My Father's Passing

On New Year's Day, Jan 1, 2020, My father, Michael Lewis Horen, passed away suddenly in a hospital in Florida. He was 78 years old and I thought we would all have a lot more time with him. As we begin the ritual mourning practices I am sharing the words that some my family members used to eulogize my Abba (my husband Sam, my brother Ben, and my mother Marilyn).

On New Year's Day, Jan 1, 2020, My father, Michael Lewis Horen, passed away suddenly in a hospital in Florida. He was 78 years old and I thought we would all have a lot more time with him. As we begin the ritual mourning practices I am sharing the words that some my family members used to eulogize my Abba (my husband Sam, my brother Ben, and my mother Marilyn).

Elisha Gechter’s Remarks for Michael Horen’s Funeral in Boynton Beach, FL

January 1, 2020

Over his life my Abba was a student, a yogi, a hippie, an artist, a wandering Jew, an Orthodox Jew, a Chabadnick, a son, a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather, but most of all my Abba was a mentsch.

In 1941 my father was born in Philadelphia to Ben and Ethel Horen. His older brother Albert had already been around for 10 years and the two of them would get into many adventures and some trouble. My Abba loved his mothers cooking – the gefilte fish she made from scratch, the matzah ball soup that he adapted as an adult to include ginger and mushrooms. When he was young he had a kidney disease that relegated him to bed for a long stretch of time, and his mother bought him a drawing set to keep him busy. It was then that his incredible talent and love for art began to emerge. A few years later he submitted a drawing to a radio station contest of the flying purple people eater and won his mother a sunbeam mixer, which made him very proud. My dad was a contributing artist to Central High’s yearbooks and started at Museum College for art in Philadelphia but after a month he had outgrown the place. He got a scholarship to Pratt and was a Fulbright scholar at the Sorbonne in France. He told me that when he was there he used to have access to the archives of the museums and would go into the Louvre and handle Da Vinci drawings himself. He boarded with a family outside of Paris and sent his mother a note on the toilet paper there since it was so rough. She immediately sent him a case of soft American toilet paper. And I can see that he learned from his mother since he used to Fedex me challot from our favorite Washington Heights bakery when I was away at summer camp.

As a freelance artist my dad designed album covers, illustrated books, even knockoff Disney watches, and would sometimes accompany my uncle Albert on his antique sales. It was at an antique show that my Abba spotted my Emma for the first time and asked if he could join her for a cup of coffee. Those two have been having fabulous adventures ever since.

My dad was 38 when he lost his father, and he knew he wanted to say daily kaddish for him so he found himself on a Jewish journey that lead to a new way of living for both him and my mom. He became a dad at the age of 40 and again at 45. My Abba would get down on all fours and give us rides on his back around the backyard of the country house in Upstate NY, or dress as a clown with a curly gold wig and full face makeup for our birthday parties in our Riverdale apartment. He was an integral member of our shul the HIR and so many people there, and at the Chabad of Riverdale, and here in Boynton Beach Chabad which has been his home for the last 10 years, will miss him and his beautiful spirit, his beautiful suits with matching Stetson hats, and his beautiful way of connecting with people on an individual level.

He and my mom worked very hard to put me and my brother through Jewish day school at SAR. He was an illustrator/Graphic Designer for JJ Gross, then Artscroll, then IDT. My dad was often offering his artistic services to help out the school. I would always find him when he was in my building working on some project, and he would often sign my name on his creations. Not that we fooled anyone that I had made the art, but my dad knew how proud I was of him and how I wanted everyone to know who he was and what he was capable of, and it was a two way street. My dad used to carry me home when we walked back from Shabbat dinner at friends, and comfort me when I bruised my knees or my ego. He never stopped worrying about me on the physical and emotional level – last week I feel on the ice in Boston and hurt my elbow – I told my mom, who told my dad, who called me and left the most concerned voicemail. My pain was him pain. And that was also true in the aftermath of a miscarriage I had between Zoe and Erez – he wanted to make sure I was getting the care I needed in body and mind.

When my father met Sam 16 years ago he made him feel so welcome in our family, and he has continued to do so ever since. Every time we showed up for Shabbat in Pepperell, MA or he picked us up curbside at the PBI airport for our Pesach visits, his face just shown and he gave each of us a deep embrace and told us how glad he was that we were here. It meant so much to me that the first man I loved, my dad, loved my partner.

My father became a grandfather at the age of 71. Sorry we made you wait so long Abba. You were incredible every minute you were with your grandkids and they love you so much. When Zoe was born you and Emma came to our house – you did all the snuggling but also all the cleaning. When Zoe took her first bite of solid food at 6 month it was on the highchair you built for her. When you painted challah with egg with her, guiding her hand with he pastry brush, I could see all the love we shared when we did the exact same thing when I was little on kinneret boxed challot, pouring right into the next generation. My confidence and happiness in life you taught me and you taught to her and Erez too. Three years ago you served as the sandek at Erez’s bris and just a few weeks ago you cut a lock of his hair at his upsherin. You made them so happy and showed them joyful Judaism. You babysat for them all the time, giving me and Sam a break and time together. When we would come back sometimes, even if you had cleaned up vomit or had to read a story over and over or tell my kids how to change a carborator, you always said to us – why didn’t you stay out longer?

