Food from Israel

FOOD FROM ISRAEL Ijeh b’Lahmeh

Janna Gur

This delicacy hailing from Syrian Jewish cuisine is a wonderful alternative to the traditional Chanukah latkes, with a big plus: As opposed to the classic Ashkenazi potato latkes, ijeh can be made in advance and served at room temperature.

Called havitat yerek in Hebrew (literally “omelet with greens”), it is sold, stuffed in pitas, at many roadside eateries and falafel joints. But the real thing, which also contains ground meat, is found almost exclusively in Syrian Jewish homes. Delicious and so easy to make, this is one of my favorite lunch fixes. It is also great for sandwiches and picnics.

Janna Gur was born in Riga, Latvia, and immigrated to Israel in 1974. She is the founder of Al Hashulchan, the premier Israeli food and wine magazine, which she edited for almost 30 years. She edited and developed nearly 40 Hebrew cookbooks, many of them national bestsellers. For the last decade, Gur has been touring and speaking extensively about Israeli and Jewish food in Israel and worldwide. She also hosted several culinary missions and led numerous food tours around Israel.

Ijeh b’Lahmeh

(Herb & Meat Latkes)

Ingredients (15–20 pancakes)

4 eggs 1 large onion, roughly chopped About 2 tablespoons matzo meal or breadcrumbs

1 bunch parsley 1 bunch cilantro

½ bunch mint

3 to 4 scallions 300 grams (about 10 ounces) ground beef (or a mixture of lamb and beef) Salt and freshly ground black pepper 2 to 3 tablespoons pine nuts (optional) Vegetable oil for frying To serve (optional): Pita, bread rolls or a ciabatta Olive oil

Slices of red onion

Chopped fresh herbs Tomato slices

Tahini

Preparation

Put all the ingredients, except for the beef, pine nuts and oil, in a food processor. Pulse only until herbs are chopped. Be careful not to overwork, lest the herbs turn mushy. Transfer to a bowl.

Add ground beef and pine nuts (if using them) and mix thoroughly. Heat a little bit of oil in a large non-stick frying pan. With a large spoon, ladle pancakes 7 cm (3 inches) wide and fry on medium heat for 3 to 4 minutes on each side, until deep golden. Be careful not to crowd the pan (work in batches). Remove to paper towels to drain.

To serve: Brush pita, bread rolls or ciabatta with olive oil and toast in a hot pan or oven. Arrange the pancakes on the bread (it will absorb the flavorful juices) and top with onion, herbs, and tahini. If not serving immediately, store the pancakes in the refrigerator – they are delicious cold or at room temperature in a sandwich or as a light snack with freshly cut veggies and a dollop of tahini.

Variation (for a vegetarian option): Skip the meat. Increase the amount of breadcrumbs or matzo meal to 5 tablespoons. You might also want to add 1 to 2 chopped and slowly sautéed onions for extra flavor.

 Originally published in Jewish Soul Food from Minsk to Marrakesh (Shocken Books). Photography by Daniel Lailah.

Why Didn’t the Greeks Destroy the Temple

Rabbi Yehoshua Asulin

Oil, oil and more oil. We light the chanukiah with oil as a reminder of the menorah in the Temple. And our Chanukah menu also revolves around that same miracle – doughnuts, latkes and various other fried (and usually fattening) delights. But does the miracle of the oil justify all this attention? The Pnei Yehoshua1 argues that there was no need for the miracle of the oil at all. This is because there was a rule in the Temple that “impurity is permitted in public” – if the majority of the people are ritually impure, it is permissible to bring regular sacrifices even in a state of impurity. As the majority of the people were impure as a result of the war, and since the mitzvah of lighting the candles had a fixed time, the Kohanim were allowed to light the menorah with impure oil! Moreover, it appears that by following the same rule, impure oil was, in fact, used in the Temple for the Minchah offerings because there was only one cruse of pure oil available and it was used for lighting the menorah. If the miracle was not necessary, why do we eat so many doughnuts? In all seriousness, not only was the miracle necessary, it was almost imperative. Let us take a step back. What was the war with the Greeks all about? On Purim, our enemies sought to physically destroy our people – “to destroy, kill and annihilate.” On Chanukah, however, the Greeks declared war on our spiritual identity – “to make them forget Your Torah.” The Greeks considered themselves to be the most enlightened people in the world. But if they were so open to wisdom and learning from all cultures, why did they intensely oppose the Torah?

The Ramban2 explains that the chanukiah we light in our home is a “continuation” of the Temple menorah, so to understand the chanukiah, we need first to understand the menorah.

The Talmud associates the menorah with the wisdom of Torah.3 The light of the menorah represents the light of the Torah, as it says, “For a candle is a mitzvah and the Torah is light” (Mishlei 6:23). However, although the Torah is also called wisdom, there is a considerable difference between the Greeks’ wisdom and that of the Torah.

Our Sages have a saying: “Wisdom among the non-Jews – believe. Torah among the non-Jews – do not believe.”4 In other words, wisdom lies in a natural framework, while the Torah is the Word of G-d, beyond nature, and so it is eternal, does not change with the times, and is always relevant. Non-Jewish society possesses much wisdom. The Greeks were pioneers in many areas of wisdom and progress. But the Torah, which is beyond nature, was something they couldn’t understand at all! And so they fought against Judaism specifically, not the Jews. The Greeks were prepared to accept the Torah as an intellectually stimulating pursuit, as just another form of natural wisdom. For this reason, they did not destroy the Temple but planned to transform it into a museum.

