Eating in Israel: Nationhood, Gender and Food Culture (Food and Identity in a Globalising World) 303087253X, 9783030872533

Citation preview

FOOD AND IDENTITY IN A GLOBALISING WORLD

Eating in Israel Nationhood, Gender and Food Culture Claudia Prieto Piastro

Food and Identity in a Globalising World

Series Editors Atsuko Ichijo, Department of Politics, Kingston University, Kingston-Upon-Thames, UK Ronald Ranta, Department of Politics, Kingston University, Kingston-Upon-Thames, UK

This series aims to overcome the current fragmented nature of the study of food by encouraging interdisciplinary studies of food and serving as a meeting place for a diverse range of scholars and practitioners who are interested in various aspects of food. By encouraging new original, innovative and critical thinking in the field and engaging with the main debates and controversies, and by bringing together the various disciplines that constitute food studies, such as, sociology, anthropology, politics and geography, the series will serve as a valuable source for researchers, practitioners, and students. There will a focus on identities and food; issues such as gastrodiplomacy, settler colonialism, gender, migration and diaspora, and food and social media, while at the same time promoting an inter- and trans-disciplinary approach.

More information about this series at https://link.springer.com/bookseries/16371

Claudia Prieto Piastro

Eating in Israel Nationhood, Gender and Food Culture

Claudia Prieto Piastro Brunel University London Pathway College Uxbridge, UK

ISSN 2662-270X ISSN 2662-2718 (electronic) Food and Identity in a Globalising World ISBN 978-3-030-87253-3 ISBN 978-3-030-87254-0 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87254-0 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: Yulia Reznikov This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Acknowledgements

This book began as a Ph.D. dissertation in 2013 at the Department of Middle Eastern Studies at King’s College London. Therefore, I must first thank my Ph.D. supervisors: Dr. Charis Boutieri, Professor Michael Kerr, and Dr. Craig Larkin for their advice, support, and help during my time at King’s College London. By the time I finished writing my thesis, I had no expectation of it becoming a book. It was thanks to the enormous support from Ronald Ranta and Atsuko Ichijo at Kingston University that this was possible. Thank you for your patience and encouragement. I would also like to thank my informants in Israel, especially those who opened their homes, and shared with me not only food but their stories, secrets, and everyday routines. Their generosity made my research possible, and I will always be grateful for that. I would also like to mention those who helped me with their advice and knowledge, those who supported me through the fieldwork by making a telephone call, or those who sent emails to introduce me to new participants. Of course, I must mention all the people that fed me. From offering a Nescafe to a Passover Seder, you made sure I was never hungry for food or knowledge. Thanks a lot! I am blessed with several friends, colleagues, and students, who have supported me since I started this journey. A special thank you to Liz Farebrother for her careful comments and suggestions, and to all those who spent time discussing with me the national connotations that eating falafel can have. v

vi

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Last, but by no means least, endless thanks to my family: particularly my parents, and to Juan Pablo, and Samuel, for your generosity, patience, and love.

Contents

Part I The Invention of Israeli Food 1

Nation and the Everyday: How Food Shapes the Nation Israel, Food, and Everyday Nationhood Women, Food, and Everyday Resistance Food and National Identity The Ethnographic Voice Methodology Food in Different Settings: Chapter Structure

3 5 9 12 14 16 19

2

Eating as an Israeli How to Cook in Palestine The First Cookbooks The Tzena: Baking Without Eggs Times of Milk and Honey Conclusion

23 26 31 35 41 44

3

Between Tel Aviv and the Kibbutz: Rural and Urban Diets The Kibbutz in the Fifties Kibbutz and the Institutional Diet Caviar and Champagne for a Simple Kibbutznik Urban Life: From the Kitchen with Love

45 47 51 54 57

vii

viii

CONTENTS

Urban Life: A Taste for the Exotic Changing Israel’s Image: Beyond Milk and Honey Conclusion Part II

60 62 64

The Battle for Israeli Food 69 72 74 80 84 86 88

4

Israel: A Kosher Nation? What is Kashrut? Should Israeli Food Be Kosher? Breaking Kosher as a Political Decision Keeping Kosher Outside of Israel: The Boxer Theory New Adopted Identities Conclusion

5

How Shabbat Has Kept Israel: From the Private to the National What Is Shabbat? Shabbat Food and Family Structure Israeli style Motherhood Nostalgic or National Choices Distributing Leftovers Conclusion

91 94 97 102 106 109 112

“From Home-Makers to Nation-Makers: Food and Rituals in the Israeli Household” What Is Passover? The Seder Learning to Celebrate Passover Esther’s Gefiltefish The Friedman’s Seder “I’m Not a Yiddish Mama, But I Do My Best” Conclusion

115 118 121 123 128 131 133 137

“They Might Be Our Enemies, But They Sure Know How to Cook” Melting Pot or Creolisation? What Is Mizrahi food? Cookbooks Eating the Food of the Enemy Naming Palestinian Food Arab Food Most Must Be Cheap and Abundant

139 142 146 149 151 154 157

6

7

CONTENTS

The Ashkenazi vs. Mizrahi Cook-Off Arab or Jewish Conclusion

ix

159 162 163

Final Considerations on the Study of Food Culture and Nationhood

165

Appendix: Informants

171

References

181

Index

189

List of Figures

Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig.

3.1 4.1 5.1 5.2 6.1 6.2 7.1

Lunch in a contemporary Kibbutz Kosher lunch during Passover, Jerusalem Machane Yehuda Market, Jerusalem Shabbat Dinner served in an Ulpan Seder plate in the Ulpan Passover lunch, salad table Lunch at Dr. Shakshuka

53 76 95 99 127 135 156

xi

List of Tables

Table 5.1 Table 5.2 Table 6.1

Homemade Shabbat menu Israeli Shabbat menus Passover Menu, Lilian Cornfeld (1962)

98 101 122

xiii

PART I

The Invention of Israeli Food

CHAPTER 1

Nation and the Everyday: How Food Shapes the Nation

It was September of 2008 when I visited Israel for the first time. I was invited by the Israeli government after winning a college competition organised by the Israeli Embassy in Mexico. My travel companions were the winners from each country in Latin America, and we were mostly college students in our early twenties. For ten days, we stayed in a five-star hotel in Jerusalem, and we toured the whole country. We met celebrities and politicians and dined in well-known restaurants. I do not remember the exact itinerary of the trip, but I do recall a physical sensation that lasted the whole trip. It was that of having a full stomach and being unable to eat anything else. From an endless Israeli breakfast every morning in the hotel, to a magnificent Arab dinner in Abu Ghosh, food was one of the main features of the trip. Yemenite food, King David Hotel dinners, market food, upscale food, and even an Indian dinner; they never stopped feeding us. Even lunches in the cafeteria of some government ministries were featured and were talked about with pride. However, I also remember struggling to sneak food into our strictly kosher hotel or going hungry on a hot day in Jerusalem after realising it was Ramadan, Shabbat, and the evening before the beginning of Rosh Hashana. After that tour, I went to Israel as often as I could. I had a wide network of friends, and family connections in the country. Each time I visited, I was welcomed and experienced the country from a different © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 C. Prieto Piastro, Eating in Israel, Food and Identity in a Globalising World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87254-0_1

3

4

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

perspective. Throughout all of my visits, independently of who I stayed with or where I stayed, the sensation of a full stomach remained a constant. When I visited Israel in 2012, I had already developed an almost obsessive interest in Israeli food. On that trip, I stayed with a family of friends who, knowing of my interests, devoted a lot of time to showing me the culinary offerings available in Israel and cooking for me. From ingredients grown in kibbutzim to hundreds of different varieties of hummus, from snacks to fast-food places, burger joints and home cooking, they always pointed out the quality of the products grown and cooked in their country. “Nobody is hungry in Israel”, my host said to me, as he proudly took me for my fifth meal of the day. That is how it all started. Throughout these trips and countless conversations with Israelis inside and outside of Israel, food was always a topic of discussion. Food was also a controversial source of disagreement. This was particularly prominent when appropriation, misrepresentation, the origin of certain dishes, and even the existence of something that could be called “Israeli cuisine” were discussed. As a result, I found myself exploring the role of food in the construction of Israel’s national identity. The main aim of this book is to explore what the mundane behaviours and practices of everyday life such as cooking, and feeding ourselves and others, tell us about the place where we are born and how we think the people of that place should act and live. Through this research, I aim to summarise the discussions, questions, and experiences I had during my time in Israel through one main query: How do ordinary Israelis, particularly women, use food in their everyday lives to accommodate or resist narratives of Israeliness? Throughout this book, I argue that Israeli women are active agents in the construction of the nation by accommodating, contesting, and resisting the nationalist narratives of religious and secular authorities. I claim that from the privacy of their kitchens, women use food production and consumption as mediums for everyday resistance of the social structures and official ideas of Israeliness. This chapter outlines the main debates that will be explored throughout the book. It situates my arguments in relation to previous work in the disciplines of food studies, gender, and nationalism. It delves into my own position in the field and explains how my personal history has affected the development of this book.

1

NATION AND THE EVERYDAY: HOW FOOD …

5

Israel, Food, and Everyday Nationhood Despite intensified globalisation in recent decades affecting our understanding of the state, nationalism and the academic debate surrounding nationalism remain a reality of our times. Notwithstanding the recent rising popularity of political parties and candidates with nationalist agendas in many countries, research concerned with nationalism focuses more on the origins of the nation state and the high politics surrounding it, than on the understanding and reproduction of nationalism by ordinary people in the everyday. Yet, it is people and their understanding of nationhood—of who is a national and who is not, and what it means to belong to the national community—that take part in nationalist movements. This shapes both election results and world politics. To understand contemporary nationalism, we need to study and understand daily behaviour. It is fundamental that we enquire about the way in which ordinary people (non-elites) reproduce the nation, especially in the private sphere where—at least in theory—the authorities have less control over their citizens. It was with the French Revolution that the notion of the nation started to have political and legal consequences, but it was not until the second half of the twentieth century that studies of nationalism acquired popularity. Nineteenth-century scholars such as Ernest Renan were intrigued with the phenomenon of nationalism. In his famous conference Qu’estce qu’une nation?, Renan defined nation as a “soul, a spiritual principle” (Renan, 1882). He viewed the nation as a daily referendum, where the population choose to be part of the nation, and where history is not only understood by what the nation remembers, but also by what it forgets (Renan, 1882). Fascist movements witnessed during the Second World War and the need to explain the tragedies that accompanied them drew critical attention from scholars during the first half of the century. By the 1980s, nationalism was at the core of social science’s inquiries (Ozkirimli, 2000). By the 1980s, nationalism studies had reached peak popularity. Several academics such as Ernest Gellner, Anthony Smith, Benedict Anderson, John Hutchinson, and Erick Hobsbawm joined the debate about the origins and reproduction of nationhood (Smith, 2008). These researchers laid the foundation of contemporary studies of nationalism and transformed the field by looking beyond nationalist political and territorial attachments.

6

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

Particularly relevant for this analysis is Benedict Anderson’s groundbreaking book Imagined Communities; Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (1983). In this work, Anderson highlights the cultural aspects of nationalism. He considered nationalism as both a political movement and a cultural construction that substituted the hegemonic presence of the religious community (Anderson, 1983). Besides Anderson’s work, Hobsbawm and Ranger’s The Invention of Tradition (1983) is key to understanding the development of current approaches to nationalism. Hobsbawm and Ranger argue that the historical continuity of national traditions is an invention used by modern nationalist movements for different purposes. In this view, elites use historical events to legitimate their projects and nurture determined value systems (Hobsbawm & Ranger, 1983). Although this approach is useful to describe how (Israeli) authorities imposed certain understandings and behaviours to the nation, this method overemphasises the role of public ceremonies. It overlooks how other elements of culture, such as food, fashion, literature, music, and art, in general, have a fundamental, and perhaps even more crucial, roles in the construction of nationalism. Although the classic works mentioned previously are a source of inspiration for this book, in this work I demonstrate how nationalism is constructed in the everyday and how it is socially reproduced in Israel. By developing a conceptualisation of the construction of nationalism in the everyday and its social reproduction in Israel, I build upon theories of banal nationalism and everyday nationhood (Billig, 1995; Fox & Miller-Idriss, 2008). Throughout this book, I build my argument on the theories developed by Michael Billig. Using North American society as a case study, Billig coined the concept of banal nationalism. This refers to the reproduction of nationalism in small daily acts, and how it is flagged in countries like the United States and Great Britain (Billig, 1995). The small American flag waved on the porch of a house silently and discreetly reminds citizens of who they are and where their loyalties should stand (Billig, 1995). According to Billig, the reproduction of banal nationalism can especially be found in political discourse, sports, and mass media. Billig recognises the emotional dimensions of nationalism. He affirms that nationalism, ultimately, is a way of thinking; a form of life (Billig, 1995). He subscribes to Anderson’s suggestion that a nation must be imagined (1983). Billig highlights the number of emotional acts needed to reproduce the nation, and to generate nationalist feelings. His work gives the emotional

1

NATION AND THE EVERYDAY: HOW FOOD …

7

and everyday life their rightful place within nationalism, a concept central to understanding what nationalism and nations mean for a general population. Nonetheless, nationalism is not only a feeling or can only be understood in a psychological dimension. Rather, it is a way of being, collectively and individually (Billig, 1995). Billig’s concepts centre around the public flagging of nationalism in the everyday (football matches, political discourse, etc.) and not in the private sphere. Although the public display of nationalism is a feature of national identity construction, I argue that nationalism is also expressed in the private sphere. This occurs in kitchens, where women discreetly and almost imperceptibly construct identity. In doing so, they resist national narratives and understandings. This is also apparent through cooking practices, menus, ingredients, and even shop choices. Academics such as Rhys Jones and Peter Merriman have emphasised that the terminology used by Billig resulted in the separation of hot nationalism from banal nationalism. They suggest banal nationalism “can easily be viewed as a totally different kind of context within which nationalism is reproduced when compared with equally distinct hot or exotic scenarios” (Jones & Merriman, 2009, 165). In contrast, the term everyday nationalism, favoured through this book, encompasses both hot and banal nationalism. Jones and Merriman state that the “notion of the everyday is particularly useful as a way of conveying the fluid interrelationship between hot and banal nationalism since it explicitly transcends the distinction between the more mundane and the more extreme circumstances that affect individuals lives […] to talk about the everyday reproduction of nationalism, therefore necessarily highlights the multiplicity of nationalist discourses and practices affecting, and affected by, individuals and groups within particular places at specific times” (Jones & Merriman, 2009, 172). To continue focusing on the concept of everyday nationhood, I also draw upon the work of Jon E. Fox and Cynthia Miller-Idriss (2008). The authors contest the idea that ordinary people are simply vessels of national content created by the elites. They suggest that nationalism is not only the result of macro-structures, but of the practices and routines of ordinary people (Fox & Miller-Idriss, 2008, 536). Fox and Miller-Idriss propose four ways in which nationhood is produced and reproduced in the everyday: talking the nation, choosing the nation, performing the nation, and consuming the nation (Fox & Miller-Idriss, 2008, 537).

8

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

These were used to structure my analysis, and I apply this framework throughout this book. The relationship between food culture and national identity can be examined in different ways and through several theoretical lenses. In this book, I analyse the role of food in the construction of national identity by highlighting the prominence of the everyday in the reproduction and negotiation of national identity. I understand the everyday as “the essential, taken-for-granted continuum of mundane activities that frames our forays into more esoteric or exotic worlds” (Felski, 2000, 76). Atsuko Ichijo and Ronald Ranta argue that “the term everyday suggests something that exists beyond the influence of the state; because everyday nationalism provides multiple opportunities for individuals and groups to resist the state’s projects; and because it enables the researcher to capture the ways in which nationalism is experienced by members of a nation on a daily basis” (Ichijo & Ranta, 2016, 162). It is in the everyday where most of the activities of ordinary people take place. Through routines, life becomes organised and structured (Skey, 2011, 15). The everyday presents an enormous number of possibilities, especially in the private sphere, where there is less interference from the government and elites. Here, ordinary people have more freedom to resist and negotiate attempts to impose identity or nationalist concepts. Of course, this is not true of every country, all the time. Chapters 2 and 3 describe how, during times of scarcity and war, the Israeli government directly interfered in the everyday life of its citizens by rationing food, and even by checking items stored in private cupboards. Even in those circumstances, Israelis, especially women, found ways to negotiate the nationalist behaviours that were imposed and expected of them, even if they meant putting their families before their country. I structured my analysis following the theoretical path drawn by Jonathan Fox and Cynthia Miller-Idriss (2008). They suggest analysing everyday nationalism through four areas: choosing the nation, talking the nation, performing the nation, and consuming the nation (Fox & MillerIdriss, 2008, 537). In each chapter of this book, these approaches are considered and developed, so the relationship between food, the nation, women, and the everyday becomes clearer. Fox and Miller-Idriss define “talking the nation” as the construction of the nation through daily, repetitive talk; while choosing the nation refers to the decisions ordinary people take that reflect their nationhood (Fox & Miller-Idriss, 2008). Defining “performing the nation”, the authors discuss how the nation

1

NATION AND THE EVERYDAY: HOW FOOD …

9

can be reproduced through the ritual enactment of symbols. Finally, “consuming the nation” denotes the consumption habits through which ordinary people express the nation (Fox & Miller-Idriss, 2008). Anthony Smith offered a critique of everyday nationhood theory, which has also influenced this research (Smith, 2008). Smith focuses upon the ahistorical nature of the everyday nationhood approach. He notes how it omits the role of elites in the construction of the nation, and the non-differentiation of ordinary people (Smith, 2008). As Smith’s critiques are valid, I have tried to account for them in my analysis. Firstly, I consistently recognise the importance of history and the role of elites in the construction of national identity. Chapters 2 and 3 particularly focus upon history and contextualise my research to avoid an ahistorical approach. Nations, and national identity, are dynamic constructs, and their change over time is also reflected in the everyday. Secondly, everyday nationhood theorists focus their attention on bottom-up approaches to help them to establish the importance of ordinary people and their agency in the construction of national identities (Ichijo & Ranta, 2016). Anthony Smith critiques this approach, suggesting it gives a partial view of how nationalism is built, as it overlooks the role of elites. He frames everyday nationalism as an ahistorical approach that ignores communities’ pasts and the role of history in imagining the nation. Undoubtedly, elites play a fundamental role in nation building, and national identity is born through elites and nonelites constantly negotiating what it means to be part of a certain national community. In the following chapters, I emphasise the role of institutions like universities, language schools, and the government in imposing certain ideas of nationhood. This provides us with a better picture of how nationhood is constructed, and how it is reproduced in the private sphere through routine and mundane acts like shopping and cooking.

Women, Food, and Everyday Resistance The relationship between the nation and women is particularly significant. One of the most important works on this topic is Nira Yuval-Davis’ Gender and Nation. Her work explores how notions of womanhood are constructed within national movements (Yuval-Davis, 1997, 22). She argues that it is not only the intelligentsia or the state that reproduce nationalism; women reproduce the nation biologically, culturally, and symbolically. Even so, Yuval-Davis does not explain how women can exert

10

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

power in the domestic sphere to transmit their own concept of nationhood. Although at different points in history, women are undoubtedly used more as receptacles of narratives than as agents, their role is vital in reproducing certain ideas of nationhood. Through the following pages, women are presented as active participants in the process of constructing the nation. They do this by either accepting or challenging mundane everyday routines and narratives of nationhood. Researchers such as Rita Felski have highlighted the importance of the concept of the everyday and its relation to the idea of home, an undoubtedly gendered space. By relating these two concepts, Felski suggests that dynamism and repetition both characterise the everyday. The home and the everyday both seen traditionally as spaces of female subordination, are also sites where women find a space of resistance. As I will argue, through the practice of the everyday—predominantly in the domestic space—women are able to find moments of redemption. This is achieved using what Michel de Certeau famously calls tactics (de Certeau, 1984). Throughout this book, small acts of everyday resistance performed by women from their kitchen and dinner tables are highlighted and analysed. The seminal work by James C. Scott The Weapons of the Weak (1985) defines these acts as actions that “require little or no coordination or planning; they often represent a form of individual self-help; and they typically avoid any direct symbolic confrontation with authority or with elite norms” (Scott, 1985, 29). Like Scott, the resistance portrayed in this study is not coordinated and does not necessarily require sacrifices from the participants. On the contrary, many of these acts of everyday resistance are self-indulgent and do not have the purpose of causing a revolution in the system (Scott, 1985, 292). Although Scott uses this definition to study the everyday resistance acts of peasants, authors such as Lila Abu-Lughod have stressed the relevance of this term in understanding gendered resistance. It can also be applied to the analysis of power structures (1990). Following Abu-Lughod’s analysis, I study the minor acts of defiance committed by women in their kitchen. These acts rely heavily on secret activities and can only happen in spaces where men have little to no involvement (Abu-Lughod, 1990, 43). Feminist researchers in the Middle East have shown interest in the role of women in nationalist and social movements. However, as Abu Lughod explains, little attention has been paid to the study of female resistance.

1

NATION AND THE EVERYDAY: HOW FOOD …

11

Some scholars focusing on nationalism in the Middle East depart from the idea that the movements in the region failed women. They forget that nationalism is both a political and cultural movement, with a discourse on womanhood and a feminine project (Lughod, 1998). For example, Sheila H. Katz’s work on Jewish and Palestinian nationalism (Katz, 2003) highlights the active role of women in the construction of national identity and critiques the Zionist myth of the liberated Jewish woman. Katz explains that women in the Zionist movement, particularly in the kibbutzim, were not treated as equals. Instead, they were confined to their traditional gender roles in the kitchen and the household (Katz, 2003). If we consider the case of Israel, the role of women as active participants in the construction of the nation and the national identity is undeniable. This does not mean that women have participated as partners in the construction of the nation. Contrary to the national Israeli myth, which portraits the country as one of gender equality since the time of its foundation, women have not yet achieved equality. Through this work, I challenge the idea that Israeli women and men enjoy similar rights and social status. The participation of women in the military life of Israel, and their high integration into the job market, together with the foundational myth of socialist equality, have contributed to the widespread belief that Israeli women enjoy the same status than men. However, as I point out, Israeli women continue to oversee most of the domestic work as well and are still seen as the carriers of tradition. Although there are no studies focusing on Israeli women and their relationship to the national food culture, there is no scarcity of works looking at the relationship between women and food work (DeVault, 1999). Significant to my understanding of the relationship between women and food has been Carole Counihan’s (2004) work with women in Florence and the renowned article by Anne Allison exploring power relations imbedded in the female art of making obento boxes for school children in Japan (1991). In addition, the work of Kate Cairns and Josée Johnston on Food and Femininity (2015) provided me with an overview of the relationship between food work and the construction of female identity in the domestic sphere. The protagonists of my research are women who—from the privacy of their kitchens—are active agents in the process of identity formation of the nation. In previous decades, women educated and nationalised immigrants by writing cookbooks and establishing associations and agricultural schools. Women were also vessels of countless expectations and normative

12

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

prescriptions that aimed to dictate how they should exercise their nationalist duties. From the early days of the State of Israel, the kitchen was a space where women could challenge ideas of nationhood and create their own narratives. By choosing menus, ingredients and distributing food, by deciding which dishes to serve or what to eat and when, women found ways to resist, accept, or negotiate ideas of nationhood, state policies, and roles imposed upon them. Women are also constrained by tradition, by their roles as fundamental reproducers of the nation, and by national and religious values.

Food and National Identity Catherine Palmer’s (1998) article From Theory to Practice is highly significant to the study of food and nationalism. Through an analysis of recent works in the field, Palmer shows the theoretical importance of food, the body, and the landscape to the construction of national identity (1998). Palmer suggests that to understand how nationalisms are practiced, it is fundamental to examine how ordinary people, that are not usually engaged in theoretical debates, understand, and reproduce the theory (1998). Palmer states that “culturally defined food choices and patterns of eating eventually came to be seen as characteristic of a people and a country” (1998, 191), and that it is therefore worth studying their relationship with the nation. This reproduction of nationalist theory can be observed in different behaviours adopted by my participants. One concrete example is the way in which they negotiate the religious status quo of the State of Israel. Officially, Israel is a kosher nation, but ordinary Israelis interpret this in ways that are in accordance with their lifestyles. Although a more frequent topic in anthropology than in other social sciences, historians have also pointed out the importance of food culture for the construction of national identities. One excellent example is the work of Jeffrey M. Pilcher, Que Vivan los Tamales, a comprehensive analysis of the formation of Mexican national cuisine (1998). It is a detailed reflection of how national cuisine was constructed from the pre-Hispanic time to the post revolution twentieth century. It is also an analysis of how cooking can be used as a political tool to promote and preserve the core values of a government or a revolution. Highlighting continuities and discontinuities in the culinary discourse of Mexican politicians, Pilcher presents one of the most complete historical works relating nationalism and popular culture.

1

NATION AND THE EVERYDAY: HOW FOOD …

13

Food studies have analysed culinary traditions in different regions of the world. In the Middle East, the compilation made by Sami Zubaida and Richard Tapper is one of the best examples of the material available in the field (Zubaida & Tapper, 2001). In the case of Israel, studies of controversial food items such as falafel or hummus and the conflicts around the origins and nationality of these items have been abundant (Raviv, 2015). Although most of the literature in this area has centred around these Middle Eastern dishes, European food influences have also been studied by authors such as Ofra Tene, who centred on historical accounts on the emergence of Ashkenazi food in Israel (2015). This emphasis on the study of controversial items related to the IsraeliPalestinian conflict has overshadowed the tensions within Israeli society. Consequently, bottom-up analyses of Israeli society remain scarce. Until 2017, the most important work on Israeli food was the historical study by Yael Raviv’s Falafel Nation (2015). Raviv’s book presents compelling historical research surrounding the origins of Israeli food culture and its later development. For their part, Yonatan Mendel and Ronald Ranta highlight the social and political implications of the Israeli food culture, and notably focus on the consumption of Arab food in Israel by Jewish Israelis (2014). Israeli academics have also devoted attention to Israeli food. Liora Gvion’s work was one of the first to study “Arab food” (Palestinian food) in Israel and food practices among Arab Israelis (Gvion, 2012). She analyses Palestinian cooking and traditional food, emphasising Israeli influence in Palestinian cuisine. Rafi Groslik’s research about hummus consumption in Israel is also important to understanding Israeli food culture (2013). It focuses on organic food consumption and the impact of the globalisation on local food production, without forgetting the national importance of hummus. Nir Avieli’s work represents the most comprehensive ethnographic work on Israeli food. In Food and Power, he states that “the defining qualities of Israeli cuisine are not specific tastes or seasoning or a set of popular dishes. Rather, contemporary Israeli cuisine is defined by very large servings” (Avieli, 2018, 15). An anthology of ethnographic studies, this book investigates public and institutionalised cooking and eating in Israel at different times and in different social contexts. These works are the core of the studies of Israeli food in the English language. Although they are correct in highlighting Arab dishes in the Israeli diet, they have overlooked the private sphere of the Jewish Israeli

14

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

kitchen, and its importance in the reproduction of the nation. National cuisines, everywhere, are a blend of continuities and changes in identities, customs, and migrations. An Israeli homemade meal includes both Middle Eastern food and European schnitzels or hamburgers. Israeli tables reflect the results of political changes, migration patterns, wars, and the efforts made by the government to create and recreate an Israeli identity. They show how ordinary people have accepted, rejected, and negotiated these impositions. Therefore, this ethnography focuses upon topics that have previously been omitted from studies of Israeli food culture. Specifically, it focuses upon the domestic reproduction of the nation by women, fundamental agents on the construction and transmission of the national identity.

