A Prayer for Jewish Food

Food also bound me to my mother-in-law. One of our most intimate moments occurred one evening while we were preparing gefilte fish together. As she set sliced carrots over the eyes of the fish, she mentioned her mother who had done the same. Although she didn't say anything more I knew what she was thinking. Her mother had died in the Belzec concentration camp.

By now I have sat around many seder tables, where the same holiday is celebrated with some variation. I've been to Persian seders where the participants strike one another with scallions to remind the participants of battling the enemy. Moroccan seders where the plate is lifted above each head so that each participant feels that he is being lifted out of slavery. Iraqi seders where the children, with a bag slung over one shoulder, act out the Exodus from Egypt to Israel. During my career as a gatherer of recipes and the stories that accompany them, I've written about many cuisines of the world. But I remain most comfortable in the world of Jewish food. It has its own compelling language. It can be sour or sweet, and is a living tradition in itself, constantly evolving.

I'll never forget the tiny shop -- Le Monde des Epices or the World of Spices -- that I came across in the early 1960s while a student near the Marais, the historic Jewish quarter in Paris. I still visit there when I can. Signs written on cracked pieces of pottery lead to paper sacks filled with bulgur for taboulleh, barrels overflowing with homemade lemon preserves from Morocco, olives marinated with orange peel and fresh garlic, Tellicherry peppers from India, and star anise from Asia.

In the postwar years, the shop catered to a large Jewish clientele, much of it comprised of refugees from Eastern Europe, who came for the pickles. By the time I showed up, the shop was frequented by North African Jews from Algeria, Tunisia and Morocco, and carried the fragrant spices of cumin and coriander, all new to me. Today the store caters to all lovers of exotic cuisine -- Jews and non-Jews alike -- who blend flavors of a world cuisine. Most people who walk in don't have a clue that it is a Jewish store.

This is what concerns me. The planet's cuisine is on a fusion course as young chefs cook at the altar of innovation. Will this massive global melding swallow up individual cuisines? What will happen as people -- and food -- become homogenous? Despite its powerful roots in Jewish history, I'm afraid Jewish food is as vulnerable as any other cuisine.

Let us pray that Jewish parents will continue to prepare their old family recipes, blessing their children with food memories that are unique from those of their friends.

This article is reprinted with permission from Moment magazine, a Patheos Partner.