Abba I’m feeling so sad that I didn’t have the chance to say goodbye to you, to ask you to pass on final words of wisdom to me. But I realize that you’ve been doing that with me my whole life. Every time we ended a conversation it was with “I love you.” I have learned so much from you – even about how to mourn a parent. Though your parents died before I was born, you visited their graves every year at Rosh Hashana – driving hours to Philadelphia, sometimes having to hop a fence to get in. When I travel to Israel the only thing you wanted me to bring back were small, holy, rocks for you to place on their headstones. I asked you what you did when you went to the cemetery and you told me that you just talk to them. You talk to them about your life, about your kids, your grandkids, anything on your mind. You told me that there isn’t a day that goes by that you don’t think about your parents. I know that will be true for me for the rest of my days on this earth Abba.

Thank you for teaching me that our conversation isn’t over.

  

Michael Horen’s Burial in Boston, MA January 2, 2020

Sam Gechter’s Remarks

I’m not going to mince words. This sucks. It’s not fair. I remember when Michael was diagnosed with CLL, and either you Marilyn or Michael told me that the doctor said “You’ll probably die of something else first.” Even as things were getting more serious at the hospital this last week, Marilyn asked the hospital if it was time to gather the family, and they said oh, not yet. Six hours later everything was crumbling down around us.

I hope no one will take offense when I say this, but I think for all of us who knew Michael well, Michael was one of our favorite people. He was one of the best people we knew, and it always seems like the best people get taken too soon. Seventy eight doesn’t feel like a long life anymore, but a life cut short. Especially from the perspective of his children and grandchildren.

It’s not uncommon for people to have struggles with their parents. There is an investment there that parents have that is hard to be zen about. There are a lot of hopes and dreams and expectations that can get in the way of just being with each other. But for me, being a child-in-law and not an actual child, we didn’t have that baggage. Michael was, for me, the person I felt like I didn’t need to worry about myself around. He just accepted me as I was, from the first time we met. He was a big overflowing fountain of love and joy. He welcomed me with open arms. Not just at the beginning, something that Marilyn and I still joke about sometimes, but every time he saw us. He would welcome us literally with open arms, a big hug, the smile of seeing the people he loved bursting on his face. Michael was the one who brought joy, who made everyone feel welcome, and happy, and loved.

We often talk about people as glass half empty or glass half full type of people. For sure Michael had his cranky and cantankerous times, like the times when he was feeling like he was asked to do to many things and referred to himself as a dunky (that’s d-u-n-k-y in his Philly accent).  But Michael wasn’t a glass half empty, glass half full type of person. He would be like: “Wow what a big glass, and what a beautiful glass! I’ve never seen a glass like that. Such craftsmanship. And there’s so much in it!!! One of the best I’ve ever seen.” That’s the type of person Michael was. Elisha related a story last night at the funeral of how when we’d come home from a date he was babysitting for, he’d tell us all the things that would go wrong, and then ask why we didn’t  stay out longer. it wasn’t just that. Most nights, we’d ask how it went, and he’d say oh it was great, they were wonderful. Erez threw up, Zoe wouldn’t go to bed, but they are so delightful. (Marilyn would said this too, I’ll give you credit). Michael was just so able to see the good in what was so.

Some of you know that Michael was an artist. But he was also a craftsman, in the sense of Betzalel, who led the design and construction of the ark and tabernacle. Michael could do or learn just about any skill. When I met him he already knew all the visual arts. And he knew how to fix cars. He knew carpentry, and watchmaking. When Michael and Marilyn moved to their house in Pepperell they brought with them some stained glass windows to have installed in the new house. But they builder sized the opening wrong. So Michael learned how to work with stained glass, and resized two windows into one. When he bought a Bradly GT kit car, and it needed metal work, he learned welding. When he didn’t like the taillights, he learned how to rework fiberglass.  I had always imagined him teaching me and our kids how to do these types of things. I’m thinking about all the ways of fixing or making things he won’t be able to show us or teach our kids. I’m thinking about all the drawing and painting he won’t be able to do with them, and all the skill and creativity lost.

I’m thinking too of all the silly things he won’t get to do with our kids any more, all the jokes he won’t be teaching them… “Did you take a shower Zoe?” “Why, is there one missing?” All the kiddushes and sukkahs we’ll have to do on our own.

Michael leaves a hole in our world, an enormous hole.  The trick is not to let it be a black hole, that consumes and devours us. The trick is to have the hole be a reminder for us to fill it: with his light, with his joy, with his love, with his happiness, with his humility, and with his creativity.