The Ethnographic Voice This research is the result of my academic curiosity, my search for an identity, and my desire for understanding on a personal level of what it feels like to be national, and what clearly belonging to a community feels like. Therefore, I recognise that my own identity and my quest for defining myself has greatly shaped the ethnographic encounter (Luttrell, 2005, 243). My cultural and religious background played a fundamental role in the way I interpreted the data I collected. It also impacted the way I established relationships with my informants, the themes I decided were relevant, and even the theoretical frameworks I selected (Luttrell, 2005). Due to my family’s history of immigration, and my own, I do not have a defined national identity, and I was keen to know how somebody becomes national. I grew up in a mixed faith family, in which everyone had a different understanding of what this meant. Although during my childhood I was completely aware of my Jewishness, I was ignorant about what this meant in practice and have only vague memories of my more observant relatives. I was first able to go to Israel in 2008. This trip made my relationship with Israel much more complicated that it had been before. I knew I had only seen what people wanted me to see, but the extreme surveillance was not enough to protect me from difficult experiences at the airport, and in the streets, that left me with feelings of confusion and amazement. After that trip, I obsessively tried to understand Israeli politics, culture, and society. I returned to study Hebrew and saw all the Israeli and Jewish films available in Mexico. During my last year in college, I developed a

1

NATION AND THE EVERYDAY: HOW FOOD …

15

more personal connection with Israel. I continued nurturing my curiosity and awareness of a society that I felt so closely related to myself. By the time I started my MA, I was keen to study Israel’s food culture, but remained unaware that food studies could be a legitimate academic field. I returned to Israel several times and started exploring different disciplines and methodological approaches. After a few months I began a PhD in Anthropology of the Middle East, focusing on Israeli food culture. My fieldwork was more challenging that I had ever imagined. My situation as an insider–outsider anthropologist made my fieldwork particularly complicated. As I had never belonged to the Jewish community in Mexico and had never practiced Judaism formally, I felt an impostor, even when I clearly explained my family roots to my Israeli friends and participants. My political views further complicated my situation. I understood most of my informants were expecting me to share their views with them, and on many occasions, I decided not to. During the first part of my fieldwork in 2015, I met a British student Rabbi enrolled on my Hebrew courses. After several discussions, he convinced me to attend a Jewish Liberal synagogue in London and I followed his advice. This made me much more comfortable with my own identity, and it allowed me to return to the field in 2016 with more confidence in myself and my own position in the wider Jewish community. I felt like I belonged and was more comfortable with my religious knowledge. Although my Jewishness—my religious and historical knowledge—was policed and monitored by some of my informants, I felt more at ease and was able to navigate these situations more assertively. In September 2017, two weeks before submitting my PhD dissertation and a month before giving birth to my son, I “affirmed” my Jewish faith and officially became a member of a Liberal Synagogue in North London. However, attending the synagogue, having Jewish friends, and practicing Judaism in London did not make my relationship with Israel easier. As I felt accepted by the community in London, I felt more comfortable with my own political opinions and my writing became more openly critical. Consequently, some of the relationships I built during my fieldwork became more distant, and the work I did during 2016 was more difficult than in 2015. However, I deeply identified with some of my participants, with similar mixed backgrounds. I noticed that having a paper that certifies your identity made us much more relaxed when breaking rules, eating non-kosher food, and speaking our minds.

16

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

I believe my choice of ethnographic vignettes and even the chronology and the organisation of this book reflect my own position in the field. From historical knowledge to a much more vivid and personal image of Israel, this research not only allowed me to explore how national identity is constructed in the everyday but the fluidity and dynamism of political, national, and religious identities.

Methodology My ambition is to study the kitchen as a nationalist space and to concentrate on food as a cultural and symbolic artefact and as a political tool where women feed the nationalist imagination of the community by cooking and passing on recipes. A historical study of official documents and publication by itself will not be able to reveal the practices and discourse of the everyday as documents do not normally record what happens in the private sphere. I decided to use ethnographic data and food-centred life stories to explore the unheard voices of ordinary Israelis, especially women. I was interested in their relationship with the nation and its food culture. These methods allowed me to understand the context within which the food discourse was constructed in Israel as well as its negotiation and reproduction in the contemporary household. Initially, I planned my research as multi-sited ethnography. I conducted preliminary research in 2012, and I established my presence in several cities and different locations, and I moved constantly between them. Between 2015 and 2016 I lived in Haifa, Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and Central Israel. Following the work of George E. Marcus, I used a “follow the people” and a “follow the thing” technique (1995, 105). I went to those places in which “the thing”, in this case food, could present regional difference due to the demographic and social differences. I also followed my participants connections, how their lives, family, and work moved from one city to another. After several months of research, I could not find significant regional food culture differences; I was only able to find differences linked to social class, ethnicity, and education levels. The differences among Mizrahi and Ashkenazi culinary traditions were the most salient ones, and they will be constantly highlighted in the book. In an interview in 2015 with Gil Hovav, a famous food journalist he confirmed my suspicions: in terms of food, they were no regional differences apart from the ones between urban and rural (see Chapter 3).

1

NATION AND THE EVERYDAY: HOW FOOD …

17

Israel is a small country and people commute constantly between cities. On some occasions, spending the day with my participants meant starting in Ranana, having lunch in Tel Aviv, and ending the day in a birthday celebration at Haifa. Members of the families I worked with lived in one city, their children attended schools in another, and the grandparents that picked them up took the children to a third town. Staying in one place would have meant ignoring the way Israelis lived their everyday, an everyday that is defined by constant movement, train, and car rides. The connections that my participants had allowed me to understand better the way food and people moved around Israel and how they imagined in terms of space the country. “This is a really small country” was a phrase constantly repeated to me not only to justified Israel’s expansionism but also to explain the way through which they structured the space they inhabit. I noticed that I was treating my field as one and my research shifted from a multi-sited ethnography to one with Israel as one site. This was possibly due to the geographical characteristics of the country, the way my participants moved around, or how I structured my research. My participants were middle-class Israelis, with varying education levels and from different upbringings. Some grew in kibbutzim (collective farms), others in cities. Some had spent long periods of time living abroad, others had never lived outside the country. I followed a snowball technique and decided to explore the networks of my participants as much as possible. This took me from Tel Aviv, where I found my initial participants to Haifa and from Haifa to central Israel. I lived with some of my participants, and conducted semi-structured interviews with food journalists, historians, publishers, and food celebrities in Israel. My research particularly benefitted from what Carole Counihan defines as “food-centred life stories” (2019). She describes these as “semi-structured tape-recorded interviews with willing participants, on their beliefs and behaviours surrounding food production, preparation, distribution and consumption” (2019, 174). Most of my participants, especially those with food-related jobs in television or writing preferred not to be tape-recorded so I took notes in many of my interviews. However, the methodology and aims I had in these interviews were similar to Counihan’s description of her own research. I was interested in how women constructed their narratives, the language they preferred to use in the interviews, the coherence of discourse, and the diversions they took from the questions I asked

18

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

(Luttrell, 2005, 248). The conversations we had were mostly located at interviewees’ homes. This allowed me to notice the food I was offered and where in the house the interview took place. I attempted to give voices to women that are normally not considered in the official narratives of Israel. This is particularly clear in Chapters 2 and 3 where female narratives of life in the first decades of the State of Israel and in the kibbutz challenge the accounts that have contributed to the myth of gender equality in Israel. Food-centred life histories also allowed me to explore the influence of the public sphere in the identity formation process and private lives of my female participants. I could also understand the role that food policies, migration, scarcity, and religion had in their culinary practices. Although most Israelis believe they have achieved a higher level of equality between men and women than in most countries of the West and then in all the countries of the Middle East, women still carry most of the work related to food including planning menus, shopping, and cooking. Although Israeli society was built over ideals of gender equality, where women were partners in the construction of the nation, there is still a lot of work to be done in terms of gender equality. All of my female participants did most of the domestic work (e.g. cooking and cleaning) while their parents took care of their grandchildren. This allows women to be fully integrated in the workforce, but they continue being homemakers in charge of all the daily cooking. In the words of one of my participants, having more than three children, a full job, and preparing a full Friday dinner and Saturday lunch weekly is what should be known as “motherhood Israeli style”. The Israeli state constantly emphasise the work that women do in fundamental national institutions such as the army. However, the study of Israel’s domestic sphere demonstrates that domestic tasks—like cooking everyday meals—are still in the hands of women and not usually shared with men. Women are part of the national project, but from what we can call the “homefront”. Their contribution to the nation focuses around patriotically handling a household. As a country that defines itself as family-oriented, those tasks are seen as fundamental for the survival of the nation and its core values. This has provided women with a certain degree of power. By constructing matriarchal families, women are able to exercise a considerable amount of influence over the members of the family, the decisions they take, and the way they understand their nation.

1

NATION AND THE EVERYDAY: HOW FOOD …

19

Food in Different Settings: Chapter Structure The chapter structure begins by introducing the reader to historical perspectives, including the role of elites in the construction of a national food culture. It presents a contemporary analysis based on ethnographic data that emphasises how ordinary people negotiate those impositions. In Chapters 2 and 3, I present a historical account that focuses on how the Israeli authorities intervened in the creation of a national food culture. I emphasise how the Ashkenazi elite tried to impose a hegemonic diet that would melt together the different culinary traditions of the Jewish immigrants while ignoring the Palestinian and regional influence. In these chapters, it is particularly clear how food choices can reveal the commitment to the nation. Through food choices, ordinary people can also construct an idea of nation. It is also evident that nationhood is not only constructed by elites but negotiated by ordinary people in their everyday routines. In both chapters, the role of women is fundamental to understand how nationalism is reproduced in the private sphere. Chapter 2 explores how the women of the pre-state period and first decades after the declaration of independence negotiated their role as reproducers and feeders of the nation. It looks at the penalties the authorities imposed on them for choosing to put their family’s needs first and breaking austerity roles. Chapter 3 discusses how food culture developed in Israeli cities. It outlines the similarities and differences between urban and rural communities. In rural communities, I look at how practices such as baking became a tool for women to resist the expectations of national duties. Simultaneously, I analyse how the post-socialist period and the openness to new markets changed Israel’s urban food culture. I highlight the need of Israelis to achieve what they saw as “normality” and the ideas imported from the West that reflected the social, economic, and political changes on the country. Chapter 4 investigates the relationship between religion, the everyday and the official discourse of the Jewish state. I briefly outline the legal history of kosher laws in Israel. In a country where Jewishness is at the centre of the national identity, the practical aspects of this identity show different ways of performing the nation. For some participants, dietary restrictions are a way to practically showcase their alliance to the state. For others, breaking them became an act of resistance against the control that religious authorities have over the citizens of the country, including

20

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

over their bodies. I interpret the decision of following dietary restrictions in Israel as a symbol of religious observance, and as one of political convictions. Breaking rules occasionally can also be seen as a “redemptive moment” and as a way to reveal the status quo without breaking social conventions. Chapter 5 focuses on Friday night dinners. In the diaspora, Friday night dinners are religious celebrations. In the Israeli household they are family gatherings perceived by my participants as an opportunity for the whole family to enjoy a nice meal together. As these occasions are no longer religious in some households, they have been exchanged for a Saturday lunch often in the form of a barbecue. The Friday night dinner or Saturday lunch are perceived by many of my participants as a key trend of Israeli food culture and an occasion that underlines the importance of the family and their idea of what being Israeli means. Throughout Chapter 5, I analyse how these occasions are used by female members of the family to not only perform the nation, but to transmit the values they believe the nation holds as the most precious ones. I also explore how women exert influence over the members of their family and close circle by distributing leftovers. Their influence is key for identity formation, especially for newcomers, children, or immigrants who learn how to be national and behave as an Israeli from their mothers and mothers-in-law. Following the analysis suggested by Jonathan Fox and Cynthia MillerIdriss, Chapter 6 focuses on tasks performed in the house by women, as well as in the public sphere. The importance of these events, like Passover that is mainly celebrated in the home, resides in their capacity to reproduce the nation in the private sphere, far away from public celebrations and the symbolism that is embedded in them. Those symbols can change their meaning according to the time or people using them (from religious to national) and provide the imagined community with symbols that can be interpreted differently by the members of the nation (Fox & MillerIdriss, 2008). The symbolic importance of the celebration of Passover is key for the reproduction of the Israeli identity. Through it, the past of Jewish slavery and transformation into a nation in place as the foundation of the new Israeli nation helps Israelis perceive themselves as part of a national community with deep historical roots (Elgenious, 2011, 17). I analysed these highly ritual events as part of the everyday as celebrations take place mainly at home, in the domestic sphere. They do not break routines, simply marking the holiday. They become part of everyday

1

NATION AND THE EVERYDAY: HOW FOOD …

21

events. In this instance, the role of women as gatekeepers of tradition is a fundamental one. Chapter 7 highlights the influence of Palestinian food in Israel’s food culture. The chapter discusses how Palestinian food has been denationalised and renamed as Arab or Middle Eastern food, to be later appropriated and consumed by Israelis. I refute the idea that Israeli cuisine results from a melting pot process. Instead, I suggest that it is the product of what I will define as “creolisation”, a process much more complex and violent. Choosing, consuming, and talking the nation will be particularly clear through these chapters—through the choice of restaurants. The manner in which Israelis converse about the Arab or Palestinian food illuminates their political preferences and the way they define the borders of their national community. Together, these chapters illustrate how food culture portrays how different members of society understand the nation and the way that they talk, perform, choose, and consume it. They emphasise the way ordinary people and elites negotiate what it means to be national, becoming active agents of the construction of the nation through everyday routines.

CHAPTER 2

Eating as an Israeli

On a warm day in April, Hava offers me a sweetened iced coffee and some sugar biscuits; immediately after, she warns me: “I hope you are ready; I have a lot to say so if it’s too much you just stop me”. Hava then, tells me the story of her life; she was born in Israel in the fourties; her parents were from Hungary and arrived to Israel after the Holocaust. She grew up in a kibbutz, and when she turned 18, she moved to Tel Aviv to study engineering. While living in the city she realised she was a “country girl” and moved to a small town where she still lives with her husband. Her husband comes from an Iraqi family that arrived at Israel in the fifties. During his childhood he moved constantly from town to town, and it was not until he meet Hava that he settled down. She speaks to me for 4 hours, she does not stop much, but when she talks about her father her voice trembles and must take a few minutes. She mixes English and Hebrew “Do you understand me? I do not know how to say that more simply, is that fine?” Her family story is full of sadness and magic, smells, lost recipes and nostalgia “I think we are cursed you know? It might had started with my grandparents; they shouldn’t have married.

As it was the only way to explain a family history full of scarcity, hunger, and separation, Hava recounted the story of how she and her family became Israeli in a way that resonated with fairy tales. Curses, forbidden love stories, and family secrets were behind the difficult migration history she had to tell. Her narrative was filled with smells and tastes; she could © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 C. Prieto Piastro, Eating in Israel, Food and Identity in a Globalising World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87254-0_2

23

24

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

describe in detail full meals from decades ago. The goulash her father cooked when he finally saw his brother again, the Iraqi feast her daughters and sons cooked in honour of their grandparents, the kibbutz food she ate for decades. A few Levantine dishes such as chopped salad as well as many classic Ashkenazi dishes including chicken soup, kreplach, and kugel, meatballs that had little meat and finally Iraqi dishes such as kubbeh, became the tools through which she articulated and made sense of her Israeliness. Hava’s diet changed drastically from her childhood in the kibbutz to her adult life. She and her Mizrahi husband have adopted a diet that she describes as simple, straightforward, and Israeli in essence: chopped salads, chicken schnitzels, and labneh for the everyday. Iraqi and Hungarian dishes for holidays and family gatherings. They are comfortable with their diet, but they weren’t always: “it is ok now to eat Mizrahi food, to eat imported food. You are still an Israeli. In the beginning, we had to eat grey Polish food or poorly cooked kibbutz food. Now, things are different”. Hava’s food narrative illustrates the story of Israel’s food culture and the attempt to construct a homogenous Israeli diet that was part of the identity of the “New Hebrew Man”. The Jewish communities that arrived to Mandate Palestine in the last decades of the nineteenth century from Europe, Russia, Ethiopia, India, and the Middle East, brought with them their traditions, lifestyles, and food. For a European political leadership that aimed to create a heterogeneous population, the diversity among the newcomers represented a challenge to overcome; not to celebrate. Therefore, and with the aim of melting together the cultures of the immigrants arriving, including their food cultures, the Jewish leadership lounged several unification campaigns, which also included the publications of cookbooks. These books were written for a female audience, and the government gave women the task of building a new national identity from within the home, all with the aim of changing the diasporic diets of the past. Women, the guardians of Jewish traditions, were now expected to also be agents of change. They were to provide their services to the nation, by shopping and cooking only what the national establishment approved. In this chapter, I argue that the Zionist authorities, constituted mainly by European Jews, tried to impose a hegemonic collective identity in which the differences between the immigrants were less visible, at least at the table. Thus, the imposed food policies were intended to encourage

2

EATING AS AN ISRAELI

25

people to not only peacefully “blend together” but also to modify their culinary traditions. The first step towards this “melting” of traditions was to eliminate national differences among communities arriving and to simplify the divisions into two simpler categories: European and Mizrahi Jews (Khazzoom, 2003, 582). The food and even health practices of the European Jews were perceived as “civilised” while the Mizrahi1 (Oriental) Jews foodways were labelled as “backwards”. As a result, the Israeli melting pot became a painful process in which Mizrahi Jews’ identities were questioned and silenced by the European establishments. Meanwhile, their food traditions were only enjoyed in the privacy of the home or as street foods. In the following pages I illustrate the culinary panorama of the first decades of Israeli culinary history by diving into the childhood and youth memories of several of my participants. I analyse how women accommodated and/or resisted the attempts of the Israeli Ashkenazi establishment to build a unified Israeli diet, and how they negotiated their imposed role as builders of a new national diet and identity. I claim that this process of unification was ultimately an unsuccessful attempt to impose a European lifestyle upon the Jewish immigrants. As Orzit Rozin affirms, food is so basic that it is easier for immigrants to give up their language than their food (Rozin, 2006, 83); and Israel´s immigrants were not the exception. With the aim of completing the narratives of my participants, and to show what the government campaigns looked like at the time, I will examine a series of cookbooks that illustrate the official food discourse and culinary desires of the authorities. The narratives of my participants will demonstrate how this discourse was lived by women, accepted, or contested as part of their everyday lives. The sample I present allows us to better understand the political context of Israel. It also informs on family structures, food policies, stereotypes, societal conflicts, and ethnic differences. Although, as Ken Albala sustains, cookbooks rarely reveal what people actually eat they “reflect the kind of technical and cultural elaboration we grace with the term cuisine, they are likely to be representations not only of structures of production and distribution and of social and cosmological schemes, but class and hierarchy” (Albala, 2012, 231). The books I analyse in the following sections were selected according to date of publication, level of 1 The term Mizrahi Jews is used to refer to those Jewish immigrants to Israel with origins in the Middle East. The history of this label will be discussed further in Chapter 7.

26

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

popularity, and how strongly they were remembered by my informants. They form part of the official food discourse of the time in which they were published and are useful tools for understanding the ideology of their times.

How to Cook in Palestine The first task confronted by the European Zionists—in their attempt to build a new nation in Mandate Palestine—was to construct a unique, collective identity. This identity highlighted connections to the land and its new inhabitants. It also emphasised similarities between the different Jewish communities that were arriving at their Old-New Homeland. The task was not easy. Hundreds of years in the diaspora had left little connection among the immigrants. It seemed that only religious symbols could sustain the idea that they had once been one nation. The diet of Polish Jews had no elements in common with the diet of Yemenite Jews. Even among Jews from the same region cooking practices varied, and class differences were visible. Yet again, it was only dietary-religious restrictions that marked some common food trends among the population. Even those were followed in different ways. The diets of immigrant communities were only one of the many aspects that differentiated the population of the future state. In the eyes of the Zionist establishment, to build a united new Hebrew nation that had no resemblance to the diasporic Jew, these contrasts had to disappear. To achieve this, the elites applied melting pot policies that aimed to unite and combine all of the cultural trends of the Jewish population. From this they could forge a new identity. According to Yosef Gorny, in the Zionist context, the melting pot “has been an ethical and mythical expression of creating a national society evolving on its historical territory through the ingathering, as well as the integration of the exiles” (Gorny, 2001, 55). This “ingathering of exiles” became a political symbol used by the Zionist authorities to justify the politics of Europeanisation applied to the non-European Jewish communities. The roots of this political ideal can be found in a 1908 theatre play, written by Israel Zangwill in the United States (Gleason, 1964). The play was based on the idea that, to build a new nation, immigrants had to leave their old ways in the past and build a new American man. The play suggested that the “new man” was the result of melting the cultures of the immigrants together. Nevertheless, the American melting

2

EATING AS AN ISRAELI

27

pot encouraged immigrants to become American not by “melting” their cultural background together, but by assimilating to American ways and leaving their traditions in the past (Gleason, 1964). Although the concept and application of the melting pot was questioned by American Jews, it was quickly adopted In Israel. It aimed to create a new, homogenised nation in the historical territory of Israel through the “ingathering of exiles”. However, similarly to what happened in the United States, the melting pot in Israel mostly implied the Europeanisation of immigrants from the Middle East and Africa. As I explain in detail in Chapter 7, the melting pot was a process of creolisation. This process was not simple or voluntary. Instead, it was violent and complicated. The Europeanisation of Mizrahi Jews was not passively accepted, and identities were hidden and forgotten. Although some aspects of European culture were adopted by those who identified as Arab Jews, the melting pot policies were resisted by many immigrants that lived this process as a “as a humiliating attempt to civilize them” (Ariel, 2018, 93). The “ingathering of exiles” meant the creation of a New Hebrew man that aspired to be “healthy, muscular, a warrior, industrious, hard-working, rational-modern, Western, secular, a vernacular, accentless Hebrew speaker, educated, obedient to authorities, not intellectual” (Gorny, 2001, 55). This New Hebrew man had to be superior in every way to the diasporic Jew. He was depicted frequently as a farmer, working the Land of Israel, a true Zionist (Segev, 2002, 26). This man, although freed from the vices of the diaspora, was a civilised Westerner, a European; in contrast to those Mizrahi Jews they viewed as backward. The New Hebrew man was always imagined in masculine, an ideal borrowed from the imagination of the Soviet Union. This was part of the Zionists’ rejection of the exile, an ideal frequently imposed on the new immigrants by force (Segev, 2002, 25). A fundamental part of the invention of the New Hebrew man implied changing the health and habits of Jewish immigrants arriving to Mandate Palestine. For this aim, cookbooks became fundamental propagandist, educational, and transformative tools. Written by and for women, the cookbooks show the aspirations of the Zionist institutions and the ideal diet they wanted to achieve (Ranta & Prieto Piastro, 2019). They also reveal how women were expected to contribute to the creation of the nation in their everyday lives. The diet of the New Hebrew man was full of fresh fruit and vegetables. It was an almost vegetarian diet, inspired by Palestinian ingredients never named or recognised as Arab.

28

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

According to Arjun Appadurai, cookbooks are a humble literary genre that “reflect shifts in the boundaries of edibility, the proprieties of the culinary process, the logic of meals, the exigencies of the household budget, the vagaries of the market, and the structure of domestic ideologies” (Appadurai, 1988, 3). In the decades before and immediately after the establishment of the State of Israel, cookbooks provided women with recipes. They were also instruction manuals, part of a normative discourse that reinforced gender roles. Some of these books were complete household manuals. They explained how to use certain domestic equipment, keep a house in order, and adapt to the weather and conditions of Palestine. In the sample I present, the shifts Israeli food culture went through in the first decades and even before the establishment of the State, and how they mirror the social and political changes of society will be evident. Cookbooks are historical documents, narratives that can be read and interpreted in thousands of ways. Although they do not necessarily reflect the realities of society, they show how certain cultural brokers—among them the state and its institutions—imagine the family and the home. Cookbooks reflect the aspirations of society; how people wish their families, dinners, and homes to look, the flavours they want to taste, who they feel they are, and who they do not want to be. They also reveal social structures. In the case of Israel, they replicate the obsession with building a unique identity, as well as showing how the European Jews imagined their Middle Eastern counterparts. Israeli cookbooks displayed the ideal way of eating and cooking of the time, and the ways in which women were expected to feed their families, do their shopping, and cook in their home. The first cookbooks published during the times of Mandate Palestine were used as educational and political instruments, for teaching Hebrew for example, and to explain to women what their nationalist duties in the home were. The publication of cookbooks implies literacy among their target population (Ichijo & Ranta, 2016, 98). In the case of Israel, it could not be assumed that the women were Hebrew speakers. For this reason, some cookbooks were written in English and German. The cookbooks target a European and a Middle Eastern female audience. On the one hand, they aim to instruct the Middle Eastern Jewish women in how to properly nurture their children, as their traditional diets were perceived by European Jews as unhealthy. On the other hand, nutritionists expected European women

2

EATING AS AN ISRAELI

29

to learn how to cook with local, fresh ingredients that were better suited to the Israeli weather (Ariel, 2018, 95). These cookbooks also show the ideal of womanhood embedded in the Zionist ideology, and the expectations of how women were required to behave in their new society. To gain a place in the Zionist society, women were expected to be loyal and devoted companions, mothers, and wives. As the cookbooks reflect, every decision they made in the kitchen and the market became a decision of national importance. The olive oil chosen was not only a matter of domestic economics, but of loyalty to their new country. Those instructional handbooks were not only written for women, but by women who had decided that their duty in the building of the new nation was to teach other women to perform everyday tasks in a patriotic way. The authors were educated Western women, some of them with Home Economics university qualifications. In some cases, they were married to committed Zionists. Their cookbooks aimed to improve women’s skills throughout the home, making these traditional feminine tasks a contribution to the nationalist movement. Cookbooks became an instrument to nationalise the domestic space, to give another dimension to the home as a multiple site (Edensor, 2002), and to transform women into agents of change. Therefore, analysing cookbooks provides us with a useful insight into how Israeli food culture was born. Mundane, repetitive everyday habits are the outcome of the implicit negotiation between official governmental, cultural impositions and domestic practices (Ranta & Prieto Piastro, 2019, 121). Cookbooks were published mainly by female Zionist associations. Since the last decades of the nineteenth century, diverse female associations have become part of the European Zionist effort to build a new national Hebrew identity. Jewish women’s organisations in the West—especially in America and the United Kingdom—felt it was their responsibility to train and help Jewish women living in Mandate Palestine to perform their nationalist duties. Among these duties were shopping, cooking, and feeding their families or members of the kibbutz. For that purpose, they established cookery and agricultural schools in pioneer settlements and in Tel Aviv (Raviv, 2015, 45). Soon, they also started to publish cookbooks, newspaper columns, and pamphlets promoting the use of local ingredients and certain ideas of health. The Women’s International Zionist Organisation (WIZO) was devoted to training women to develop the skills necessary for their new life in the new society. It was the most prominent of these organisations and

30

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

remains active today. It was founded in London in 1920 by Rebecca Sieff (wife of Israel Sieff, the Zionist Movement’s Political Secretary), Dr Vera Weizmann (wife of the Zionist Movement President Chaim Weizmann), and Edith Eder (wife of Zionist leader Dr David Eder) (WIZO, 2014). The founders were members of a Zionist committee that visited Palestine in 1918. They were shocked by the conditions women endured in Palestine, particularly in the agricultural settlements where there was no proper housing and climate conditions were hard. Therefore, they decided to establish an organisation which focused their ambitions to improve the quality of life of immigrant women in Israel (WIZO, 2014). The purpose of the organisation was not to fight for women´s rights and equality in the Zionist movement, but to give them the necessary tools to fulfil the tasks that the nation expected of them. It was a Zionist organisation and viewed the establishment of a Jewish state as its first and main goal. Meanwhile, the position and role of women in an eventual Jewish state took a secondary place (WIZO, 2014). WIZO became the first institution to attempt to establish a national diet by teaching women how to cook with the technology and the ingredients available in Mandate Palestine. It created schools to train women in different aspects of the everyday life of the country. Simultaneously, the Israeli Ministry of Welfare sent female instructors to the transition camps in which Middle Eastern immigrants were located. They taught them new foodways based on the nutritional Western beliefs of the time: how to cook with available ingredients and unknown vegetables, as well as Western table manners (Ariel, 2018, 95). Both the Ministry and WIZO gave professional advice to women in the kitchen of kibbutzim on how to use and cook the ingredients available, and how to prepare meals for crowds. They also published cookbooks and newspaper columns to educate women. As will be analysed in detail later in this chapter, WIZO was one of the organisations that published recipe books in the first half of the twentieth century. As aforementioned, these cookbooks had clear educational goals and were part of the melting pot policies of the time. Through their cookbooks, WIZO encouraged women to modify their customs and to adopt what was constructed as a healthier diet based on fresh vegetables and fruit such as aubergines, marrows, and citrus, as well as other native ingredients like olive oil and fresh cheese. They pointed out the political and national responsibility they had and how choosing ingredients and feeding their families had an impact on the development of the nation (WIZO, 1948).

