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| Nomi with Gamma, Spring 2014 |
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 of 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” and careful removal of them. The best part
of all followed when we stuck out hands in the large bread-making bowl, 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 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. That meant we baked flower and
heart shaped challot, twists, or whatever inspiration came their way. Luckily
the girls don’t have school 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 ritual doesn’t end there. Every week, the girls’ abba,
asks, “Where did you buy this challah?” The girls answer, “Kline’s on 3rd
Place.”
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