Alex leads us in another prayer, then cracks a large square of matzo in half to represent the brokenness of slavery. The children watch attentively. They know that one piece of the matzo will become the afikoman, the hidden matzo, for them to find. In this household, it’s a high stakes game because the child who discovers the treasure can ask for candy, a toy, or money.
Pushing aside the seder tray, Alex pours a second cup of wine. Peleg, the youngest of Ido’s sons, asks one of the central questions of the night, “Why is this night different from all other nights?”
Alex reads a portion of the Haggadah, and the children break out in energetic song, recounting the ten plagues. As they belt out the chorus, our host lifts the plate and walks around the table, tapping the dish on each of our heads twice. I feel like I’m playing a Jewish version of Duck, Duck, Goose, but then Jack explains that the tapping symbolizes how this food-driven story is meant to sink deep into our bones.
Once again, Mama Vered returns with the bowl. Once again, we wash our hands.
Everyone takes a slab of matzo and creates a bitter herb sandwich using the salty greens and flatbread. The flavor curdles my face again, but that is the point: we taste the life of those trapped in slavery.
The table fills with matzo ball soup, gefilte fish, roast chicken, seared lamb, grilled salmon, and—praise Yahweh—steak. What a celebration, I think. But I don’t realize that the feast has just begun. The first round is followed by brisket, tuna, green beans, almond rice, a fig compote, potato kugel, sweet potatoes, liver pate, and a spiced apple walnut dip.
We eat and eat, and every time I turn around, Grandmother Esther shovels another helping onto my plate. After a week with the family, I’ve caught onto her wily ways and now, whenever she becomes distracted, I plop more gefilte fish onto her plate. Halfway through the meal, she catches me red-handed and bursts out laughing.
Suddenly my ears sting from the screech of the children’s chairs. The hunt for the afikoman has begun. A dozen kiddos scatter to scour the house. I try to help clear the dishes, but Mama Vered waves her index finger at me. “Sit, Mar-gar-eet,” she instructs as she leans over me. “Do you know why we do this?”
The answer seems obvious, but I feel unsure. “B-b-because it’s the Passover?”
“Because they must know where they came from,” she announces, gesturing toward the chairs once occupied by the children. “They must know where they came from. This is our story from slavery to freedom.”
My eyes follow the pattern of plates and half-eaten dishes, which overflow the table. Together we have been encountering the bitterness of oppression, remembering the hardship of slavery, tasting the salty tears of suffering, sinking our teeth into the bread of affliction, drinking cups of redemption, and retelling a story of deliverance handed down for thousands of years.
The Passover provides a full sensory experience that follows the story of God’s liberation of the Israelites. The meal commemorates a physical freedom, but the heart of Passover ushers an invitation for spiritual freedom. To leave behind that which hinders, ensnares, enslaves us. To discover that God satisfies the deepest hungers of our hearts.
The exodus shadows the great salvation to come in Christ. When Christ came, he fulfilled the story which must also be passed among generations. This is the account of a different Lamb who offered up his body during Passover to free people from the slavery of sin. Just as God asks the Jewish people to commemorate the Passover with a meal, Jesus asks those who hunger for him to commemorate his life with a meal; the same elements that make up the pesach—the flatbread and wine—also make up the Eucharist.
Even more radical, Jesus is the meal in the Eucharist. The Bread of Life and True Vine, the two elements, tell us that food will mark our journeys just as it did our Jewish forbearers. Through this commemorative meal, we discover that God wants to satisfy the deepest hungers of our hearts.
The kids tear through every room, emptying shelves and cabinets, searching under boxes and rugs for the hidden matzo. One child shoos the dog in hopes the matzo is under his bed. Seder means “order,” but we’re immersed in chaos right now. Twenty-seven minutes of joyful mayhem later, Peleg returns to the table proudly carrying the matzo once tucked away behind a bookshelf. He wastes no time in making his request—and he soon receives it. He fans out his new stack of cash like a card deck for everyone to see. Peleg is a smart kid, and in a few more years he’ll grasp how the afikoman symbolizes more than a full piggy bank (kosher, of course), but a type of hunger that leads from brokenness toward healing.