2

EATING AS AN ISRAELI

31

Another fundamental organisation of the time was founded in 1912 by Henrietta Szold and known as Hadassah: The Women´s Zionist Organisation of America (Raviv, 2015, 97). Hadassah started their work by sending pasteurised milk to infants with the aim of improving children’s nutrition (Raviv, 2015). As well as WIZO, Hadassah visited kibbutzim with the aim of changing food habits and teaching women how to cook and serve food to their families “properly” as well as in the communal dining halls of the collective farms, the kibbutzim. Hadassah also published a series of ten booklets called “Guide for Family Nutrition” that aimed to help urban women successfully handle their homes during the Second World War (Tene, 2015). These organisations, together with the Ministry of Welfare, promoted consumption of Israeli products and shaped the Israeli diet through health, shopping, and cooking suggestions. At this point, it is important to consider that the goal of these organisations was not to improve the political and social positions of female immigrants, but to give them the tools to become more efficient in their domestic duties. Such responsibilities were deemed of great importance for the nation. They were also keen to modify those Middle Eastern foodways they considered to be pernicious to the health of individuals, and of the community at large. The next section will analyse examples of cookbooks and explore how the attention given to dietary changes reflected the Zionist ideology of the first years of the state and their willingness to modify their Jewish identity to construct a modern Hebrew society.

The First Cookbooks The first three aliyot2 that arrived in Palestine established the foundations of the future State of Israel. They were the builders and ideologists behind the dream of creating a New Hebrew identity. In the following decades, the immigrations waves continued. Little by little, Jewish communities from the Middle East started to make their way to Israel, especially after the establishment of the State in 1948 and due to wars with neighbouring Arab countries. Not all new immigrants were Zionists. Most of them were refugees, forced to leave countries due to persecution. From the Middle Eastern Jews, it is impossible to say how many went to Israel due to their 2 Waves of Jewish immigration to Palestine beginning at the end of the nineteenth century.

32

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

own convictions, as most of them were forced to leave their countries and had no other option but to go to the new Jewish state (Segev, 2002, 34). With the aim of absorbing and integrating the newcomers into the Jewish society in Palestine, different policies were implemented including those directed at women and concerned with diet, shopping, and cooking. By 1927, WIZO had a cooking and agricultural school in Tel Aviv, published cooking booklets, and was promoting a new diet that corresponded to the new society among urban and rural women (WIZO). In 1927, the Instruction Department of WIZO published two short cookbooks: Vegetable Dishes and Potato Dishes. These were followed in 1928 by Home Economics; Broad Beans, Peas and Carrots and Cabbages and Cauliflower; and in 1929 A Booklet on Baking and Citrus Recipes (WIZO). From the titles of these booklets alone, it is possible to deduce that a fundamental part of changing the diets of the immigrants consisted of encouraging the consumption of fresh vegetables. The campaign Totzeret ha Aretz (Made in Israel) also started during those years. It was adopted by the Jewish Agency in 1936. The campaign aimed to transform the diet of immigrants and promote products made by Jewish hands. It was directed at women, who were in charge of shopping and choosing the ingredients for the home (Raviv, 2015, 53). The Zionist institutions told women that it was their national duty to buy products, such as olive oil and oranges, grown by Jewish hands, even if they were more expensive than the alternatives. During the first decades of the British Mandate of Palestine, most vegetables were produced by Arab farmers. They were cheaper than vegetables produced by Jewish farmers. For this reason, homemakers had to be persuaded by nationalist arguments and encouraged to opt out from the cheapest alternative (Tene, 2015). The aim was also to change the diasporic culture and create a new hegemonic culture where the differences in the communities arriving were not visible anymore, at least not on their tables. Furthermore, the New Hebrew nation had to be economically independent. Therefore, it was vital that their economy, diet, and consumption patterns were not attached to the Arab local economy (Mendel & Ranta, 2014, 423). Agriculture was a fundamental tool; it strengthened ties to the land and recovered the “original” diet of the Jewish people in the Land of Israel. WIZO continued its work training women in domestic and agricultural tasks, not only in the kibbutz but in cities and urban spaces. How to Cook in Palestine? was published in 1937 and it was the first complete cookbook published by WIZO (Meyer, 1937). The book is divided into three

2

EATING AS AN ISRAELI

33

parts, each part in a different language: Hebrew, German, and English. Each part has the same recipes as the others, although advertisements are only included in the Hebrew section. An interesting variation between the different parts of the book is its title. In English, the book is called How to Cook in Palestine, yet in German and Hebrew the word “Palestine” was substituted for Eretz Israel. The book does not provide an explanation for this discrepancy, but a possible justification is that the editor wanted to avoid conflicts with the British officials in the Mandate by using the official name of the land at the time: The British Mandate for Palestine, for the English section. The choice of language is also relevant. Immigrants were taught to read and write in this Hebrew, as most of the new immigrants did not know it. For this reason, the book also includes a dictionary, making it easier to learn new cooking vocabulary in Hebrew. German was chosen as it was the first language of the author, but also because the audience of the book was mainly European. English was the language of the Mandate, providing a reason to also include it in the book. How to Cook in Palestine was written by one of WIZO’s domestic scientists Dr Erna Meyer. Meyer was a well-known German domestic economist, and an active member of WIZO in Palestine. Dr Meyer’s aim was to provide housewives with a tool that would help them to “free their kitchens” from European foodways. Her cookbook offered alternative cooking methods, as well as advice on how to use local ingredients. The book begins by explaining its ideological, melting-pot purpose openly: “The time has come that we housewives must take an attempt, with more energy than before, to free our kitchen from its Galuth- traditions. (…) We should wholeheartedly adjust ourselves to healthy Palestine cooking” (Meyer, 1937, 7). Through the book Dr Meyer continuously tries to remind the reader of the disadvantages of the European diet in comparison with the benefits offered by cooking with local ingredients such as aubergines, lentils, marrows, olive oil, and homemade ketchup. Aware of the problems and challenges that homemakers were facing in their “Old-New Homeland” she tells the “intelligent thinking housewife”, “not only what to cook but how to cook it, using the technology and resources available in Jewish Palestinian kitchens” (Meyer, 1937). The author clearly states in the introduction that although she considers herself—as well as her readers— as European homemakers, “European habits are not only injurious to the health of the family but, in addition, they burden the housewife

34

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

with unnecessary work” (Meyer, 1937, 5). Meyer understood “European habits” as the use of tinned food, long cooking processes, the high consumption of meat, and a lack of consumption of fresh dairy products. The book then focuses on homemakers as a unified group, with the goal of “freeing” the kitchen from diasporic habits and constructing a new national diet. In the eyes of the author, women became agents of nationalisation, and the private space of the kitchen became a politicised site of national construction. Although the aim was to forge European foodways, the book does not confront the immigrants with a radically different understanding of food. Most recipes are not distinctive local Middle Eastern dishes. They are European recipes cooked and adapted to the ingredients available at that time in the Mandate. Recipes are not detailed, and measurements not provided, probably because measurement systems varied depending on the reader’s country of origin. European recipes, although unhealthy and part of “irrational traditions”, are included and adapted to the climate. The products available are “modernised” and adapted to the diet of the ideal of the New Hebrew man. The New Hebrew man did not cherish tradition and was willing to start a new unattached, modern life. However, the book has a whole section on potato recipes, a staple among Eastern European Jews. It also includes recipes for goulash and sauerkraut (Meyer, 1937). Another section is devoted to aubergines and marrows, now popular vegetables in Israel. At that time, they were strange and unknown, yet cheap and always available. The book contains a considerable variety of recipes using aubergines but again, cooked in familiar ways. For example, “eggplant liver” is a vegetarian version of the Ashkenazi classic dish of chopped liver (Meyer, 1937, 112). Along with the recipes, Israeli food products and kitchens are advertised in the book. Almost every two or three pages there is an advertisement promoting the use of a particular brand of oil or a more convenient stove. All the products advertised are Jewish, and Dr Meyer—although clearly aware of economic difficulties—always suggests buying Jewish products, even if they are more expensive than the Arab alternative. In fact, it is never stated which alternatives are available. She states that “The Palestinian housewife’s duty is to support home industries” (Meyer, 1937, 32) making it evident that the publication of this cookbook was part of the government campaign Totzeret ha Aretz. One of its aims was to support Jewish agricultural and dairy production.

2

EATING AS AN ISRAELI

35

As well as the obvious nationalist and propagandist goals, the book does not make any open reference to Jewish dietary laws. It contains no reference to kosher food, and even suggests keeping dairy products and meat in the same fridge.3 This omission probably responds to the Zionist ethos of the time, that tried to emphasise the nationalistic aspects of the Hebrew identity and its secular character while downplaying religious aspects. It made no effort to recognise the ethnic diversity of Jewish communities emigrating to Palestine and shows unwillingness to learn traditional Middle Eastern recipes. The book presents mainly vegetarian recipes. This is not because the author considered times of scarcity. Rather, this reflects a trend in most Israeli cookbooks to try to avoid a diasporic diet that was perceived as unhealthy and meat-heavy (Hirsch, 2009, 583). This trend would continue in the first decades of statehood, not only because it was seen as the healthier option, but because meat, eggs, and other sources of protein were rationed and scarce. How to Cook in Palestine? was the WIZO’s first attempt at formalising the knowledge their members had acquired in the years they had lived in Palestine. It constructs the kitchen as a politicised space of change and national construction, and women as active agents of this new identity. Not only did the book aim to help women to cook with the ingredients and equipment available, but it also helped them to embrace their role as Zionists.

The Tzena: Baking Without Eggs Times of scarcity (Tzena) and rationed food started during the British Mandate in Palestine and continued for a decade after the establishment of the State of Israel. During those years, several political changes took place in Palestine, demonstrating that two different authorities had control over the diet of the Jewish community: the British administration and the Israeli government. The mass immigration of the previous and first decade of the State of Israel, together with the Second World War and the constant confrontation between the Arab population and their neighbours, resulted in the need to control the consumption and distribution of basic goods, 3 It is contrary to kosher laws to eat and store dairy products and meat together. This will be explained in Chapter 4.

36

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

including food. In 1949, The Ministry of Supplies and Regulation of Israel introduced a policy of austerity and food rationing (Rozin, 2015). The head of the ministry, Dov Yosef “saw Tzena as applying basic egalitarianism, and believed that it was incumbent upon a state to care for the welfare of its citizens and therefore be involved in economic life” (Rozin, 2015). The Israeli government conceived the Tzena not only as part of a policy aiming to deal with the scarcity of food, but one that could help construct an egalitarian society and to integrate immigrants. This ideology, based on a socialist worldview, continued the vision of the pioneers who believed the individual sacrifice of pleasures such as good, tasty food was necessary for the well-being of the community (Raviv, 2015, 41). Based on administrative procedures used by the British administration during the Second World War, the new government, supported by WIZO and Hadassah, implemented campaigns directed at housewives. By 1948, according to Orit Rozin, 50% of food consumed by Jews living in the Mandate Palestine was produced by Jews while only 7% of the production was Arab; however, 43% was imported including some basic items like flour, sugar, wheat, margarine, meat, and oil (Rozin, 2015). Food choices had little to do with taste or personal preferences and became a matter of national interest. The authorities gained control over private life and domestic space. Families, and especially women had to adapt their behaviour to fit the national goals. This affected their shopping habits, cupboards, and kitchens. Meat, eggs, sugar, bread, and dairy products were some of the food items that were rationed. Meat had the biggest impact on people’s emotions and perception of scarcity. The Tzena was an ideological move and the effect of the increase in the number of new immigrants. It was also a consequence of declining food imports and the result of transportation problems caused by attacks on the road, a decline in domestic production, and increases in military food consumption (Rozin, 2015). The memory of the Tzena is still present: among those who lived it, and also among new generations. For example, Esther, one of my participants who will appear regularly in other chapters, clearly remembered those times, and talked about them with bitterness: Those were difficult times. I had just arrived from the United States following my Israeli husband and was trying to establish a home and a family. I hadn’t lived in scarcity before, and although my mother had told

2

EATING AS AN ISRAELI

37

me about the difficult times in East Europe, I had no idea of what it meant to drive for hours to get a tiny chicken, or the frustration you feel after making a four-hour line to buy eggs only to find out there are no more until the next week. People were desperate and ate anything. But I was not going to eat pigeons like the rest, I was not going to let my dignity go, so I did buy food on the black market. Yes, of course, I knew it was wrong, the magazines, the radio everybody told us, but I had small children.

As Esther’s memories show, buying on the black market was strongly discouraged and severely punished. That did not stop women participating in it and putting their families before the needs of the nation; many women did not easily accept these impositions and decided to actively resist rationing by buying products on the black market. Those who told me stories about those times had no shame in describing the strategies they used to survive those times. They did not need encouragement. On the contrary, they were proud of their cleverness and the ways they had “cheated” the system. One such story was told to me by my own relatives in Israel. When my great grandfather who lived in Mexico visited his father and brother in Israel during the 1950s, he gave them dollars and a fridge, so they could buy food on the black market and preserve it for longer. The story is well-known by all sides of the family; both in Mexico and Israel, even though there is no contact among them. The story was told to me to explain why I was being welcomed by relatives that before my visit were not aware of my existence; and in a way that had the aim of making me feel proud of the generosity of my ancestors. Although my participants and family were full of stories explaining how they were able to resist or accommodate the restrictions of this period, the official narrative of the Tzena tells a different story. Newspapers, cookbooks, and radio shows advised and encouraged women to make the most of what was available and reminded them of their duty to make the most of rationed ingredients. Food choices became a highly political matter, and the British administration appointed a Food Controller, who oversaw imports and rations. Together with WIZO, the Food Controller published a brochure in 1945 entitled Recipes of the Season. With Haddasah, the Food Controller produced radio shows like Eat More Potatoes (WIZO). But the stories of my participants and my own family contrast with the official narrative of sacrifice for the collective. They show us how Israelis constantly negotiated what the nation

38

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

expected from them, and the behaviour that according to the authorities was supposed to be nationalist. Women decided to prioritise the well-being of their families and redefined what the nation expected from them. As if it had happened yesterday, Esther remembers how she felt rationing was never going to end, and how her immediate concern was to feed the family, rather than fulfil a nationalist duty. She remembers with detail how she cooked hummus for the first time, and the recipes she followed to learn how to cook with little meat or with vegetables that she had never seen before. She also recalled driving to Haifa to see if she could get any more food coming through the port. Sometimes she was successful, and other times not. Esther mentioned looking at WIZO recipe books and newspaper columns and trying to make sense of the ingredients she had to put together a meal, “They were useful” she says, “and very American, I liked that”. One of the cookbooks of the time was simply called The Cookbook. It was written collectively by members of WIZO (WIZO, 1948). The book was popular enough to be re-edited several times during the twentieth century. It reflects the political and social situation of the time it was first published: the need to cook with the ingredients and portions provided by ration cards, the difficulties in finding meat and the intention of the government to “melt” the cultures of the new immigrants together. It reflects the constant efforts made by the government to promote the use of rationed food and to discourage women from buying food on the black market. Although it is evident from their writing that economising and stretching meat portions appeared to be a constant concern, they never explicitly mentioned rationing policies (WIZO, 1948). The anonymous authors of this cookbook appeared to be convinced that the austerity situation was temporal and necessary. Responding to the ideals of the melting pot, promoted by the European Zionists, The Cookbook (Sefer haBishul) took recipes from different contributors of various ethnic backgrounds. However, most of its pages were dedicated to European ingredients and cooking techniques. It also recovered several recipes that had previously appeared in booklets and columns distributed by WIZO. The short introduction to the book was written by the WIZO management; it highlights how the recipes were tested over a period of 20 years and were adapted to the weather and conditions of Israel (WIZO, 1948, 4).

2

EATING AS AN ISRAELI

39

The book was written for a female audience, and its recipes clearly correspond to the Tzena campaign of the government. Although tacitly, it acknowledged the conditions in which the country was living. Most recipes used dairy products. There was a whole section on eggs. Vegetables were suggested as substitutions for (scarce and expensive) meat. In the instructions, WIZO affirms that the decision to include a large vegetarian section separates the books from others published around the world. It recommends Israeli homemakers continue buying local products and substitute meat proteins in their diet for the cheaper and easier to find eggs (WIZO, 1948). Although the books started introducing Middle Eastern recipes—with the 1960 edition even having a complete section on Middle Eastern food—the European roots of the recipes are still rather evident. There is a whole section on potatoes and recipes using barley (a European staple food), but no recipes suggesting alternatives for rice (a popular staple food item in the Middle East). An important section in the book is the one devoted to fish; it is a rather long section that includes several recipes and suggestions to use pickled herring; a popular ingredient among the Jewish communities of Poland and Russia (WIZO, 1948). The inclination to adapt European recipes to local ingredients instead of embracing new local recipes seems to be common throughout the cookbooks of the time. The preference for European recipes made it more difficult for Mizrahi women to adapt to the Tzena policies than for Ashkenazim. Not only did the cookbooks devote much more space to Ashkenazi recipes, the food products subsidised also made it easier to continue with this diet. WIZO were not the only ones interested in publishing Tzena cookbooks. In 1949, Lilian Cornfeld, now known as the “Mother of Israeli cuisine”, published a cookbook to help women cope with austerity policies titled Ma evashel mimanot ha tzena? Madrikh (1949) (What shall I cook from the Tzena rations? A guide). Lilian Cornfeld was a Canadian Jewish woman, who married an Israeli and spent over 40 years living in Israel. She studied Nutrition at Columbia Teachers College and worked for WIZO as Supervisor of Domestic Science. From 1941 to 1942, she also managed the food units of the U.S. Army in Tel Aviv. From 1942 to1944, she operated the food services of the American Red Cross in Tel Aviv, and from 1945 to 1946, she worked as Chief Dietician for the UNNRA Refugee Camps in Palestine, and then Egypt (G. Cornfeld, 1996). In addition, she wrote food columns for the Jerusalem Post and other Israeli newspapers, and broadcast radio programmes about food in

40

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

1938. Many consider her cookbooks to be the first Hebrew Cuisine cookbooks. She also dedicated her time to writing books for special diets and providing nutritional advice (G. Cornfeld, 1996). How to Cook with the Tzena Rations showed women how to stretch available ingredients, how to substitute meat for vegetables, and how to bake with almost no eggs (1949). In her book, Cornfeld suggested following a primarily vegetarian diet, with protein obtained from powdered eggs, milk, and other dairy products. The cover of the book shows women from different ethnic backgrounds in military positions. This highlights the role of cooking as a nationalist duty and the ethnic diversity in Israel. The book continues to have a melting pot approach. However, her recipes follow the trend of promoting Ashkenazi recipes cooked with local ingredients. Cornfeld mentions kosher practices but does not highlight their religious significance. Instead, she outlines the hygienic benefits of kosher practices, particularly in warmer climates such as Israel. This is an interesting example of the author secularising traditional religious values. Instead of asking the readers to change them, she simply suggests a new approach that was in accordance with the secular aspirations of the founders of the state. She explains how to make meat kosher as well as the benefits of separating meat from dairy. She prizes its historical and sanitary aspects and recommends it to “backward countries”. This persists throughout her cookbooks, especially in Israeli Cookery (published in 1962) when the Tzena times were over (Cornfeld, 1962). Another characteristic of Cornfeld’s writing is her defence of Arab food, or as she refers to it “the local diet”. Her cookbooks constantly mention the benefits of the dishes prepared by the “locals”. However, she never mentions Palestine by name and does not attribute any recipe included in her cookbook to them. The Tzena campaign was successful during 1949 and 1950. However, in the second half of 1950 and in 1951 the black market became more active, and the government introduced new policies, including inspections of private cupboards and freezers (Rozin, 2006, 56). One of the reasons for the failure of the Tzena was the lack of provisions made for those who were used to a Middle Eastern diet. Ration cards privileged the European diet subsidising European ingredients like bread but omitting pitta bread (Raviv, 2015, 65). As the cookbooks of the time revealed, these omissions were made as part of the absorption policy, as it was thought that the immigrants from Muslim countries, especially from Yemen, had poor

2

EATING AS AN ISRAELI

41

and “backwards” diets (Cornfeld, 1962). Again, in the case of Iraqi Jews, fundamental ingredients for their diets like rice, pitta bread, and lamb were not included in the subsidised ingredients. This resulted in women exchanging large quantities of white bread for pitta and using the black market whenever it was possible for them (Meir-Glitzenstein, 2015). In theory, the cookbooks should have helped women cook with unknown ingredients such as olive oil, courgettes, tomatoes, and aubergines. Nevertheless, it is well documented that some of them still bought traditional ingredients from the black market (Raviv, 2015). In fact, the tools used by the government, such as cookbooks and nationalistic campaigns, were not enough to convince the Israeli women to put the nation first rather than their children. As the government was not able to fulfil the nutritional needs of children, or at least women perceived it like that, they resisted the new politics not only by buying food on the black market but by sacrificing their rations to give them to their children. Consequently, during those years there was an increase in women’s mortality in Israel (Rozin, 2006, 64). It was well-known that women were breaking the rules by buying food in the black market or exchanging products to obtain those that were aligned with the food culture of their places of origin. In contrast, men became a symbol of morality, as good soldiers that put the nation first. This conceptualisation of men and women’s roles during the Tzena constructed men as agents that were not involved or had any responsibility in the household; men had nothing to be blamed of when rules were broken. Nonetheless, men ate everyday dishes prepared by women with black market ingredients. None of my informants recalled them complaining about a bit of chicken on the plate that should not have been there. Therefore, it is possible to imagine that some men encouraged women to buy black market ingredients.

Times of Milk and Honey The 1960s started with better prospects for Israeli households. It seemed that the war was over, and that austerity was in the past. The food shortages of the forties and fifties became a bitter memory; rationing disappeared, and meat, sugar, flour, and rice became more common at the dinner table of Israelis. Nonetheless, the Zionist aim of creating a new society with a New Hebrew Man had not yet faded. The melting pot ideology remained alive, and the aim of social and political changes,

42

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

the divisions between Ashkenazim and Mizrahim, and attitudes towards religion are also reflected in the recipe books. In the cookbooks of this time, religious elements appeared more frequently. Recipes were kosher, and authors explained how to run a kosher kitchen. Lilian Cornfeld’s popular book, Israeli Cookery (1962) embodied the trends and social situation of Israel during the sixties. Israeli Cookery is a completely different cookbook from the ones that have been analysed up to this point. For the first time in Israeli history, scarcity does not play a central role in the kitchen, and cooks have more freedom to choose recipes and dishes. Writing for a foreign—and possibly a Jewish—female audience considering emigrating to Israel, Lilian Cornfeld provides a detailed explanation of the new Israeli diet and characteristics she considers fundamental to this food culture. Without question, this might be the most popular book by Lilian Cornfeld—it was constantly mentioned by my participants. Although it seems that the intention of the author was to show the unique nature of Israeli cuisine, aspects of an American cooking style remain. Esther told me several times that she liked Cornfeld’s books because her recipes were “really American”. On more than one occasion, Esther said she had learned to cook from cookbooks and newspaper articles as she did not like the way her mother cooked. From those cookbooks, she learned typical Ashkenazi recipes that she now cooks for Shabbat and holidays. Some of these recipes are now labelled as traditionally Israeli like chicken schnitzel and Israeli salad (chopped vegetable salad). She preferred cookbooks written in English as her Hebrew was not that good at the time, but she also looked for familiar recipes using turkey, pancakes, kosher hot dogs, and pasta. Lilian Cornfeld’s books included those dishes. As is evident from the narratives of my participants, Lilian Cornfeld’s use of local ingredients did not meant a complete disengagement from Western food. Cornfeld claimed that “Sabra’ (Israeli) cooking is not entirely Middle Eastern, nor is it European Jewish” (Cornfeld, 1962). It is clear from Cornfeld’s writing that she believed that Israel had built a distinctive national cuisine and that her duty was to promote this diet to Israeli women, future immigrants, and foreigners. Although she acknowledged the existence of different culinary traditions in Israel, she does point out that she considers some of them, such as the Yemenite diet, to be unhealthy (Cornfeld, 1962, 91). Cornfeld never judges recipes according to their taste, but according to what she considers are their health benefits.

2

EATING AS AN ISRAELI

43

Nevertheless, Cornfeld does write about the difference in taste and food preferences of different Jewish communities: “If one wants to please all factions of the Israeli population in a common dining room, there are two major differences in catering: rice and oil for Orientals and potatoes and margarine for Europeans. All communities have less appreciation for anything other than fresh foods: thus, canned and frozen foods do not sell well except to Westerns” (Cornfeld, 1962, 91). This quotation reveals a willingness to accept the difference between communities and a new acceptance of diversity. That said, it does not mean a renunciation of the aims of creating a cohesive cuisine and country. She openly states that there is an “urgent need to create Israeli cuisine” (Cornfeld, 1962, 91). Despite this difference, the author finds common ground between all Israelis, for example, a preference for fresh food over processed or preserved products. She also uses this common ground to start defining the other: the Middle Eastern. Another innovation of Cornfeld’s books is the inclusion of a “Historical Forward” where the Jewish history of persecution is highlighted, as well as the times of the Ottoman Empire. Palestine before 1880 is described as “a disease-ridden land, arid and misgoverned, without natural resources and peopled by a sparse Arab population of some 300,000. But it was home and the land of the dreams” (Cornfeld, 1962, 5). Lilian Cornfeld gave a political tone to the book by pointing out the hardships of the new life in the state and subscribing to the Zionist claims that before their arrival, Israel was an uncivilised and unpopulated land. As mentioned previously, Lilian Cornfeld emphasises the ethnic diversity of Israel, but she does not spare her judgement over the culinary traditions she mentions. She emphasises the backwardness of the “Oriental” Jewish communities, especially the Yemenite community: “Yemenite food is not very cultivated. Most Yemenites never saw sugar or flour and use food in its natural form. They are meat eaters who eat every part of the animal, including inner organs, whether beef or lamb” (Cornfeld, 1962, 7). In contrast, Cornfeld does not consider the Iraqi Jewish community to be as poor as the other Mizrahi communities and qualifies it at a high cultural level (Cornfeld, 1962, 8). She also differentiates between Sephardic Jews and Oriental Jews recognising Sephardic Jews as being the oldest community living in Israel. For this reason, instead of including a section on Sephardic food, she attributes the food eaten traditionally in Jerusalem to this community (Cornfeld, 1962, 25). The backwardness of Yemenites and “Oriental Jews” seems to be the way in which she justifies

44

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

the prevalence of European recipes. Although the author highlights the originality of the Israeli diet, she continues to rely on Ashkenazi traditions.