Elisha Gechter’s Remarks

Abba you took me to my first funeral. I was in elementary school and close family friends lost their teenage child to a genetic disease. I stood by your side in that large NY synagogue and watched you openly weep. You taught me it’s ok for an adult to cry in public.

You taught me creativity. You designed posters for protests to free Soviet Jewry that we marched with as a family and as a community, you illustrated children’s books like the Artscroll Megillah, and technical pieces like the Mishnah to help people visualize what they were learning about. People have sent me messages over the last 24 hours to tell me how devoted they are to your Megillah and wouldn’t dream of using anything else on Purim.

You taught me about adventure - you traveled the world with us and with Emma - Costa Rica, Israel, Ireland, Prague, Morocco, Panama, Scotland, Budapest. At each place you sought out cool art, delicious food and connected with people, often bringing home a catch phrase that would become a family joke - like “Aren’t you right Mrs.” from a charming old inn keeper in Ireland.

You taught me about care. You drove me to elementary school in Riverdale, to high school in New Jersey- even to college in mid town Manhattan at the end of many a weekend, to my first day of grad school in Boston, and to my first day back at work after maternity leave. You knew the name, and the story of every Holocaust survivor in our synagogue. You left an impression of gentleness and encouragement on all of my childhood friends. All of us who came into contact with you felt your care.

You taught me how to be joyful. You’re 100% comfortable being goofy with our kids. You taught Zoe Victoria her first joke ever and Erez said to me yesterday he is sad that he won’t be able to tell Zayde his funny words any more. You showed me that Judaism is joyful and full of spirit - from singing Kabbalah Shabbat together in the living room and dancing in a circle for lecha dodi, to carefully selecting lulav and etrog for sukkot, to singing every single verse of Maoz tzur each night of Chanukah.

You taught me how to learn. Abba you were very sure of your values in this world but that didn’t stop you from learning from different places. When I returned from Encounter in the West Bank you asked me questions to genuinely understand what I had seen and heard. When you would come to us for Rosh Hashana you would spend the first day at Minyan Tehillah, where I was leading services, and the next day at Harvard Chabad. Each year you would come up to me and say “sweetheart that was your best davening yet.” You are such a traditionalist and yet you would try any Haggadah that I was excited about and you came to Zoe’s birthday party at Mayyim Hayyim’s mikvah even if that’s never something you imagined yourself doing before.
Because family and learning were so important to you. They are to me too.
I love you Abba.

Ben Horen’s Remarks

My Abba was a tinkerer, a seeker of beauty and truth, an artist, a mad scientist and entertainer. When he turned bar mitzvah age, he was given a mid tier watch. The kind of watch appropriate for a teenager in the mid 1950s. His eyes would glaze over as he watched the hands move and listen to the gears shifting. He had to know what made this watch tick. So he got out his watch repair kit and started to go to work. He popped the backing off, took out a few screws. Within a few hours all of the gears and moving parts were spread all over the floor. He had taken apart the tv remote and put it back together before, but this was completely different. Alas the excitement of seeing the working parts of the watch was tantamount to the actual function of it. He fit this gear into that one, as best he could remember and closed the backing. I don't remember how his mother Etel reacted, but she adored him; her "Mickele". He was the light of her life. Around the same age he got a job at the gas station slash car repair garage down the block. He would go there after hours to build an English style bike from parts at the scrap yard. Any task he set about he brought this same DIY enthusiasm. Tinkering and solving on the fly and doing it with naivety that only someone who had his patience could do. Soon after completing his bike he had an accident that had him on crutches for his first week at Philadelphia Museum of Fine Arts Program. His mother made him promise he wouldn't get on a motorcycle again. But when one of the kids on his block had been gifted a shiny new bike, he couldn't resist the opportunity to take tear up the street. Revving it back and forth, he didn’t see his mother watching from the front porch. When he came home later she'd ask him "Was that you I saw riding on that motorcycle?" NO no definitely not. 

When I was in high school he could see that I had a deep passion for playing music, and so he encouraged me to take bass guitar lessons that were more serious than I had taken before. And of course the best music teachers were in Brooklyn. He would pick me up after school in Paramus and would already have two corned beef sandwiches with coleslaw and Russian dressing on a Kaiser roll that he had just picked up. We would pull into a gas station on route 4 and eat our sandwiches then head to Brooklyn where he would wait an hour and change while I plucked away at the bass. He always made sure I had every tool available to me for the task I was setting out to do. If my guitar needed a repair, we took it to the factory that made it. If there was a presentation at school he made sure only the best oak tag or paper was used.

His fascination and engagement with people was bar-none. As part of his work, he was to coordinate a staff to drive a truck into Newark and distribute bagged lunches to anyone that wanted or needed them. He did this almost every day of the week so he became a fixture to the people the truck served. The interactions he had just couldn't be scripted. He had an openness and calm that disarmed people with the toughest exterior. He approached them as equals and they reciprocated.

