Sweet Memories of Broken Matzah

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.

“She had to work quickly, otherwise the matzah would become
too soft and drop off,” my mother said, “and when I was a young girl, I
watched, waiting to see if even one would break.”

When I was young, I watched Opa gather the small, leftover
pieces of matzah, and pour them in his half-full coffee cup.

“Nothing should go to waste,” he would say. Then he took one
big piece of matzah in his hands and crumbled it over the cup until it was
filled to the brim. When he was satisfied with the matzah-to-coffee ratio, he
pushed down with a big spoon, crunching the pieces closer and closer together,
allowing the warm coffee to soak through. Then he waited, for a minute or two,
before he carefully placed the saucer over the cup. Flipped. Jiggled. Lifted.
Voila! A matzah mountain.

With a small silver spoon, he sprinkled a layer of sugar,
like new snow, over his mountain and, working gently from the top down,Â
spoonful by spoonful in silence, he ate until the mountain was gone. According
to “The Jewish Holidays, A Guide and Commentary” by Michael Strassfeld
(HarperCollins Publishers, 1985), matzah symbolizes freedom. But broken matzah,
an integral part of the Passover seder, symbolizes the struggle for freedom and
the reality that no one is totally free.

So maybe it is no coincidence that my biggest moves to new
cities happened around Passover. And that the foods from those first seders
stand out for me, some dry and strange, some smooth and magically sweet.

When my daughter was 2, we left our home in Atlanta, Ga.,
for a fresh start in Portland, Ore. In Atlanta, we lived in a ranch house,
within easy driving distance of five brothers and sisters, their spouses and
children, my parents and a thick group of old and new friends. In Portland, I
rented an apartment about 20 minutes away from one college friend, and his dog.

The emptiness was palpable as was the excitement in
arranging our furniture in a new place that overlooked a park with an orange
climbing gym and a swimming pool surrounded by plump bushes and flowering

But when the holidays rolled around, I wondered who would
share our table. Our liberated family of two felt small. According to
Strassfeld, the core meaning of Passover is the liberation of the Israelites
from Egyptian slavery, but it is also referred to as the “Holiday of Spring.”

“The watchwords of both spring and Pesach are rebirth and
hope,” Strassfeld says.

And I clung to both ends of that spectrum.

Eventually, I found a cozy Jewish preschool for my daughter
to attend, and we met some new people and got invited to a big family seder.
The faces were new as was the relentless black rain filling the windows, but
the food was warm and plentiful; matzah ball soup, brisket, matzah kugels,
warmed fruits and more I can’t remember.

But what I can never forget is the dessert. A cousin of the
host bought a plastic sandwich bag full of broken matzah pieces half-covered in
a chunky chocolate coating. I was stuffed from the long meal, but with my last
sip of wine, I took a bite of the sweetened matzah. Magic! The chocolate
covered a buttery toffee layer in between, and it tasted like a gift. I got up
from the table and joined the group of woman at the kitchen counter eating
straight from the bag. We all agreed it was dangerously good. We laughed. We
ate more. After a while, I looked over my shoulder. My daughter was playing on
the floor with a new friend. I looked out the window; the rains no longer
seemed as dark. With each chocolate bite, my move far away from home lost some
of its bitterness. And I learned what Gouda and Opa surely understood, that
magic can be made from broken pieces, sweetened just right.

Chocolate Toffee Matzah

This is a very adaptable recipe. The quantity of the
ingredients depends on how much chocolate and butter you want covering the
matzah. My daughter and I make it every year, and she covers the pieces with
indulgent quantities of chocolate, both milk and semi-sweet. But we always
leave part of the matzah uncovered for ease of handling and visual variety.

1 cup butter

1 cup brown sugar

1 box matzah

3 cups chocolate (semisweet morsels, dark or milk chocolate
bars chopped with serrated knife, or any other chocolate you like)

Chopped nuts (optional)

Line two cookie sheets with foil. Arrange matzah, broken in
half, on lined cookie sheets (some overlapping is fine). Melt butter and sugar
in a saucepan over low heat, stirring constantly. Pour over matzah parts and
spread with spatula. (It will not cover completely, which is fine, but you can
alter to taste.)