Conclusion Israel is a country shaped by hundreds of Jewish communities that arrived from the diaspora, carrying with them different experiences and historical trajectories. The Zionist elites tried to unify these experiences and construct a new identity that left those differences in the past and concentrated on the national future of the New Hebrew. Food formed part of a series of policies that had the aim of building a uniform understanding of the nation, of what it meant to be Israeli. Therefore, during the previous decades and the first years after the establishment the State of Israel, cookbooks became a didactic tool; instructional manuals that had the aim of creating a new food culture that helped newcomers to adapt to their new country. They explained to immigrants where to shop, which products to buy, how to eat them, when to eat them, where to eat them, their origins, and the reasons why some dishes were better than others. But it seems that culinary identities cannot be imposed from the top down. On the contrary, this chapter showed that any governmental imposition, even those related to war conditions, had to be negotiated and was reinterpreted by those who were affected by them. Clearly, the melting pot was not a peaceful process in which a new culinary and national identity was quietly adopted by the population. As I will explain in later chapters, it was a violent process by which the authorities privileged the dominant European culture and appropriated local dishes. As Appadurai affirms, “Especially in the culinary matter, the melting pot is a myth” (Appadurai, 1988, 22). Where to shop, what to eat, and how to cook were seen as female responsibilities of national importance. During times of scarcity, this decision became even more prominent. The everyday lives of families, their tables, and their kitchens became a space under governmental control and supervision. Women resisted the limits and guidelines given to them by the authorities. They used all resources available to them to feed their families according to what they thought was best for them, even though it was not necessarily best for the nation. Women continually negotiated the dietary changes and food policies imposed by the authorities. They used the black market during times of rationing, they did not modify their food practices, and they preserved their diasporic traditions.

CHAPTER 3

Between Tel Aviv and the Kibbutz: Rural and Urban Diets

Nobody paid any attention to what we were eating, we just ate to survive. Every week we had the same food, I hated the meatballs. We had them twice a week. On Monday, the meatballs were fried, and then on Thursday they served meatballs again but disguised with tomato sauce. The meatballs had more flour than meat. I didn’t like them. We also always had the “Israeli salad,” they put a plate on the table with vegetable, olive oil, and lemons, and we cut them and peeled them, and prepared our own dish. I think they used to call it Ben-Gurion salad because he liked to eat vegetables in this way. I was a thin girl, not like now, and they spoiled me a lot. Not my parents, as at the time we did not live with our parents, we lived in the children’s house. But the woman that took care of me she always had something special for me to eat, I was a fussy eater, so she needed to find a way of making me eat something.

Hava’s memories of food in the kibbutz highlight a fundamental part of life in Israel during the 1950s and 1960s: the kibbutz and the socialist ethos that surrounded it. During the first decades of the State of Israel, as Hava was growing up, the rural life of the kibbutz formed a fundamental aspect of Israeli society, and it contrasted with the urban life of cities such as Tel Aviv. As time went by, political changes, war, and globalisation altered Israeli society. The rural collective lifestyle of the kibbutzim almost disappeared, and a consumerist, urban society became the norm. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 C. Prieto Piastro, Eating in Israel, Food and Identity in a Globalising World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87254-0_3

45

46

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

In this chapter, I will analyse how food trends changed from the 1950s–1990s in Israel. I focus on the differences between the food culture of the kibbutz and the city, specifically Tel Aviv. Analysing the changes and continuities of food trends during these decades allows us to better understand the process of the national formation of Israel. It also highlights the political, social, and ideological changes of the time. Food culture reveals how those “macro-changes” affected the daily lives of ordinary people. It also shows how women accommodated or resisted these transformations according to their circumstances and their own ideological and political stances. These changes also highlight interactions between elites and non-elites in the construction of national identity. Tim Edensor affirms that the nation is sustained and shaped by the norms and framework that it imposes on everyday life (Edensor, 2002, 91). This is particularly clear in the case of the kibbutz. Here, political changes and the state ideology became fundamental agents in the mundane life of people. Those changes deeply affected lives, family structures, and even the way people ate. I argue that the local, stoic, socialist life of the kibbutz contrasted with the Western consumerism of the city, and that these differences were noticeable in the foodways of both places. Through the analysis of the food culture of the kibbutz, the role of women in the national project will become prominent. As I explore in this chapter, for those women that lived a collective lifestyle, baking was not seen as a gendered oppressive obligation. On the contrary, baking became a fundamental tool of resistance. In the case of urban life, I contend that as scarcity and rationing disappeared, Israelis developed an appetite for foreign and new flavours that were seen as part of a “normalisation” of everyday life. Israelis were willing to experiment with new tastes, especially Asian, and to organise Western-style parties. The need to “choose the nation” which was highlighted through every bite in the previous socialist ideology lost its importance. The middle classes were now free to taste new dishes without any national guilt. Simultaneously, the authorities’ melting pot ideal of previous decades was gradually substituted for multicultural policies. These policies became especially useful to promote the image of a tolerant, inclusive Israel.

3

BETWEEN TEL AVIV AND THE KIBBUTZ: RURAL AND URBAN DIETS

47

The Kibbutz in the Fifties “Where is your camera man?” Chen asks, disappointed after a few seconds of meeting me. Chen, an Israeli food writer, kindly agreed to give me an interview, but was surprised by the modesty of my inquiry, and my lack of equipment. A few minutes after that first encounter, I found myself in a taxi with her. We were on our way to her favourite restaurant in Tel Aviv, and I found myself listening to her well-rehearsed views on Israeli food. By memory, Chen repeats a few phrases about how she still considers it impossible to talk about an Israeli cuisine, but how the country is in the process of constructing a food culture worthy of all the “hype around Israeli chefs worldwide”. For some hours, she continues to deliver a speech about Israeli history that seems to be thought through and carefully planned. After sharing a few plates of food and some drinks, Chen begins to leave the script and talks about her childhood in the kibbutz. Chen grew up in a kibbutz in the north of Israel with her mother. Although her father was around for a few years, he left when she was still a child. Her mother left Israel after she fell in love with a foreigner and Chen found herself growing up between the kibbutz, her grandmother’s house, and the home of her aunt—a diplomat. Her memories of the kibbutz are bittersweet. Chen glorifies the socialist past of Israel but acknowledges the many problems a communal farm life had; boring, plain food and what she considers as lack of individual freedom. She also blames the structure of the kibbutz for her detachment of family ties, especially with her mother. Her story is not unique. Many of my participants recounted stories of childhoods in the kibbutz that repeated similar patterns of nostalgia and disappointment. In these accounts, memories of food and motherhood were closely related. Still, Chen’s narrative is striking. The contrast between the different households she grew up in, her deep knowledge of food, and the way she relates ingredients and dishes to specific meaning in her life makes the environments in which she grew up more distinct. This also highlights the diversity of the Israeli experience and the impossibility of creating one, unique way of being Israeli. Chen grew up in a secular kibbutz, one of many founded during the first decade after the establishment of the State. At the time, the kibbutz represented the socialist ideological triumph of the labour movement. It was part of the collective way of production envisioned by the founders of the state. Its collective way of life formed a fundamental part of the

48

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

identity of the country (Segev, 2002). The first years of statehood were characterised by economic crisis. However, during the first three years of independence, 300 agricultural settlements including both kibbutzim and moshavim1 were founded. Their agricultural production covered the entire food demand of the country (Helman, 2014, 11). Although kibbutz members did not constitute the majority of the population of Israel, they were seen by many as “the spearhead of Zionism and the jewel in Israel’s crown” (Avieli, 2018, 112). The kibbutz movement was founded by the second wave of Jewish settlers from Eastern Europe that arrived between 1904 and 1914. It was established as a socialist social organisation in which members carried out all activities of daily life (Avieli, 2018, 118). The ideology of the kibbutz focused on collective property and common income. Every member received what they needed from a common fund regardless of the contribution they made to the workforce of the farm (Gvion, The Changing Significance of Cooking and Meals for Kibbutz Women, 2015, 166). Kibbutz membership was voluntary, decisions were taken democratically, and means of production were owned collectively (Helman, 2014, 140). Although kibbutzim were founded with various approaches and worldviews, and members had multiple national origins, the lifestyle of the kibbutz was shared, and certain basic structures could be found in all of them, such as a communal kitchen and dining hall (Helman, 2014, 143). The collective dining hall was central to the kibbutz. Its importance for the socialist project was fundamental and they were established as “hubs of commensality and food sharing” (Avieli, 2018, 117). Following the example of the Soviet Union, the kibbutz transferred food preparation to the public sphere with the purpose of promoting communist values such as egalitarianism and collective responsibility (Caldwell 2002, 300). Chen remembers the kibbutz food, the weekly menus, and the taste of each of the dishes: “We ate to survive in the kibbutz. We had to finish everything, and the food was always the same: Schnitzels on Sunday, stuffed peppers on Monday, a vegetable dish on Tuesday, fish on Wednesdays and on Thursday a pie using the leftovers of the week. On Friday, it was a sit-down table and we had chicken soup, rice, Russian salad, a Jewish European dinner, let’s say”. In the same way as Hava mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, Chen was haunted by the memories of

1 Agricultural cooperatives in which land is own privately.

3

BETWEEN TEL AVIV AND THE KIBBUTZ: RURAL AND URBAN DIETS

49

her childhood in the kibbutz. Their experience with food was similar, and they both highlighted the monotony of the dishes and the lack of excitement in them. “Food in the kibbutz was never about pleasure or about enjoying ourselves. It was about fuel, we needed fuel to work the land, and we were only allowed to cook with the ingredients we grew, or that were cheap and Jewish”, said Chen. Although both Chen and Hava bitterly remembered the experience of eating in the kibbutz dining hall, they both mentioned the importance of baking and baked goods during their childhood. They described how the act of baking connected them to their mothers. In their memories, baking represented an escape from the frugality of the kibbutz diet. They were apart from their mothers most of the time, but baking was an especially important way for them to establish and maintain a connection. According to Chen it was also a way “of resisting collective life ideals in which pleasure had no place, and traditional feminine activities such as baking, or cooking were looked down upon”. During Chen and Hava’s childhood, kibbutz children grew up outside their parent’s household under the care of the community. They lived and shared daily routines with their peers, not their families. Children ate together in the dining hall and received a diet higher in calories than the one that their parents had (Helman, 2014, 144). Many kibbutz mothers treated children to cookies and cakes baked in the communal oven. They had to sign up to use the oven once a week. Hava also mentioned that one of the women who took care of her in the children’s house constantly brought her little treats, a detail that makes her remember her with gratitude. Neither Chen nor Hava discussed the flavours of the cookies or cakes their mothers used to bake. They simply remembered that they were a special treat. Even the women that disliked cooking for the communal dinner enjoyed baking. Baking became the only way in which women could feed their children and establish connections with them. As the dinner hall provided them with their main meals, treats in the form of baked goods were a way through which women were able to satisfy their desire to feed their families. However, I was told that even in this case, women had to join a list and wait their turn to use the collective oven. Cookies were a cherished memory for Hava. With sadness, she told me how her 22-year-old mother escaped at night to see her son in the children’s house:

50

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

It is only now that I have my own children that I understand the cruelty of taking away the baby of a 22-year-old woman. She escaped at night and saw my brother from the window; she just wanted to make sure he was ok. One day she was discovered. They had a general meeting to discuss the problem and punished her. It was supposed to be liberating, not taking care of your children, but it was cruel. The only way she was able to take care of us was by baking. My parents had a small closet on their porch, where my mother left the cookies she baked during the week. She had to wait for her turn to use the communal oven. It was incredible to see all these “liberated” women making a line to bake cakes and cookies. I remember going every morning, to my parents’ flat, without anybody seeing me and stealing one of the cookies. Of course, my mother knew we were going to take them; she left them there for us.

Cooking, more than agricultural tasks, became a way to express the women’s desire of a family life of their own. It showed their unwillingness to prioritise the nation’s needs over those of their family. In the same way that previous generations of Israeli women had resisted their national duties by buying food for their children on the black market, the women of the kibbutz were willing to let their family life be ruled by the authorities. Baking allowed them to feel closer to their children by establishing connections through food consumption. Hava laughed as she recalled the image of the women forming lines to bake cakes for their families. In her opinion, women’s equality had nothing to do with keeping women apart from their families: “We were still given jobs in the kitchen and the laundry, that were not as appreciated as the ones men had, and on top of that we were deprived of the company of our parents or children”. Hava’s mother, alongside other women of the kibbutz, resisted the socialist idea of their communities by performing traditional female tasks such as baking. As women, they had been told to prioritise the collective good over their family’s needs; as committed members of the kibbutz, they were supposed to work without the interference of domestic duties and baking for their children went against these expectations. Chen also recalled the baked goods her mother would make for her: I remember the smell of cookies and cakes that came from the kitchen each afternoon. The women of the kibbutz took turns baking, they hated cooking, but they loved baking. Except one: my mother. My mother was a beautiful woman who left the kibbutz and my father when I was young.

3

BETWEEN TEL AVIV AND THE KIBBUTZ: RURAL AND URBAN DIETS

51

She then went to Italy; she fell in love with an Italian and left. I was stuck with the bad food of the kibbutz and only enjoyed food when I was spending holidays with my grandmother or my aunt. I remember the rest of the children eating the baked goods made by their mothers. I didn’t have that; I didn’t have a mother with me, so I didn’t have cookies unless somebody took pity on me.

Both Chen and Hava remembered the unwillingness kibbutz women had for cooking for the dining hall. By collectively preparing food in the public realm, women were supposed to be liberated from domestic oppression. However, the work in the dining hall kitchen was assigned different value to tasks in the fields. In addition, women were not given the choice of cooking for their families; baking became a way of taking care of their children, especially when they lived in the children’s house. They related baking to motherhood, to feeling closer to their families and less embedded in the collective ideal of the kibbutz life. It seemed that baking became a rebellious act in the kibbutz, a “redemptive moment” (Gardiner, 2000). Through this, women showed their discomfort with the behaviour that was expected from “New Hebrew Women” without breaking the social convention of kibbutz life or the routines. Although Chen and Hava remembered the food of the collective dinners as monotonous and relate it to feelings of abandonment, they do not have strong memories of living in scarcity in the kibbutz as some other participants that grew up in urban contexts have from the same time. As kibbutzim produced some of their food and had a frugal way of life, the scarcity of the Tzena did not considerably change their diets. However, Hava and Chen both remember that after the fifties, as teenagers leaving the kibbutz for the army or for holidays, they were impressed by the luxury and the variety of food available in the cities, especially in Tel Aviv. This increased their determination of moving to different urban spaces.

Kibbutz and the Institutional Diet Hava and Chen mentioned in their accounts of kibbutz life, that the food in the dining hall was predominantly Ashkenazi. They both mentioned dishes such as chicken soup, roasted potatoes, chopped liver, boiled chicken, schnitzels, white bread—especially challah—pasta, boiled eggs as staples of the kibbutz kitchen; together with local ingredients such as vegetables and dairy. Rahel, an Israeli academic, explained to me during

52

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

a conversation at her home, that the women in charge of feeding the kibbutz were not valued in the same way as male members that worked in the fields. The fact that most workers in the kitchen were women contradicted the aims of the institution, to free women from domestic work (Helman, 2014, 150). The fact that women were not cooking exclusively from their families did not alter gender roles; it only transferred traditional female duties from the domestic sphere to the public one. Rahel maintained that the knowledge women gained from the training they received from WIZO was fundamental for the development of a healthy national diet. The diet described as monotonous by Chen and Hava was—according to Rahel—healthier than in most other countries at the time. She maintained that apart from Mexico and Italy, in the seventies, no other country but Israel ate fresh salads and vegetables. However, she acknowledged there was a disregard for the flavour and taste of food. Except for falafel—that was attributed to the Jewish Yemenite community—Middle Eastern food was viewed as quick, easy food. It was avoided in the kibbutz as WIZO instructors perceived it as unhealthy, impractical, and labour-intensive. The diet of the kibbutz became the model for institutional food in Israel. Lilian Cornfeld included a chapter on institutional food in her cookbook Israeli Cookery (Cornfeld, 1962).. Cornfeld highlighted the quality of ingredients grown and used in Israel, such as grapes and oranges. She advocated for the use of ingredients native to Israel, including cumin, pine nuts, sesame oil, and red pepper. She encouraged the use of vegetables in the kibbutz, praising the diet of the kibbutznik, its simplicity, and nutritional value. Nonetheless, her recipes in other sections of the book, as mentioned in the previous chapter, privilege the use of “European” ingredients including potatoes. These are put before local ingredients like tomatoes and aubergines. This could be taken as another difference between the diets of the cities and the kibbutz. While the kibbutz women were directly trained by WIZO instructors they had little choice in what to cook for the communal dinner. Women cooking in private settings and for their families had more choice and less training in the official diet. Therefore, they could maintain elements of their previous diets without direct state intervention (Fig. 3.1). Lilian Cornfeld’s book shows us that although it was changing, the official European food discourse in Israel had not disappeared in the seventies. Although falafel and hummus were highly popular Israeli street food—and Cornfeld points out the different “ethnic foods” available in

3

BETWEEN TEL AVIV AND THE KIBBUTZ: RURAL AND URBAN DIETS

53

Fig. 3.1 Lunch in a contemporary Kibbutz

the country—Ashkenazi food remained at the heart of the Israeli public discourse, especially in the kibbutz and other institutions (Cornfeld, 1962). Ashkenazi food was also served in school canteens and hospitals; it had become the standard institutional food. Kibbutz food, which combined European food and local ingredients, played a fundamental part in the construction of the Israeli identity and the “national” way to eat. Even in the seventies, the kibbutz was still a key institution for Israel, although it slowly began to be phased out of the mainstream culture. However important the kibbutz experience was for the formation of Israeli identity, the memories of my participants show the discontent and

54

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

dissatisfaction that the food served in the collective dining room and children’s houses could provoke. It also explains how Israelis started to look for different ways to eat in the privacy of their homes, or even in the public sphere but far away from the kibbutzim dining rooms and the scarce cupboards of the past. These other ways to eat were mainly urban and rooted in the experiences of the diaspora. They evolved in the Jewish identities of Israelis and in the desire to experience new and consumerist worlds.

Caviar and Champagne for a Simple Kibbutznik In contrast with the kibbutz diet, food trends in the cities of Israel changed rapidly after the Tzena. Israelis were hungry for new culinary experiences and a taste of the past (Groslik & Ram, 2013). Chen affirmed: It took several decades for the different immigrant communities to feel free to cook their own food in Israel. They felt that the Israeli thing to do was cooking Polish grey food that was seen as refined, delicate, and national. It wasn’t until the seventies that this changed. It was David Ben-Gurion who decided that the European food and culture had become the dominant Israeli way of living. But well, I guess he didn´t know better, in the end that was his culture so I suppose I can forgive him for that.

Since the 1970s, standard Israeli food has included: chicken soup with dumplings, challah bread, chopped liver, beetroot salads, roast potatoes, chicken schnitzel, stuffed cabbage, and Arab street food such as falafel and hummus. It was not until the 1980s that Mizrahi Jews in Israel felt entitled to cook their traditional dishes publicly, as a result of the political changes of the country and the new value given to “ethnic” foods by the Israeli population. Dishes such as falafel, hummus, shakshuka,2 and sabih3 quickly became popular and a matter of pride for the whole population. However, Mizrahi food had never disappeared completely from the privacy of some kitchens. In the kibbutz Chen ate a standard Israeli settler’s diet. In her grandmother’s kitchen, she learned other ways of 2 Eggs poached in a tomato and pepper sauce and usually served in the same pan in which they were cooked. 3 Sabih consists of a pitta bread stuffed with fried aubergine, chopped salad, boiled eggs (traditionally overnight), tahini, and amba (mango pickled: more accurate to call it a pickled mango condiment/sauce).

3

BETWEEN TEL AVIV AND THE KIBBUTZ: RURAL AND URBAN DIETS

55

eating, according to her “less Israeli and more Jewish”. Chen´s grandmother fed her with more exciting food than the monotonous cuisine of the dining hall. She also held a different eating philosophy from that of the kibbutz. She constantly told Chen “If you don’t like it, you don’t eat it” and she let her choose what she wanted to eat. This way of eating greatly differed from Chen’s experience in the kibbutz where she had to eat everything. The socialist ideology of the first pioneers was still alive in the kibbutz, where the ascetic lifestyle left little to no space for pleasure. However, in the city, similar attitudes were gradually disappearing. The contrast between both ways of eating had a great impact on the way Chen views food now. She remembered the meals she shared with her Moroccan grandmother with nostalgia and gratitude. Her grandmother cooked traditional Moroccan dishes with whatever ingredients she found available. Chen remembered her grandmother using turmeric and lemon peel in her dishes. Until recently, she did not know that her grandmother was trying to substitute saffron and other spices with these ingredients and that “authentic Moroccan food” does not use them. She explained: I didn’t know that Moroccan ingredients were either not available in Israel or too expensive for my grandmother, so when I learned to cook, I always used turmeric and not saffron for Moroccan dishes. I still do, that is how my grandmother used to, and I don’t care how the real thing is made, I just want to remember her.

Chen’s grandmother was not alone in the process of adapting her culinary knowledge to her new conditions. As Richard Wilk points out, substituting ingredients is part of a process of creolisation, a violent and complicated process by which a new cuisine is formed (Wilk, 2006, 120). As I discuss further in the final chapter, the formation of Israel’s food culture clearly illustrates the process of culinary creolisation. This can be seen in the way that Chen’s grandmother cooked and adapted her recipes to what was available. Substituting ingredients for local or cheaper ones contributed to the formation of a new food culture and the reinterpretation of diasporic dishes. Undeniably, Ashkenazi dishes suffer from changes; for example, in Europe, schnitzel is made with veal while in Israel it is made with chicken. The cuisines of Middle Eastern Jews saw even more changes than their European counterparts. Although many ingredients traditionally used for cooking Mizrahi dishes were available in Israel, the national European food science of the time labelled many

56

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

traditional Mizrahi recipes as unhealthy. Mizrahim were encouraged to eat less meat, to substitute flat bread with white bread, to use chickpeas instead of fava beans in falafel as many Jews were allergic to them, to use turmeric instead of saffron and ptitim4 in the place of rice. Israelis were also encouraged to avoid foreign products (many were not available) and to always favour the use of those produced locally by Jewish hand such as cheeses from Tsafet for Yemenite recipes. Boiled kubbeh in lemon or beetroot soup is a popular dish, especially in Jerusalem among Israelis. Although this dish is attributed to the Jewish Iraqi community, it is not prepared in the same way that it was in Baghdad. Iraqi kubbeh is made with ground rice while the Israeli version is mostly made with semolina. The reason behind this substitution was the scarcity of rice in the fifties. The expensive and rare ingredient was swapped for a cheaper and common alternative. Nowadays, most restaurants will serve kubbeh made with semolina. Although some older women do remember it being made with rice, some of them continue to use semolina as it is easier than grinding the rice. Chen’s grandmother was one of thousands of women that spent an important part of their life thinking about how they could adapt their diet to their new country, without losing their identity in the process. Chen’s grandmother became her maternal figure. She taught Chen how to cook, and how to understand and perform the nation. As a result, Chen identifies herself as a Mizrahi Jew. She looks down at Ashkenazi food culture, at Ashkenazi politics and at ways of handling the state and the conflict with the Palestinians. Chen learned how to be a Moroccan Jew in Israel from her grandmother. Chen enjoyed the time spent with her and the food she cooked for her, but these weeks with her grandmother exacerbated her feelings of loneliness and her dissatisfaction with the life and food of the kibbutz. Chen’s grandmother’s kitchen and the communal dining hall of the kibbutz were not the only places where Chen learned how to perform the nation and behave like an Israeli. She spent the summers with her aunt, eating caviar and champagne in the south of Israel close to the sea. “Can you imagine? The simple Israeli girl from the kibbutz was able to eat Russian Caviar in front of the sea in Eilat; that was magic”. Chen was convinced that her aunt and uncle were some sort of spies, working for

4 Also known in Israel as Ben-Gurion’s rice and as Maftoul in Arabic.

3

BETWEEN TEL AVIV AND THE KIBBUTZ: RURAL AND URBAN DIETS

57

the Israeli government in Arab countries as she could not explain this sort of life full of luxury in 1970s Israel. Through her eyes, the only justification for a life full of privilege in the form of food was explained through an extreme commitment to their country. Chen learned then that there were different kinds of Israeli diet, and different ways of understanding the nation. You could have a life of luxury but still be devoted to Israel, mix traditional dishes from Morocco with local ingredients, or you could follow the sparse diet of the kibbutz. Chen´s upbringing was not uncommon. The contrast between the realities of kibbutz life, the kitchen full of past flavours adapted to the new conditions, and the availability of luxury products reflect the social situation of the country from the seventies onwards. Chen grew up in a world of contradictions, where tradition, religion, innovation, and different political ideologies and ways of thinking clashed in the everyday. Her life in the kibbutz was simple, and her activities were dictated by a socialist Zionist worldview. On the other hand, when she visited her Mizrahi grandmother or her aunt, she was able to experiment with different ways of being Israeli and what it meant to be Jewish. Chen is still today a convinced leftist activist, an active member of Meretz. She retains a soft spot for caviar and champagne and a profound dislike for Israeli institutional food.

Urban Life: From the Kitchen with Love By 1975 Israeli food discourse and the political landscape had changed drastically. As the socialist ideology of the pioneers started fading, Israel’s economy became more open to foreign investment and privatisation. After the Labour Party lost the 1977 elections, Israel moved slowly to a free market. The new right wing Prime Minister, Menachem Begin saw the kibbutz, and the ideology behind it, as the main enemy of his new economic and social vision for the country (Segev, 2002, 62). More Israelis moved to the city. By the 1980s, the dream of the kibbutz was disappearing and most of the population lived in cities such as Haifa and Tel Aviv or in their suburbs. Israelis in urban contexts changed the way they saw food, the way they cooked, ate, and shared their meals (Groslik & Ram, 2013, 222). For the first time, entertaining at home became a legitimate activity that did not put that host’s commitment to their country in doubt. On the contrary, the post-socialist Israeli urban middle-class was keen to be “normal”. By normal, they referred to the

58

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

desire, reported in many post-socialist countries, of living according to Western living standards (Fehervary, 2002, 370). Cocktail parties and Western dishes formed part of this yearning to normalise life—to leave behind years of war and scarcity and the socialist ideals that the founding fathers wanted Israelis to live upon. As urban middle-class families started to organise dinner parties for friends and family, the longing for cookbooks explaining how to host them increased. As a result, cookbooks which promised to teach modern recipes and that could be used for sophisticated cocktail parties increased. The book that started this kitchen revolution in Israel was the selfpublished book by Ruth Sirkis, From the Kitchen with Love: The Secrets of Entertainment (1975). Sirkis was born in Tel Aviv and began her career in 1967 as a food columnist for the magazine AT . She married a diplomat and from 1972–1980, lived in the United States. In an interview she gave me in March 2015 in Tel Aviv, she described her travels and food experiences: Not just recipes, I wrote about places all over the world where you can find good food because I travel a lot with my husband. I wrote about California, New York, Las Vegas, New Orleans, about food, places, restaurants hotels, vineyards in France, in Germany and in England, Czechoslovakia, and then I wrote about food in Japan, that I visited, as well as Singapore, Korea, Hong Kong, Australia and South Africa.

