Going Greek for Chanukah
Although the Greeks were the villains in the Chanukah story, and because I can’t write another potato latke or doughnut recipe, I’ve chosen to go Greek for Chanukah. We are finally reaching the end of this tumultuous year, and we can kick back and relax.
I’m taking out my braai and aiming for simple, meze-style light meals. I hope you enjoy these. I promise they are delicious and easy.
Makes 14 and 3/4
15 wooden skewers soaked for an hour or two in water so they don’t burn on the braai
1kg beef mince
2 tbsp cumin
2 tbsp ground coriander
1 tsp salt
½ tsp ground black pepper
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 tbsp onion powder
1 tbsp chopped parsley
1 tbsp chopped coriander
Mix all the ingredients together. Shape into 14 sausages. If you are madly pedantic like me, they will weigh around 75g each. Place each sausage on a wooden skewer and braai until they are crispy on the outside and cooked through on the inside
Vegetarian tip: I’m obsessed with Somebody Feed Phil, and dream about the sabich he eats on his Tel Aviv episode.
Instead of the beef, you could add the following to your pita sandwich, or you could stuff these in with the beef koftas
2 aubergines sliced to about 1cm thick
1 tsp cumin
Sprinkle of chilli flakes (if you wish)
Slice the aubergines. Lay them flat, and sprinkle with salt. Rinse them well, and dry them with paper towel. Brush them with olive oil. Sprinkle on the seasoning, and bake at 180 degrees centigrade until they are crisp.
It’s quicker to make your own, but it’s the holidays! So, if it’s easier buy the humus, pitotand Israeli salad that accompanies the koftas, do so. Don’t do anything that will detract from your enjoyment of the dish. Toast the store-bought pitot though. It enhances the dish.
10g dry yeast
300ml lukewarm water
Mix the dry ingredients together. You can use a stand mixer with a dough hook or muscle power for this. Add the water and knead the dough until it is smooth. Cover and let it rise for 30 minutes. Knead again for a few minutes, and then let it rise for another 20 minutes. Divide the dough into 10 balls. Cover them, and let them rise for 20 minutes.
Flatten each ball into a round using your hands or a rolling pin. Heat a frying pan, and when it’s hot, place the round on the heated pan (no oil).
Flip when it browns or puffs up.
1 cup rice flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
½ tsp baking powder
2 tsp ground coriander
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp salt
4 cups cooked mielies (off the cob – it’s about 4 mielies)
2 tsp lemon juice
¼ cup finely sliced spring onion
¼ cup chopped coriander
Sunflower oil for frying
Pea shoots for garnish
Sift the dry ingredients. Add the lightly beaten eggs and lemon juice. Beat together, and then add the remaining ingredients. (Note: If your dough seems excessively stiff, add a little cold water although I never need to). Heat a little oil in a non-stick frying pan. Drop two tablespoons of the mixture into the oil when it’s hot. Be very careful as it splatters. Cook until the underside is golden brown, and then flip. Garnish with pea shoots, and serve with sweet chilli sauce
Chocolate hazelnut biscotti
These use one bowl and take less than 10 minutes to make. Warning: it takes 10 minutes to eat the entire batch too!
2½ cups of flour
1 cup of sugar
½ tsp of bicarbonate of soda
½ tsp of baking powder
Pinch of salt
1 tsp of vanilla essence
Rind of 1 orange
1 cup of chocolate chips
100g blanched and toasted hazelnuts (toasted in a 180-degree oven until light brown)
Preheat your oven to 170 degrees centigrade, and line two baking trays with parchment paper.
Place the flour, bicarbonate of soda, baking powder, and salt in the bowl of your Mixmaster. Add the vanilla essence, orange rind, and eggs. You may need to add a little more flour. Stir in the hazelnuts and chocolate chips by hand. Shape into three sausages with floured hands. Bake these for 30 minutes, and then remove them from the oven. Cool for 10 minutes, and then slice thinly using a serrated knife. Reduce the oven temperature to 120 degrees, and bake the biscotti for 30 minutes turning them midway.
How to create room to breathe while being constricted
There is no doubt that our community and wider country are starting 2021 in a meitzar, a narrow place, filled with fear and anxiety. Caught in a second wave which we hoped would never come, we are waiting with trepidation for schools to start, for numbers to drop, for vaccines to arrive. Would it help us to reflect that in Parshat Vayeira this week, we find the Israelites caught in their narrow place, the slavery of Egypt, Mitzrayim!
