Conflict that flares up with depressing regularity. Skirmishes here and there, noisy flare ups, intense peace negotiations that break down over tiny details. I’m not talking about the Middle East, although I could be. This is a much more local affair. Local to my house, in fact. We call it the War of Kitniot, the blatant attempt by hostile forces (husband, children) to invade territory under my governance (fridge, kitchen) with items that do not belong in our Ashkenazi home during Pesach.
Yes, I agree it would be theoretically lovely to have rice, beans and all manner of sesame products during Pesach. Of course it would. But the generations of Ashkenazim that came before us ate herring and potatoes, matzah and eggs and absolutely not a sniff of tahini. And so that’s how I do Pesach and that - for me - is the point of Pesach. Tradition! Veneration of one’s great-great-grandmothers through the medium of coconut pyramids! My family heritage leans heavily on total inflexibility when it comes to Pesach, and – I’ve always argued – that’s the way it’s going to stay. It’s not for nothing that I am known as the Pesach Ayatollah.
My immediate family, my husband and our two adult children, do not agree with me. Pesach is hard enough to bear, they say – rudely, in my opinion – without giving up things that Sephardi Jews are only too happy to eat.So they work hard every year to challenge my authority.
They have different ways of going about it. For my husband, it’s the small incursions approach. He’ll sneak a small pot of tapenade into our heaving trolley at Kosher Kingdom – “just olives, what could be wrong with that?’ – before I can notice the telltale label warning of a minute amount of kitniot. Once purchased, he looks mournful when I threaten to ban it from my pessadik fridge. “It’s a tiny amount…what harm could it do?”
My daughter argues philosophically. “We’re socially progressive,” she says. “Things change.” Pesach, I counter, does not change. “Don’t you believe in equality for woman? Don’t you believe in same-sex marriage?” Well, I say, slightly uneasily, you can believe passionately in same-sex marriage but still feel that a grain of rice would ruin all the hard work of making a kitchen Pesach-ready. She is unconvinced. At least that degree in politics and sociology wasn’t for nothing.
My son though, goes for the nuclear option. Ever since he spent six months in Tel Aviv, he claims that all Israelis eat Actual Bread at Pesach, so the whole deal with matzah is a nonsense. And if you re eating laffa bread – unleavened flatbread – at Pesach, then why not dip it in hummus? “That’s what Israelis do,” he says. I would never embrace antizionism, but this is testing my loyalty to Israel to the max.
“Go ahead and marry a Sephardi,” I tell my children, but that’s not a great line to use with my husband.
However. In the course of writing this article I have had a conversation with my niece in Jerusalem which might have solved our domestic disputes. She has delivered a path towards peace, contentment, corn and chickpeas.
Last November she married a wonderful man, who happens to be Sephardi. As a result she is happily planning a kitniot-rich chag, her only worry what to do if her parents, just as Ashken-unflexible as me, come and visit. (Potato salad and fried fish is my advice on that front). But actually, she added, kitniot has been on her menu for quite a few years, since she has allergies which means she avoids many foods, and her diet is always gluten free.
She sought her rabbi’s advice and he granted her dispensation to eat Pesach items which are free from gluten but may contain kitniot. According to the Mishna Berura , he said, “In challenging circumstances where, if someone cannot eat kitniot , then they won’t have anything to eat – then they may do so". Furthermore, her mental health needed to be taken into consideration “which could be negatively impacted from the feeling you won’t have food to eat.”
Now, my daughter, like her cousin has food intolerance that means she is gluten free. Bring on the Pesach rice cakes! And once my husband heard this, he pointed out his many quirky allergies:
aubergines, brazil nuts and (ironically) almost all beans. Surely…surely I wouldn’t be so cruel as to deny him the comfort of a chickpea based dip?Think of his mental health!
I teased him a little–- you have the wrong sort of allergies – but ultimately I know the war is over. My resolve has crumbled, like an over-cooked macaroon. Kitniot will be present in our house this Pesach, although I don’t think I can bring myself to actually cook rice. And though they might eat it, I – all by myself – will remain defiantly Ashkenazi. Pass the potatoes.
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