Sirkis wrote this book while she lived in Los Angeles and entertained hundreds of guests every month, as part of her diplomatic duties. She published it to help Israeli women organise fashionable cocktail parties, afternoon teas, and dinners: My duty was to create relations with people my husband wanted to entertain, and you make good relations at the table. Sometimes I had 15 people for a party in my house, other times 20, so I made a buffet. On other occasions I had 6 guests for tea. This was new in Israel, because you either had your family or friends over, they were not used to these events. My inspiration for the recipes came from going to the best restaurants and being invited to the houses of very rich people; they always had the best. I took the inspiration from books and traveling. It is a work that is not simple, it has a lot of layers.

3

BETWEEN TEL AVIV AND THE KIBBUTZ: RURAL AND URBAN DIETS

59

Although Ruth Sirkis’ book would become Israel’s most popular cookbook (and it remains so), selling over a million copies, in 1975 its publication was not easy. The book that would become a national bestseller, surpassed only by the Bible, was not well received by the publishers of the time (Avieli, 2018, 26). Some publishers had the impression that Israel was not ready for a cookbook that was not concerned with scarcity, but with the pleasure of eating; a book that revealed the new living standards of the urban Israeli middle-class and their desire to be part of Western society. In her study about post-socialist Hungary, Krisztina Fehervary points out that this craving for consumer goods also reveals that people had maintained the expectation of a Western-style standard of living. This was most evident in their private lives, where the state, at least superficially, had less control than in the public sphere (Fehervary, 2002, 372). In Israel, the popularity of Sirkis’ book not only reveals a desire for normality, but also, a longing for a Western type of life. European Jews had this longing, even before immigrating to Israel. Ofer Vadi, the editor of the publishing house Lunchbox, confirmed that Sirkis wanted to publish the book several years earlier, but the economic crisis made publishers believe that a recipe book for entertaining was a waste of their time. Sirkis decided to open her own publishing house and edit her own cookbooks. From the Kitchen with Love is the first modern Israeli cookbook, and it is possible to find it in the houses of most middleclass Israelis. Although in our interview Sirkis did not agree with the idea of her book being perceived as something superfluous; she did say that at the time she wanted to publish it, nobody believed her book was going to be as successful as it remains: The first edition was 5000, and they were sold immediately. They didn’t believe it was going to be that successful, but in few months, it sold 17,000. This year [2015] it has been 40 years since its publication. The publishers decided to recognise the book in the Jerusalem book fair. They called the event “From the Kitchen with Love, the book that changed the history of Israeli cuisine.” The organizers invited a lot of people to the event and talked about the book and so on. This book established the measurements for all the cookbooks; it was the model for later publishing.

From the Kitchen with Love was one the first cookbooks in a long list of successful publications by Ruth Sirkis. It established a new way of eating and entertaining in the Israeli home. The book covers different

60

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

types of parties from cocktail parties to formal dinners and the fashionable “fondue parties” of the seventies. Alongside recipes, it explains to Israeli homemakers how to set the table for different occasions, which dishes are appropriate for each occasion and the best ways of serving dishes (Sirkis, 1975). The book did not include Middle Eastern recipes. On the contrary, it introduced the Israeli reader to the most fashionable culinary trends of the West, and particularly of the United States. It manifested the new ethos in Israeli cooking, a new way of leisure that reflected ideological and economic changes of the country and the aspirations for the sophistication of the middle-class (Ranta & Prieto Piastro, 2019, 123). The socialist ethos was losing popularity. Ruth Sirkis’ books are proof of the desires of the middle-class to leave austerity and nationalism in the past. Fine dining, fast-food chains, and increased meat consumption showed the wish of many Israelis to enjoy the country’s economic bonanza and their determination to leave behind the Tzena and the kibbutz world.

Urban Life: A Taste for the Exotic Ruth Sirkis followed From the Kitchen with Love with another successful book. This time, her goal was not to teach how to serve a Western-style buffet but to show the Israelis how to cook Chinese food. The book The Chinese Cuisine, written in 1979, was the first Chinese food book written in Hebrew, and showed the longing of Israelis to explore new cuisines and exotic flavours that allowed them to travel, at least in culinary terms, to faraway lands (Sirkis, 1979). Sirkis’ book, which sold 15 million copies, was based on her knowledge of Chinese restaurants in American cities (Groslik & Ram, 2013, 226). The book attempts to bring home what was happening on the streets of Tel Aviv. A new love for fine dining took hold of Israelis, especially for Chinese food. During the seventies and eighties, new Chinese restaurants opened their doors in Tel Aviv. They attracted a professional middle-class, thirsty for new and exotic experiences that could prove their cosmopolitanism and good taste. Foreign cuisine restaurants were preferred by the middle classes above Israeli food eateries and Chinese food became particularly popular (Groslik & Ram, 2013, 229).

3

BETWEEN TEL AVIV AND THE KIBBUTZ: RURAL AND URBAN DIETS

61

In his study of Chinese food consumption in Bulgaria, Yuson Jung suggests that Bulgarians consumed Chinese food to feel normal in a Westerner style, and to affirm their sociocultural position within the global order (Jung, 2012, 581). What happened in Israel was similar to the phenomenon observed by Jung in Bulgaria. Eating in Chinese restaurants became a marker of normality, a normality measured by Western standards of living. Those first middle-class urban consumers of Chinese food were not preoccupied with authenticity. Instead, they tried to imitate what they imagined as a normal Western lifestyle. That included eating out in Chinese restaurants. In 1981, famous chef Yisrael Aharoni opened his restaurant Yin-Yang in Rothschild Boulevard, one of the most expensive streets in Tel Aviv. Aharoni said: A friend of mine ate my food and said I had to open a restaurant. And I did. It was the first Chinese restaurant in Tel Aviv. In 1981. In a blink of an eye, it was an immediate success. Chinese food was so new then. There weren’t that many restaurants, and food culture wasn’t big then. Chinese dishes and chopsticks were new. Nobody knew how to eat with chopsticks. As a result, in the next decade, after I opened my restaurant, there were 17 Chinese restaurants in Tel Aviv. It was so popular, and I am arguably one of the first people who brought Chinese food to Israel. (Wei, 2012)

Aharoni had studied culinary arts in Taiwan and returned to Israel ready to open the Israeli palates to new experiences. His version of Chinese food, as well as the one presented in Sirkis’s book, was an Americanised and kosher version of Asian flavours. Aharoni became the first celebrity chef in Israel; he has written more than 20 cookbooks and hosted several TV shows, as the trend for eating Chinese food was also adopted in the Israeli household. Chinese food was not only “Western” but neutral; it did not have any moral or historical connotation for Israelis. It was new, exotic and had never been anti-Semitic; it was a recipe for success. The diners at his restaurants were not looking for an authentic Chinese experience, they were searching for the possibility of restating their identity as Western consumers in a global context. According to Nir Avieli, Chinese food was not the only food that became popular during these decades. Italian restaurants followed the same pattern as Chinese food and arrived to Israel through the influence of American popular culture (Avieli, 2018, 87). Italian restaurants

62

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

were perceived as family-friendly, a characteristic viewed as positive, in a country where family values are at the centre of the national ethos (Avieli, 2018, 92). Chinese food consumption became “normalised” in Israel during the 1980s. By the 1990s it was synonymous with fast, cheap food. During the 1990s, the Italian food of the 1960s in which ingredients and recipes were nationalised to suit Israeli palates and kosher restrictions was replaced by a more “authentic” take on Italian food as Italian ingredients were imported, and a more cosmopolitan taste developed. The Israeli middleclass became more preoccupied with the authenticity of the food they were eating. They started travelling more and looking for “real flavours”. Nevertheless, a localised version of Japanese food that includes deep fried sushi rolls became popular among the middle-class and Orthodox Jews. It is common to find kosher sushi restaurants throughout Israel. In recent decades, Chinese food has once again earned a place on the upper middleclass table and it is often mixed with other Asian flavours (Groslik & Ram, 2013, 230).

Changing Israel’s Image: Beyond Milk and Honey As the eighties and nineties advanced, the fragmentation of Israeli society became deeper. The international community viewed Israel as an oppressor and not a victim, especially after the 1987–1991 intifada; a Palestinian uprising against the Israeli occupation. Aiming to improve their image and show the world that Israeli society was multicultural, tolerant, and diverse, the government returned to food and used it once again as a tool of propaganda. The best example of this is Israel Beyond the Land of Milk and Honey, an online book available on the website of the Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs and edited by the Israeli Embassy in Washington. Since 1995, it has been modified several times with the final edition published in 2002 (Ministry of Foreign Affairs Israel, 2002). Israel Beyond the Land of Milk and Honey is one of the best examples of Israeli government efforts to change the negative image of the country in the international arena. By presenting a “cultural mosaic” of the country, they try to attract tourists to Israel and gain sympathy from people around the world. The book can be read in English, Hebrew, Russian, and Arabic. Although it is an initiative of the Embassy in Washington, it can be found on the website of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, so anyone researching or

3

BETWEEN TEL AVIV AND THE KIBBUTZ: RURAL AND URBAN DIETS

63

interested in Israeli foreign affairs, food, or general knowledge can access it. The book begins by explaining that although the Biblical origin of Israeli cuisine is undeniable, it now has a “longstanding culinary heritage” (Ministry of Foreign Affairs Israel, 2002). It states that a couple of years ago even Israelis doubted the existence of an authentic Israeli cuisine, but that nowadays, it “is a distinctive cuisine that reflects the various communities in the country” (Ministry of Foreign Affairs Israel, 2002). It is not clear in the introduction when this Israeli cuisine was created or what do the authors mean by authentic. The use of this term is puzzling, as a quick look at the recipe index leaves little doubt about the multiple origins (from meat borscht and chicken curry to falafel) of the recipes provided. The book predominantly combines Ashkenazi and Middle Eastern recipes, yet also includes a recipe for curry attributed to the Jewish community of India. Middle Eastern recipes such as hummus and falafel are given a Jewish origin, and the book states that Jews from Middle Eastern countries took these dishes to Israel. Other recipes have fewer explanations, and the book does not state how they became popular in Israel. The vegetable section highlights agricultural produce like avocados, and the introduction for the carrot salad affirms that “When Israelis abroad long for their homeland, they recall the incomparable tastes of Israel’s fruits and vegetables”. As a final note, the book includes a recipe for Turkish coffee. It recognises its foreign origin, but also claims that the day Israel makes peace with its neighbours, it will be over a cup of Turkish coffee (Ministry of Foreign Affairs Israel, 2002). Israel Beyond the Land of Milk and Honey collates a selection of recipes that highlight the diverse origin of the Israeli population and the farming achievements of Israelis. It tries to present a unified Israeli diet where rural and urban differences, as well as the ethnic ones, are part of a cultural mosaic that enriches Israeli culture and makes visiting the country much more appealing to tourists. However, it does not recognise the presence of Palestinians, Palestinian food, or Palestinian traditions in this mix and attributes all Middle Eastern recipes to Jewish immigrants. It also overlooks Ashkenazi food and European recipes, simply labelling them Jewish traditional food. Meanwhile, Mizrahi recipes become “ethnic”. Israel Beyond the Land of Milk and Honey is an Israeli government attempt to promote an image of tolerance and multiethnicity in which all

64

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

traditions have a place, and in which peace is a possibility. Although it does recognise the influence of other culinary traditions like the Turkish, it denationalises any other dish from the region and attributes most of them to Jewish communities. By concealing Arab origins of dishes and highlighting Jewish ones, a multicultural image becomes easier to project to the world. As mentioned previously, by the nineties Israel had abandoned the melting pot ideology and promoted the diversity of its population to project a friendlier image. Food was a tool in this process, a method of soft power known as gastrodiplomacy.

Conclusion The experiences of Hava and Chen illustrate the tensions between diasporic food and local food; Mizrahi and Ashkenazi food. They portray the differences between rural and urban Israel and point out how Israelis in different contexts build different food cultures. These food cultures would eventually merge—although never blend—in what Israelis know now as their national culinary culture. The differences in the way urban and rural Israelis perceived food reflected some of the divisions within Israeli society as well as the difficulties in creating the homogenous national identity that the elites aimed for. In the first few decades after the establishment of the state, Israeli authorities decided to continue promoting the homogenisation of the diet, and in fact of the people, and to create a Hebrew man and a Hebrew diet. Although moved by a melting pot ideal, they privileged European food, setting aside Middle Eastern cooking. The diet was also shaped by the lifestyle of the kibbutz: simple, ascetic, and unproblematic cooking eventually became the food that mixed with Ashkenazi dishes. It was served in most Israeli institutions like hospitals, government cafeterias, and the army. It even became the basis of the popular Israeli breakfast, a source of national pride that has become the first encounter with Israeli food for tourists. Although undeniably influential, the food culture of the kibbutz is missed by few and remembered as monotonous and flavourless. Chen and Hilla remembered not only the taste but the consequences the communal dining hall had on their lives. Monotonous food, bad cooking, and no

3

BETWEEN TEL AVIV AND THE KIBBUTZ: RURAL AND URBAN DIETS

65

food options in the dining hall reflected the way kibbutz food, and traditionally female tasks like cooking were perceived during the first decades of the life of Israel, as well as the lack of importance and respect they were afforded. The stoic, communal lifestyle of the kibbutzim together with the belief that children should be raised separated from their parents to liberate mothers made their childhood completely different from those of urban Israeli children. Still, some women did not see the separation from their children as liberating and searched for ways that allowed them to take care of their children even though they were not under the same roof. Baking became a female tool through which mothers could oppose the kibbutz system. It allowed them to forge emotional connections with their families and to take care of their children. The women of the kibbutz used private cooking to express individuality and gain control over their family life, even when it meant putting their nationalist duties in second place. On the other hand, cities became cosmopolitan and reflected the willingness of Israelis to try new exotic flavours which they could not access previously. Asian flavours became popular on the streets of Tel Aviv, and even today thousands of sushi restaurants populate the city. Chinese food, “Western style” was the first taste of exotic fine dining that the Israeli middle-class experimented with during the seventies. However, it lost its exotic taste by the 1980s, becoming cheap, fast food. From the 1970s, the appetite for new flavours was also reflected in home cooking. In the privacy of their homes, urban Israelis hosted lavish parties, leaving scarcity and the idea that food was not be enjoyed in the past. Ruth Sirkis’ books reflected the willingness of Israelis to innovate and host parties in a Western style. However, while Israelis were willing to try new flavours, they were simultaneously fighting a battle between Ashkenazi and Mizrahi food to determine which of them was more national. Although some dishes like ptitim, schnitzel, and hummus became popular among Israelis from every ethnic background, European and Middle Eastern cooking never melted together, and families kept their traditions even if they were viewed as “ethnic”. The melting pot did not produce the mix that was expected by the Israeli establishment, and an amalgamation of diets is still part of everyday Israeli life. Recent decades of Israeli history have seen a shift in the society and the tables of Israelis. The tendency to privilege the collective well-being and sacrifice individual pleasure was left behind, along with the lifestyle of the kibbutz. A consumerist society emerged, ready to taste new flavours

66

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

from faraway places. Israelis opened their minds and taste buds to Chinese flavours but modified the recipes to be in accordance with Jewish religious laws. Years later, fast-food chains also appeared in Israel and again were modified to the local taste, blending local needs and preferences with global trends. However, tradition has never disappeared from the Israeli table and Jewish holidays and dishes are still prominent characteristics of Israeli national identity.

PART II

The Battle for Israeli Food

CHAPTER 4

Israel: A Kosher Nation?

Esther is not as happy as she usually is. She sits next to me and tells me, You know, every Friday morning there is a food market in the Dizengoff Centre 1 right? Well, there is a stall that sells sushi, and you know I love Asian food, so every Friday I go there, and I eat something. [giggling] Well every Friday I have a shrimp, they are good, I like them, but I only allow myself to have one, and today, they were too small. The boy that sells them told me to have another one, he knows me as I go every week, but I told him I couldn’t have two, I can only have one.” Her daughter Esther looks at us and intervenes: “do they sell shrimps in the mall? That is not right, the Ministry of Health probably does not know about this”. Esther looks at me searching for a partner-in-crime and quietly says: “oh who cares; they are really good, I’m sure they are fresh and clean.

In 1953, Esther Friedman arrived in Israel to join her Israeli husband. Since then, she has lived in the same house in a small town in central Israel. Now, she is around 80 and continues to be a lively, active woman. Esther’s daughters live nearby and keep a vigilant watch over her. They call her several times every day and have dinner together on Fridays and lunch on Saturdays. For these occasions, each woman in the family contributes a dish; this includes Esther, who always brings Ashkenazi 1 A popular shopping mall in central Tel Aviv.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 C. Prieto Piastro, Eating in Israel, Food and Identity in a Globalising World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87254-0_4

69

70

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

dishes. She never experiments with other flavours for the Friday dinner, although she told me thousands of times that her favourite food was in fact Asian. By eating a shrimp every Friday, Esther was breaking kosher laws, and she was doing this every week before the beginning of Shabbat. Esther is not a religious woman, therefore, it was not a surprise that she did not keep kosher. Throughout her adult life, she had fought with her mother about how impractical it was keeping Shabbat. She had never shown any interest in praying, going to the synagogue or any other religious ritual. But what was inexplicable to me was that she only broke kosher laws on Fridays. The way she spoke about it and her refusal to eat the second shrimp made clear she saw this as a social transgression. In her everyday life, Esther kept kosher, cooked traditional Ashkenazi food, and believed eating seafood was wrong, so she only allowed herself a little treat. From a young age, Esther was constantly trying to break with tradition. She had travelled alone with her babies around Israel in a pickup van, looking for a sense of modernity and for anything new arriving at the Port of Haifa or Tel Aviv. She avoided visiting Jerusalem as she said she felt suffocated by the orthodox communities living in the Holy City, and she was open about her dislike for the city. She never seemed too concerned about politics, and never gave her opinion about them. She did not enjoy speaking Hebrew and only read fiction in English. She had studied for a master’s degree and had worked all her life. Nonetheless, Esther’s table, as well as her daughter’s kitchen, was kosher. It was not only kosher, but her cooking was also traditionally Jewish. She did not experiment with foreign flavours and the only innovations she had incorporated were Israeli dishes, such as hummus and tahini. She loved Asian food but never cooked it at home as she viewed it as an occasional, extraordinary treat. Esther did not seem too concerned with tradition or religion. However, she stopped herself from eating two shrimps and continued to cook traditional Ashkenazi food even though it was not her preference. This chapter questions the role of kashrut in the everyday life of Israelis. It focuses on the experience of secular Jews and explores their relationship with both the religious establishment and the Jewish character of the state. My participants had multiple understandings of kosher: for some, it meant separating meat from dairy, for others, it was not eating pork or seafood. For some, it all depended on where they were and who they were with. Some participants kept kosher in their houses but not in

4

ISRAEL: A KOSHER NATION?

71

public, some in Israel and not outside, and some had stopped keeping kosher when they moved to Israel. When Esther eats a shrimp every Friday, she is not simply breaking kosher laws; she is consciously resisting her religious Eastern European past and highlighting the secular aspects of her Israeli identity. She resists the official dietary laws of the state by eating shrimps in a public place that are probably not authorised to sell them. Simultaneously, her unwillingness to let go of Ashkenazi food shows nostalgia for the times of the diaspora and its traditions, the importance of transmitting cultural and national Jewish identity to her family, and her unwillingness to openly challenge social conventions. By breaking these rules, Esther finds what Michael E. Gardiner terms “redemptive moments” (Gardiner, 2000). Redemptive moments are transgressive actions with the purpose—made consciously or unconsciously—of creating some distance from social conventions and restrictions, without breaking from the social order. It is done in everyday life and does not necessarily break behavioural codes imposed by the state on the individuals (Edensor, 2002, 91). The possibility of breaking the state’s expectations not through extraordinary events but through actions allows the individual to change their experience and shape their routine. Breaking these habits might result in tensions between the individual and the “codes of conduct preferred by the state or not” (Edensor, 2002, 91). For many of my participants, kosher laws imply direct control of the state over the individual, in which the authorities have the power to decide what its population should or should not eat. Redemptive moments, mundane acts of resistance, allow individuals to assert their agency to show individual understandings of Israeliness; and unconformity with the religious status quo. In this chapter, I contend that—contrary to the Jewish communities in the diaspora where keeping kosher has become a mechanism to avoid assimilation, in Israel, the hiloni (secular) population uses it to negotiate or resist the behavioural impositions of the state; in this instance, a state that links religious identity with national identity. In other words, the Israeli secular population has adapted tools and techniques that allow them to resist official narratives of Israeliness without completely breaking the social order or making themselves anti-national. Not keeping kosher represents a tool by which individuals can resist the state without breaking apart from the national community and without putting their belonging to the Jewish community in doubt. In Israel, in contrast to the diaspora, keeping kosher is a sign of Jewishness but of the

72

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

position the individual adopts in relation to the power the religious status quo can exert over their everyday life (Buckser, 1999, 194). Most hiloni Israelis also only follow those laws that suit their lifestyles and will pick and choose rules according to where they are and who they are with.

What is Kashrut? Kosher laws are a system of dietary practices that have been followed by the Jewish people since the Exodus. These rules are encoded in the Torah and are divided into three categories: those defining the animal which may or may not be consumed, those prohibiting the consumption of blood, and those prohibiting the cooking of a calf in its mother’s milk (Kramer, 2007, 10). This last one has been understood as the prohibition of mixing dairy products with meat. There are also lesser-known rules, which state the lungs of animals need to be intact to be able to consider them kosher. Another concerns the time one should wait before having dairy after eating meat. Tradition, the fear of accidentally breaking rules, and Rabbinical ruling have further modified these laws. Keeping kosher is not an easy task. It is not cheap either. Kosher meat is approximately 20% more expensive than non-kosher (Miller, 2011). Buying kosher food is not the only reason why keeping kosher is more expensive: having separate dishes, fridges, sinks, and cooking tools from meat and dairy put an extra cost on the family budget. It is also timeconsuming; a strictly kosher cook will have to check whether there are bugs in vegetables such as lettuce or spinach under a special light. There are hundreds of different kosher certifications, and each orthodox group follows their own. This makes it complicated not only to mix with those who do not keep kosher but also with those who followed another Rabbinical certification. In 2015, while I was doing fieldwork, I was invited to dinner with an orthodox family in Jerusalem. When I asked Ruth, Esther’s daughter, what should I bring to the dinner she said “Oh who knows who their Rabbi is, just give them flowers although they will probably throw them out anyway”! Ruth’s comments are a response to what she believes to be an archaic, overly complicated set of rules followed by Orthodox Jews. She was not particularly familiar with them, and although she possessed an understanding of how they work, she was not forthcoming in explaining them to me. Esther also wanted to make sure I would not confuse Orthodox rules with Israeli norms. For many seculars, Orthodox sit on the lines of what

4

ISRAEL: A KOSHER NATION?

73

means to be Israeli. They are not keen on being represented by them, and Esther was not eager to provide me with insights to the Orthodox community. That was not how she wanted Israel to be understood or portrayed. Contrary to what happens in hiloni (secular) households, observing kosher is the most significant and important religious duty of a Jewish Orthodox woman. While men are expected to attend synagogue and pray, women’s religious obligations are centred in the household. For women, cooking and ensuring everything that is eaten by their family is kosher is paramount. Susan Starr Sered highlights that “Kashrut raises food preparation from a task that every woman in the world unthinkingly does in order to put food on her family’s table to a religious ritual par excellence” (Sered, 1996, 88). Although cooking is especially important in the celebration of holidays such as Passover; keeping a kosher house is a daily task with the same relevance as any ritual performed by men in synagogues. Most orthodox religious women learn from their mothers and grandmothers how to keep a Jewish household, how to cook kosher food, and how to keep a kosher house. As orthodox women are excluded from most ritual practices outside the home, keeping kosher is the fundamental female obligation. However, most secular women in Israel—my participants included—will choose not to follow or to accommodate kosher rules according to their lifestyles, despite them being familiar. Although 40% of Israelis consider themselves secular and some of them are openly opposed to Jewish orthodoxy, the secular Israeli is constantly confronted by the dilemmas that the Jewish character of the state imposes on them: no public transport during Shabbat, the improbable possibility of finding pork in Jerusalem and the cost of a civil wedding in Cyprus (Arian & Keissar-Sugarme, 2009). All my participants celebrated at least the main religious holidays. Most of them had a Shabbat dinner or lunch with their families and saw this as a special occasion. According to a survey conducted by the Israeli Democracy Institute in 2009, 90% of the Jewish citizens of Israel celebrate Passover and two thirds of Israeli Jews keep kosher. However, only half of them use separate dishes for dairy and meat products. More than half of Israeli Jews define themselves primarily as Jews and 80% think it is particularly important to be married by a Rabbi. Nonetheless, 46% considered themselves secular (Arian & Keissar-Sugarme, 2009). When my participants define themselves, they not only say they are hiloni, but they also say Jewish secular. Being a secular Jew in Israel

74

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

does not mean being anti-religious or unfamiliar with Jewish values and celebrations. Neither does it mean being indifferent to Jewish heritage. This identity dichotomy is not only imposed by the state. My secular participants moved between a religious and a secular world, distinguishing between them clearly in their speech, but less so in their everyday lives. While some of them constantly spoke about being secular, they simultaneously kept kosher kitchens. Kosher kitchens are a marker of national and cultural identity, but not necessarily religious identity. Their contradicting speech and behaviour mirror the contradictions of a state that emphasises its Jewish religious character while simultaneously promoting a secular identity. For secular Jews, the struggle to re-signify kosher laws in the modern world is constant, especially in Israel where the risk of assimilation is nonexistent. According to Ofra Tene, “Hebrew identity does not require kashrut observance in order to remain distinct from the non-Jewish surrounding. There was no real threat to the collective Hebrew identity because assimilation with the local culture was not perceived as an attractive alternative. Hebrewness offered an identity associated with the powerful group: a new experience for them” (Tene, 2015). However, kosher laws are still fundamental for Israelis, either because they keep them or because they oppose them. They remain a symbol of Jewishness and a fundamental characteristic of their national identity.

Should Israeli Food Be Kosher? The debate about religious laws in Israel, including kosher laws, began before the State of Israel was established. The place of kashrut was determined by a letter written in 1947 by David Ben-Gurion, who later became the first Prime Minister of Israel to the ultra-orthodox authorities of the organisation of Agudat Israel. The Jewish Agency was afraid that the ultra-orthodox community would not give their support to the new state. Tom Segev affirms that the “[Ultra-orthodox Rabbis] viewed Zionism as heresy, feared that it endangered the Jews, and estimated that it was liable to challenge their position as the primary communal leaders” (Segev, 2002, 17). To win their support for the establishment of the new State of Israel, Ben-Gurion promised to respect religious laws and religious authority in four aspects of the life of the state:

4

ISRAEL: A KOSHER NATION?

