Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, is a holiday for serious fasting — no food or drink for 25 hours. At the end of the day, our thoughts inevitably turn to what we want to eat at sundown to break the fast.
Rabbi Shmuly Yanklowitz is restirring a tempest in a glass of milk (“How Kosher Is Your Milk,” June 22). This issue was addressed in great detail in the fall 2007 issue of the Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society in the article “The Kashrut of Commercially Sold Milk” by Rabbi Michoel Zylberman.
The conversation was joyful and funny, but something was bothering me. I couldn't stop thinking about the poached eggs.
We had all ordered our breakfasts at the same time. I got my Irish oatmeal, my daughter got her bagel and cream cheese, but the poached eggs? It seemed like they would never come. Every time a server would come near our table, I would arch my neck to see if they were carrying the poached eggs. Waiter after waiter walked by, only to deliver food to other patrons.
My great-grandmother, Gouda, escaped Germany by boat at night when she was in her 60s. My grandfather, Opa, fled with her and his wife and two small children when he was 42. Both lived long, energetic, brave lives in their adopted country: she, chasing her great grandchildren around in a playful hide-and-seek when she was 95 years old; he, establishing a synagogue in the Bronx after abandoning one in Grebenaou, Germany. Both also had elaborate Passover breakfast rituals involving broken pieces of matzah.
"Gouda lined her half-full coffee cup, with thin strips of matzah," my mother told me. Then, in the order they went in, she lifted each piece out, sprinkled it with sugar and ate it.