Sweeter Than Honey
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And it was at this point in the conversation that I understood that Alex and I were not just talking about food, nor for that matter about his grandparents of blessed memory. For me personally, it was a profoundly moving conversation. I was overwhelmed with a sense of stewardship, knowing I have been entrusted to shepherd our community forward no differently than those who came before me, or those who will follow. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the gracious generosity of this community, who have granted me the means to raise and educate and care for my family in a beautiful home, in this, the greatest city in the world. Most of all, I was overwhelmed with love: love for my wife Debbie, who as my partner in all things, gives of her time, wisdom, and leadership to strengthen our community, and who, even in the darkest hours, remains my most trusted confidante and fiercest supporter. Nobody, save for the exclusive sisterhood of Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Nadich, knows the terrain you walk as rebbetzin of our community. Like your predecessors, you do so with grace, and my love and gratitude know no bounds.
Moved as I was, and remain, I also understood that my conversation with Alex was neither about me nor Debbie – but about each one of us and the families from which we come. It was Proust who best understood the sentimental powers of food, a simple Madeleine cookie drawing out a remembrance of things past, to return – as the psalmist of the season writes – to the homes for which we long. Of course, the holidays are about the cantor’s voice, the sound of the shofar, and the order of the prayers. But it is the power of taste and recipes passed from one generation to the next that are our most reliable repositories of memory. Important as the synagogue may be, Jews are a table-centered religion. Sephardic, Ashenazic – traveling from land to land – the recipes are the ingredients, literally, that define us and connect us as a people, keeping old traditions and adding new ones along the way. The recipe that has been handed down in your family, the one that makes your family different from other families and that is shared when new people enter your family. The smell of the matzoh ball soup, the conversations with loved ones as food is prepared and as dishes are cleared from the table. It is the songs that are sung, the spilled wine on the tablecloth and the break-fasts from one year to the next.
Alex’s relationship with his late grandmother is instructive because it signals the most authentic and reliable manner by which tradition is passed down from generation to generation. In all our anxiety over the Jewish future, we forget that the most potent intervention to ensure Jewish continuity is not necessarily a Birthright trip or some other well-intended outsourcing of Jewish engagement. It is each one of us! By modeling our Judaism, by living it lovingly in the company of our children, grandchildren, and those we love most. And while the obligation lies primarily on parents, it is not solely their responsibility. Grandparents have a critical role to play, even when, perhaps especially when, our grandchildren’s homes are not the Jewish homes of their parent’s youth. Studies demonstrate that the most reliable predictor of future synagogue engagement is the memory of having attended synagogue with your grandparents. We should all support those institutions committed to building a Jewish future, including and especially this one. But in the year ahead, if you are really interested in building up the Jewish future, then know that your most powerful gesture need not involve reaching into your pocketbook. Bring your child or grandchild to shul. Cook a shabbos meal with them at your side, filling their hearts, their stomachs, and their memories with the seeds of love that will, I promise, bear fruit in the years to come.
A final thought. Since that night, I have sat in Hadassah’s kitchen many times. The cutting board is long gone, the walls painted over, and thankfully, the kitchen has been redone. Times change. In fact, I found the 1958 Times clipping with Mrs. Nadich’s original honey cake recipe, and as Alex himself notes, while inspired by his grandmother’s recipe, his is not the same. He omits her cloves, allspice, and raisins and adds an apple cider compote to the batter – moistening the cake and giving it a caramelized apple flavor. Truth be told, Alex shared with me, honey cake tends to be dry – probably the reason why most people usually have one slice and call it quits. So notwithstanding his reverence for his late grandmother, Alex embraced the opportunity and obligation to innovate on her recipes and transform her labors into something even more extraordinary, a dish that would speak not to the palate of 1958, but 2016. No differently than Rabbi and Mrs. Nadich themselves, who, though traditional in their sensibilities, would always embrace change. Be it recipes, women’s roles, LGBT inclusion or any other issue of the day, it is likewise incumbent upon our generation to step forward boldly. “What would his grandmother think of his modern takes on her baking rituals?” Joan Nathan asks Alex. “They might seem strange to her,” he replies “but she’d love them.” Park Avenue Synagogue has always been a place that has sought to strike a balance between respecting tradition and embracing change. In the days ahead, we will hear new melodies, and in the years ahead, in prayer, in learning, in all that we do, the ingredients will undoubtedly change. To do otherwise is to abdicate our responsibility to our present and future. As Hadassah Nadich once said before this entire community: “the word Halakhah [Jewish Law] means literally, movement or a going forward. To be true to its real nature, Jewish teachers will have to restore the spirit of change to the Halakhah, a spirit by which it has always been characterized.” (Sisterhood Shabbat, March 25, 1972, p. 6).
Tonight is Erev Rosh Hashanah. We are on the precipice of a new year, opening a new chapter in our lives, the lives of our families and the Jewish people. And yet with all the new, each one of us must understand ourselves as a transmitter of our people’s traditions passed from one generation to the next. The apples and honey, the brisket, the bagels, the strudel, the soup, and the honey cake. And no one should be without a piece of honey cake. Which is why as you leave shul this evening, I invite everyone to help yourself to a slice of Hadassah’s honey cake. Not as she prepared it in years gone by, but as her grandson Alex does today. This is, after all, a synagogue, not a Jewish museum. I am grateful to Alex and his colleagues for honoring his grandmother’s memory and our community with this gesture of characteristic Nadich hospitality. We are all honored by the presence of members of the Nadich family here with us this evening. And as we walk home tonight, honey cake in hand, let us embrace the new year, by embracing the traditions of our people – some new, some old and some . . . a blending of the two. Tonight, we seek to bridge the gap from one year to the next, from one generation, dor l’dor, to the next. May this year be filled with health, happiness and most of all honey-like sweetness for you, your families, the entire people of Israel, and all of humanity.