This is the meaning of the Greeks’ defilement of the Heichal. 5 Purity and impurity are entirely spiritual concepts; they have no significance or relevance in the world of nature. This was the battle the Greeks waged against our people. They defiled the Temple as if to say: The Torah is just like all the other wisdoms and sciences and there is nothing here beyond nature. This is why the miracle of the oil was so critical. G-d performed a supernatural miracle for us to emphasize that the Torah is the Word of G-d, unlike and above all natural wisdom.

When we celebrate the miracle of the oil, we must remember that natural wisdom comes and goes. This world is transient, and opinions and trends change. But our Torah is not just another body of natural wisdom. Our Torah is the true and eternal light – always shining, always relevant, always illuminating our paths in every generation.

1 Shabbat 21b.

2 Bamidbar 8:2.

3 Bava Batra 25b.

4 Midrash Eicha Rabbah 2:13.

5 Sanctuary, another expression for the Temple.

Rabbi Yehoshua Asulin is the Rav Shaliach of Yeshiva College Schools, Yeshiva Mizrachi Community and Mizrachi South Africa.

THE WAY OF A

Rabbi Natan Kapustin

So this is the way dreams die. Dreams are meant to die in a flash, as time winds down and your team misses its last shot, and the championship is lost. But that is not the way dreams die. Dreams should die in a blaze of agony, as your beloved leaves you, and you are all alone. But that is also not the way dreams die.

I have seen dreams die – and it is not quick. I have seen dreams die – and by the end, it is no surprise.

I have seen dreams die – and it is agony. Slow, but certain: the death of dreams marches with determination. Provider of false hopes, teaser extraordinaire, the killer of dreams is patient. I know, because I have seen a dream die.

It is overwhelming. It is defeating. It is mind-numbing. It is agony.

Is this how Yosef felt? Separated from his father, sold by his brothers, seduced by his master’s wife, sentenced to prison. Salvation was finally at hand. As the butler was released, Yosef could taste freedom. Pharaoh would hear of his powers of interpretation. Pharaoh would hear of his plight. Pharaoh would send for him, would raise him from the pit, and set him free. As the cell door closed behind the butler, Yosef dreamed it would reopen... ...but it didn’t. Not the next day, or the day after, or that week, or that month, or that year. Yosef stared at the door, waiting for it to open, each day less sure than the one before. For that is how dreams die: Day, by day, by day. Slowly, painfully, cruelly. Is that how Yaakov felt? Driven away by his brother, wrenched from his parents. Destitute and despondent, far from home. He too had a dream. Soaring ladders and climbing angels, his dream was one of legends, and of promise. G-d would protect him. G-d would provide for him. G-d would bring him home. Yaakov set off to find a wife and escape his brother, dreaming of returning... ...but he didn’t. Not the next year, or the year after, or the year after that. Given the wrong wife, denied wages, swindled by his father-in-law, Yaakov waited for G-d to respond, each day less sure than the one before. For this is how dreams die: Year, by year, by year. With self-doubt, with hurt, with shame.

This is how dreams die. I know, for I was once a dreamer. I dreamt of the future, of a land, of a home. My heart was in the East; I dreamt of Israel.

And now? My heart is in the East, but I... I am in Yosef’s pit, at the end of the West.

At first, people would ask about our Aliyah plans. ‘They’re coming along,’ I would say. And they were. And then some would joke: ‘You’re not going anywhere.’ For that is how dreams die – with the mockery of others. Their scoffing was the forgetfulness of the butler, and the lies of Lavan: Nails in the coffin of dreams. The jokes have now stopped, and so have the questions.

Now it is the silence that hurts... for it is the silence of failed expectations. It is a silence borne in agony. For that is how dreams die – in the silence of one’s thoughts, in the depths of one’s soul. Day after day, year after year. This is how dreams die.

Is this how Moshe felt? Hidden by his mother, raised by another, chased by Pharaoh, adopted by Yitro. Taken from his family, cut off from his home. He was given a dream. A free nation and covenant with G-d; his dream was lofty. A dream, like Yosef’s and Yaakov’s, that would bring him to the land. Torah in hand, the people would follow, they would all cross the Jordan... but he never did. Not that year, nor the next, or even 40 years later. As he stood on top of a mountain overlooking the Promised Land, he no longer dreamed. He begged. But G-d would not let him go further. For this is how dreams die: with advancing age, and endless wandering in a personal desert.

But this is also how dreams live. With a heart that beats faster to the cadence of HaTikvah. With blood that runs blue and white – the colors of Jewish dreams. With the pain of being a stranger in a strange land. The agony remains, but also gratitude. For Israel has given me an indescribable gift: I live the life of a dreamer. A life of broadened horizons, and untold possibilities. A life of imagination, of legend, of linkage to ancestors. A life of Yaakov’s ladder and Yosef’s bones, brought to the promised land. A life of heroes and prophecies, of hope and pride, and Jewish destiny.

For dreams don’t die. Only dreamers do. And this is the way dreams live. They live with the butler, who finally remembered Yosef… and became the ally he needed. They live with Yaakov’s financial planning… and his determination to leave Lavan. They live with G-d… Holder of Dreams, who was always at their side. This is the way dreams live.

They live as a double-edged sword; they hurt but also give us life. The Zohar teaches: ‘Through a dream Yosef was distanced from his brothers, and through a dream he was raised above his brothers, and above the entire world.’ For this is the way dreams live: They bring us down, and they raise us up.

With anguish and hope, We long for the land of dreams. With patience, with faith, with perseverance. Yosef waited two years, Yaakov 20; our people, 2,000. And me? My dream lives on.

Rabbi Natan Kapustin is the Dean of Students and 12th Grade Dean at the Abraham Joshua Heschel School in Manhattan.