Figs and dates and raisins, oh my!"

As the two of them poured, mixed, cracked, whisked, and laughed together (there were many moments of near catastrophe!), I found myself thinking back to my time with my own grandmother. How lucky I was to have had such moments of connection from such a young age. And how important it was that my mother Trudy had provided the space for me to develop my own relationship with Annabelle, free of the baggage that is inevitably part of parent-child relationships.

May I take this remembrance and commit to regularly provide that same space for my own daughter and her grandparents, all four of them unique, wisdom-filled and full of adventure. May I encourage them to have sleep-overs, trips to the park, and afternoons at the opera. And may Aviva take the lessons that they so freely and graciously share, and bring them to bear as life's doors open before her.

Zoe, the Volunteer Coordinator at the Women's Daytime Drop-In Center. Upon receiving the challah, she spontaneously thanked Aviva for doing "Tikkun Olam," helping to "repair the world."

Week 2: "The Most Basic Ingredients"

Early morning dancing with Papa.

Part of the morning ritual in our family is dancing together in the living room before breakfast. With the sound system turned up, sometimes we’re doing the jitterbug, and sometimes we’re swaying gently to a slower tune. This week, one of these early morning dance sessions included a Sara Bareilles ballad, and I found myself inexpicably tearing up as I held my daughter close. What was going on, and what does this have to do with challah-baking!

I think the key ingredient here may be “integrity.” Let’s start with the easiet of all—the integrity of what we eat. As parents, many of us are concerned with what we feed our children. Is what we’re serving healthy, or is it filled with other additives (preservatives, coloring, sugars, etc.) that we often choose to ignore? I’m reminded of that Michael Pollan instructive from his book In Defense of Food to generally steer clear of the middle aisles of most grocery stores, as they contain the most heavily processed “edible food-like substances.” Instead, focus on the margins of the store, where you’ll find foods that are not multi-ingredient and uber-processed. In short, “real food.”

With our new Challah-it-Forward endeavor, I can generally and genuinely say that for the most part, we’re including mostly “real food” ingredients: flour, water, eggs, honey, salt. But then I think of the “al chait” prayer that Jews all over the world recite aloud during the holiday of Yom Kippur. As part of Teshuvah (or returning to our best selves), we recite all the ways that we often miss the mark. It is in this spirit that I question the kinds of ingredients that make up many of the everyday interactions we have with our children. How often do we honor the wonder, love, compassion, and patience that are present (if overlooked) in our daily lives, and how often are we unintentionally adding unnecessary (and even harmful) ingredients, such as stress, annoyance, shortness, and impatience?

I’ve found that the regular practice of baking with my daughter has provided many opportunities for me to reflect on the actual quality of my interactions with her. Am I rushing from step to step while preparing the dough, as I’ve had a long day and it’s almost time for bed—for both of us(!), or do I let us linger awhile as she delights in the magic feel of the dough between her fingers? Do I get frustrated when she misses half the bowl when adding flour, or do I offer to help clean up with her as we are indeed a “team”? Do I get annoyed when she’s continually eating the chopped apples that are supposed to be saved for the batter of our Rosh Hashanah loaf, or do I decide to celebrate her love of this sweet, whole food and join her with a few (or more) bites of my own?  It’s the quality of these small moments that ultimately make up the minutes, hours, days, months, and years of our journey together. 

Sharing one of this week's challahs with our Berkeley Cohousing neighbors.

We all know that time seems to speed up; how are we to ensure that the precious little time that we do have with our children is filled with moments that elevate and enrich our shared experience? Which brings us back full circle to the dancing. Why was I in fact tearing up? Perhaps it was the pure pleasure and joy of being in that moment, of taking the time to be close in a meaningful, hearfelt way. And so I’m asking myself at this new year (and inviting you) to first think about the kinds of activities we can enjoy with our kids (let’s bake more, dance more, sing more, hike more, play ball more, fill-in-the-blank more!), and let’s make sure that when we are doing these things together, we’re enjoying the “healthy ingredients” that will ensure both a great-tasting loaf of bread and a life well-lived.

