It’s Crowded in My Kitchen

by Rabbi Janie Grackin
www.janiegrackin.com

My friend Ellen describes my kitchen as ‘the size of a postage stamp”, and she might be exaggerating.  It might be smaller.  And cluttered.  And every holiday, it’s crowded in my kitchen.

I always tell my students that the place to be before any festival meal is in the kitchen.  Not so that they can get any goodies before they hit the floor or get given to the dog, but because it is there that family happens, and memories survive, and stories are told.

From the time that I was very small and permitted to join the women in my

Bubbe’s kitchen, I understood that what happened there was like Las Vegas – whatever happens there, stays there.  The conversations, gossip, even the foods that were eaten, never appeared at the dining room table.

And so, the kitchen became a sacred space.

And so it is in my home.  Before each holiday, birthday, or festival, as the food is prepared, there is sharing and caring, laughter and tears.

We mark time by the passing of holidays and also by the empty chairs at our tables.  This year Aunt Joanie is gone.  Last Rosh Hashanah Uncle Len was here.

My father died at Purim, and as we dress in costumes and read the megillah, we will always remember that the last time he saw my daughter she was dressed as Queen Esther.  And a few weeks later, we gathered together for the first Passover without Daddy, who always chopped the charoset.

And it got crowded in my kitchen.

All day long, as we peeled and prepped each item of holiday food, we remembered seasons past.  Enter the memory of Bubbe, and her stories of growing up in Palestine, as she rolled each matzah ball between her palms and dropped them in the boiling water.  And as my mother reached into the fridge, she came across the dark chocolate covered orange peel, my father’s favorite, and she began to cry as we passed the agri-dulce (bittersweet) candy around the kitchen.  As we chewed each piece, we remembered stories of the things my father loved, and we talked of how we would miss him this year.  And, of course, we ate all the candy.  We talked and we cried.  And we laughed!  We laughed about how my father would never accept the use of the food processor machine for making anything as sacred as chopped liver or charoset.  It always had to be done by hand, in the wooden bowl, with the round edged chopping blade.

Who does that anymore?  And who will make the charoset this year?

And so, a new tradition was born in our family as we passed on the secret recipe for our Sefardic charoset to the new “man” in the house, an ex-husband, a high school friend, an out of town visitor.

And the kitchen got more crowded.

Last year, my daughter brought the love of her life home from London to join us for Passover, and he learned much about slavery and redemption in the time we had to prepare for the cast of thousands about to descend upon our dining room.  It got more crowded in the kitchen as he learned about the “miracle” of whipped cream (you mean it doesn’t come in a can?), the mystery of matzah balls, and the history of charoset.

And, of course, stories were told, people were remembered, tears were shed, and we laughed.  How we laughed!

The relatives came, friends filled the room, flowers, candlelight, wine, music, food and the Hagaddah.

And it was crowded in my kitchen.

So, this year, as you prepare to celebrate the holidays, invite some people into your kitchen.  Bring in the neighbors to help cook and taste.  Tell stories and share memories.

And always invite a stranger.

Shabbat shalom. 

Reprinted with permission from Janie.  Originally published in  Reclaiming Judaism’s National Jewish Book award winning Mitzvah Stories: Seeds for Inspiration and Learning

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Posted in Holidays, Stories