A humble potato, a wire rack, a glass of chablis.
I pour a glass of white to steel myself
for a HanukkahThe holiday which celebrates the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem following its conquest by the Syrians in 165 BCE. The holiday is celebrated by lighting candles in a hanukiyah oon each of eight nights. Other customs include the eating of fried foods such as latkes (potato pancakes) and sufganiot (jelly donuts), playing dreidl (a gambling game with a spinning top), and, in present day America, gift giving. night alone.
I remember Mom’s goldenrod kitchen never smelling of food,
yet, my ears remember Song Sung Blue.
The eldest, I poured the freezer-burned rounds from box to baking sheet every year.
Thud. Latkes with no heart. No soul.
Mantra: Potato, onion, oil, matzo meal.          Divide, toss, repeat  Â
       Grate, chop, peel.                     Divide, toss, repeat                       Â
My shaking hands boxgrate,
transforming russets
to salt mounds waiting for an icy night.
Juice squeezed from the tea towel makes a tiny lake flung to the sink.
Ribbons re-fluff.
Tears mingle with minced onions.
MatzahThe unleavened bread eaten on Passover that recalls the Israelite's hasty escape from Egypt when there was no time for the dough to rise. Matzah is also considered the "bread of our affliction," eaten while we were slaves. meal meets egg with a pinch of kosherFit to use or consume under Jewish ritual law. "Kosher" often refers to the food which it is permissible to eat according to Jewish dietary law, but can also mean the suitableness of a Torah scross or mezuzah for proper ritual use. For more on dietary laws, see kashrut. salt.
Every so often an angel goes rogue, leaps from the rim of the slotted spoon with the salt or meal.
Sip. Let sit. Sip. Sip again.
Batter to balls to wet rounds.
Slowly slide to sizzle. Fry to golden.
Swaddle in paper towel.
Applesauced or sour-creamed,
eat while hot, if not,
they blacken, harden, shrinking to the rounds of my childhood.
Four candles burn.
Latkes’ charred edges crumble.
Oily fingers pour another.
This poem is part of a series of Hanukkah poems, with one for each night. For the entire collection, contact Cantor Karen Webber.
