Challah: a warm and fluffy pastry that braids its hair and puts on its finest egg-bath suit.
Sufganiyot: the Jewish take on a New Orleans beignet, only rounder, sweeter, and fixated on having its besties, jam and custard, accompany it to any function.
Black and White cookies, mandel bread, babka, and rugelach: notorious pastries that radiate an irresistible elegance when they enter the room, alerting the masses that it is time for celebration, prayer, and a pain-inducing food frenzy.
Kugel, matzo ball soup, schnitzel, latkes: every bite, a savory reminder of belonging.
United under the tapestry of Jewish cuisine, these finger-licking good treats not only speak to tradition, but also to the Jewish love for wheat flour…. and lots of it.
Wheat holds a deep significance in Judaism. Wheat is regarded as one of the Seven Species of Israel, signifying its importance in sustaining human life. During the Jewish festival Shavout, or the Festival of Harvest, Jews are called upon by the Torah to make an offering to G-d. This offering is regarded as bikkurim, or the offering of the first fruits of the harvest. Just as how G-d offered the Torah to the Jewish people at Mount Sinai, Jewish farmers were called upon to offer the first of their crops to G-d at the Temple. The reason Jews offered G-d one of the seven species of Israel, including Wheat, was to acknowledge G-d’s graciousness in not only providing a plentiful harvest, but for instilling a confidence within the Jewish people. Sometimes on this holiday, Jews may have offered G-d two loaves of bread–one loaf meaning endless blessing and the other loaf a signifier of labor. The offering is therefore a reflection of not only individual self-discovery (as seen through the labor of the harvest) but also emphasizes the connection between the Jewish people and G-d; a relationship built on mutual dependency. This holiday, like so many other Jewish holidays, stresses the importance of the wheat crop in Jewish tales. According to Rabbi Dovid Cohen, eating wheat is considered a mitzvah. This elicits a conversation surrounding how to properly navigate Jewish holidays as someone who will die from eating the treasured grain.
The combination of being gluten-free and Jewish sounds unfathomable! How can someone tolerate watching their friends devour the bread-crumb-filled chocolate flakes off the babka swirl, attend challah bakes without any intention of eating it, or ignore the smell of freshly made chicken noodle soup burning on Safta’s stove? How can one be gluten-free and immerse oneself into Judaism when there is such a huge emphasis on wheat embedded within the culture and ritual? When life or death is on the line, it becomes pretty easy; you adjust to the flow of tradition. As a Jew who has been living with celiac disease since the age of 3, I have learned how to properly navigate both identities; being unapologetically Jewish and a victim of celiac.
Growing up, gluten-free accommodations were not a thing. I could not visit my local Costco and find gluten free pita chips. Lenny’s Casita was nonexistent. The luxury of a Jewish-owned gluten-free bakery selling hamantaschen was unimaginable. My Shabbat dinners looked like the pouting faces of my friends who felt sorry for the fact that my taste buds could never be tickled by matzah crack, subtle phrases of “oops! I forgot!” when challah was placed onto my plate, and a gummy for dessert. Despite this, I never felt any less Jewish. This feeling was largely attributed to the acceptance found within Jewish teaching. Judaism allows celiacs to follow Halakah in their own, gluten-free way.
For instance, during Pesach, a primary mitzvot of the Seder is to eat matzah, unleavened bread made from wheat. For those with celiac, this often came as a concern, as they believed that not eating matzah meant failing to fulfill the mitzvah (good deed). Rabbi Ephraim Kestenbaum, a Rabbi and father to a celiac child, served as an advocate for the celiac community. In the 1980s, Rabbi Kestenbaum proposed an alternative to wheat matzah that would be suitable for celiac Jews to consume, while also following Shulchan Aruch, or the rules of Jewish law. He proposed oat matzah, where the oats used were grown in fields separate from wheat.The Shulchan Aruch states that matzah must be created from one of the five grains–wheat, rye, barley, oats, and spelt–in order to be considered suitable for Pesach. Given that oats are one of the five grains, oat matzah was a suitable alternative. However, the minhag or custom, often challenges this statement, claiming wheat as a superior grain that would least likely pose the risk of chametz, or rising, when it is produced. Therefore, it claims, matzah must be made of wheat. Despite this, Rabbi Kestenbaum figured out a way to produce oat matzah without the risk of chametz by using a unique preparation method of dry air. His outstanding effort allowed his daughter to enjoy Pesach just as any other Jew would. His contributions kickstarted a movement that paved the way for mass production of gluten-free alternatives to the beloved Jewish cracker.
Like Rabbi Kestenbaum, my drive to make gluten-free versions of beloved Jewish foods has always been present. I was determined to not only connect with my Jewish identity through prayer and celebration, but food too. Food holds so much meaning. Having an allergy should not prevent one from finding it. I often make gluten-free challah bread using ingredients like tapioca, oat flour, and all-purpose rice flour. Latkes with potato instead of wheat flour. Schnitzel made with almond crust rather than bread crumb. The result, a fluffy challah bread, greasy latke, and swoon-worthy schnitzel that can be loved and embraced by every person at your next Jewish function. But most importantly, by those with celiac. Recently, gluten free Jewish cuisine has become a global phenomenon, with businesses all over the world adopting the concept.
When I was in Israel, I stumbled upon a vendor that specialized in gluten-free pastries. It was the first time I had ever seen a gluten-free challah loaf that was not homemade; it was company-manufactured. With bread in my hand, I sat at shabbat dinner with a smile on my face and an overwhelming excitement to eat challah with dip. To some this may seem trivial, but to celiacs, it’s monumental. Similarly, Modern Bread and Bagel, an all gluten-free bakery that specializes in Jewish sweets and bagels opened up in LA, allowing me to experience the signature taste of a Jewish bagel; a luxury I could only obtain if I made it. The progression of celiacs being included in the conversation of Jewish restaurants, bakeries, and Shabbat dinners has been incredible. While I never once doubted my commitment to Judaism when I could not indulge in certain traditions because there was no alternative, there was always a part of me that wished that I could. Now, I can.
Challah. Sufganiyot. Black and White cookies. Mandel Bread. Babka. Rugelach.
Kugel. Matzo ball soup. Schnitzel. Latke.
There’s a gluten-free option for that.
Cover Image via PICRYL