75

a. The Sabbath would be the official day of rest. b. Kosher laws would be observed in state institutions and in the Israeli Defence Force. c. Personal status and marriage would be governed by Jewish laws. d. The autonomy of religious education would be guaranteed (Stern, 2017, 8). This letter, known as the status quo, aimed to guarantee ultra-orthodox Rabbis that their authority would be respected, even in a secular Jewish state, and that the Jewish identity would be preserved (Segev, 2002, 19). To date, the status quo constitutes the basis of the relationship between Israel and the religious authorities in Israel. From this agreement, hundreds of judicial decisions were derived. These have governed the complex arrangements that accommodate religious authorities and their role in the Jewish state. Nowadays, this document should not be considered the only legal source for the regulation of religion in Israel. However, it encapsulates the spirit that must be followed and remains fundamental (Barak-Eretz, 2009, 2496). When created it sought to neutralise conflict and allowed for cooperation among different Jewish groups. This was needed to create the state (Shamir & Ben-Porat, 2007, 77).. According to Daphne Barak-Erez, the status quo was the culmination of the political cooperation of the Labour Party and the religious parties that served as its political allies, mainly the National Religious Party” (Barak-Eretz, 2009, 2498). The status quo is a source of constant disagreement between secular and religious Israelis and their authorities, however, it remains respected in many aspects of Israeli life. This is particularly due to the lack of a constitution, a fact that also reflects the impossibility of agreeing on the issue of religion in the state (Lerner, 2017, 423). Other provisions related to the Jewish character of the state have been propagated since 1947, including laws regulating kosher. In 1948, The Kosher Food for Soldiers Ordinance decreed that kosher food would be supplied to Jewish soldiers in the army. Administrative arrangements have also been made since 1948 such as the policy to serve only kosher food in government institutions (Barak-Eretz, 2009, 2499). The political landscape of the country has also affected the regulation of kosher in Israel. The privatisation of the meat industry and terminating state control of the industry allowed the import of non-kosher meat. These factors, along with the high rate of Soviet Jewish immigrants

76

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

that consumed pork popularised non-kosher supermarkets. In 1986, the Festival of Matzot (Prohibition of Leaven) Law was approved, stipulating that business owners should not display leavened products during Passover (Barak-Eretz, 2009, 2501). Paradoxically, as religious parties gained popularity, the changes in consumption, secularisation, and migration meant that this law was not enforced (Shamir & Ben-Porat, 2007, 83) (Fig. 4.1).

Fig. 4.1 Kosher lunch during Passover, Jerusalem

4

ISRAEL: A KOSHER NATION?

77

An infamous controversy surrounding kosher laws took place in June 2015, when an American man, volunteering in the Israeli army, ate a nonkosher sausage on a military base in Israel. The sausage had been given to him by his grandmother during a weekend visit to her kibbutz. Although soldiers may bring food from home, non-kosher food is not permitted in the base. Despite differing opinions on the case, the soldier was penalised by the army authorities. After subsequent debate and public outrage in Israel, his punishment was reduced (Swerdloff, 2015). The American soldier’s case showed how the Israeli authorities perceive Jewishness as interlinked with both the practice of following kosher laws, and the public image of the country. However, individual opinion—of the public and even the generals in the army—differed. Although Israeli institutions continue to serve kosher food, it does not mean that the population strictly follows these rules. Restaurants and supermarkets also sell non-kosher products. Some of my more religious classmates in the Ulpan2 in the University of Haifa had a hard time finding kosher food to the same standards as that in their countries of origin. “You would believe is easy to find good, tasty kosher food in Tel Aviv, right? The first Jewish city in the world, but, well it’s not” they said constantly. Although I could find kosher food everywhere I went, it is true that Israeli food is not necessarily kosher, and everyday there are more non-kosher options. According to Yael Raviv, only 25% of restaurants in Israel are kosher (Raviv, 2015, 166). Some Israelis attribute the popularity of non-kosher food to the Russian immigration of the nineties viewed pork consumption as a way to preserve their own collective identity, a Jewish identity that they consider unique and different to European and Mizrahi identities (Shternshis, 2015). Russian shops became popular, within their community and with Israelis that did not want to keep kosher. For example, Tiv’Taam—a popular non-kosher supermarket—can be found in many cities in Israel. It is one of the most popular non-kosher shops in the country. It sells European style cold meats and opens on Saturday. This makes it attractive for most of the secular population of Israel, and for tourists. The debate around kosher laws also reflects the many different opinions surrounding the main characteristics of Israeli food. Some of my

2 Hebrew school.

78

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

participants believed that Israeli food must be kosher, as it was a fundamental symbol of the Jewish state. Others did not agree. Although keeping kosher seems to be, for most of my participants, a symbol of Judaism and of Israeliness, most of them believed that Israeli food does not need to be kosher. Some of them even stated that “new Israeli cuisine” had to be non-kosher. Josef, a culinary writer mentioned in previous chapters, explained: Pork and seafood - that is new Israeli cuisine! Russian immigration brought a lot of pork culture, but even before, Romanians ate pork in Israel. However, it was in the 90s that the Russians arrived and opened delis. It is in those shops, that look posh and elegant, that you can find pork, ham, bacon, and sausages. Of course, I’m talking of Tel Aviv, maybe Haifa but in Jerusalem, it is harder to get pork. Kosher is not necessarily a characteristic of Israeli cuisine, but it is a style. Like him,3 back in the day’s people cooked like that, and it is tasty and good. However, I hate kosher; I have an allergy to it, they [the Rabbis] rule over our private life for money, they decide how we get married and how and what we can eat. But yes, the lack of pork is a characteristic of our cuisine. Turkish cuisine apart from yogurt with meat is almost kosher. But nobody cares if shakshuka is kosher or not. Thankfully there are restaurants that don’t cooperate with the Rabbinate, so there is an initiative called “communal kosher” that tries to make people trust each other and give community kosher certificates. Even Jewish restaurants are leaving kosher behind. You have places like Rafael in Tel Aviv that serves Moroccan food that is not kosher. The chef there says his grandmother was his main influence. However, his egg pasta is served with shrimps or sashimi. And his couscous is by far the best in Israel. His couscous is the best simply because it is not kosher as it has butter. Clearly, his grandmother would not be happy with his cooking.

Josef highlights his preference for non-kosher food, alongside the political problems he believes it causes. He is concerned by the idea of the authorities controlling his body and personal life and by breaking kosher laws he resists them. Josef is an Ashkenazi Jew and proud of European Jewish traditions, especially culinary ones. However, he feels the official kosher certification assigned by Rabbis in Israel and the religious institutions of the government do not have a legitimate place in a modern democratic

3 Traditional Ashkenazi Shabbat stew made with meat, vegetables and legumes and cooked overnight on a slow fire (nowadays in a slow cooker).

4

ISRAEL: A KOSHER NATION?

79

state. The Chief Rabbinate retains a firm monopoly over kashrut certifications in Israel as well as on the use of the word “kosher”. Any violation of this code is classified as a criminal offence (Friedman, 2020). Since 2016, this mandate has been supported by a ruling from the High Court of Justice. The ruling rejected more liberal interpretations that allowed alternative bodies to give this certification (Ettinger, 2016). A grassroots initiative, known as “Hashgaha Pratit”, is initiated by the orthodox Rabbi Aaron Leibowitz. It provides kosher businesses options to certify their kitchens. The initiative is popular among restaurateurs in Jerusalem who wish to continue with tradition but are not supportive of the power and practices the Rabbinate has (Leibowitz, 2017). On its fund-raising page, the project states: “There is a multi-level breakdown in the state of kashrut supervision by the Rabbinate. There is a lack of oversight by the supervisors, many rumours of back door deals, and a general adversarial environment between the business establishments and the governmental agency. Many restaurants feel they are not receiving the attention they deserve and that they are subject to misused authority and unethical behaviour. This leads many of them to wonder if the Rabbinate’s supervision is worth it at all” (Leibowitz, 2017). Dr. Shuki Friedman has also recently campaigned to transform the Chief Rabbinate into a regulatory body. The body would provide different types of kashrut certification to consumers, according to their needs and their market demand. Considering that around 65% of Israelis buy kosher food outside their homes, this would immediately impact the family finances of Israelis (Friedman, 2020). He suggests that this model—based around the American one—would make kashrut products cheaper, food imports easier, and eliminate corruption from this certification process (Friedman, 2016). My participant Josef supports these changes on kosher regulations, as he deeply opposes the idea of the Rabbinate determining what he consumes. Although the project is not against the supervision of a Rabbi, it does report corruption and stands against it. Josef found the idea of community supervision considerably less threatening than the idea of high-ranking Rabbis determining what is edible for him and what is not. As mentioned, he does not keep kosher, this is because he believes it is important for his job as a food consultant to be able to eat anything. He also sees it as resisting the regulations the State imposes on his private life. However, he considers kosher as part of his Jewish identity. His opposition to kosher food is a way of opposing the Rabbinical control over

80

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

governmental institutions, his own body, and what he sees as a clear and unjustified intervention of the state and religious authorities in his private matters. The struggles surrounding kosher laws in Israel are only a reflection of the unresolved conflicts over the place of religion and religious authority in a secular state. Until now, these battles have been settled through political negotiation. As Tom Segev points out, the common Jewish cultural elements that Israelis share have prevented a complete break between both poles of Israeli society (Segev, 2002, 89). Nevertheless, some Israelis employ different tactics, like breaking kosher laws to discretely manifest their disagreement with this or other policies of the state.

Breaking Kosher as a Political Decision Esther and Josef were not the only Israelis that constantly transgressed kosher laws. Some participants did it as a symbol of unconformity with the religious status quo of the country. For example, Einat opted to follow a mainly vegan diet. Even when she says she does not care about kosher laws, she does not break them. She thinks her way of eating is ethical and peaceful. It was not uncommon for me to encounter vegetarian and vegan participants who felt that their diets were closer to the precepts encoded in the Torah than those followed by orthodox. Einat explained me that for her: It is more important to buy free range eggs than kosher meat. You should see how they treat chickens in this country, it is outrageous. The idea behind kosher laws was not only to guarantee the health of the people crossing the desert but to have an ethical approach to eating, to avoid animal suffering, to have a sustainable diet in the desert. Nowadays we can do much more than our ancestors, it is easier as we have more options, so instead of following kosher laws as they are written, we need to understand that these laws are about healthy eating and not cruelty towards animals. In a society like ours (Israeli society) which is so violent it is also important to choose more peaceful ways to feed ourselves. Maybe that will help us to sleep a little bit better.

Einat characterises her society as a violent one, and although she laughed and did not answer when I ask her what she meant by it, I could deduce she was referring to the ongoing Arab–Israeli conflict. The relationship between dietary choices and violence was also mentioned in another

4

ISRAEL: A KOSHER NATION?

81

context by Maya, a food consultant in her thirties that I regularly talked to during my fieldwork. Maya believed that Israelis do not drink a lot of alcohol as it makes them more violent, “and why would you want to get more violent if everything around you already is? That is why people prefer smoking pot over drinking alcohol because it calms you down”. Einat’s reasoning for vegetarianism was the same as Maya’s to avoid alcohol; choosing a diet that made them feel better about the country’s situation and the government’s policies. Einat did not feel that following kosher law said much about who she was. Instead, vegetarianism provided her with the possibility of expressing her political views. She felt this ethical approach to eating made her more connected to her Jewish roots than keeping kosher. Eliana, on the contrary, had adopted a kosher diet to feel more Jewish, before moving to Israel. Eliana is an American young woman that made aliyah (emigrated) to Israel 5 years ago, and although she used to have a kosher diet, she is now constantly challenging the dietary restrictions she felt were imposed on her in her new country. When Eliana arrived in Israel, she moved to Beersheba, in southern Israel. She works as a social worker for the city municipality, and she oversees helping recent immigrants from Western European countries to assimilate to Israel. The programme she runs relies upon the city’s government and the Ministry of Aliyah and Integration; the ministry is responsible for the absorption and integration of new immigrants to the community (Ministry of Immigration, 2017). Eliana has a mixed background; her mother is Jewish, and her father only converted to Judaism on his 50th birthday. As a teenager, Eliana decided to become religious, and she started keeping kosher. I was an insufferable teenager; I made my parent’s life difficult. I was obsessed with Israel and Judaism, I kept kosher, dressed “modestly” and did not work on Shabbat. My parents did not know what to do with me. I remember I did not want to eat the food my mother prepared for me as it was not kosher. When I moved to Israel, everything changed.

During the five years Eliana has lived in Israel, she has altered her diet. Firstly, she is convinced her diet is healthier now as she consumes fruit and vegetables, as well as fresh cheeses, a habit she did not used to have. She attributes this to the quality of fresh ingredients in Israel, and the common practice of eating salad at each meal, including breakfast. The praise she gives to the Israeli fruit, vegetables, and dairy products is also

82

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

a sign of her Zionism. By choosing to mention these ingredients as new additions to her diet and by specifically saying this is something she started doing in Israel she is favouring Israeli agriculture over American. She is also reproducing one of the founding myths of the state: the agricultural miracle, the blooming of the desert by Jewish hands. Although Eliana frequently speaks about her new healthy, fresh diet, she does not cook a lot at home. She works long hours and studies fulltime, so does not have time to cook. Almost all the food she eats is cooked by her Iranian mother-in-law. Each Shabbat, after dinner, her motherin-law packs the leftovers for her as well as dishes she cooked for them during the week. However, on occasions Eliana does cook or shop, she never chooses kosher food: It is my way of rebelling, at least a little bit. My boyfriend is also like me, he kept kosher for some time, and then he decided to stop. Yes, we are Jews, but we do not agree with the way this country handles things, especially when we talk about their relationship with orthodoxy. I don’t need father government to tell me what I can eat and what I can’t. Less so an old Rabbi that judges me for the way I look or speak. This country should not be run by religious authorities. Things would be better if religion was not in the middle of everything, we would have fewer problems among us. Don’t get me wrong; I’m a Zionist, I love this country but I’m now Israeli, so I have the right to complain.

Eliana’s food choices are a symbol of her political position. On the one hand, she avoids eating kosher food as a way of complaining against the religious institutions of the country. On the other, she chooses to eat fresh Israeli products, a symbol of the Jewish connection to the Land of Israel and the national story of agricultural success. However, the first time she decided to break kosher laws she was trying to remember her childhood in the United States. She was cooking chicken schnitzels, one of the more common Israeli dishes, and remembered how her mother would serve them with mashed potatoes, “I could not stop thinking about my mother’s mashed potatoes. She, of course, cooks them with butter, so I decided I had to do it. I remember that first bite of chicken and mashed potatoes. It was heaven; I was in my mother’s kitchen again. And after that, I could not stop, and from mixing meat and dairy I moved to pork. I love bacon, who doesn’t?” Eliana’s food choices are not only politically motivated, but they are also the result of longing and nostalgia. By not keeping kosher she

4

ISRAEL: A KOSHER NATION?

83

demonstrates her discomfort with the relationship between the state and the religious authorities and their control over her choices. Simultaneously, she manifests her mixed identity and the culinary traditions she grew up with. Breaking kosher laws for Eliana is what Michel de Certeau defines as a tactic (Certeau, 1984, XIX). It is a way of playing and resisting the system in which she lives. In some instances, she disagrees with it. De Certeau defines tactics as: “a calculus which cannot count on a proper (a spatial or institutional localization), nor thus on a borderline distinguishing the other as a visible totality” (Certeau, 1984, 36). Much like Esther’s Friday shrimp consumption, Eliana uses this tactic deliberately. Eliana is aware that by breaking these laws she is opposing a regulatory system that she considers oppressive and invasive. However, she only felt she had a legitimate right to do this after she migrated to Israel, when she felt her own identity and belonging to the Israeli community was not in jeopardy. As a woman who grew up in a household where keeping kosher was not part of everyday life, Eliana’s family memories are not tied to this aspect of Jewish life. It was not until she was a teenager that she adopted them, to mark her decision to make her Jewish identity more salient. It was also a form of rebelling against her parent’s control, they saw this new diet as a teenage tantrum. Eliana then used kosher laws firstly to affirm her Jewish identity and mark a break from her parents and secondly to affirm her Israeli identity and rebel against authorities. In both cases, her food choices are a way to reaffirm who she is and which element of her identity she wants to highlight at a certain moment of her life. Now, as an Israeli passport holder who lives in Israel, she feels “fully Jewish”. Therefore, she does not feel any need to reaffirm this part of her identity through her food choices. Food choices are not only a medium of expressing individual identity and agency but also a technique to show connections with a collective (Buckser, 1999, 192). New immigrants with mixed backgrounds have a particularly problematic bond with their Jewish and Israeli identity. In most cases, they feel that they had to perform their Jewishness in order to be accepted. For some, becoming Israeli meant they no longer needed to highlight any religious connection with the community. In other words, their nationality proved their connection. For these immigrants, food choices provided them with a symbolic framework to express the complexity of their identity. The way they explain these food choices

84

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

and the changes they make in their diets reflects how the process of identification varies according to the context and location. Eliana and Esther understand and live kosher laws differently. Eliana breaks kosher laws to resist the status quo which she sees as violent and discriminatory against those who are not Orthodox Jews. She feels she is entitled to do it as she feels her national identity allows her to complain and break with Jewish tradition. On the other hand, Esther cooks kosher food to keep family traditions alive and to reinforce Jewishness. Nonetheless, she breaks them as a “redemptive moment” as a way of manifesting her personality and unwillingness to follow religious precepts in every aspect of her life.

Keeping Kosher Outside of Israel: The Boxer Theory Most of my hiloni participants had mixed feelings about keeping kosher. Although some insisted they did not keep kosher, when sharing a meal with them in the privacy of their homes or in a restaurant they almost always followed kosher rules. During my fieldwork, I found several people who invited me to meals where dairy products and meat were mixed, but I was never served pork or shellfish. It was commonly found that members of a family had different approaches to kosher food, so all the attitudes towards kosher had to be considered when choosing the menu. For Ayala Grossman, the best solution was to avoid pork in her house altogether: “My husband and Hannah, my daughter, will never eat pork, don’t ask me why they will mix dairy and meat and happily eat shrimps, but they would never eat pork. Why don’t they eat pork? I guess it is a symbol of belonging, something that reminds them they are Jewish”. However, Hannah’s husband disagreed with his mother-in-law, and explained that Hannah does eat pork if he orders it in a restaurant. They call it “veal” among themselves. As mentioned before, Israelis have re-adjusted kosher laws and tailored them to their lifestyles. Some of them will adapt their views according to location, others to the social setting and others to their feelings at a determined moment. Hannah saw keeping kosher as an expression of her Jewishness and her commitment to the Zionist cause. She did not consider herself religious and described herself as a left-wing Zionist. Her ancestors were Holocaust survivors, and she felt that avoiding eating pork was simply a way to show her connection to those ancestors and to the

4

ISRAEL: A KOSHER NATION?

85

country that had saved them. She was respectful of tradition, although she felt that the power religious authorities had over her food choices had no place in a secular country like hers. Her husband Yossi did not keep kosher so when on holidays it was particularly difficult for her to avoid pork, she simply called it veal. Ariel, a graphic designer in his thirties, also changes his diet according to location and company. Ariel follows a mainly kosher diet, especially since he moved in with his sister who is more religious. Ariel mixes dairy products with meat when he is on holiday abroad. In Tel Aviv, he tends to follow all kosher rules, even if they are impractical or nobody else at the table is doing it. He and a group of his friends, including his sister, invited me out while I was in Tel Aviv. They decided on an Irish pub, thinking I would feel more at home. They had never been to that pub before and did not know that most of the menu included bacon or ham. After 15 min of looking at it, they decided to go somewhere else. None of them pointed out that they had chosen to leave because the place was not kosher, they simply stated that there was nothing there they wanted to eat. Several days later I asked Ariel about the incident: Well yes, the place was not kosher, but that was not the problem. We just don’t like pork, so the smell of the place was unpleasant for most of us. Kosher does not have to do with religion, it is cultural, and it has to do with who we are. I keep kosher because my grandparents did, it is part of being Israeli, and keeping kosher here is extremely easy. That is why when I go to Europe or America, I mix dairy and meat, I don’t want to make anybody uncomfortable or to give my hosts a hard time, so I eat everything except pork and seafood. When I’m back home I know everything is kosher, and that nobody is uncomfortable if I follow the rules here, so it is easy to keep them, and it’s a part of my family’s traditions.

Ariel feels that keeping kosher is a key marker of his identity, not necessarily religious but national. However, his attitude towards food can be ambivalent. While living outside of Israel, Ariel manifested his national identity by going to synagogue and practising Judaism as a religion, in the same way that Einat, another of my participants discussed in the next chapter, did while living in the UK. When in Israel, both Ariel and Einat would never attend a synagogue, keep Shabbat, or participate in any event within the orthodox community, and they would not follow a strictly kosher diet.

86

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

In the same way as Eliana, Ariel expressed his national identity while living outside of Israel by becoming closer to his Jewish, religious identity. He needed to integrate into a community where he was the only nonChristian, so he felt keeping kosher might become an obstacle. Back in Israel, he returned to his old behaviour and began eating kosher again. At the same time, he stopped attending religious services and did not become close to any orthodox group. Ariel will choose how to express his national identity according to the context in which he finds himself. The ambiguity of the Jewish element of the Israeli identity is evident in Ariel’s life and choices. He adopts religious behaviours to manifest his national identity when living in another country but will reject them when living in Israel. Ariel was perfectly aware of these changes, and call them the “Boxer theory”: When you are at home with your family you do not need to dress up you wear whatever you want and you can walk around in your boxers and in theory, nobody should judge you for being you. Is the same here, when we are in Israel, we do not need to wear a kippa to weddings and we can keep kosher if we want without bothering anyone. I know, it’s weird, but it is what it is, although sometimes, you might want to walk naked at home and your mother might not be that happy about that.

Ariel’s boxer theory exemplifies the way many secular Israelis conceptualise their national community. Israel represents home, the place where they can be themselves fully. It is also the place in which they are free to decide which rules to follow and which to bend, including kosher laws. According to Ariel, keeping kosher is not an instrument which he can utilise to express his national identity outside home. On the contrary, it is one that highlights his otherness and therefore is impractical. However, in Israel, he will abide by the rules no matter what, even when they lack any religious meaning for him.

New Adopted Identities Ariel’s perspective on keeping kosher underlines the multiple attitudes and behaviours that Israelis hold about kosher laws. It is not only policed and imposed by the government, for many Israelis, it is a life choice. Finding kosher food is one of the benefits of living in the Jewish state and

4

ISRAEL: A KOSHER NATION?

87

a fundamental characteristic of the country, and for some Israelis, keeping kosher remains, above all, about following religious commandments. One of them is Noa, that has a different understanding of kosher that the rest of her family. For her, it is a matter of religion, and a way of keeping her husband’s family happy. Noa got married more than two decades ago to a Jewish Modern Orthodox man and lives with him and their teenage sons. She invited me to cook with her and to spend a Shabbat dinner with her family; she wanted me to learn how a religious Shabbat is celebrated and how to appreciate the differences between her celebration and the secular shabbats I had attended. For that night, she cooked Jewish North African dishes (fish in tomatoes and pepper sauce, chicken with olives and vegetables, salads made with chickpeas and traditional sweets) although she did point out that she sometimes cooks with an “Asian” twist. When I arrived at Noa’s house on Friday morning to cook with her, she had already started preparing the chickpeas for the stews and grilling some peppers. She offered me and her sister an instant coffee, and before we started to cook, she showed me around her kitchen and cupboards, and explained some kosher rules. We then started to cook; Noa’s cooking is labour-intensive, and although there were four of us, it took more than five hours to cook everything. She was also making food for the next day as cooking is not permitted during Shabbat. Noa does not cook Ashkenazi food as her husband does not like it, so she has embraced her mother-inlaw’s North African recipes: “I’m a good cook, I was one even before I was married, but this is different to what I used to eat when I was growing up. I had to learn from cookbooks and sometimes my mother-in-law gives me recipes, but it is not easy to follow them”. She showed me her cookbooks full of notes made by her or her mother-in-law. Her sister was bothered by our conversation as she did not approve of Noa’s lifestyle, not only her complete assimilation to her husband’s culture, but she also disliked Noa’s observance of religious traditions. Noa’s family constantly confronted her on her newfound religious adherence, turning family meetings into difficult occasions; certain holidays were not spent together to avoid controversy surrounding meals and cooking. But Noa was clear about why she was following the rules: He [her husband] comes from a religious family; he believes these things are important, and I decided to follow them for him. Nobody imposed them to me, I just want to make him happy and is not the end of the

88

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

world. But sometimes it is difficult, and men do not notice because they are not in charge of the house. A few months ago, we invited some friends for Friday dinner. Before Shabbat started, I prepared everything and put a chicken in the oven on a low heat. Less than an hour before the dinner I noticed that I had forgotten to turn on the oven. Shabbat had started, and it is forbidden to turn the oven on, so I had to decide. When my husband went to pray, I turned the oven on, so he never realized I had broken the rules. If I hadn’t done it, we would not have been able to eat! He never found out and I’m sure God does not care if I turn on the oven on a Friday afternoon.

Noa’s cooking was determined by the taste and preferences of her husband and her children. She followed all the kosher laws and had also decided to only cook dishes that pleased her family. However, she “cheated sometimes” and included some Ashkenazi ingredients in her food. Noa prepares every weekend Adafina, a Sephardic Sabbath stew typical in Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, and central Morocco. The basic recipe of Adafina includes meat, onions, a pulse (chickpeas or white beans), vegetables like turnips and potatoes and is enriched with a calf’s foot or a tongue (Marks, 2010, 5). But Noa has decided that instead of adding tongue, she sometimes adds kishke (lamb or beef intestines stuffed with meat, fat, and sometimes pulses). “I add kishke to the stew because I like it. I know I shouldn’t, and my husband’s family does not like it, but normally they don’t notice, and I really enjoy it”. Noa finds in her addition of kishke a redemptive moment. Unlike Esther, she is not resisting the state, she is resisting her mother-in-law. Nobody notices her transgression, but she tells the story proudly, and manifests her agency through changing the recipe, without anybody noticing.

Conclusion The history of the food culture in Israel mimics the story of the country and the tensions in it. The first Jewish pioneers tried to construct a new nation around a socialist non-religious ideology. To be able to establish Israel, they had to make agreements with orthodox movements and build a state where religious identity remained at the heart. Zionists gave religious symbols a new nationalist meaning. The State aimed to be secular, but it labelled itself as a Jewish state. To achieve its goals, it had to give control and power to religious authorities; kosher laws, the celebration of religious holidays, the control of the Rabbinate over citizenship rights

4

ISRAEL: A KOSHER NATION?

89

and personal matters such as marriage and divorce are just a few examples of how religious authorities hold power over the citizens of Israel. In this chapter, I argued that keeping kosher in Israel does not necessarily speak of the religious commitment of a person, but of the way they relate to their cultural and national identity as well as to the secular and religious authorities. The status quo was a necessary agreement for the establishment of the state, and it also reflected the identification of the secular with some aspects of Jewish traditions, and their willingness to preserve these traits in the new state (Barak-Eretz, 2009, 2499). Nonetheless, there has always been resistance from different groups in Israeli society to these agreements. In many cases, the way an individual relates to kosher laws mirrors their position in relation to the control the Israeli authorities can have over consumption and the body of their citizens. I argued through this chapter that kosher laws and the way they are imposed by the authorities, are negotiated, and resisted by ordinary people in their private life. This reflects the dilemmas and ambiguities of the Israeli identity. While the public life of Israel is mainly kosher, individuals negotiate the way they keep these rules in private settings and the meanings the rules have for them. Some of my secular participants like Esther break kosher laws as a liberating act. This could be considered “a redemptive moment” that allows them to oppose social conventions without openly breaking them. Others, like Ariel, believe following them is straightforward while in Israel and fundamental to the identity of the country. Josef believes kosher is a cooking style that is characteristic of Jewish cuisine, but not necessarily of Israeli food culture. And although he is proud of his Jewish identity, he is of the opinion that the kosher certification is a mechanism used by the State to intrude into the private matters of Israelis, as well as echoing the corruption of the religious establishment. Therefore, he avoids consuming kosher food, as a way of resisting this imposition. For new immigrants like Eliana, keeping kosher outside Israel was a tool to avoid assimilation and to reaffirm her Jewish identity. Now an Israeli, she does not feel any need to continue doing this, as in her eyes, her national identity and her connection with her new country validates who she is. On the other hand, Esther, Ruth, and Noa keep kosher to please their families for religious or cultural reasons. However, in the privacy of their kitchens or eating outside, they will break this convention and find those redemptive moments that allow them to disrupt routine and rebel against the roles and traditions imposed on them.