Ido’s wife, Yael, appears from the kitchen with a double chocolate ganache cheesecake.
“What is this supposed to symbolize?” I ask Jack with a half-full mouth.
“It’s cheesecake, Margaret,” Jack chuckles. “It’s just dessert.”
After a sugary infusion, the children disappear to play outside and the adults stay late into the night exchanging stories and memories. Eight months before my arrival, Ido’s father and grandfather passed away within twenty-nine days of each other. This is the first pesach without them, and Grandmother Esther has been in a funk all week. I catch sight of tears dripping from the family’s eyes between the humorous and honoring stories.
I arrived in Israel a few days before as a stranger, but tonight I am family. I sense the same feeling I had all those years before with my friends Matthew and Ashley and their abundant hospitality. Arriving exhausted yet finding rest and fullness in their loving presence. Tasting fresh food made with loving hands, feasting on the fullness of life—tenderly holding a moment of vulnerability with newfound friends. Even though I am 6,941 miles from the address on my driver’s license, I feel like I have come home.
TASTE AND SEE GOD’S GOODNESS
I left Israel after that meal and returned to the United States to begin engaging in a series of expeditions. From fishing to farming, from baking to barbecuing, I experienced God at table after table.
On the shores of Galilee, I learned to live wide-eyed for displays of God’s power through fish.
In a fertile valley in California, I discovered the connection between spiritual attentiveness and satisfaction, thanks to figs.
In a seminary kitchen in Connecticut, I found holy community in unleavened bread.
In the darkness of a Utah mine, I uncovered transcendent purpose in glimmering salt crystals.
In a Croatian grove, I encountered divine healing in olive oil.
Around a Texas fire pit, I tasted the desire for God’s rescue in lamb.
God is waiting around every table, in every pantry, in every backyard garden. You just need some fresh ingredients, some time, and a friend or two. No matter where we find ourselves, mealtimes can become sacred spaces of supernatural satisfaction. When we invite God in, he satiates our hunger to know and to be known, to understand and to be understood, to love and to be loved. In community, God touches our physical appetites and spiritual affections.
Whenever we gather to eat—whether in a tricked-out kitchen or seated in a borrowed chair with food atop our laps—God is there because all food ultimately comes from him. Yes, God waits in Galilee. But the shores of all our lives are strewn with displays of God’s miraculous power. As we break bread, we find the satisfaction of our deepest hungers in the community our souls crave. As we share our lives, we taste and see God’s fruitfulness. And when we’re tempted to lose heart—and we all will be—we find courage in listening to and participating in the stories of God’s rescuing ways. Every table is a doorway, an entrance into a holy and sacred communion with God and those around us.
In the midst of a busy life, we can all create a space to taste and see God’s goodness. This begins by recognizing food as a gift from God instead of a commodity. Every mealtime is an opportunity to be on the lookout for Christ to reveal himself in surprising ways. We can all pause in order to pay attention to the One who has provided the food before us.
Food really is God’s love made delicious, nutritious,
and restorative. But we must learn to slow down and savor the delicate flavors and divine lessons. In a culture rife with consumerism and driven by efficiency, where many meals are handed out a drive-thru window and eaten solo, this isn’t the easiest spiritual discipline to practice. But it is well worth it.
May your table be set, not just with food but vulnerability and delight. May your mouth be filled, not just with morsels of meat but with reminders of God’s lovingkindness. And may every meal at which you find yourself be a foretaste of the feast to come.
Bon appétit and amen.
Photos
Climbing through shallows of the Sea of Galilee with local fishermen to catch St. Peter’s Fish.
The Sea of Galilee abounds with catfish.
A fig still needing time to ripen.
Looking for ripe figs is like hunting for treasure.
Baking matzo in under eighteen minutes with Andrew McGowan.
Villa Boscoreale, Italy
Ancient bread similar to that found in Pompeii.
Our matzo pulled from the oven.
Drilling equipment inside the Redmond Salt Mine.
Handfuls of salt from the Redmond Salt Mine.