While the parsha this week describes the unfolding of the larger-scale events of the plagues, it opens with insight into the state of mind of “the people”, b’nei Yisrael. Hashem asks Moshe to reassure enslaved people by telling them that He has heard their cries, and is going to save them. The people will be taken out of Mitzrayim, and will be allowed to pursue their destiny. Moshe brings this message of comfort and hope to the people. And we are told, “The people of Israel would not listen to Moses, from shortness of breath and cruel bondage. (Ex, ch. 6, v 9).” Commenting on the words “they would not listen”, Rashi creates an equivalence between “to listen” and “to receive”, saying, lo kiblu tanchumin (the people weren’t able to receive words of comfort). It’s a deep place of despair where a person isn’t able to receive words of soothing and hope.
What stopped people from being able to be comforted? The avodah kashah describes the cruel bondage of slavery in which our people’s individual liberties and freedom were removed. Indeed, it may feel as if there is little agency or room to move when large forces of power are manipulating one’s life, such as in a pandemic.
However, we are also told that the people weren’t able to listen because of kotzer ru’ach (shortness of breath). The Midrash Aggadah plays on the words kotzer ru’ach, and claims that the people were “short on spirit” meaning emunah, and thus became involved in idol worship.
The Sefat Emet makes a startling interpretation of this midrash, suggesting that the Israelites weren’t actually worshipping idols, but rather were so distanced from themselves and filled with the vanities of the world that they had no inner space to receive this message of hope. Rashi observes that both Mitzrayim and kotzer contain the root “tzar”. He links the two, saying anyone who is in constriction (meitzar), will experience shortness (katzar) of breath. We might understand Rashi’s meitzar or constriction as anxiety, a state of constriction that freezes a person, conjuring up Edvard Munch’s terror-laden image of The Scream. When we are put under undue stress and pressure, we lose our capacity to take deep, long breaths. Thus, two factors prevent the people from receiving Moshe’s tanchumim: external factors linked to oppression and enslavement (avodah kashah); and an inner state of mind linked to alienation, distancing from G-d, and distressing anxiety (kotzer ru’ach).
Like b’nei Yisrael, we find ourselves caught in the powerful currents of history, political power-plays, pandemics, and all sorts of circumstances over which we have very little control. This is our avodah kashah, the larger forces which play out across our world. However, according to the parsha, our constriction and redemption depend not only on external factors but also on the way in which we work with our own kotzer ru’ach. As we begin 2021 gripped by second waves of COVID-19 in many parts of the world, we might be inclined to feel hopeless. This can lead to filling our minds and hearts with pessimism, negative projections onto the year, and anticipatory anxieties about what will be. If our mind is filled with kotzer ru’ach, it won’t have the emptiness to be open to receive the whispers and ripples of hope when they come our way.
In the words of the Sefat Emet, “Hearing requires being empty of everything so that we can hear the voice of G-d.” In times like these, if we are sufficiently attuned, we might be able to receive comfort, connect to feelings of hope, or even feel moments of faith and upliftment. These moments may come as calm, as perspective, as wisdom, as kindness, in the form of poetry, Torah learning, or prayer. Perhaps, quite simply, we will feel less constricted by “shortness of breath”, and more open to neshimah, breath, and expansiveness.
This is a hard time in our world, but we have a tradition of people going through very difficult times and being redeemed from them. We learn from b’nei Yisrael that any redemption requires waiting and is subject to forces beyond our control. However, we aren’t mere victims of circumstance. By working to heal our kotzer ru’ach, we create room for agency in our own narrow places. It might even be that our expanded ability to receive can help usher in the larger-scale transformation and redemption for which we hope and pray.
- Adina Roth is a Jewish educator at B’tocham Education, and a clinical psychologist in private practice in Johannesburg. She is studying online at Yeshivat Maharat in New York.
Don’t lose your spirit
Imagine you’ve been working on the job for years and years. It’s hard, manual labour and you’re not simply tired but exhausted, demoralised, drained, and frustrated. And then, one fine day, some new fellow on the floor stands up and promises a whole new world of equality, rewards, and ultimate freedom. Do you believe him, or are you beyond hope? Do you dare hold out for a better tomorrow and risk being disillusioned, devastated, and cast into despair yet again, or do you simply accept your fate and give up dreaming?
So it was with our ancestors in Egypt. They were slaving away all those years, when a new face appeared and began making promises. Moses brought a message from G-d that they were about to be redeemed. There is a Promised Land ahead. All is not lost. There is light at the end of the tunnel.
The Jews’ response? They didn’t listen to Moses as a result of shortness of breath and from hard labour.
One commentary explains that “shortness of breath” shouldn’t be understood only literally. The Hebrew for breath is ruach, which can also mean “spirit”. In other words, they weren’t able to heed Moses’ call not only from physical breathlessness, but because they lacked the spirit. Having suffered in bondage for so long, they no longer had the faith or hope to believe that freedom was still in the realm of the possible. It was simply beyond them. They had lost their spirit.