CHAPTER 5

How Shabbat Has Kept Israel: From the Private to the National

I hope that you don’t mind; I started cooking a few hours before you arrived. I am sure you have not been eating the right food, so I want to show you real Shabbat food; my daughter is even getting a fancy Challah with nuts and seeds! I am glad to have you around, my family does not care much about our family history, so I like to have the opportunity of exploring our culinary past; and to cook, I work all the time, but I always cook something special on Fridays; even when I am on a diet. Who knows what they eat during the week you know? At least they eat well one day of the week, we spend time together, and then they take the leftovers back home.

During the summer of 2016, Ayala Grossman invited me to a Friday dinner in her house. Ayala is in her fifties and lives in Tel Aviv with her husband. She works full time in a nearby hospital, but always cooks on Friday. Ayala told me to arrive around 5 pm, two hours before her children, so we had the opportunity to talk without interruption and I could cook with her. Ayala had heard from one of her daughters about my research, and she contacted me as she wanted to participate in the study. When I arrived at her flat, she was nervous. She wanted to be helpful and showcase her cooking skills. By the time I got there, she had already been cooking for a long time; she was preparing a traditional dish from Transylvania. The dish consisted of a pie made with layers of cabbage leaves and ground meat with a thin tomato sauce. She had added butter and © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 C. Prieto Piastro, Eating in Israel, Food and Identity in a Globalising World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87254-0_5

91

92

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

laughed about having a non-kosher Jewish dish for Shabbat.1 She also served roasted cauliflower with melted cheese, a dish she had learned to make while on a low-carbohydrate diet, and that she really came to like. Salads, roast potatoes, and chicken were also served, as well as a “fancy challah”,2 a seeded whole-wheat challah. When her children arrived, they were impressed with the menu. They immediately told me that their mother never cooks so much for Friday dinner and that she had made a special effort that evening. Before we started eating, Ayala’s husband blessed the challah and the wine, although one of her children mentioned that they did not always do this. Ayala’s children were in their twenties and went to dinner at the house every Friday without complaining. Ayala was responsible for the dinner, and for cooking enough to provide their children with leftovers for the week. Several times, she highlighted the significance of the Friday night dinner: Shabbat dinners are a national tradition. It is the only time during the week I have with my whole family, and I enjoy cooking for them and having them around the table. No, we don’t have kosher food or complicated dinners, but as the majority of people in this country do, we will spend this time together. We are a family-oriented country, and Friday dinners are a fundamental part of who we are.

Ayala perceived Shabbat dinners as a key aspect of the national identity and ethos of the country. Friday dinners reinforce the family structure of the country and are a time in which the nation and its core values are performed and reproduced. Female figures are at the centre of Israeli and Jewish households; senior women take a dominant role over the other family members by exerting a powerful influence over the lives of the younger members, both men and women. The predominance of these female roles is also visible in many secular households; although Israeli secular women enjoy a certain degree of equality, their role as the vessels of tradition is not questioned. This makes the Israeli domestic sphere a site of both oppression and liberation. In her famous article about obento boxes and motherhood in Japan, Anne Allison pointed out how preparing food for children can 1 The dish mixed dairy and meat products; as explained in Chapter 4, this goes against kosher laws. 2 Traditional braided bread.

5

HOW SHABBAT HAS KEPT ISRAEL …

93

become a “double-edged sword for women” (Allison, 1991, 203). Motherhood, as Allison insightfully points out; is a state ideology (Allison, 1991, 205). Similarly, to Japanese obento lunches, Friday night dinners in Israel are a fundamental part of the national identity and women are the main organisers of the weekly event. It is well-known that food work is fundamental to the performance of motherhood and more generally speaking of what Western societies understand as hegemonically feminine (Cairns & Johnston, 2015). Although food work is undoubtedly attached to motherhood, the multiple dilemmas, traditions, and actual food work that mothers are expected to perform varies according to social class, as does access to information, and cultural and national background. For many women around the world “foodwork is not simply work, although it is certainly a form of labour. it is also a way to perform femininities by caring for family members and expressing love through food” (Cairns & Johnston, 2015, 27). For Israeli mothers, food work is also a way to perform national identity and transmit cultural capital. In this chapter, I argue that Israeli women use traditional female tasks such as cooking, to exert control over their children’s lives, therefore reinforcing their position in the family. In this chapter, I argue that Israeli women use traditional female tasks such as cooking, to exert control over their children’s lives, therefore reinforcing their position in the family. Distributing leftovers becomes a tactic used by women to promote their own understanding of health, wellbeing, and even nationhood. By cooking, choosing menus, and shopping for their families, women can pass on tradition, identity, and the values they believe are fundamental to be considered a good Israeli citizen. As Carole M. Counihan has pointed out, the ability of women to cook and distribute food is a key measure of their power in society (Counihan & Kaplan, 2005, 2). Counihan’s argument becomes particularly relevant when we observe how Israeli women influence their families through the distribution of food, most notably leftover food from Friday dinners. This equally applies to new members of the family (e.g. sonsin-law and daughters-in-law), who are newcomers to the family and the nation. Distributing food to newcomers allows women to teach these new Israelis how to be Israeli and to resist ideas of nationhood that they feel are inappropriate. As shown throughout this chapter, women use food to exercise power and influence over their closest social circles. This influence may require members of the family to change their diets to respond to their mother or

94

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

mothers-in-law’s idea of a “proper” Israeli diet. Women perceive cooking Friday dinner as their only opportunity to bring the family together, using their cooking skills to make a “personal statement” about who they are (Allison, 1991, 203). I argue that food preparation for the Friday dinner is also an occasion, in which ethnicity is freely displayed by women and learned by children. Baruch Kimmerling suggests that the boundaries of traditionalism in Israel are fragmented and change according to ethnic groups (Kimmerling, 2001, 131). The Friday dinner table is a clear example of this fragmentation; Friday dinners underline the ethnic, political, and class differences in the country. While most families spend Friday together around the table, individual families consume different dishes, sing different songs, and may speak different languages. Shabbat dinner is a domestic celebration in which identity and tradition are transmitted and belonging to the Jewish community is reinforced. It is also the occasion where differences and divisions among the Israeli population are more evident. The Shabbat table reflects how Israeli identity is constructed through everyday practices, reinforced by a dominant Ashkenazi hegemony: “National identity is in reality crosscut by deep internal divisions and only unified through the exercise of different forms of cultural power, to provide an illusion of commonality” (Edensor, 2002, 24).

What Is Shabbat? The Israeli weekend starts on Friday morning and is characterised by a general state of frenzy. The Carmel Market in Tel Aviv and the Ben Yehuda Market in Jerusalem are at full capacity. Hundreds of women, from hilonim (secular) to daatim (religious) are buying everything they need to prepare for their Shabbat dinners that night. The aroma of challah can be smelled everywhere, and hundreds of people line up in bakeries to buy the loaves. Around four o’clock, restaurants and shops begin closing. By six, cities will completely transform themselves, adopting a relaxed and restful atmosphere. Friday is a short day. Shops and businesses close early in the afternoon, and most people do not work. However, women begin preparations for the dinner early in the morning, especially religious women who will also need to cook for the next day. The meals for Friday and Saturday must be ready before the Shabbat commences 18 minutes before sunset, after which the prohibitions to work start. Yet, religious

5

HOW SHABBAT HAS KEPT ISRAEL …

95

women are not the only ones cooking; secular women will also devote part of their Friday to preparing a meal for that evening (Fig. 5.1). The Shabbat is the focal point of Jewish life, and of Israeli life as well. For secular Israeli families, it is part of the weekly routine; a family gathering without religious connotation that is practised by secular individuals. Families assemble for Friday’s dinner every week and will eat a copious meal to mark the end of the working week and the beginning of rest. Shabbat dinner means conviviality, family time, and food. Although there might be prayers, especially if there are children, this will be viewed as more of a national tradition, a way to show the young ones the practices of their parents. As in the case of Ayala’s family, two, three, or more generations of the family spend dinner together. Children are taught—even in many secular families (Dosick, 2007)—to light the Shabbat candles and to say the prayers over bread and wine. According to the Torah, God created the world in six days. On the seventh day, he rested (Genesis 2:1–3). As God created human beings

Fig. 5.1 Machane Yehuda Market, Jerusalem

96

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

in his image, humans—in the same way that God did—must rest on the seventh day of the week. God gave this edict to the Jewish people in, when the people of Israel were instructed to, “Remember the Shabbat day and keep it holy” (Exodus 20:8). Since then, the Shabbat has become the focal point of Jewish life around the world. The importance of the Shabbat to Jewish identity has been summarised in the popular saying, “More than Israel has kept the Shabbat, the Shabbat has kept Israel” (Dosick, 2007, 130). This reinforces the idea that the Israeli nation has survived over time by maintaining traditions and emphasises the importance of family to the country. Shabbat starts on Friday evening, when women light the Shabbat candles. The candles represent the peace of the home, the light that keeps the family from falling into the darkness (Posner, 2014). They also provide a reminder of the first act of creation, with light being the first thing that God created (Dosick, 2007, 375). Following the role taken by the matriarch Sarah, Jewish women have the principal role in keeping Shabbat shopping, cooking, and making sure everything in the house is ready for a day of absolutely no work is a great responsibility. Almost all religious, domestic Jewish tasks rely upon female duties. Men also perform their traditional duties, in the form of prayer. During Shabbat, the Kiddush (sanctification) is said. The Kiddush should be recited over wine. In recognition of those that do not have wine, it can also be said over challah. In Orthodox Judaism, the male head of the household is the one in charge of reciting the Kiddush. Although in progressive Judaism women can do this as well, and everybody is welcomed to join the prayer, all the Israeli families I spent time with, independently of how secular they felt, always let the oldest man of the family do the blessing.3

3 Progressive and Orthodox Judaism not only have different practices but also a different approach to the Torah. While orthodox Jews believe it comes directly from God, progressive Jews understand it as a God-inspired text. Practice varies according to different communities, not only in worship, but in the everyday. In terms of food practices, Orthodox Jews will follow a strict kosher diet at all times, while among Progressive Jews practices will vary. In Israel, Progressive Jews (even if they consider themselves religious) will call themselves hiloni, secular, in contrast to the Orthodox communities, or the Masorati (traditional/modern Orthodox) Jews. Reform Judaism 2016, Reform Judaism [online]. Available at http://www.reformjudaism.org/shabbat-customs, Accessed 25 November 2020.

5

HOW SHABBAT HAS KEPT ISRAEL …

97

During Shabbat, all work is forbidden; a total of 39 prohibitions relate to this commandment. Some of them are doing business, handling and spending money, lighting fire (or electricity), driving or riding any vehicle, using the phone or the computer and of course, cooking (Dosick, 2007, 374). Shabbat is the central celebration of Jewish life; it breaks the weekly routine and inserts sacred time into the secular space of the everyday (Bahloul, 1983, 214). It is also the most important observance in Judaism. Shabbat is central to the secular life of Israelis as well. Many will not adhere to all the Shabbat prohibitions. For many Israelis the Shabbat has become a day of rest to spend with family and friends. Still, family hierarchies prevalent in more orthodox families have not vanished from secular ones, and the gender division of roles is particularly noticeable on Shabbat. The next section further reflects on this topic and explores its relationship to nationhood.

Shabbat Food and Family Structure The intersection between gender and authority makes itself evident in the dinner table, as well as the imbalances of power and the reinforcement of gender roles, and family hierarchies (Wilk, 2010, 429). In the case of Israel, the Friday night dinner is a clear example of how women deal with power relations in the household, and how women from different generations negotiate their roles in their family by manipulating food (Sutton, 2014, 20). Women use food to bring the family together; food acts as a “weapon and a blanket, a means of control and of protest” (Avieli, 2018, 14). As previously discussed, the Friday night dinner is an occasion where Israeli families assemble to celebrate the end of the week. It is also a moment for women to restate family hierarchies, reinforce tradition and national practices and behaviours, and indirectly exert control over the daily lives of their adult children. The weekly dinner is unavoidable; this is the first mechanism through which family hierarchies are reinforced. Everyone in the family must accommodate their plans to attend dinner, and most families organise the Friday dinner at least three times a month, and some also make a Shabbat lunch. Most of my younger informants—like Ariel —would complain that Friday dinner made their weekend feel shorter as they were not free to do whatever they wanted on Friday. Nevertheless, on those rare occasions when Ariel’s family did not meet for dinner he attended friend’s family dinners or he would organise small dinners with friends.

98

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

Esther and Ruth spend Friday evening and Saturday breakfast and lunch together with their family. The Friedman family moved to Israel from the United States and Central Europe. Although some of their children have Mizrahi partners, they considered themselves Ashkenazi. Their Shabbat dinners always consisted of two menus: one for the children and one for the adults, although on some occasions some of the dishes were shared with slight changes for the kids. Ruth considered this a standard, simple Israeli menu, even if it included distinctively Ashkenazi recipes (e.g. stuffed cabbage, chicken soup with kneidlach). Alongside these dishes, she included those she perceived as “properly” Israeli; chopped salad, ptitim, and chicken schnitzels. In contrast to Passover, children were not obliged to eat any of the “adults’ food”. As long as they had eaten “something”, Ruth would comply with any last-minute craving their grandchildren would have. She would also serve the children’s food at a different temperature than the rest, and she was especially careful with the soup. Two elements were never missing from the Friedman’s’ table: wine and challah. The wine was not necessarily kosher, as Ruth was always on the look-out for good wines, but she preferred Israeli wines. They were—like Table 5.1 Homemade Shabbat menu

Adults’ menu

Children’s menu

Wine (1 cup for the whole table) Challah Chicken soup with kneidlach

Grape Juice Challah Chicken soup with Shkedei Marak4 Israeli chopped salad without onion

Esther’s stuffed cabbage rolls Israeli chopped salad Chicken schnitzels Strawberries with soy cream Chocolate cake Tea or instant coffee

Ptitim or roast potatoes Chicken schnitzels without spices Strawberries with soy cream Chocolate cake

4 Also known as “soup almonds”, they are tiny bright yellow dough croutons. There are produced by an Israeli company and a firm favourite of Israeli children.

5

HOW SHABBAT HAS KEPT ISRAEL …

99

most of my participants—extremely proud of the country’s wine industry and emphasised the importance of supporting their wine industry. The Shabbat tradition dictates those two loaves of bread should be included in the Shabbat dinner. These loaves represent the double portion of manna that fell on Friday during the Exodus, and they are traditionally covered before they are blessed. In modern-day Israel, challah has become symbolic of Shabbat; it is present in the Israeli Shabbat both in secular and orthodox dinners. It is a braided loaf of bread traditionally made with white flour and enriched with eggs. The modern braided loaf has its origins in fifteenth-century Austria and southern Germany. Much more luxurious than the wholemeal everyday loaf, it was baked for Shabbat as a special treat (Marks, 2010, 97). In Israel, the smell of freshly baked challah on Friday morning is an unmissable sign of the closeness of Shabbat. Children learn to make the dough at school, modern bakeries sell new interpretations of challah, and weddings guests are sent home with challah for Shabbat (Fig. 5.2).

Fig. 5.2 Shabbat Dinner served in an Ulpan

100

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

Except for challah and wine, there were no other traditional Jewish elements in the Friedmans’ dinners, and the Friday menu varied from week to week. The Shabbat dinner should be abundant. Generally, two main dishes are served (one fish and one meat) alongside soup, several salads, and desserts. The menu can vary according to family background, social class, and age group. However, Ashkenazim menus tend to have more in common with each other than with the menus of other Jewish communities. Claudia Roden affirms that, “the whole Ashkenazi world has a common standard menu for the Shabbat, most of which dates to the Middle Ages. On Friday night in medieval Germany, they ate challah a braided bread, salt herring and stuffed freshwater fish, broth with noodles, followed by meat pies, pickled, or boiled beef or roast goose, stuffed neck and noodle pudding. Today meat pies have gone, and roast chicken has replaced roast goose” (Roden, 1996, 27). Although several different recipes are used in a Shabbat dinner, a traditional Israeli Ashkenazi menu will follow the structure described by Roden: soup with dumplings, a fish dish, a meat or chicken main course, challah, and some side dishes such as chopped salad. Roden also argues that in contrast to the Ashkenazi world, the Sephardic world does not have a standard menu, as there are as many Shabbat dishes as there are Sephardic communities in the world (Roden, 1996, 28). In Israel, the mix between Ashkenazi and Sephardic traditions has resulted in the impossibility of talking about a standard Israeli Shabbat menu. Although Chicken schnitzel, hummus and tahini and Israeli salad5 can be considered staples in the Israeli menu, they may or may not appear at the Friday dinner. Joan Nathan provides three examples of possible Israeli Shabbat menus (Table 5.2). Joan Nathan’s menus illustrate the diversity of the Israeli Shabbat table, deeply rooted in the experience of the diaspora and impossible to standardise. I attended over 20 Shabbat dinners in Israel, and I was unable to find any similarities between family menus. As mentioned previously, among Ashkenazi families like the Friedman’s or Ariel’s family, roast chicken was a common choice. However, it was only in Mizrahi dinners that I got a fish dish. While the Friedman family would serve soup and a 5 Israeli salad, also known as Arab salad, consists of a mixture of fresh vegetables, mainly radish, peppers, onion, tomato, and cucumber that are chopped and dressed with olive oil and lemon. It is a popular saying that the smaller the vegetables are chopped, the better the cook–who is generally female–is.

5

HOW SHABBAT HAS KEPT ISRAEL …

101

Table 5.2 Israeli Shabbat menus Minsk menu

Old New York Sephardic menu

Hungarian menu

Challah/Gefilte Fish/Friday night brisket/ Kosher dill pickles/Potato Kugel/carrots/hot fruit compote/ almond bread

Challah/Sephardic cold spicy fish/Fassoulia (Sephardic string bean and meat stew)/green salad/ fruit cup with sherbet)

Challah/Chicken noodle soup/chicken paprika/rice/cucumber salad/apple strudel

Source (Nathan, 1988, 19)

small amount of Middle Eastern small dishes like hummus, Ariel’s mother would fill the dining table with tiny dishes, similar to the Arabic mezze and would not serve any soup. Despite all the differences, it is possible to say that between Mizrahi and Hungarian families there is an interest and a preference for reproducing the recipes cooked by their ancestors in the diaspora. Meanwhile, most Ashkenazi families preferred to experiment with new and neutral flavours, especially from Asia. Dishes such as hummus and tahini sauce, chopped salad also known as Israeli salad, are usually part of the Israeli Shabbat menu. These dishes labelled as Israeli are perceived as national and have been “de-arabised” to become edible by Jewish Israelis. The Israeli salad, for example, a chopped salad of fresh vegetables (radish, peppers, tomatoes, onion, and cucumber) is a traditional dish in many Middle Eastern countries. It was also a staple dish in the diets of the kibbutzniks. This salad, originally known as “Ben-Gurion salad”, was copied from the culinary repertoire of the region by the pioneers, as it was a practical way to consume the available vegetables. Afterwards, it was appropriated and became one of the staple dishes of Israel. It is present in almost every household and in the majority of weekday and weekend meals, including breakfast. The “Israeli salad” is one of the few common elements throughout the menus of Israeli households. It contributes to the mixture of diasporic and local dishes in a Shabbat dinner. Increasingly, some new, trendier dishes are also appearing on the Friday menu. Roasted cauliflower is viewed as one of the dishes that represents Israeliness and modernity. Its popularity began with the famous Israeli chef Eyal Shani’s “Roasted Cauliflower” recipe, that later became a global phenomenon. It is one of the most popular dishes served at Shani’s restaurant, Miznon, which has opened branches outside of Israel, in Paris and Vienna. This dish, now classified

102

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

as authentically Israeli, derives from traditional Palestinian dishes that use cauliflower as a staple ingredient. It is reproduced by domestic cooks and showcased with national pride. The inclusion of Asian food or certain flavours or ingredients is also common. Among Asian food, Japanese food—especially sushi—is particularly popular. Its popularity is a partial consequence of the fact that almost all the ingredients (except for sea food) are kosher. This makes it easy for those cooking at home, as well as for restaurants, to serve kosher Japanese food. Sushi has become a staple meal in Israel, but also features in celebrations. I was invited to a Bat mitzvah in Haifa, where sushi was served as part of the dinner alongside Israeli salads. As most of my participants wanted me to experience traditional Jewish cooking, I was never served Asian food at a Shabbat dinner. However, they told me on several occasions that they liked to experiment with their Friday night menus, as it was the only day of the week in which they cook a whole meal.

Israeli style Motherhood Most Israeli women I talked to worked full-time jobs and left their children in childcare and/or with their grandparents. Therefore, neither young working women nor older women caring for their grandchildren had time to cook every day of the week. Shabbat was the only opportunity, to have a family meal and to show their culinary skills. Even after long days at work, women found the time to cook Friday dinners; an event perceived as key in binding the family and the nation together (Wilk, 2010, 429). One of my male participants used the term “Israeli style motherhood” to label the role of working women in the house. He believed that the way Israeli women performed their traditional role as mothers and homemakers with full-time jobs was something to be proud of and not a sign of inequality. However, he never mentioned whether men shared the domestic work. It seemed that child rearing was shared between mothers and grandparents, but not necessarily between mother and father. Similarly to the mothers studied by Gracia Clark in Asante, motherhood in Israel is understood in terms of childcare, but also income generation (Clark, 1999, 720). The ideal Israeli mother is one that takes care of the home and children and is able to balance her work inside and outside the home, taking responsibility for the economic wellbeing of the family as well. Additionally, women in Israel are tasked with the family’s emotional

5

HOW SHABBAT HAS KEPT ISRAEL …

103

labour: unpaid duties with the aim of attaining comfort and balance, shaping children’s experiences, and providing emotional support to other members of the family (DeVault, 1999). “Israeli style motherhood” in which women work and are simultaneously in charge of all the domestic duties was particularly noticeable at Friday dinners; women are responsible for shopping, cooking, and serving food. On some occasions, men and younger women oversee washing dishes and laying the table. Menu choices are also in the hands of women; this is not an easy task. Allergies, food preferences, and different diets are always considered to please the palates of all the family members. Factors including price, convenience, time to cook, and origins of the recipes cannot be neglected either. The activities performed by women are commonly taken for granted by families who see them simply as the duty of women, independently of their work outside the house. My informants found strength, power, and also repression in these daily reproductive tasks. My participants were able to express themselves through cooking, planning menus, and shopping. Nevertheless, they found themselves restrained by the roles imposed upon them by a society that expects women to perform these tasks whether they like them or not. Ruth oversees the Friedman family menu, selecting ingredients, shopping, and cooking. However, her mother Esther is a consistently vigilant presence with a decisive opinion, especially regarding the menu choice. Depending on the occasion, Ruth prepares a dish or two for everyone or adapts a traditional one to suit a family member’s dietary requirements. Sometimes, Ruth consults her sisters, especially if the family is celebrating a special occasion, such as a birthday or a visit from some relatives living abroad. Ruth always mentioned the importance of her mother’s opinion, particularly when cooking traditional dishes; she constantly worries about this, even though she normally only receives praise from her. The judgement of the eldest women in the family was key in making any domestic decisions. Esther’s feelings and thoughts were sometimes discarded in matters of politics or the discussion of current events, however, she was always able to exert a certain influence when talking about food preparation, recipes, shopping, or even decoration. She was even feared by other female family members such as the wives of her grandchildren. The same happened with Ruth, who had a decisive impact over the diets of her children and grandchildren. Esther and Ruth were both able to use their cooking skills as a tool to gain a certain control over

104

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

the life of their closest relatives and could impose the values they believed were important through their cooking. Cooking is a way of exerting power, sharing tradition, and understanding the nation through the way food is served. After the Kiddush recited by her husband, Ruth serves the dinner. A few salads appear on the table before people sit down. These cannot be touched until the wine and bread are blessed and consumed. After that, Ruth serves the first course (if there is one), which on most occasions is soup. It is served in the kitchen and brought to the table on individual plates. This is the only dish that she serves in such a way; everybody indicates to Ruth how much soup they want and whether they would like vegetables or dumplings. Many of my informants found it rude to give plates that already had food on them to their guests, and they preferred to put all the plates in the middle of the table, “family style” and allow everybody to help themselves to as much or as little food as they want. “Double dipping” is also allowed in Israel, particularly with dips and hummus, and some of my participants did ask me if I felt uncomfortable with it. Although the informality of the Israeli meal is not lost on Shabbat, cooking a first course that can be soup or fish is a reminder of the importance of the day. Ruth’s family also assembles for Shabbat lunch most weekends, although the lunch is not mandatory as the Friday dinner. When most of the family can attend, or when extra guests are invited, they opt for a barbecue. On other occasions, when fewer family members attend, Shabbat lunches consist of Friday night’s leftovers or dishes that allow the children to participate in the preparation (e.g. pizzas). Even on these occasions, Ruth could be criticised for serving too many leftovers. For instance, her family complained constantly about her chocolate truffles, which consisted of chocolate cake leftovers mixed with melted butter and shaped into individual truffles. She made them anyway, and her grandchildren loved them, so she ignored their parents’ complaints. Even when well-attended, Shabbat lunches tended to be less ceremonial. Esther was always happy to cater for the different diets of her family members, and she made different versions of the same dish (e.g. gluten free blintzes) in the hope that everybody could try the traditional dishes.6 Ruth’s children and their partners, always expect to go back home with some leftovers for the week. Ruth viewed this as part of her duty as a 6 Originally from East Europe, blintzes are unleavened pancakes that are then cooked, filled most of the time with white cheese, and pan-fried. Gil Marks, op. cit., p. 56.

5

HOW SHABBAT HAS KEPT ISRAEL …

105

mother and a good mother-in-law, given she doubts the culinary abilities of her daughter and daughter-in-law. Although she knows her son and son-in-law are good cooks, she does not expect them to cook everyday meals. Her grandchildren stay at her house most Friday nights, so Ruth also cooks breakfast for them. I was never able to witness a Saturday breakfast, as Ruth considered that making pancakes for her grandchildren was not a proper meal or an Israeli one. Rather, she viewed it as an acquired American tradition that children liked, and it was therefore not worthy of anthropological inquiry. Friday night dinners and Shabbat lunches give Ruth the possibility of bringing her family together once a week. They are also a way of reasserting the family structure. Although they are a secular family, they always pray the Kiddush on Friday dinners. Praying the Kiddush highlighted gender roles: men pray while the older women of the family have control over the menu and even over the food preparation. The blessing of wine and bread, according to Joelle Bahloul, represents the dialogue that is established in Shabbat between the Jewish collective and the divine (Bahloul, 1983, 216). The performance of the Kiddush is a fundamentally masculine task, and surprisingly, the secular families that I visited did not question or break the tradition that dictated that the male head of the household should recite the blessing. However, women were more open to sharing the blessing of the candles with the children of the family as a way of transmitting traditions and making them feel part of the celebration. According to my participants, the prayers were stripped of any religious meaning and performed with the didactic aim of teaching children national traditions and Jewish custom. The choice of the Shabbat menu also had the purpose of teaching Jewish traditions alongside Israeli behaviours and choices. The mixture of Ashkenazi and local dishes is what Ruth imagines an “average Israeli table” should look like. Even the occasional Asian dish is seen as a common Israeli choice. From Ruth’s point of view, the Ashkenazi tradition, the Mizrahi tradition, new trends, and the local tradition can be mixed without any issues, given that the result of this is a “simple, average Israeli menu”. As Chapter 7 demonstrates, local dishes that are included in these menus are commonly stripped from their Palestinian origins. Although some Israelis accept their roots, most will only label them as Arab, local, or Middle Eastern. In that way, they become edible, and sometimes even national.

