Only in Israel. When three boys are kidnapped by Hamas terrorists, what are hundreds of Jewish women to do? Bake challahs of course!!
The Great Street Challah Bake was held in the middle of a neighborhood thoroughfare, causing even the driver of an intercity bus to stop dead in his tracks. Female leaders of our neighborhood spoke with such fervor, a hybrid of speaking and crying, an appeal for G-d's mercy. Every ingredient of the challah recipe was addressed, its significance explained. If the point of it all is lost on you, I'm sure you're not alone. It's not about baking bread, but a reason to do a mitzvah together in the hopes that our collective request will sound in the heavens and our tears will wash away the horrible possibilities. The actual mitzvah, or commandment, lies in the blessing that we say when removing a small piece of the dough from the mixture to be burned, which is the obligation of those using a large enough volume of flour. The ritual, like most in Judaism, has biblical roots from the times of the Temple; the priests would receive a portion of the traditional loaves which are still a required part of the weekly sabbath meals.
For many women and some men, challah baking is a weekly occurrence. For others like myself, a trip to the bakery works just as well. With some degree of trepidation I gathered ingredients so that I could participate in this effort, which promised to be a communal bonding beyond anything we had experienced. Despite feelings of inferiority regarding my ability to produce edible challah, I packed my enormous mixing bowl, two kilos of sifted flour, and the remaining ingredients.
I took my place at the table in the middle of the street and considered for a moment how I had been led to attend. Both my son's drum lesson and the course I was to attend had been cancelled. Surely I had been summoned to a higher calling on this warm summer evening, standing in the middle of the street that is normally filled with vehicles.
It would be an understatement to say it was a privilege to have attended the event. The beautiful words and songs were dedicated to the boys. The women of my neighborhood were comrades in arms, armed with challah dough and prayers. At the conclusion of the event, we each packed up our gear and returned to our homes to braid and bake the loaves, hoping that our collective blessings and prayers had pierced the gates of the heavens.
Something occurred to me as the challahs baked: it was my first time making them without the proper measuring of ingredients. I couldn't fathom that such a delicate product, which could have easily been a yeasty epic fail, would have tasty results when produced in such a way. When the challahs emerged from the oven they looked beautiful, as though the recipe had been carried out with perfect precision. It made me wonder, could it be that our collective doughy venture had been a success in more ways than one? Was this a sign that our Creator would give us only a positive outcome?
Shabbat will blessedly arrive in just under four hours from now. Only then will we taste the sweet success of the baking. But what of the blessings, the prayers, our boys?
Wherever you are as you read this, please continue praying for the boys. OUR boys.
Shabbat shalom to all <3
The Great Street Challah Bake was held in the middle of a neighborhood thoroughfare, causing even the driver of an intercity bus to stop dead in his tracks. Female leaders of our neighborhood spoke with such fervor, a hybrid of speaking and crying, an appeal for G-d's mercy. Every ingredient of the challah recipe was addressed, its significance explained. If the point of it all is lost on you, I'm sure you're not alone. It's not about baking bread, but a reason to do a mitzvah together in the hopes that our collective request will sound in the heavens and our tears will wash away the horrible possibilities. The actual mitzvah, or commandment, lies in the blessing that we say when removing a small piece of the dough from the mixture to be burned, which is the obligation of those using a large enough volume of flour. The ritual, like most in Judaism, has biblical roots from the times of the Temple; the priests would receive a portion of the traditional loaves which are still a required part of the weekly sabbath meals.
For many women and some men, challah baking is a weekly occurrence. For others like myself, a trip to the bakery works just as well. With some degree of trepidation I gathered ingredients so that I could participate in this effort, which promised to be a communal bonding beyond anything we had experienced. Despite feelings of inferiority regarding my ability to produce edible challah, I packed my enormous mixing bowl, two kilos of sifted flour, and the remaining ingredients.
I took my place at the table in the middle of the street and considered for a moment how I had been led to attend. Both my son's drum lesson and the course I was to attend had been cancelled. Surely I had been summoned to a higher calling on this warm summer evening, standing in the middle of the street that is normally filled with vehicles.
It would be an understatement to say it was a privilege to have attended the event. The beautiful words and songs were dedicated to the boys. The women of my neighborhood were comrades in arms, armed with challah dough and prayers. At the conclusion of the event, we each packed up our gear and returned to our homes to braid and bake the loaves, hoping that our collective blessings and prayers had pierced the gates of the heavens.
Something occurred to me as the challahs baked: it was my first time making them without the proper measuring of ingredients. I couldn't fathom that such a delicate product, which could have easily been a yeasty epic fail, would have tasty results when produced in such a way. When the challahs emerged from the oven they looked beautiful, as though the recipe had been carried out with perfect precision. It made me wonder, could it be that our collective doughy venture had been a success in more ways than one? Was this a sign that our Creator would give us only a positive outcome?
Shabbat will blessedly arrive in just under four hours from now. Only then will we taste the sweet success of the baking. But what of the blessings, the prayers, our boys?
Wherever you are as you read this, please continue praying for the boys. OUR boys.
Shabbat shalom to all <3
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