Marilyn Horen’s Remarks

Michael’s journey is over but oh what a wonderful journey it was. He lived a full life: brother, husband, father plus the privilege of being a grandparent. We’re not granted the knowledge of when our journey will end but Michael would have been totally accepting of his fate because he also lived the life of an authentic Jew joyously.

I was privileged to be the partner to a magnificent man. 

Together our far flung traveling adventures were paramount until we discovered life with children and Jewish community life, both which brought us satisfaction and valued lifetime friends. 

While many of our contemporaries were planning weddings and bar and bat mitzvahs for their kids we were going to Kindergarten parents night. We were late bloomers, he as a genuinely enthusiastic Baltshuva at age 40 and me joining the tribe. We joked that that was when life really began. Our lives became filled with purpose beyond ourselves.

Yesterday morning I walked out the door as a wife. Today while I struggle through the unanticipated burying of my beloved I know from his total acceptance of beshert that he is exactly where he needs to be. We will mourn our loss but remember his outstanding qualities of giving, bringing joy to many, always doing for others. 

From experience I know that the tribe will continue to provide Elisha, Ben, me and Sam opportunities of strength, friendship ahead. 

May his memory be a blessing for us all. 

Some have a belief that their loved one is watching over them. Michael has already proven that. As Ben left the hospital he saw some one had dropped a shirt on the sidewalk. The shirt had a large yellow crown printed on it with a large script ‘M’ underneath it. Thursday we had a short layover lay over in Philly- Michael’s birthplace. 

Michael loved being spontaneous and unpredictable. He had a special way to help Erez get to sleep with a particular song. Only Zadie could do it right. I think it’s fitting to sing it to Michael now. Please join in with us as we sing Go to Sleep You Weary Hobo by Woody Guthrie. 

Go to sleep you weary hobo
Let the towns drift slowly by
Can't you hear the steel rails hummin'
That's the hobo's lullaby

I know your clothes are torn and ragged
And your hair is turning gray
Lift your head and smile at trouble
You'll find peace and rest someday

Now don't you worry 'bout tomorrow
Let tomorrow come and go
Tonight you're in a nice warm boxcar
Safe from all that wind and snow

So go to sleep you weary hobo
Let the towns drift slowly by
Listen to the steel rails hummin'
That's a hobo's lullaby

Yom Kippur 2017

I delivered these remarks on Yom Kippur before the Neilah service at Minyan Tehillah in Cambridge.

A few weeks ago, walking the uneven pavement of Holyoke St in Harvard Square, I passed a group on a tour. Towards the back of the group was a gentleman in a wheelchair and as I got closer to him I noticed he was wearing a bright blue cotton T shirt that said “I’m in it for the free parking.”

I chuckled to myself and then decided to say something.

“I like your shirt” I got out just before he wheeled past me

- he looked up at me, right in my eye, and said “thanks.”

It was a simple exchange, but also real. I’m often too rushed to take time for that connection. And before this summer I may not have spoken up, because I hadn’t thought of T shirts as ice breakers. I’d treated them like fashion statements, or nostalgic relics people held onto instead of “Kon-Marri-ng” them, or in the age of “but she persisted” - political forms of self expression. But I hadn’t thought of T shirts as a catalyst for connection.

This perception changed for me when my family traveled to Tennessee to witness the total eclipse last month. Thousands of people flocked to the Smokey Mountains, and a horde of us ended up in Cades Cove where hay fields flanking historic wooden cabins made for easy solar viewing. As we all parked, hauled our gear, and passed the hours until the afternoon spectacle, we busied ourselves with connecting a bit to those around us. The easiest way to start was noticing one another’s shirts. From young kids in NASA onesies, to grandparents in eclipse 2017 branded tops, this international motley crew complemented each other one at a time with our fashion finds, and our creativity. Erez and I had on matching literary Goodnight Moon tops - we got and gave out many accolades. But obviously the most profound take away from the day was not a new outlook on T shirts. It was a new way to look at the celestial beings.

Sam and I both shared on social media about the awesomeness of that day. I ranked it up there with our wedding day and the birth of our children in terms of how moved and overwhelmed I felt. Sam captured his most repeated phrase during the 2 minutes when the sky was purple and a white ring blazed around the dark circle of the moon -  “wow, wow, wow, wow.”

In response, Sam’s cousin David Stolarsky wrote his thoughts on why he too had such a spiritual experience in Kentucky during totality. His words “Maybe it's because having lived on the earth for as long as one has, one knows about the sun and experiences it every day, yet one has never actually looked at it, never actually seen it. This is the one chance to look at it with your own eyes, and wow is it the brightest white you've ever seen even while "totally" obscured. You just get a sense of it you've never gotten before, the sense you get when you look at anything. A sense of how big it is. A sense of how hot or cold it is. A sense of what might happen if you touch it. A sense of how hard it would be to move.”

