Challah back (girl)
Or, how Challah demonstrates why "food colonialism" is ahistorical nonsense
It’s hard not to love challah. Challah is a traditional bread served for Shabbat and holidays, based on the biblical story of God sending a double portion of manna for days of rest. Challah, especially when made in our family, is a sugar-and-honey-rich treat, enriched with eggs, and sprinkled with sugar crumbs. And we eschew the traditional dipping in salt for a dip in honey — so it’s practically dessert. But where did Challah come from? Although its name is biblical, the braided bread it now describes wasn’t invented until sometime in the 15th century — and it is one of the most fundamental examples of how the concept of “food colonialism” is ahistorical nonsense. Challah is definitely of Ashkenazi providence. Jews from Spain and the Middle East often made a double portion of flat breads. The first mention of Challah as a braided bread specifically came about in the 15th century in Southern Germany. But today I want to situate challah in terms of how it demonstrates the global nature of food, and how ingredients and styles of food moved throughout different cultures, countries and people.
Indeed, the first braided “challah” was not called challah at all; it was called berches, and was modelled on a popular German braided loaf. This loaf, hefezopf, was one made for holidays and festivals, and is remarkably similar to the challah of today. Where did Jews get the name berches from then? Well, the jury’s still out, but many signs point to the name being a bastardization of birkat, or the Hebrew word for “blessing,” the “t" sound characteristically pronounced as “s.” After all, the challah as eaten on Shabbat was sanctified. As Jews moved East, particularly after Kazimierz the Great invited Jews to Poland with the promise of self-governance and the ability to practice their religion at the end of the 15th century, they brought this bread with them. It is thought that it got its sweetness there: in Poland, the sugar beet industry was quite widespread, and many Jewish foods — from challah to kugel to gefilte fish — got their sweetness from this Polish context. There’s also a sweet braided loaf from Ukraine called “kolach” and given the similarities between ‘kolach’ and ‘challah’ (including the name) we can assume that this is a reflection of a shared history and culture.
Traditionally challah is eaten with salt, so as to remember the destruction of Jerusalem and the salty tears of 2000 years of Jewish history. Apparently. It bears mentioning that fundamental in most European societies was the serving of a special bread and salt as the ultimate sign of welcoming and respect. Throughout Poland, Ukraine and Russia (along with many other cultures), places where large Jewish communities lived, bread and salt was a central feature of hospitality, welcome, and good luck. It was used as the traditional symbol to welcome dignitaries, religious leaders, Tsars, and even as blessings for a new house or a new couple after the wedding. Bread and salt were the two most humble and yet most essential foods; no matter the relative economic status of the giver, it was likely that they would have bread and salt. When considered thus, it’s hard not to see the challah & salt combo as a product of the central European context that challah evolved in, given Jewish symbolism after the fact.
So, back to berches, the original challah braided bread. It originated in Germany, and instead of eggs, it featured: mashed potatoes. Potatoes have long been a staple food found around the world, due to the ease of its growth and its relative nutritional value. It also grew fairly quickly, could establish in poorer soil and also in smaller spaces. One of the reasons why the Irish potato famine was so devastating was because many poor Irish relied on the potato to meet upwards of 90% of their food requirements. Berches was a celebratory bread, thus, made out of the most humble of ingredients. Flour was expensive. Sugar was expensive. Eggs were sometimes hard to come by. But potatoes? Potatoes were cheap, cheerful, and readily available. Interestingly, potatoes were apparently a latter addition to berches; potatoes didn’t come to Germany until 1630, and took decades to really “catch on.”
Berches is made with four primary ingredients: potatoes, flour, salt and yeast. For Shabbat, families would often buy white flour, as opposed to the whole wheat flour used in daily bread. Potatoes would be cooked and mashed, and they would replace a fair amount of the necessary flour. In the years before WWII, berches remained a popular bread in Germany, sold to both Jews and non-Jews alike. Because it has no eggs, it was considered a “water challah,” cheaper to produce. Many bakeries in Germany before the 1930s held kosher certifications so that they could sell to Jews as well. At the turn of the 20th century, this bread was immensely popular amongst Jews and non-Jews alike as it generated a dense dough and crisp crust, with a taste redolent of sourdough. The addition of potatoes also had the added benefit of making the bread soft for longer.
But Germany, like all European nations, suffered greatly in World War One. That suffering was compounded by the greatest political mistake of the 20th century: the Versailles treaty. Written by vengeful nations looking to negate any moral responsibility for the Great War, Germany was stripped of its territories, its coal mines, its dignity, and given both the guilt and whole bill for the war. The price of bread is one of the most staggering examples of this: a loaf of bread cost 250 marks in January 1923, but by November 1923, the same loaf cost 200,000 million marks. Due to the increasing scarcity of food amid the losses of the First World War and the resulting hyperinflation, potato bread surged in popularity. Potatoes were far more accessible than wheat, and could be grown in small plots or gardens.
I made this bread once and it was delicious — but more akin to a braided sourdough bread than the challah we know today. Needless to say, if I had served it for Shabbat, my children and husband would look at me askance. That said, the side benefit of this bread now is how it’s more ‘inflation-proof.’ As the price of eggs continues to skyrocket, berches might be the solution to your egg-bread woes. Plus, it’s kind of fun to make a recipe once eaten by German Jews, and which has now effectively lost its Jewish roots. Apparently one can still find berches in German bakeries, although the specifically Jewish origins of it is lost to the void millions of Jews disappeared into.
But, all of this brings me to an important point: the notion of “food colonialism” is complete ahistorical nonsense. Food, traditions, and ingredients have always crossed borders and societies as people moved throughout. This seems to really only be a problem for most people where Israel is involved. There are people who get very offended when Israeli food is called “Israeli,” because apparently it’s food appropriation and food colonialism. The problem is, none of those foods in question are actually Palestinian in origin either — hummus is Lebanese, falafel is Egyptian, Shakshuka is Tunisian. It seems to only be problem when applied to Israel. The reality is, foods tend to extend across whole regions, regardless of borders. Just like challah, the most traditional of Jewish foods (except matzo) originated within Eastern European culture, and the overlap between Jews, Poles, Ukrainians and Russians is very hard to distinguish and pare back centuries later, food is multifaceted and impossible to simplify into “this group” or “that group.” It brings me back to my favourite Jewish joke: two Rabbis sit in a shtetl in October, and one asks the other whether their shtetl happens to be in Poland or Russia this year. The other replies “Poland,” to which the first Rabbi says, “thank god, I couldn’t handle another Russian winter.”
Betayavon!
Recipe here: https://germanjewishcuisine.com/2012/12/04/berches-a-recipe/
Loved this!!!