This week's loaf: Il Pollo (Italian Yom Kippur Challah with Anise and Olive Oil), from Jeff Hertzberg and Zoe Francois' Healthy Bread in Five Minutes a Day.

Week 1: "The World is Round Like a Challah"

Let the challenge begin--nothing quite like Rosh Hashanah and Shabbat falling right on top of each other to ensure that my first "Challah-it-Forward" week was full of baking opportunities. While I had spent a little more than a month tinkering with regular recipes and attempting to successfully sculpt "the braid," here was brand new territory: a Rosh Hashanah challah recipe that was round! 

For the high holiday version, I decided to go with a honey and apple-infused (yes, real apple chunks folded into a honey-dough base) challah that was featured in Jeff Hertzberg and Zoe Francois's "Healthy Bread in Five Minutes a Day: 100 New Recipes Featuring Whole Grains, Fruits, Vegetable, and Gluten-Free Ingredients." While I haven't worked out permissions questions with regard to posting recipes that I'm using on this blog, here is a related recipe from the same authors that definitely can be shared. For the challah shape, I was inspired by this video clip featuring Israeli-born baker Uri Scheft. For this version, you actually place an oven-safe ramekin in the center of a braided circle, and as the challah bakes, it nests the ramekin as it puffs up around it. You then of course fill the holder with honey at serving time, and receive plenty of "oohs" and "ahhs" when it is placed on the holiday table!

"Don't even think about messing with my apples and honey!"

During the days leading up to baking, I began talking with my daughter about how this week's challah was going to taste and look different; we were getting ready to celebrate the Jewish New Year and the birthday of the world. Apples would be woven into the dough itself, and the challah shape would provide a space to hold honey, both signifying the sweetness of the new year. And instead of the traditional braid, the challah would be round, like the earth itself. "But why is the earth round, Abba?" Aviva asked. "Because the force of gravity pulls everything with equal strength toward the center, a round shape is created," I answered, and realized it was time to check out some science books from the library, stat! 

How truly sweet it was a day later when my partner informed me that Aviva had made up an original song while they were walking home from preschool that day:

“The world is round like a challah, and a challah is round like the world.”

If ever we needed proof that our kids really are listening to what we're saying, that was Exhibit A. Exhibit B was provided by Aviva's preschool director informing me that a favorite activity of late includes Aviva making pretend challah in the sandbox (with lots and lots and lots of honey)!

Sharing challah slices dipped in honey.

Back to the bread, the challah recipe I used this week actually provided enough dough for five generous challahs. So after preparing the dough with Aviva on Tuesday evening and letting it rise once, I refrigerated it and took off one-pound slabs for each loaf I baked over the coming days. Erev Rosh Hashanah, the loaf was shared with friends attending a beautiful outdoor service. On Thursday, challah was enjoyed at a formal Rosh Hashanah lunch hosted at local relatives, followed by an evening meal at close friends. On Friday, one loaf was donated to a women's drop-in day-center right near our local tot park in the morning. In the afternoon, we gave the final challah to an eldercare nursing facility we had visited last month as well. After leading some shabbat songs with community residents, we said the motzi all together, and then Aviva helped pass out slices dipped in honey to those assembled. The smiles on their faces and the heartfelt thank-yous, coupled with all the other smiles from those who came into contact with us over the previous days, have stayed with me through Shabbat and into the new week. 

How could something as simple as flour, water, chopped apples, and honey be transformed so simply into something that nourishes both the body and the soul. I honestly don't know; it's sort of a mystery, and it doesn't really matter that much. But it certainly makes the thought of doing it again this week not an unwanted burden, but rather an exciting invitation. Until then...

In the Beginning...