I’m captivated by the way David described how looking at the sun switched his perception of it. And I wonder - what would life be like if more of our perceptions didn’t just shift, but radically changed. What would be available to us this year if we started to look, perceive, and experience the things that we know... differently. What would it mean if we started to look more people in the eye as we complemented their shirts, or as we passed them on the street. What would it look like if we experienced ourselves differently, actually looked away from our phones and turned inward for reflection. What if we experienced our parents or our siblings in a innovative ways. What if we took a novel approach to interacting with our colleagues and our political counterparts. Who doesn’t want a bit of change in our daily communication with a partner, with our kids?

The Slonimer Rebbe, the influential Chasidic Rabbi Shalom Noach Berezovsky born in Belarus in 1911 and died in Jerusalem in 2000, writes about an approach we can all take to help ourselves see other people differently.

“The purpose of human beings is that they see with a clear lens the Divine light which shines within all Creation.” The concept he is touching on is Btzelem Elohim - that all people are made in the divine image. He explains that the line in Genesis “God saw that the light was good” isn’t referring to the physical light created, but rather Divine light. And therefore, he writes, “[With this vision] a person does not perceive a separated world in which all things are disunited. Rather, [a person sees that] everything is One and that a singular elevated power sustains everything.”

While his words may move us to want to look at the world differently, and could go on a fridge magnet or on a piece of paper taped to your computer monitor to inspire, it might be hard to generate this world view on a daily basis. What often gets us looking at something differently is an intense experience, like an eclipse, or a crisis, when changed circumstances push us to a place from where we can take on a new view.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks in his introduction to the machzor/prayer book we’re all using today, says that the High Priest in the Beit Hamikdash/Jerusalem’s Holy Temple on Yom Kippur “was a glittering spectacle, the closest of encounters between man and God at the supreme intersection of sacred time and space.” Our own Yom Kippur eclipse.

“But” Rabbi Sacks continues, “after the destruction of the second temple all of this went away and our people were left wondering how would we move on, and also how would we atone?” So, here is where we have an example of taking on a new view, seeing a possibility. Rabbi Akiva bravely forges forward and in Mishna Yoma says that God would purify His people without an intermediary. Again in the words of Rabbi Sacks “Ordinary Jews could come face to face with the shechina, the divine presence... The drama that once took place in the Temple could now take place in the human heart - Yom Kippur and the Jewish faith was saved because he was able to perceive things in a different light than they had so often been seen.”

Judaism as we know it today is thanks to not just this one person, but to many people throughout our history looking at things differently - sometimes out of necessity, sometimes out of love, or pain, or fear, or hope.

Often these efforts to look at things differently, experience things differently, are driven by leaders. Leaders have the challenge of getting other people on board with a new vision. So what means do they, or any of us wanting to make a change, have available?

Dr. Erica Brown in her new book “Jonah: The Reluctant Prophet” draws on something I never paid attention to before in the text of Jonah that we read this afternoon. The king of Ninveh, after hearing Jonah’s prophecy, decreed that not only should the people fast and don sackcloth in order to repent, but the animals should too. Trying to make sense of this strange proclamation Erica quotes several commentators who suggest that the king was trying to employ an action that would shift people’s perspective. “Human beings may fast and dress in sackcloth and yet not be inspired to change at all.” Erica writes.

“These may be perfunctory rituals to achieve a “look” of repentance rather than an authentic art of change. But human beings who lack compassion for each other may still have compassion for their animals, especially when they witness them in a state of suffering.” Where people couldn’t see a way to be compassionate with each other, if they saw their animals fasting and suffering it would stir their compassion and that in turn could extend to seeing their fellows as worthy of compassion too.

So we can use this kind of trick, but it can also be a trap. When have we been nicer to a cat than to a colleague, to a passing acquaintance than to our own family member? It’s important to be nice to all these beings but when we are not really seeing the others in our lives we are missing what they need. And the same goes for missing ourselves, and what we need. When are we giving ourselves too much credit or not enough credit, pushing ourselves too much or not enough? This happens when we aren’t in touch with the movements of our own heart.

Last year I shared an alternative form of viduy where we use positive words to acknowledge the good things we’ve done this year, to foster more positive and compassionate thoughts about ourselves and our deeds. Instead of just - ashamnu (אשמנו), bagadnu (בגדנו), gazalnu (גזלנו), dibarnu dofi (דברנו דפי) – we have trespassed, we have dealt treacherously, we have robbed, we have spoken slander - I also said the affirmitive words penned by Rabbi Avi Weiss - ahavnu (אָהַבְנוּ), beyrachnu (בֵּרַכְנוּ), gadalnu (גָּדַלְנוּ), dibarnu yofi (דִִִּבַּרְנוּ יֹפִי) - we have loved, we have blessed, we have grown, we have spoken positively.

