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On Sunday evening, I held a Portico cooking demonstration and book signing at The South Philadelphia Shtiebel, a modern Orthodox synagogue founded by my sister-in-law, Rabbanit Dasi Fruchter.
If you are tired of me talking about my book tour in this newsletter, I don’t blame you. But last Sunday evening in Philly felt more broadly significant—enough so that I want to share it with you.
I’ve written about The Shtiebel in this newsletter before. It is a uniquely special hub of inclusive Jewish prayer, study, and community. It is not easy to run a congregation that defies labels and charts its own course, while making space for a wide tent of backgrounds, ideologies, and lived experiences. But it is very admirable. Also, I don’t get to see Dasi enough because she is the busiest person on the planet. So when she asked if I might like to collaborate on an event for Portico, my answer was an easy and obvious yes.
Several weeks later, I got an email from William and Malya Levin who are the co-founders of ACRe—an organic farm housed on South Jersey land that has been in William’s family for five generations. (To learn more about the history of Jewish farming and homesteading in America during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, check out this article I wrote several years back.)
The Levins partner with the Bartees, a Black farming family that has also been farming in South Jersey for generations. And through the Bartees, the Levins met Chef Omar Tate and his wife Cybille St.-Aude Tate, who run an Afrocentric eatery and local foods shop in West Philly called Honeysuckle Provisions. (Honeysuckle was just named one of the 12 best new restaurants in America by Eater!)
Okay, that’s a lot of introductions. But long story short, this past summer, ACRe and Honeysuckle started a CSA (community-supported agriculture program) in Philadelphia that includes members of The Shtiebel. Wouldn’t it be great, Malya and William suggested, if we could transform my cookbook event into an end-of-season gathering for CSA members and friends of Honeysuckle and ACRe?
After a getting-to-know-you Zoom meeting, my answer there was also an easy yes. As a longtime advocate for local agriculture and a former CSA coordinator myself, it sounded like a fantastic opportunity to build connections across a variety of diverse but interconnected communities. Plus, Honeysuckle could supply the in-season squash, onions, and winter spinach I needed for my cooking demo.
Then came October 7th, and everything after. Suddenly, the event (along with life in general) felt infinitely more complicated. Here we were about to convene a group of people with a broad array of personal and political perspectives about the Israel and Gaza conflict in an Orthodox synagogue, for a Jewish cookbook event co-organized by a chef who was raised in the Muslim faith. Portico is not directly related to the conflict, but it would definitely be an elephant in the room. How would the group navigate that together?
There were moments when I let my anxiety spiral and almost get the best of me. There were moments when I wondered if perhaps we should postpone for another, calmer time.
I am so glad we didn’t postpone.
My anxiety stayed with me until people started arriving on Sunday evening. There were congregants of The Shtiebel wearing kippot, and bearded farmers in Carhartt overalls swapping packets of heirloom seeds. There were older folks and 20-somethings, and even a few kids. There was butternut squash the color of egg yolks and sunsets, grown locally by Black farmers. And there was kindness and community.
Before my demo, William and Malya shared a few words about their farm and then Chef Omar talked about the power of food to connect us, especially in challenging times. (I agree!) By the end of the evening I was tired (as I always am after a cooking demo and book signing), but also infused with joy.
I don’t share this story to oversimplify the complexity of this moment or to minimize the devastating heartbreak of Israelis being held as hostages now for over a month, or of Palestinian babies dying in hospitals in Gaza that are out of supplies and besieged by bombs, or of the countless acts of hate being direct against Jews and Muslims around the world. I don’t share it to pretend like small moments like this can save the world all by themselves. Nor do I share it to pat myself or the other organizers on the back.
I share it as a reminder (to myself as much as anyone) that when things feel hopeless and we feel helpless, it is especially important to lean into our communities for stability and hope. And also to create moments, wherever we can, for our communities to lean on us. There is so much dividing us right now. How can we, even if just for an evening, sit with our shared humanity and strengthen the ties between us? Thank you to Rabbanit Dasi, Malya and Will, and Chef Omar for transforming a typical cookbook event into something so much greater.
Pumpkin Challah Rolls
And now, for something completely different.
On the turkey vs. side dish debate, I am decidedly on team “sides.” I look forward to turkey on Thanksgiving, but would be perfectly content to forego the bird and fill my plate with roasted root vegetables, blistered green beans or Brussels sprouts, creamy mashed potatoes topped with fried onions, a crisp and crunchy green salad with sliced apple and candied nuts, and a vibrant, sweet-tart cranberry sauce.
And don’t forget the roll or biscuit. I rarely have bread with dinner outside of challah on Shabbat. But a fluffy dinner roll or craggy biscuit on Thanksgiving feels like a non-negotiable—the glistening crown on an already majestic plate.
These pumpkin challah rolls are based off the Pan de Calabaza (Yeasted Pumpkin Bread) recipe in The Jewish Cookbook. Pan de Calabaza is a traditional Sephardi bread that is commonly served on Rosh Hashanah when eating pumpkin holds symbolic significance.
The rolls’ golden color glows with warmth at the table. And their tender, squishy centers are the stuff that Thanksgiving dinner dreams are made of. Thanks to the pumpkin puree and cinnamon in the dough, they skew mildly sweet, and vibe perfectly with a swipe of butter (or vegan butter) and a dribble of honey or swipe of apple butter. But they aren’t overly sweet. They would absolutely be at home mopping up the last puddle of gravy on your plate, or serving as the bread for your day-after-Thanksgiving leftovers sandwich.
I’m going to take a Thanksgiving break from the newsletter next week, but will return the following week with a free newsletter for all subscribers and some Hanukkah inspiration. (This week’s recipe is just for paid subscribers—click here to upgrade to a paid subscription.) Wishing you, your families, and communities rest, peace, and abundance. xoxo
Pumpkin Challah Rolls
Makes 12 rolls
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