Olive picking: an afternoon picnic with Natalija and Momma.
Folding the tarp with friends after a long day of olive picking.
Inside the meat cooler with Matt Hamilton at Steakology 101 class.
Samples of various cuts and types of meat on the grill at Steakology 101.
The seder plate and overflowing food at Passover with Ido and his extended family.
Abundant Thanks
Heart books, the ones written from the deepest parts of the soul, are never written in isolation. I’ve nourished this idea for more than a decade and now I realize that by grace these words were penned in community. This project has been fileted, picked, baked, mined, harvested, butchered, and savored among friends, neighbors, strangers, and loved ones.
Ido, Yael, Esther, Vered, Erez, Peleg, Ella, and Geffen, you took me into your life, your home, your family, your Passover. Your extravagant generosity and abundant kindness brought new life to these weary bones. If you’re in Israel, don’t miss the opportunity to enjoy Lido (www.lido.co.il).
Yoel Ben Yosef, the curator at Museum of Anchor in Ein Gev, I am grateful for your rich insights into fishing on the Galilee. You let me take home a treasure of yourself and the experience. I will keep them forever.
Carolyn and Richard Hyde, thank you for opening your home and providing a soft landing in Israel when I first arrived. I’m grateful for your rich cultural insights, your generosity, your kindness. To learn more about their work in Israel, visit http://www.heartofg-d.org.
Samuel Smadja, owner of Sar-el Tours and Conferences, who recommended Lido to me. If you ever plan a trip to Israel, reach out to Sar-el Tours at www.sareltours.com.
Thanks to Kevin Herman for introducing me to the joys of figs. Thanks to Andrew McGowan for opening his kitchen and bread recipes; visit his blog at abmcg.blogspot.com. Thanks to Neal Bosshardt of Redmond Salt Mine; visit www.realsalt.com. Thanks to Natalija Hajduk for sharing her olive groves and oil with us. Her husband, Predrag Hedl, is a tour guide, so if you’re ever traveling to Stari Grad, you can book him by calling: +385 95 901 3260; email: [email protected]; Address: Vatroslava Lisinskog 8, 21460 Stari Grad. Thanks to Matt Hamilton of Local Yocal Farm to Market. The next time you’re in McKinney, Texas, (near Dallas) you must visit this amazing store and enjoy a meal; www.localyocalfarmtomarket.com.
Carolyn McCready, Angela Scheff, Tom Dean, Sara Riemersma, Greg Clouse, Beth Murphy, and 52 Watt Studios, ya’ll are the dream team. Thank you for your friendship, kindness, and amazingness.
Norman Wirzba, so grateful that you are a groundbreaking leader in the way all of us think about food, God, and the Bible. We’re all better because of you.
Jonathan Merritt, without your coaching, cheerleading, and friendship, this book wouldn’t exist. You carried me across a finish line for which I didn’t have the strength. You breathed life into my weary bones, hope into my weary words, and love into my weary soul. I love you, friend.
James Merritt, you thought I dialed the wrong number after my most difficult day in Israel. Yet you gave me the words I needed to keep going. I’m keeping you on speed dial, buddy.
Carolyn and Alex Garza, sometimes you need an intervention from your besties to know it’s time to write again. Y’all and Jon Jon got me back on the field again. Thank you for loving me enough to say the hard things.
Christine Caine, when the Spirit nudged me to ask you for a fisherman on the Galilee, you took up the challenge. In the process, you took this book to a whole new level. Grateful for you.
Jess and Matt Bost, thanks for all the late-night meals and laughter. Who knew your mention of Redmond Salt Mine wound transform our understanding of what it means to be the salt of the earth forever.
Aimee Altizer at Flourish Bakery in Salt Lake City, Utah; Stephanie Krizman of Fleur Bakery in Park City, Utah; and author William Rubel for your rich insights on breadmaking, its history, and ability to transform lives. You are gifts, and your generosity still leave me speechless.
Andrea Townsend, you were my catcher. I threw and threw and threw and you kept throwing more beautiful and cleaner prose back. I love you, friend.
