Amy Dow's Challah Circle
Rosh Hashana: A Challah Circle in West Palm Beach
By Liz Balmaseda | Dining | September 21, 201
Like the braided round of challah itself, a circle of women gathers in Amy Dow’s cozy kitchen for regular Friday morning bread-baking sessions. And like the challah, this circle nourishes not only the body, but also the spirit.
As the dough rises and rests, the friends dish. But first there’s a prayer. As Dow pinches off the first handful of dough and wraps it as a symbolic offering, she recites a blessing.
On this recent morning in Dow’s West Palm Beach kitchen, the extra sugar in the dough is also symbolic: As Rosh Hashana approaches next week, it’s a wish for a sweet new year.
The home bakers pinch handfuls of dough, roll them into thin logs and braid the logs into rounds or ovals, their hands moving in a ballet they’ve danced for six years now. What began as a group of mothers brought together by their preschool-age children has grown into a regular challah sisterhood that meets to bake loaves for Sabbath dinner.
Lisa Weisberg (from left), Elli Armstrong, Amy Dow, Myra Sherman, Jodi Stahl and Jackie Brant.
(Bill Ingram/The Palm Beach Post)
“Sometimes we have deep conversations, and sometimes we gossip,” says Dow, weighing a small mound of dough she’ll roll into a log.
Dow and her friends first learned to bake challah when their children attended the same preschool. “We made a mess, but we had a good time while the kids played,” says Dow.
A couple of years into their endeavor, they adopted an easier recipe (no proofing the yeast) from a rabbi’s wife. And when Dow invested in a nifty new mixer, baking challah became a cinch. Soon enough, the house would be filled with the aromas of baking bread. Bread so good it sometimes never made it to the Sabbath table.
“Sometimes I’ll bake the loaf when I get home, and as soon as it comes out of the oven, my husband’s standing there, ready to eat it,” says Jodi Stahl, a West Palm Beach preschool teacher.
But even after the last slice of bread is gone, the day’s conversation lingers. The chats have spanned births and bar mitzvahs, divorces and deaths. “My husband was alive when we first started baking,” says Lisa Weisberg. “He’s been gone now for four years.”
And just as the baking session begins with a gesture of charity, as coins are deposited in a small ceramic bank, it ends with one as well. Somebody always asks, “Who needs a loaf this week?”
FOOD FOR THE SPIRIT
Making challah is not simply a culinary act for Amy Dow and her baking friends. After the dough is mixed and risen, Dow pinches off a small piece, wraps it up and puts it in the freezer. The piece symbolizes the portion set aside for the kohen (priest) as a contribution.
Their baking sessions begin with this separation of dough and a blessing that’s read aloud: ‘Blessed are you, Lord our God, king of the universe, who has sanctified us with his commandments and commanded us to separate challah.’
THE WORD CHALLAH originally referred to the small piece that was broken off from the dough as an offering to the kohen (Jewish priest) of biblical times. |