For those of us who used that innovative text - did it help us in any way to perceive ourselves differently on judgment day?

“One knows about the sun and experiences it every day, yet one has never actually looked at it, never actually seen it.” Who have we not truly looked at this year?

I want to finish by sharing with you once more about how I experienced myself at the eclipse. As I saw a crown of light from the sun, circling the darkness of the shadow of the moon I lent my voice to the collective whooping. We needed to give sound to the tingling in our bodies the sight produced. My eyes filled with tears and I held my kids close as I looked at the sky, marveling at the mystical thing I was witnessing. The spectacle lasted less than two minutes, and I cried the whole time. Like in these final moments of Neila on Yom Kippur that we are about to enter into - I tried to soak up the moment. I tried to connect with myself, my family, the crowd, the universe, with God. When the light came back our glasses went back on and immediately I wondered when I'd be able to see a total solar eclipse again, and brush with the divine in a way I never imagined possible. I do not plan to wait until 2024 to see my next eclipse - but I also know I don’t need to travel far to be able to see things differently, from a new perspective,

to experience something that I see every day in a totally new way.

I just need to look someone in the eye.

I need to say “I like your T shirt”

- even if it’s saying that to my very own self.

Shana Tova with Squash Blossoms

This has been a year of many wonders. Blogging took a back seat while I was doing a lot of other things that I love - cooking, teaching and spending time with our growing family. Zoe turned one last month and we have much to be thankful for as we take stock of this last year. My hope for us all in the coming year is to discover life's bounties and inspiration.

Below are my Rosh Hashana 2013 menus - 60 people will surround our dining room table over the course of six meals. There will be a lot less meat than there has been in years past - my parents are on a predominantly vegetarian diet for health reasons, my father-in-law doesn't eat chicken and half our guests don't eat meat so we're focusing on fish and produce. I'm mightily impressed by my old self looking back at our 2011 menu plan (ditto for 2010. 2012 was undocumented here but bless my mother and friend Jess for all their help in making amazing food while I was occupied by a six week old Zoe).

This year's menus encompass both summer and fall food vibes, given this limbo time we find ourselves in, between the two seasons. Last week started out with me enjoying a blueberry beer in an outdoor cafe, and over the weekend I sipped my inaugural pumpkin ale of the almost-fall. On the first night of Rosh Hashana we're going to enjoy some final summer favorites - corn on the cob (which Zoe devours with exuberant typewriter-like motions) and stuffed squash blossoms. But below you'll find instructions for my base recipe.

I recently made a facebook promise to share my recipe for stuffed squash blossoms here. The problem is I don't follow a recipe. So I've tried my best to sum up what happens when I get home from the farmers market with big beautiful fragrant blossoms. How I stuff them with goat cheese, or cream cheese, or even shredded mozzarella with chopped anchovies, and dredge them in water and flour, or buttermilk and flour, or even beer and flower. For Rosh Hashana I'll be trying a description heard on the Splendid Table podcast by Lynne Rossetto Kasper using a garlic and herb spiked ricotta stuffing and panko-egg coating.

Fried Stuffed Squash Blossoms
I buy squash blossoms as often as I see them at the farmers markets over the summer.

12 squash blossoms
1/2 cup - 1 cup of soft cheese (such as goat cheese, or cream cheese, or finely shredded mozzarella)
1/4 cup flour
1/4 cup water (or buttermilk or beer)
1/4 tsp salt and pepper olive or vegetable oil

Start by cleaning the squash blossoms - either by dusting them off and carefully inspecting them for dirt/bugs or by gently rinsing them with cool water and patting them dry. Leaving them wet can damage the blossoms and you want them in-tact for stuffing and frying.

Next use a small spoon or you fingers to stuff about 2 tsbp of cheese into the center of each squash blossom and set on a plate. You don't want them to be over stuffed.

Heat a large frying pan over medium-high heat and add 1/2 and inch - 1 inch of oil.

Meanwhile, mix the liquid and flour in a shallow bowl with a fork and season with salt and pepper. Dredge each blossom in the mixture and place in the hot frying pan. Flip each blossom after they turn golden brown - about 2 minutes. I like to use a pair of kitchen tongs for this. Wait till the other side is golden brown and serve.

I find the green part of the blossom (the stem) too bitter to eat - plus leaving them on our plates lets us keep count of who has eaten their fair share.

 

Rosh Hashana Menus 2013
While I'm simplifying things this year, I'm still trying to uphold our tradition of incorporating foods that symbolize our wishes for the new year (and whose Hebrew words play up on a related pun). Dessert is sort of neglected in this accounting but we won't be skipping it. It will star sorbet, fruit and my grandmother's recipe for A Bit More - you can find an updated recipe below.