In late summer, the need to participate in more meaningful Jewish rituals with my 3-year-old daughter announced itself. Yes, we somewhat regularly had a Shabbat meal, and attended one tot service or another, but it clearly wasn't enough—especially as she isn't attending a Jewish preschool. I worried that she wasn't receiving the songs, stories, and holiday primers that many of our friends' children were experiencing on a daily basis.

What to do?

Bake some loaves of challah together, of course--what better way to prepare for Shabbat? After calling New York to obtain a mom-of-an-old-friend's ‘top secret’ recipe, I went to the store, purchased the requisite yeast and flour (we had honey and eggs on hand), and then delved into the challah rabbit hole, daughter in hand.

Starting the starter, measuring the ingredients, mixing the wet, combining the dry, adding it all together, kneading, waiting, shaping, egg-washing, watching as the loaves rose before our eyes in the oven's light, smelling the aroma as it wafted to every corner of our house (talk about quality parent-child time together)! And of course, the ultimate pleasure: saying the motzi and tasting the Sabbath prize. Nothing sweeter than that for our family of three.

Next Friday we were following the same schedule when an afternoon curveball entered through the kitchen door. Our wonderful next-door neighbors had come knocking and invited us for dessert that evening, as they had made fresh mulberry ice cream and were eager to share. After thanking and accepting, I quietly asked myself how we could return the generosity. My eyes quickly rested on our challahs; we are a small family, and can't in good conscience commit to consuming two large challahs before they become classic french-toast material, something that would most definitely not be a healthy weekly ritual! 

"What if we gave one loaf away?" I mused. "One for us, and one for them." It seemed so natural, so easy. And it was. We ate dinner as a family that night, with more than enough tearings, saltings, and shmearings. And our neighbors next door had fresh-baked bread gracing their table and nourishing their appetites.

And it didn't stop there—for a seed had been planted; the simple act of making our own challah, knowing that we didn't, in fact, need all of it and could share with others, had made a huge impression on me. So the following week we took it even further.

On Friday afternoon, I went with my family to visit a neighborhood eldercare community. At 4:30, after sharing some Shabbat songs (I sing and play ukulele), we placed our challah on their cutting board and wished the participants a Shabbat Shalom. And again, that seed I had spoken about had been watered!  

Other connections were soon made; over the last year, I’ve slowly been reading Wendy Mogel’s “The Blessings of a Skinned Knee.” In it, she often reminds us “children learn by example”. Thus, even if my daughter at the age of three doesn’t comprehend the deeper meanings of our actions now, if I want her to truly care about the world and the wider community as she’s growing, I need to provide opportunities for her to care and share from early on, even if she’ll never remember when she first “started” to do her part in ‘tikkun olam’ (repairing the world) in small but profound ways.

And as I started delving more into the actual traditions of challah, I learned that the Torah had a lot to say about the sharing of bread! The Israelites were instructed from early on to provide a portion of their bread as an offering to God, and as a tax to help nourish the priestly class, those who didn’t own land and thus could not grow their own food.

And I remembered an old Jewish folktale (a modern version is included in this website), in which one man mistakenly thinks he is giving challah to God by placing loaves in his synagogue’s Ark, and another man mistakenly thinks he is receiving challah from God by taking loaves from that same ark!

The intimate baking experiences with my daughter set me thinking. I wondered what it would look like to regularly bake challah with her, and regularly give away a portion for an entire year. This could help strengthen Jewish tradition within our home while “gifting-it-forward” to the wider community, as well.

Hence, with the start of the New Year, this Rosh Hashanah I’m initiating a “Challah-it-Forward” Challenge for my family. It’s simple really: Bake challah every week, a bit more than we actually need, and give some away to help strengthen the community: family, friends, the eldercare center down the street, a transitional housing project not far from our house, or the neighbors next door.

I’ll chronicle the weekly adventures, and invite you to join in, if you’re so inclined.

A sweet, round Shanah Tovah to you and yours!

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