In the history of Egypt, no slave ever escaped. How could an entire nation ever walk free? Moses is a dreamer, they must have thought. It’s just not realistic to hold out such high hopes only to have them dashed yet again. And so, the people were utterly despondent and spiritless and therefore, they couldn’t hear – absorb – Moses’ message.
It happens all too often. People become so set in their mediocrity that they give up hope of ever achieving breakthrough. Marriages get stuck in the rut of routine, and the tedious treadmill keeps rolling along until we lose even the desire to dream. It takes an extraordinary degree of faith and courage not to.
I have often quoted a wise proverb in the name of legendary Chasid Reb Mendel Futerfas. “If you lose your money, you’ve lost nothing. Money comes and money goes. If you lose your health, you’ve lost half. You are not the person you were before. But if you lose your resolve, you’ve lost it all.”
Moses brought new hope to a depressed, dreamless nation. He gave it back the spirit it had lost, and eventually, through the miracles of G-d, the promise was fulfilled, and the dream became destiny.
To be out of breath is normal. To be out of spirit is something the Jewish people can never afford. May we never lose our spirit.
From small flicker to giant flash of illumination
One of the most memorable Chanukah holidays of my life was spent in the Old City of Jerusalem.
Walking through the narrow lanes and alleyways of the Jewish Quarter, just after dark, I was deeply moved by the sight of the little candles shining in the doorways. Special recesses had been carved in the Jerusalem stone of the doorposts, where the chanukiah was placed, protected from the winter winds and rains by a glass covering. This enabled the literal fulfilment of the Talmudic instruction: “Chanukah candles must be placed on the outside of the doors of our home.”
There was an interesting architectural anomaly in King Solomon’s Holy Temple in Jerusalem. Windows are usually built to maximise the penetration of light into a building. As described in the Book of Kings, the windows of the sanctuary were shaped by design so that light would shine out, rather than in. According to Talmud Menachot, this was meant to convey the message that G-d doesn’t need outside illumination. On the contrary, the spiritual light of the Menorah, with everything it symbolises, must spill out and brighten the world.
Since March, we have each been transforming our homes into sanctuaries. Our personal dwellings have always been hallowed: places of sanctity and purity which serve as mini-homes for G-d. Confined as we have been for the past eight months, this exercise has intensified.
For months, synagogues were closed for worship and prayer relocated to our flats and houses. Our rabbis, previously preaching from towering pulpits, arrived right into our living rooms on the screens of iPhones, iPads, and iMacs.
Our homes also became beacons of kindness, caring, and giving. Physical hospitality was of course severely curtailed by lockdown limitations. But chesed doesn’t only happen in the home, it also emanates from the home. In counterpoint to the numerous stories of corruption, graft, and theft that dominated our headlines were thousands of acts of selfless attention to the lonely, the elderly, and others needing assistance.
Fortunately, this pandemic is playing out in an age when communication technology is extremely advanced. This made it so much easier to be connected with the rest of world even without stepping out. Today, we can reach out to show care via a telephone call or a WhatsApp message. We can wish each other a good Shabbos through cute little graphics sent out to broadcasts lists. We can help friends shop online even if they aren’t technologically adept. All of these advances became tools for kindness and chesed.
I have seen the inside of many more of my congregants’ homes in the course of 2020 than in any single calendar year in more than three decades as a pulpit rabbi. Zoom Torah classes and virtual services propelled me right into studies, dining rooms, kitchens, and family rooms of hundreds of residences. In spite of the physical distance there was a sense of presence and home-to-home connection that cannot be achieved by gathering in a lecture room at shul or in the rabbi’s house.
Our sages tell us that the world stands on three pillars: Torah, avodah (prayer), and gemilut chassadim (acts of kindness). While we worked, played, prayed, and studied in our homes, we were busy consolidating the spiritual pillars that are the real foundations holding up a Jewish home.
Here’s the powerful message of Chanukah 2020: we have had eight months to strengthen the structure of our personal home sanctuary. To renovate it, redecorate it, and spruce it up. If it’s to be G-d’s Temple in a true sense, then its glow must shine out into the outside world, a lighthouse radiating sanctity, serenity, and shalom.
The darkness out there may be thick and appear impenetrable. The miracle of Chanukah was the victory of the few over the many. A small light can dispel a lot of obscurity.
We will start with one little candle, in our doorframe or window, solitary but valiantly radiating the warmth and purity from our home to the world out there. That light will increase, night after night, and combine with literally millions of other little Chanukah flames from Jewish homes around the world, to illuminate the entire planet with a giant flash of goodness and purity.
- Rabbi Yossi Chaikin is the rabbi at Oxford Shul and the chairman of the SA Rabbinical Association.
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