First Night

Eggplant Roulade

corn

Romaine salad with tomatoes

First Day Lunch - all Ottolenghi recipes

fish balls

roasted butternut squash w tahina

date/spinach salad

Second Night

lamb tajine

herbed couscous

citrus fennel salad

Second Day Lunch

salmon kabobs

quinoa tabouleh salad

carrot and beet slaw

Third Night

black bean soup  

London Broil

kale and apple salad

Shabbat Lunch 

white fish with chimmichurri sauce

Israeli salad

A Bit More
A dessert attributed to my maternal grandmother, Noelle Cadle Swart, and updated this year by my mom Marilyn Horen. Serves 4-6.

1 egg beaten slightly
5 tablespoons of almond flour   

1 ½ tsp baking powder
1/3 cup walnuts                                      

1/8 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp vanilla                                      

3 baking apples
1/2 cup of honey
Sift dry ingredients, mix them in to the slightly beaten egg. Mixture will be thick and ribbon-like when poured. 

Peel and slice apples thinly and then arrange them in a greased 10” square pan. Mix in chopped walnuts. Apples should be no more than two layers deep. Pour the wet mixture from above in a ribbon over the surface of the apples. 

Bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes.

Passover 2013

The Gechters at Purim

We've long since polished off our Purim treats (including the spanakopita hamantashen I made this year to go along with our Popeye, Olive Oyl and SweePea costumes) and we're almost ready for Passover. This year preparations entail throwing out expired jars of food from the fridge, packing our bathing suits and quinoa for Florida and preparing to lead two Seders.

No matter how many engaging texts and questions I share at the Seder table, I know that if I don't keep the adults snacking, our discussion will be derailed by complaints of "when are we going to eat?" So I've adopted the custom of serving an array of dipping fare - strawberries and chocolate spread, pickles and olives etc. This year I'm thinking about making the traditional potatoes dipped in salt water more substantial by roasting them with lemon, olives, paprika and dill. And maybe Zoe will even stay up long enough to try some.

Roasted Potatoes with Lemon, Olives and Dill

2 lb bag of red bliss potatoes

2 lemons

1 jar of cured pitted black olives

1 Tbsp. of paprika

1/4 cup of chopped fresh dill

2 Tbsp. olive oil

Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Slice the potatoes in half and scatter on a metal baking sheet. Finely slice the lemons and olives and lay on top of the potatoes. Sprinkle with the paprika and dill and the salt and pepper. Drizzle with olive oil and then bake for 35 minutes until potatoes are golden and crispy.

Roasted Potato Goodness

Passover Recipe Roundup

Smoked Salmon and Swiss Chard Quiche
Banana Nut Cookies
Walnut Cookies
Flourless Chocolate Cake
Matza Brittle
My 2009 Passover Cooking Plan

Check out the full Recipe Index for plenty of Passover friendly salads, sides and main dishes!

Walnut Cookies

Passover Online Resource Roundup

A special thanks to my Eser group for sharing many of these with me
JOFA Seder Enhancement Materials
Uri L'Tzedek Haggadah
The Jewish Women’s Archives Haggadah
The JewishBoston.com Haggadah
JDate Haggadah
 The Four Questions by Keshet for LGBT allies
The Four Children by American Jewish World Service
Modern Plagues of Conflict by the Religious Action Center
Jewish Meditation and Spirituality Haggadah insert

I'm Back for Parshat Bo

It's been almost 6 months since my last post here. I've been enjoying my little girl Zoe (born 3 days after my last post - exactly on her due date!). My experience in the kitchen has changed a bit since becoming a mom and I've been mulling over what to do with this blog. I made several unsuccessful attempts to come back and while I don't have it all figured out - I miss it here. I won't be trying to post every week - after 3 years at this and a new little person to look after that doesn't seem likely. But I'll aim to post when something good is brewing in the portion and the kitchen.

So here I am, back with a throw-back. This week's portion, Parshat Bo, has only been covered once on this blog. It was a post back in 2010 and it was a good one, therefor I'm re-posting it now. Here's a little forshpies (Yiddish for taste/appetizer) of some dishes that recently popped out of my kitchen that I'll share the details of when the tie-in is right: a caramelly date and red onion wild rice, a spicy pomegranate marinated salmon and vinegary barley kale goat cheese salad.

Parshat Bo circa 2010: [with a 2013 comment in italics]
There are dishes we all like to throw together in a hurry. Some of mine include scrambled eggs and cream cheese when running late for work [I made that when I was running late??], sardines and goat cheese over lettuce with my lemon garlic dressing upon returning from work famished and tired, chicken with quartered lemons, rosemary sprigs and peeled garlic cloves when there is a one-hour countdown before Shabbat and a table full of people to feed. In this week’s portion, Parshat Bo, the whole nation does some hurried and harried cooking when they produce flat breads as they’re rushing out of Egypt.