Sprinkle chocolate morsels, chocolate shavings over matzah.

Bake in oven at 300 F, approximately 5-10 minutes, or until
chocolate melts. (Hint, the morsels may not look melted but take out and spread
with spatula or knife to test. Bake a few more minutes if still solid.)

Remove from oven, spread chocolate over matzah while still
warm. Sprinkle with nuts (optional). Put trays, uncovered, in freezer until
hardened. About two hours. Break matzah in smaller, uneven pieces and store in
sealed bags in freezer until you are ready to eat.

Betty Goodfriend’s Matzah Kugel

This recipe is an adaptation of Betty Goodfriend’s wondrous
lokshen (noodle) kugel. If you ever tasted her noodle kugel, you wouldn’t
hesitate to create this Passover version.

6-8 tablespoons margarine (approximately 1 stick)Â Â Â Â Â Â

2¼3 cup dark brown sugar           Â

4 large eggs                  Â

1¼3 cup Sabra liqueur              Â

1¼2 cup pineapple juice(from can)           Â

8 Matzahs, broken in 1 1¼2 inch

 by 2 inch pieces   Â

1¼2 cup white sugar

1¼3 cup vegetable oil plus 2 tablespoons

1¼2 cup raisins

1 teaspoon cinnamon (to taste)

Topping (optional)

1 can pineapple slices or chunks

1 tablespoon brown sugar

1 teaspoon cinnamon

Chopped walnuts or almond slivers (optional)


Melt margarine and pour into 9 x 13 glass pan. Make sure all
sides are greased. Sprinkle brown sugar evenly over bottom. Arrange pineapple
slices in a layer.

Preheat oven to 350 F.

Put broken matzah pieces (not too small or they will become
mushy) in medium bowl and pour warm water over to soften. Soak approximately
3-4 minutes. Drain. Squeeze out liquid completely. Put raisins in small bowl
and pour hot water over to plump. Drain.

In large bowl, whisk eggs, sugar, oil, pineapple juice and
liqueur together. Add cinnamon. With wooden spoon mix in matzah and raisins
into egg mixture. (At this point, Mrs. Goodfriend said to taste for salt, and
add if needed).

Pour matzah mixture over pineapples in baking pan.


Mix sugar, cinnamon, and nuts together and sprinkle over
noodles. (Dot with extra margarine if desired.)

Bake for one hour. Test at 45 minutes to see if bottom is
dark. If so, move pan to higher rack in oven and bake 15 minutes longer.

Obst und Gloessien (Fruit and Dumplings)

This traditional German recipe belonged to my grandmother
(Oma) who passed it down to my mother. Both made it every year for Passover.
When it was my turn to break the hard matzah, forming something round and soft,
creating the steaming fragrance of warmed fruits, then, at last, tasting the
cinnamon sweet dumplings, my own kitchen filled with the richness of time.

4 matzahs crushed or 3 cups matzah farfel

2 tablespoons matzah meal (heaping)

3 eggs

2 tablespoons sugar

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

1¼2 lemon, juiced

12 ounce package mixed dried fruit

Pinch salt

Pinch cinnamon

In medium bowl, soak matzah in warm water until soft. Drain
and squeeze out liquid. (It is important to drain well, as dumplings will not
hold with too much moisture.)

In small bowl soak fruit in lemon juice.

In medium pan, sauté matzah in vegetable oil. Set aside.

Put fruit in large pot and add water to cover well above
fruit. Simmer covered for 30 minutes.

In large bowl, mix beaten eggs, matzah meal, sugar, salt,
cinnamon. Add matzah. Mix until moist enough hold together. Form into
matzah-ball size dumplings. Set aside.

Bring fruit to a slow boil and add dumplings. Add more water
if necessary. Simmer covered for 30 minutes. Test with knife, dumplings should
be cooked through and not soggy in the center. Serve warm. Â