Shabbat: Tradition, Gender, and the Power of Pouring Soup
Yael Shaw
Sept 2021
Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath of the Eternal your God.
— Exodus 20:9 – 10
She is like a merchant fleet, bringing food from afar… Many women have done well, but you surpass them all.
— Eshet Hayil / “A Woman of Valor” / Shabbat Poem / Proverbs 31:10 – 31
Jewish tradition urges us to observe Shabbat each and every week, commencing sundown on Friday and ending sundown on Saturday. In our frantic, busy lives, these hours are a much-welcomed recess from the bustling pace of everyday routines. The word “Shabbat” is literally derived from the roots of its three Hebrew letters Shin/Bet/Tav, meaning to cease, end, and rest. This weekly respite provides me an opportunity to slow down and breathe, spend time with family and friends, appreciate the world around me, and perhaps most importantly, enjoy some good, traditional Jewish food. Shabbat meals in my house are always shared, enticing experiences; we bring out the big family recipe book dating back generations and flip to a random page for delicious guidance. My favorite? Pages 34 and 65: brisket and kugel. As the often full-day preparation for dinner begins, my mom commands “Shabbat central” in the kitchen, exuding a maternal confidence that I envision was typical of the women in my family since the time of the shtetl in Eastern Europe.
My mom currently possesses our treasured recipe book, dotted throughout with notes and spills made by the family matriarchs from generations before her. I affectionately recall years ago, when I could barely reach the sink, seeing an earlier, tattered version of this iconic book on my great-grandmother’s counter on Friday afternoons. Raising a family in the throes of the Great Depression, she couldn’t afford a typical file in which to record and later share these recipes. Instead, she found one of my great-grandfather’s unused calendars and wrote the instructions there. Though my Great-Grandma Bebe’s original “calendarized” recipe book was misplaced when handed down, we still have and cherish its Table of Contents page. Brittle and yellowing, it hangs framed in our kitchen, inspiring me to cook, remember, share, and persevere on Shabbat as I look over her shaky handwriting: gefilte fish — March 21; knaidlach — December 1; tzimmes — July 12. Over the years, those recipes have been reformatted into our printed 4-inch binder, but the cultural significance of where those masterful food combinations came from will always remain close to my heart.
These original recipes, developed by my great-grandmother, tweaked by my grandmother, and continually altered by my mother, are typically at the center of our Shabbat meal. “Grocery store large eggs are smaller now, so use less matzo meal and club soda or upsize to jumbo eggs,” my mom has noted under the ingredients section for knaidlach. “Use vegetable oil instead of schmaltz (chicken fat) for a healthier alternative,” she has penned in the margins of the chopped liver directions. In the book Home Cooking, author Laurie Colwin writes, "No one who cooks, cooks alone. Even at her most solitary, a cook in the kitchen is surrounded by generations of cooks past, the advice and menus of cooks present, the wisdom of cookbook writers." What my mom cooks is therefore an important link to the past, a celebration of our roots, and a symbol of ritual and continuity. Cooking food is so much more than simply providing nutrients on a plate — it’s physical and emotional sustenance, connection and love, tradition and togetherness. I have to wonder, though: why is it the Jewish woman who is almost always in the kitchen foreground? Is this tied to religious expectations or contemporary interpretations? Sure, my dad has his famous Sunday pancakes tradition. And he makes one hell of a pancake. But no one other than my mother dares to mess with our sacred Shabbat meal.
Both of my parents are Jewish and both were raised observing Shabbat. Both even have their own challah and matzo ball recipes. Yet it is my mother who always assumes the role as chef on Friday nights. Perhaps this is historically motivated — for Jewish women, food preparation has always been a story of strength and leadership. During extensive periods of anti-Semitism and war, Jewish women smuggled food in order to save their families from famine. Throughout the Spanish Inquisition, many Jewish women were caught and punished because of their desire to maintain traditional cooking practices. It was generations of privation and oppression that made Jewish women so passionate about feeding their children, thereby giving them the best possible chance of survival. This fervent mission has not dissipated; my mom admits that she is still the most satisfied when she knows that her kids are sufficiently stuffed from a good meal shared around our family table.
In addition to this historical context of a Jewish mother’s desire to feed her babies, women play an integral part in the actual Shabbat service itself. Once everyone is seated around the dinner table, it is the woman of the house who lights the Shabbat candles and says a prayer, thanking G-d for a blessed week and a relaxing day ahead. Jewish tradition suggests that women are more spiritual than men, and therefore the responsibility of bringing light and holiness into the home falls on them. My mom takes this to the next level — after she recites the prayer for lighting candles, she walks around the table and kisses everyone on the head. It is her way of recognizing the importance of each of us and personally inviting us to the shared Shabbat experience. Since my mom is the official “welcomer” of Shabbat into our home, it makes sense that she takes on the role of cook and server, as well. And for her, whoever controls the soup pot controls temperature (always hot), how much (to the rim of the bowl), what (carrots, chicken, noodles), and when (the first course, right after we light the candles and recite prayers). Let’s be honest… the job of “soup-pourer” is a bit empowering. I question what would happen if those roles were reversed, and if it were custom for the man of the house to say those first Shabbat prayers. Would he play a larger part in the making of the meal? My guess is that he probably would. How would this change the experience?
I can’t wait to personally carry on this tradition with my own family when I’m older. Most likely, I’ll be the one lighting the candles, walking around the table kissing heads, and happily grinning while everyone takes a bite out of my brisket and kugel. But I have a few things to learn before then, clearly. A few months ago, I was caught cooking pasta the wrong way; who knew that the water needs to boil before you put the noodles in? Not I! My older brother, on the other hand, used quarantine as an opportunity to explore the culinary world. He made us scrumptious dinners of dumplings from around the globe, tofu lasagna, truffle edamame brioche, and borani banjan (Afghani eggplant). Of the two of us, there’s no question as to who is the better cook. I am easily satisfied with putting some leftovers in the microwave and calling it a meal, while Jacob is probably off making some gourmet avocado toast recipe he researched on Kitchen Network. If I’m lucky, he will offer me a bite.
Every experience I have had with Jewish cooking, Jacob has had, too. Whether we are preparing kreplach, teiglach, chicken soup, gefilte fish, or latkes, we have done it together, the two of us helping our mom in the kitchen, regardless of gender. But as we both move out of our childhood home, developing our own Shabbat traditions along the way, I, as the only daughter, will probably be the one who inherits Grandma Bebe’s recipe book. I know I will modify the tradition slightly, however and will welcome Jacob, who undoubtedly will remain the more accomplished cook, to participate by my side as my Shabbat sous chef. Together we will make brisket and kugel, both scribbling our contemporary edits in the margins. But I pour the soup.
Yael Shaw is from Glencoe, Illinois and studies in the College of Arts & Sciences and the Olin Business School at Washington University in St. Louis.