Picture this. You’re a Hebrew slave in Egypt and you know your buddy Moses has been working on Pharoh to let you and your fellow Hebrews go. You find out that in the middle of the night Moses gets a call from a distressed Pharoh who says “Get out of from among my nation and go and worship your God as you have been asking for.” All of a sudden your Egyptian neighbors are goading you to leave Egypt hoping it will save them from the final plague. You and your Israelite friends can’t Fred Flintstone your legs fast enough to get out of there before anyone changes their mind.

But you have the thought- what if I get hungry along the way? So you grab that bowl of dough you just kneaded which hasn’t yet had time to rise, and you wrap the bowl in your cloak and carry it over your shoulders on the way out of Egypt. You had no time for any significant tzedah laderech, and it looks like most of your friends had the same idea.

You all make it to the outskirts of Egypt. While waiting for the next leg of the Exodus you bake these unleavened (i.e. un-risen) cakes of dough, aka Matzah. Nowadays your great, great, great, great (etc) grand kids eat that same stuff at their Passover Seders.

The commandment to celebrate Passover - eating Matzah and avoiding risen bread for seven days to memorialize our freedom -  appears in this portion right after the whole Matzah making story. Some of you may not be so thrilled with the story’s bread banning conclusion, others may be closet Matzah pizza lovers, or may engage in debates over Matzah shmeared in cream cheese versus Matzah and butter. Personally I can’t get enough Matzah brei (rhymes with eye) over Passover, and I enjoy the first few crunches of shmurah Matzah at the Seder. But I'm always jealous of those who have the custom to bake their Matzah in a way that is soft and doughy, probably closer to how the Israelites did it in this weeks Parsha.



If you are ever in Israel for Passover you can find these types of doughy pita breads, or lavash, being sold in the outdoor markets for those who use them at their Seders. While I wish my family did, alas we hail from Eastern Europe and stick only to the crackly stuff. But I can enjoy this type of fluffy home made treat during the rest of the year and am especially looking forward to doing so this Shabbat. Note that the recipe I use involves considerable rising time to get those pitas as puffy as possible, which is not how those who eat lavash on Passover make them, nor is it very much in the spirit of the weekly portion. So if you're pinched for time, or feeling like being truer to the text, go ahead and skip the rising process, the pitas will still be delish.

I have made pita/lavash a number of times at home and love the smell that pours out of the kitchen when I do. I feel a sense of accomplishment as the warm stack of white discs marked by spots of char grows higher as I cook. Sam and I enjoy the pitas with home made shwarma (chopp leftover turkey, fry it in a pan of oil and middle eastern spices) or spiced ground beef and chumus when we're missing Israeli fast food. You can also incorporate aromatics and herbs into the pitas themselves. I’m going to try adding crushed garlic and rosemary to some of mine this time around and use them in place of challah at my Shabbat meal. Try the recipe below and if you can reheat them a bit before serving on Shabbat I think they will taste like when you first made them- steaming with the smell of carbs and haste.



The recipe I use came from a tall cookbook by Marlena Spieler titled Jewish Cooking that my Aunt gave me 5 years ago. It’s the kind of cookbook you can find at Borders - with the wonderfully large and colorful food photographs that really entice you to make a dish, and that often illustrate part of the cooking process. This is a plus for me as I mainly choose recipes to attempt based on pictures. It's also got a nice introduction that covers Jewish history and food.

Pita or Lavash

Adapted from Jewish Cooking by Marlena Spieler

Lavash is simply a longer, pocketless pita and this recipe generally yields pocketless pitas. They are best cooked in a cast iron or a grill pan (or over the grill if you happen to have access to one in the winter). Feel free to cut out the rising time.

4.5 cups of flour
1 packet (2 1/4 tsp) of yeast (rapid rise)
1 tbsp salt
1 tbsp olive oil
1 cup of water
Optional spices such as fresh garlic and rosemary

Combine the flour, yeast and salt in one bowl. In another large bowl, mix together the oil and water, then stir in half the flour mixture. If you want to add spices, such as the garlic and rosemary I suggested, now is the time. Knead in the rest of the flour and shape into a ball. Cover the bowl with a damp dishtowel and leave in a warm place for 30 minutes to 2 hours (depending on your time frame).

After it has risen, knead the dough for ten minutes. If you have time, cover and let it rise again. If not, divide the dough into 12 pieces for nice round pitas, or fewer for larger longer lavash. Dip your hands into some flour to keep them from sticking to the dough and flatten each piece with a rolling pin or your hands. Try to keep the pita ½ an inch thick. Keep the dough that you aren’t working with covered.

Heat a cast iron skillet over medium high heat. Wait for it to get smoking hot and then add one of the pitas and cook for 20 seconds. Turn it over with tongs a cook for 1 minute on the other side.

When large bubbles form on the bread turn it over again and watch as it puffs up. Press down gently with a dishtowel, and then cook for 2-3 more minutes. Remove from the pan and wrap the pita in a dry dishtowel. Repeat with the remaining dough, adding the finished pitas to the stack in the dry dishtowel.

Serve hot!