Making Challah

original picture of my freshly baked challot

Every Friday, my mom and I make a challah. Sometimes we swirl in some raisins. Other times we sprinkle the crust with sesame seeds. In case you have no idea what I'm talking about, challah is a braided egg bread that Jewish people eat on the Sabbath (Shabbat).

In all Jewish traditions, there is a set order of rituals. On Friday Night, first we light the candles, then bless the children, bless the wine, wash hands and lastly, bless the challot (plural challah).

 It's an old Jewish tradition to cover the challot once they are placed on the table so they wont be embarrassed or shamed by their status as "last blessed item."
 I know what you're thinking: it's probably along the lines of what the...?

Realistically speaking, I know that challah can't actually get embarrassed.  I mean it's a piece of bread for darns sake.However I think whoever came up with this slightly silly tradition had it right: Sometimes others can do things before you can...and even though we hate to admit it, that can be extremely embarrassing or shameful.

When I was in third grade, I was an atrocious reader. I loved stories and books themselves, but I couldn't actually read on grade-level. My parents took pity on me and spent many hours at my bedside reading library books out loud. I found that I was entranced by the characters and even the rhythm of the words themselves.

However, despite how much I loved stories, it seemed as though every time I practiced reading, the letters would get all jumbled up and flipped around in my head.
At school I was constantly reminded that my inability to read was not the norm. All around me other kids were reading chapter books under their desks, while I was still struggling to finish the books in the "easy readers" section.

I know that I was only in the third grade, but lets be honest here: I was embarrassed. 
All the other students could read before me...and in my little eight year old heart, the shame was unbearable.

One day our teacher, Mrs. Wallberg, gave us a book report project. She had this big basket of books and called us up one by one to pick out which one we wanted to read. When it was my turn, I took a deep breath and chose a historical fiction story, complete with tiny print and CHAPTERS (the best thing ever to a third grader).

Mrs. Walberg smiled politely at me and then asked, "Loni, are you sure this is the book you want to read?"
I looked at her, my cheeks blushing. "Yes," I said, trying to appear confident.

Any other teacher would have probably forced me to choose another book. But Ms. Wallberg wasn't like that. Instead she nodded and called up the next student to her desk.

For weeks, I struggled through that book. I sat down on the couch and read at my unbelievable slow pace until I got pins and needles in my butt. However, as the story progressed, so did my reading pace and ability. With each passing day I could feel my progress. By the time I reached the end, I would say that my reading level was on par with all the other kids in my third grade class.

I was very proud of myself (and I have a feeling Mrs. Wallberg was too).

Anyhow, I'm saying this because in a way, I know how the challah feels as it sits blessing-less, watching as the wine soaks up all the fancy Hebrew words. But I also know that if the challah is patient and waits its turn,  eventually we will bless her golden brown crust as well. And when that happens, the wait will be way worth it-- challah is absolutely delicious (in fact in my opinion, it's the best part of the meal).

So Challah, hang in there. It's all going to be ok in the end.
-Loni