Janella Martinez, oh the times we’ve had and the places we’ve been—to think we began with a man named Steve caught in a booby trap. You are one of God’s incredible gifts to me.
Tracee Hackel, dear Jesus-loving, theologically grounded, beautiful friend. Thank you for helping me think deeper and more biblically at every turn. So grateful for your catches and edits.
Craig Blomberg, you and Fran still leave me in holy awe. Your humility, your extraordinary love of the scum of the earth, your generosity, your brilliance. Thank you for all your insights, mapping, and catches. But mostly, thanks for being you. God knows we need you.
Leonard Sweet, when I raised the white flag, you were there. Thank you for loving me, loving the church, loving. Kate Bowler, thank you for the phone-a-friend insights. Fred Smith, thank you for your encouragement and insight. Rabbi David Levinsky, thank you for your wisdom and insight. Dave Terpstra, I am so grateful for you, your thinking, your friendship, your healing. Wes and Hannah Stout, thank you for your culinary coaching, recipes, and film suggestions. Liz Curtis Higgs, you gave when you didn’t have. Thank you for shattering your alabaster for me, friend. Amy O’Donnell, I’m grateful for your insights and most of all your friendship. Jenni Key, thank you for your copyediting catches. Grateful for you!
Jessica Richie, the depth of your thinking, writing, creativity—well, watch out world for this stunning woman. She’s coming for you.
Kari Woodruff, I needed a dietician and nutritionist, and you loved and encouraged and challenged in all your wondrous ways. Thank you, my friend.
Christy and Chris Ferebee, three words: yum, yum, yum. Your recipes are gifts and so are you two. Thank you for making this journey with us. We love you guys.
Leif Oines, love of my life, I promise not to tell anyone I call you Leifington. Oops. I did it again. When I wake up every day the song you sing over me is love. Even. In. This.
Hershey, you snuggled next to me word after word, chapter after chapter, book after book. You are the ultimate trooper.
Recommended Resources
READ
Food and Faith: A Theology of Eating by Norman Wirzba
Eat with Joy: Redeeming God’s Gift of Food by Rachel Marie Stone
The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals by Michael Pollan
Not Bread Alone: The Uses of Food in the Old Testament by Nathan MacDonald
Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture by Ellen Davis
The Art of the Commonplace by Wendell Berry
The Supper of the Lamb by Robert Farrar Capon
Intuitive Eating: A Revolutionary Program That Works by Evelyn Tribole and Elyse Resch
Eating Mindfully: How to End Mindless Eating and Enjoy a Balanced Relationship with Food by Susan Albers
Cook’s Illustrated Magazine
WATCH
Babette’s Feast
Chef’s Table
Cooked
Look and See: A Portrait of Wendell Berry
Temple Grandin
Julie and Julia
America’s Test Kitchen
Recipe List
SEASONINGS, DRESSINGS, AND MARINADES
Jessica’s Olive Oil Dijon Dressing
Leif’s Smoked Salt
Ray’s Magical Meat Marinade
APPETIZERS & SIDE DISHES
Christy’s Fig-Olive Tapenade
Leif’s Spicy Smoked Salmon Dip
Margaret’s Basil Olive Oil Dip
Sarah’s Best Practices for a Mouth-Watering Charcuterie Board
Andrew’s 18-Minute Matzo
Khubz Belboula: Andrew’s Moroccan Barley Bread
Wes’s Simple Sourdough Starter & Bread
Christy’s Roasted Figs and Brussels Sprouts
MAIN DISHES
Mom’s Almond-Crusted Tilapia
Leif’s Baked Halibut
Wes’s Grilled Fish Tacos with Baja Slaw
Margaret’s Lamb Lollipops
DESSERTS
Carolyn’s Salted Caramel with Fig Sauce
Lauri and Leah’s Chocolate Pomegranate Drops
Kary’s Dark Chocolate Sea Salt Cookies (Gluten-free)
Carolyn’s Ooey-Gooey Salted Chocolate Chip Cookies
Notes
Chapter 1: An Invitation to a Culinary Adventure
Taste and See Page 14