106

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

Labelling these food choices as “Israeli” allows Israelis such as Ruth, to present their Shabbat table as the epitome of the “unproblematic Israeli melting pot” in which food is simple. The histories of the dishes do not clash, instead becoming part of the national food culture and the cultural diversity of the country. The disorderly way of eating—the family’s style of serving huge plates of food placed in the middle of the table allowing everybody to eat as much as they want—is part of what Ruth and her family understand as Israeli. Ruth believes that Israel is a welcoming, family-oriented, informal, and “easy-going” country. Therefore, she performs this informality and openness in her house every weekend.

Nostalgic or National Choices Shabbat dinners are often used to showcase the national roots of a family. Noa cooked Tunisian food for Shabbat; Ayala served Hungarian dishes; and Ruth and Esther always included an Ashkenazi dish. Although most women work full-time and are “Israeli style mothers” they still expressed guilt for not spending as much time in the kitchen, taking care of their families, as others do. Some of them decided to avoid cooking “simple” Israeli food for Shabbat and spent most of the day in the kitchen, even if it was one of the only days of rest in the week. For them, Shabbat was the occasion to reproduce the dishes of their childhood, or those that had an important place in their family history. Friday dinners were nostalgic occasions where the family came together and reminded themselves of their roots outside the country. One of my informants, Hava, has a Hungarian background. She constantly looked for goulash (a traditional Hungarian stew made with beef and potatoes) recipes to cook on Friday night. She recalled the smell of the first time her father had cooked it: I remember the day I tried goulash for the first time. I was probably ten when my father and his brother, after more than twenty years of being apart, saw each other again. My uncle came to visit us, and they decided to cook their mother’s goulash together. My grandmother had died in a concentration camp when they were young, so it was only through the memory of the smell of her food that they were able to recreate her dish. I still remember the flavour it; it was perfect. My father started cooking after that day, and we looked for Hungarian recipe books everywhere. Now

5

HOW SHABBAT HAS KEPT ISRAEL …

107

it is easy to find them, but at that time, to be Israeli meant to eat Polish chicken soup, so it was not easy. I have some books now, but I will never be able to get the flavour of that first goulash again.

Similar stories were repeated in most of my interviews with second and third generations of Holocaust survivors. Ayala constantly cooked Hungarian food from recipe books that she treasured even when her parents had not made them frequently. Her great grandparents had died during the Holocaust, which is why her parents had migrated to Israel. Hava and Ayala saw a way to reconnect with their past in these recipes even when the chain of transmission of culinary knowledge was broken. Their need to reproduce the dishes of lost mothers or grandmothers led them on a frenetic search for cookbooks that would allow them to reproduce the recipes that nobody was able to teach them, or that they could only remember vaguely or that belonged to family legends. David Sutton maintains that “It is the taste of food that is key to unlocking memories of all sorts, personal, familial, local and national” (Sutton, 2014, 47). The reproduction of recipes carried out by my participants responded to the search for memories mentioned by Sutton. Nonetheless, many of my participants had never tried the dishes they aimed to cook and eat. Instead, they searched for cookbooks that allowed them to experience flavours and smells that they had only heard of from other generations of their families. Cooking these family dishes and consuming them in a family setting allowed my participants to recreate memories they had of lost members of their family. Sometimes these were of people they had never met, and to feel connected with their past in the diaspora. They also exemplified the impossibility for the “New Hebrew” to forget the countries that they came from, even if they had been born in Israel. The New Hebrew was supposed to leave the diaspora in the past and recreate himself as a strong Israeli found himself unable to cut his attachments with the old land. Food was one of the ways in which this manifested. European dishes never completely disappeared. Those that did have been recovered by the second and third generations of immigrants that grew up listening the stories of the old land; some stories of persecution but some of nostalgia. Even when participants like Ayala consider themselves, not only Israeli, but Zionist with a strong attachment to the country, the diasporic experience was not erased. This experience was not exclusive to Ashkenazi participants. On the contrary, the nostalgia for their countries of their

108

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

ancestors is even more prevalent among the Mizrahim. For example, Chen’s Moroccan grandmother did not feel her immigration to Israel was the homecoming promoted by the government. Instead, she felt like an exile. The nostalgic dishes that were recovered through recipe books were only prepared for family gatherings like Shabbat. Many of my Ashkenazi participants pointed out in conversations that they were happy to experiment with foreign and “exotic” flavours. When I was invited, they cooked the nostalgic dishes, which they perceived as “their food” to show me “real” Jewish cooking. Both Hungarian women I met tried to showcase Hungarian dishes when talking with me or cooking for me. They did this with the intention of showing me that their food, Hungarian Jewish food, was not “grey tasteless Ashkenazi food”, but something completely different. They highlighted that Hungarian food had little in common with “Polish and Russian boring cooking”, adding: “if you think the Ashkenazi food is boring and bland you have been eating the wrong kind, Hungarian food has nothing to do with that boring Polish food, and it is still Ashkenazi”. The openness to experiment and the determination to keep or rediscover their culinary traditions was, among most of my participants, a female endeavour. Women are commonly in charge of domestic tasks such as cooking and decide what they believe is acceptable food to be eaten at home and what is not. They choose what they take from other cultures, which dishes they preserve from their family tradition, and which dishes they erase. Ayala was shocked to hear that her son-in-law enjoyed the gefiltefish cooked by her mother. Without hesitation, Ayala said, laughing: “well, he should eat it while he can because when she is gone the gefiltefish will also be gone”. Again, women, as keepers of tradition, believe they have the right to decide what families keep and what they forget. This is especially clear in culinary matters, as they will be the ones cooking. This is not exclusive to Israeli or Jewish women. Writing about Gullah women, Josephine A. Beoku-Betts argues that, “Cultural preservation through food preparation and feeding is a highly conscious act on the part of these women: it is tied closely to their judgments about when to accept and when to resist change” (1995, 553). One of the main goals of preserving tradition and showcasing it on Shabbat dinner is to socialise newcomers into Israeli society and the family. Children and immigrants had to learn the rituals, prayers, dishes, and behaviours approved during this dinner. Consequently, women

5

HOW SHABBAT HAS KEPT ISRAEL …

109

oversee this process of Israelisation: they consider this one of their nationalist duties, and a key aspect of private life in which the nation is performed.

Distributing Leftovers As emphasised throughout this chapter, the Israeli family structure is particularly reinforced through family gatherings like Friday dinners. In this structure, the importance of female domestic work is highlighted. This conforms with traditional Jewish gender roles, where Jewishness is transmitted by the mother and women are responsible for all domestic aspects of religion. All my informants and their families, regardless of ethnic background or social class, reproduced the matriarchal structure of the Israeli family. Women hold the responsibility (even if they work full-time) of managing the household. This also gives them a certain freedom and power over other family members. Friday dinners showcase the predominant role of women in the private sphere, in which cooking is their main tool to exert power. Another way in which women were able to influence their family and strengthen their roles was through the distribution of leftover food from the Friday dinner or Shabbat lunch. Women used these leftovers to intervene in their children’s lives of and to sustain the family hierarchy by reinforcing national values. While studying orthodox Mizrahi women in Jerusalem, Susan Starr Seret found that, “When the women prepare traditional food for their married children, they consciously use food to strengthen their descendants’ bonds to Judaism. Food, particularly in the framework of holiday and Shabbat meals, transmits traditional values. Food makes the individual feel Jewish, the smells, textures, and tastes of Jewish cooking, perhaps even more than books and lessons, became inescapably embedded in the individual psyche” (Sered, 1988, 133). This mechanism, employed by secular and orthodox women alike, strengthens the collective identity of the family. It becomes more noticeable when the partners of the younger generations are new immigrants, and mothers-inlaw see the distribution of leftovers as a way to “correct” the diets of the new members of the family and the nation. Carole. Counihan researched food distribution in modern-day Florence. Counihan concluded that women in stratified societies use food to exert power and extend their limited influence over the members of their families (Counihan, 1988, 53). The mandatory nature of Friday

110

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

night dinners, and the distribution of leftovers to grown-up daughters and follows the pattern established by Counihan. It highlights the status of the kitchen as a place of both oppression and empowerment. Nonetheless, Israeli women do not only distribute leftovers, but, on many occasions, they also give raw ingredients to their children. Eliana, the American immigrant living in Beersheba, has been deeply influenced by her motherin-law. During our conversations, she always claimed that her diet became healthier after moving to Israel, as she includes a lot of fresh and dairy products that she did not eat in the United States (such as cottage cheese). She also mentioned several times that she now has a predilection for Mizrahi cooking: the food cooked by her mother-in-law. Eliana’s motherin-law cooks a copious dinner every Friday, with enough food for each of her children to take home and eat during the week. Not only that, but she also buys groceries for her son and Eliana. Eliana has decided to let her do all these things for them. She claims it is her way to feel included and helpful. Although of Ashkenazi origin, Eliana has adopted all the Farsi (Jewish Iranian) traditions of her family-in-law, and most of the food she consumes comes from her mother-in-law’s kitchen. Eliana says that one of the reasons she allows her mother-in-law to almost dictate her diet is the little control she thinks she has over other things: “she is always in the kitchen, alone. Nobody helps her with anything. I think allowing her to cook for us is also a way to show appreciation for her and what she does. I also always try to help her out, but she doesn’t seem to like it”. According to Eliana, the only place in which her mother-in-law can exert power is in her kitchen, and she has been particularly keen to influence the way she eats. Eliana’s account is resonant with Counihan’s research. She contends that, “Giving food connects women to close relatives through an extremely intense emotional channel; women become identified with the food they offer. The mother determines when what and how much family members will eat. She controls the social mores of the table, which are a microcosm of behaviours and values deemed right and just by societyat-large. She controls the symbolic language of food, determining what her dishes and meals will say about herself, her family, and the world” (Counihan, 1988, 54). Eliana’s mother-in-law uses food to influence her diet and explain to Eliana who they are as a family and as a society. Eliana believes her in-laws have taught her how to eat like an Israeli: “I used to hate cottage cheese, and it is everywhere here! They taught me how to

5

HOW SHABBAT HAS KEPT ISRAEL …

111

eat it, and now I love it!” Eliana has learned how to eat like an Israeli from her mother-in-law, in this case, a Mizrahi Israeli. She tries to do the same for other immigrants. If her mother-in-law had been Ashkenazi, it is likely that she would have a different understanding of how to behave and eat like an Israeli. Ayala also had great influence over her son-in-law’s diet, and she is proud of this. Ayala believes that the freshness and quality of the products available in Israel make Israeli food “better, tastier and healthier”. She never specified what she thought was better, but it was clear she believed it was healthier than her son-in-law’s American diet. Ayala proudly told me she had altered his eating habits, integrating fresh food and salads into his diet and encouraging him to visit and shop in markets. However, her son-in-law told me he would still prefer some “unhealthy American food” over the Israeli salads, but he was trying to adapt to the country and did not want to disappoint his mother-in-law. Ayala was either unaware of this or ignored his comments. She perceived the changes in her son-inlaw’s diet as part of the process of Israelisation and took pride in the part she had played in this change. Other members of the family complained about him trying too hard to become Israeli, that he denied his diasporic origins or that he did not understand clearly what it meant to be a secular Jew in Israel. Like Eliana’s mother-in-law, Ayala became one of the main agents of nationalisation of her son-in-law. She influenced his diet and spent Friday dinners discussing politics. She outlined the correct attitudes and behaviours that secular Zionist Israelis should have and aimed to teach him how to be a “good”, left wing Israeli. At the time I met them, Ayala was proud of her success in changing his diet but remained convinced they still had much work to do. She and her family were still not completely satisfied with him. For them, he remained far from acting like a “real Israeli” and although they had been able to change some of his behaviours and food choices, he needed to work more on his language and attitudes. Eliana’s mother-in-law, Ayala, Esther, and Ruth used the Friday night dinners and the distribution of leftovers to reinforce family hierarchies, influence their offspring’s lives and to nationalise those new to their families and the nation. Although most Israeli women work outside the home, the responsibility of organising and cooking for these dinners is almost always exclusively on them. They are also obliged to share tradition, educating newcomers into the national values, behaviours, and diet.

112

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

Conclusion The blend of cultural experiences in Israel has now become a source of national pride. It is most visible on the Friday night table and through the lack of agreement on how an Israeli Shabbat menu should look. While roast chicken might be a common choice for Ashkenazi families, it is not uncommon to also find stir-fries and even sushi on the table. The choice of Asian food as a way to open culinary horizons might be related to the moral neutrality attached to those dishes, as there is virtually no historical relationship between Jewish communities and Asian countries. On the other hand, Mizrahi families continue reproducing their diaspora traditions with pride and will showcase their cuisines in the Shabbat dinner. Commonalities exist between most families: abundant fresh vegetables and salads, and the presence of some Middle Eastern dishes like hummus. Children enjoy more universal dishes such as schnitzels and potatoes— commonly roasted or fried. Food is also served in the middle of the table, in huge portions for the whole family, and the dinner is more formal than other weekly meals. Two elements are always present: challah and wine, which are indispensable for the Kiddush. They are only items, together with the lighting of candles, that mark the religious origins of the Friday dinner. Menu choices, shopping, and cooking for Shabbat remain in the hands of women. Organising the meal reinforces the matriarchal structure of the family and allows women to exert influence over other family members. Therefore, Shabbat becomes a key moment in the weekly routine of a household in which newcomers, immigrants, and children are socialised into the country and taught how to talk, choose, perform, and consume the nation. Shabbat shows newcomers how to pray. It displays the roles each member has in society. It shows which dishes people are allowed to eat on Friday night and represents an acceptable space through which they can innovate or modify tradition. Women, as the primary organisers of these dinners, become the agents of socialisation, teaching the newcomers how to behave by reproducing their own understanding of the nation. Shabbat shows the predominance of female control in the private sphere of Israel and power relationships between different members of the family, especially between mothers-in-law and sons and daughters-in-law. Shabbat is also a clear example of the ethnic, gender, class, and religious divisions of the Israeli family. In the case of Mizrahi families, the choice of the Friday night menu showcases the pride that certain family

5

HOW SHABBAT HAS KEPT ISRAEL …

113

recipes contain. In Ashkenazi tradition, the willingness to experiment and the shortage of family recipes illustrate the broken chain of culinary traditions. This is due to historical persecution, migration and the Holocaust, as well as the conviction that although the European diet was intended to be the official Israeli diet, it lacks flavour and variety compared to the Middle Eastern and Sephardic Jewish gastronomic traditions. Through Shabbat dinners the boundaries of the Israeli nation, as well as the ethnic communities and the social divisions inside it, are reasserted but also the matriarchal family structure is reinforced. In this chapter, I discussed several examples of how Friday dinners are used to socialise new immigrants. Although female figures (mothers-inlaw) try to influence the way the new members of the family eat, the immigrants do not act as static receptacles of culture—they are active and dynamic participants. They negotiate through the everyday practices they are taught, to then reshape and negotiate what it means to behave and eat as an Israeli. Throughout these instances, the home becomes the scenario in which people are taught how to consume the nation. As Tim Edensor highlights, in these scenarios the home becomes a space of repression and freedom where external influences are adapted through housework (Edensor, 2002). Women, the main actors in the home, use this scenario in different ways. Particularly through cooking, they become the main characters in the process of becoming a nation. Therefore, the study of Israeli cuisine and specifically of Shabbat food traditions provides us with a view of how women contribute to the creation of national identity, especially in the private sphere. Even when most women work full-time outside the home, the Israeli state and society still conceive their role as mothers and feeders as the fundamental way in which they contribute to the creation and reproduction of the nation.

CHAPTER 6

“From Home-Makers to Nation-Makers: Food and Rituals in the Israeli Household”

Einat opens the door of her pristine flat. Before saying hello, she starts laughing: “Oooh, I didn’t think about this! You want to talk about Israeli food, and I’m holding some Argentinian pork sausages in my hand! I’m so sorry, my husband is the one that likes them, I’m vegetarian!” she says. Then, Einat goes into the kitchen, leaves the sausages, and offers me an instant coffee and some fruit “I love that you are here, I want to know everything that is happening in London now, but I am unsure if I can help you. I am not the average Israeli; I don’t keep Shabbat; I don’t know the prayers. I do not cook much either, my husband is the one that knows how to cook properly. But I do Fridaydinners and holidays, should we talk about that?”

It was a sunny spring morning in the centre of Tel Aviv when I visited Einats’ flat. Einat was a close friend of one of my informants, when she heard about my research, she insisted she wanted to participate. Einat was in her late thirties and had two young children. She had recently returned to Israel after spending four years in London, while her husband finished his studies in dentistry. During her time in the United Kingdom, she did not work outside the home, and she was happy to return to her life as a teacher in Israel. Einat was either distressed by the fact that I had “caught her” with pork, or she was trying to make a point by holding the sausages in her © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 C. Prieto Piastro, Eating in Israel, Food and Identity in a Globalising World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87254-0_6

115

116

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

hand. Either way, she constantly stated during our interview that neither she nor her family kept kosher as they did not see the point of it. She explained that although she would be happy to have me anytime at her flat, she did not think it was a good idea to invite me to a Shabbat dinner as they did not celebrate it in any way and her food tended to be vegetarian. However, they had family dinners every Friday night and tended to avoid the use of electronics during the dinner “as everybody does in Israel”. She repeated several times that she did not say prayers for Shabbat or bless candles. She felt this made her family less interesting for my research and expressed her regret that she was unable to help me as much as she would have wanted: I grew up like this; my grandparents wanted to build a new life here, so they left in the past anything traditionally Jewish. My grandmother never passed on her recipes, and I can’t cook anything Ashkenazi, I just know the basics to feed my children. schnitzel, chopped salad, roast potatoes those kinds of things. My husband’s family is Moroccan; they do know how to cook, maybe you should go to them.

During the interview, Einat hinted that her ancestors were Holocaust survivors. She briefly discussed her mother and her partner but avoided talking about the past and origins of her family as much as possible. They were Israelis, no need to point out where in Europe they had come from or in what circumstances. Einat was uncomfortable labelling herself as Jewish and avoided the term as much as she could. However, it seemed that Einat—even when she avoided the topic—saw Jewishness as a fundamental part of Israeli identity. This became more evident when she suddenly started talking about Passover and all the preparations she needed to start that day to celebrate the holiday. She was hosting the Seder (Passover dinner) this year. She needed to go shopping and then cook the menu she had planned; chicken soup with matzah balls (dumplings); gefiltefish (fish patties); vegetarian options for herself, side dishes such as chopped salad and leek patties, and a Moroccan chicken in honour of her mother-in-law. She planned to buy traditional Moroccan sweets for dessert and looked for recipes for some extra side dishes. Einat was nervous; it was the first time she had cooked for her family-in-law. After living abroad for the past few years, she felt it was her responsibility. As we chatted, Passover became the main topic of our discussion. It was clear that Einat was extremely anxious about it. Her anxiety appeared to

6

“FROM HOME-MAKERS TO NATION-MAKERS …

117

stem from having her family-in-law at her home, rather than the apparent contradiction between her denial of her Jewish identity and her celebration of this religious holiday. Einat saw Passover as a national celebration, and therefore a fundamental part of who she was as an Israeli. Still, she made sure I knew it was not going to be a religious celebration, at least not for her. You know my parents always celebrated Passover but put bread on the table.1 I do the same, is a nice moment to be with the family but that is it. Although I have never spent a year without celebrating it, it is what we do in Israel you know? We celebrate Passover even if we are not religious.

For Einat, Passover was a national holiday. She continued celebrating it while the family was living in London to teach her children who they were—even when she did not see herself as religious, and her Jewishness makes her uncomfortable. In London, Einat found the celebration of Jewish holidays the only way of expressing and teaching their national identity to her daughters. Although she had never attended a synagogue in Israel, she did in London; Einat’s relationship with Jewishness and its role in her national identity was complex. By putting bread on the Passover table, she resisted common religious understanding and traditions related to this holiday; it was a tactic she used to distance herself and her family from religion; but not from their national identity. She viewed this ritual as one of fundamental in developing her daughters’ national identity. Einat’s experience illustrates how religious symbols can be modified and nationalised. Throughout this chapter, I explore how Jewish religious symbols and rituals have been re-signified and nationalised in Israel, becoming markers of national identity and not necessarily religious identity. One of these rituals is Passover, central date in the Israeli calendar, in which a mystified past is recreated in the Israeli household with the aim of reinforcing ties between the population, the Jewish character of the state, and the land. During this festival, the national “imagined community” (Anderson, 1983) is strengthened, nurturing Israeli national identity by reminding its members of shared bonds. It fosters a sense of Jewish continuity and destiny that becomes key when certain aspects of the national identity, such as Jewishness, are threatened (Kong & Yeoh, 1997). 1 In the next section, I will explain in detail the dietary laws surrounding this holiday.

118

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

Religious Jewish celebrations are used to socialise new members of the nation, support family hierarchies, and underline the role of Jewish women as home and nation makers for the Jewish state. Therefore, the centrality of Jewishness in Israeli identity implies that those who want to be fully accepted by the majority should adopt at least some elements of the Jewish identity.

What Is Passover? A fundamental Jewish holiday, Passover has become a key national celebration in Israel. The story of Passover recounted in the Exodus, describes how God helped the people of Israel escape slavery in Egypt. In its nationalised version, Passover celebrates the liberation of the Jewish people from Egypt and therefore the birth of the nation. It highlights the history of the Jewish identity, as Connerton states “the core of the Jewish identity is established by reference to a sequence of historical events. Israel observes festival in order to remember, what is remembered is the historical narrative of a community. Passover and its explicitly historical Seder annually reminds practicing Jews of the most formative moment in the life of their community, the moment in which that community was redeemed from bondage and made a free people” (Connerton, 1989, 46). According to the Jewish calendar, Passover is observed on the 15th day of the month of Nissan (April). Its celebration implies a long list of rituals, mainly in the household. The Exodus instructs the Hebrews that “For seven days you shall eat unleavened bread”, and also that “you must put leaven away from your houses” (Exodus 12:15). Arriving at the start of spring, Passover is also an agricultural holiday, marking the start of the barley harvest in Israel. As with any other religious or national ritual, Passover “entails oftrepeated actions, routinely followed according to some due form and order” (Kong & Yeoh, 1997, 215), and reveals the values (Wilson, 1954) and social networks at the core of the Israeli society. Throughout the festival one refrains from eating bread or any other foods with the potential to ferment. This tradition recalls the haste with which the Israelites fled Egypt, with not enough time to allow their bread to rise sufficiently. Before Passover, the house is cleaned of any leavened products (chametz), cutlery is changed for the Passover set, and all food that has been in contact with leavened products thrown away (Reform Judaism, 2021). Although this cleaning is only common in orthodox families, most of my

6

“FROM HOME-MAKERS TO NATION-MAKERS …

119

participants would do some preparation for the holidays. For example, Einat, does a “spring clean” before Passover, her version being a general cleaning of the house, that does not imply getting rid of chametz. Such cleaning is not limited to individuals. According to the Israeli Ministry of Tourism’s website “the State of Israel, as a representative of the Jewish people, customarily sells all the chametz in Israel to a non-Jew at a symbolic price and buys it back immediately following the holiday” (Israel Go, 2011). The non-Jew is Jabar, an Israeli Muslim Arab resident of Abu Gosh, a small town close to Jerusalem, that has symbolically bought the chametz for the last 20 years. By performing this ritual, the Israeli government implies that the idea of Israel as “the homeland of all Jewish people” is taken literally. The government, as the head of the “national household” transforms private rituals to the public sphere and nationalises them. The Passover cleaning ritual can be conducted in different ways. As for Einat, it can take the form of a “spring clean”, or it can be a thoroughly religious ritual. However, the method is key for the observance of the holiday. Orthodox Jews will not eat in houses or restaurants that have not followed the ritual according to Jewish law. After cleaning, the main event is the Passover Seder that takes place on the first night of the holiday and may be repeated over the seven nights of the festival. The script of the meal is contained in a book called the Haggadah (“the telling”). This dictates the evening’s proceedings, which involve consuming food that symbolises different aspects of the Exodus. The Four Questions, the most famous part of the Haggadah, are usually sung by the youngest child at the Seder.2 Taking their cue from the four different explanations of Pesach in the Torah, the sages suggested that each explanation could be paired with a particular type of questioner: the wise, the wicked, the simple, and the one who does not know how to ask. It is customary to have a Seder plate with food symbolising various stages

2 The four traditional questions are:

– – – –

On all other nights, we eat chametz and matzah. Why on this night, only matzah? On all other nights, we eat all vegetables. Why, on this night, maror? On all other nights, we don’t dip even once. Why on this night do we dip twice? On all other nights, we eat either sitting upright or reclining. Why on this night do we all recline?

Reform Judaism, loc. cit.

120

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

of the Exodus. The items on the plate remind the diners of the years of slavery and the road to freedom (Kordova, 2014). The plate includes: The shank bone: (may be substituted with chicken wings): A piece of roasted meat represents Paschal sacrificial lamb from the eve of the Exodus from Egypt, and annually, on the afternoon before Passover, in the Holy Temple. The egg: A hard-boiled egg represents the holiday offering from the days of the Holy Temple. It is also related to the cycle of life. The maror (bitter herbs): Bitter herbs are a reminder of the bitterness of slavery in Egypt. Freshly grated horseradish (commonly mixed with beetroot in Israel), romaine lettuce, parsley, and endives are all common choices. Charoset: A mixture of apples, nuts, and wine which resembles the mortar and bricks made by the Jews while in Egypt. The Karpas: : A non-bitter root vegetable alludes to the backbreaking work of the Jews as slaves. Boiled potatoes, parsley, or onions are normally used. Red potatoes are encouraged by the Israeli Reform movement to represent the immigration of Ethiopian Jews to Israel in 1991, a modern Exodus.3 The food on the plate is not intended to please the diners’ palate. Instead, it symbolises the suffering of the Jewish people. By eating or observing the food on the Seder plate, the participants in the ritual are reminded of the history of the Exodus. They also embody it, eat it, and physically become part of the Jewish people. Another symbolic act involves drinking four cups of wine to represent the four promises of redemption made by God in the Exodus: “I will take you out”, “I will save you…”, “I will redeem you…”, “I will take you as a nation” (Exodus 6:6–7). This final promise is one of the reasons why it is possible to interpret this religious holiday in national terms, as it imagines the Jewish people as a national collective and not only as a religion. A glass of wine is left untouched for the coming of the prophet Elijah. Ten drops of wine are spilled as a reminder of the ten plagues in Egypt. 3 There are thousands of recipes for charoset. Ashkenazi recipes include apples and wine while Sephardi recipes include dates and nuts.

6

“FROM HOME-MAKERS TO NATION-MAKERS …

121

The most important symbolic food of Passover is matzah, an unleavened bread eaten through the holiday to remind diners of the rush in which the Israelites had to leave Egypt.4 It is customary to stack three pieces on the Seder table. Two remind diners of the double portion of manna (food from heaven) the Israelites gathered before every day of rest in the desert (Exodus 16:11–22). The third piece, known as the afikomen, is broken at the beginning of the Seder and hidden in the house. At the end of the Seder the children have to look for it, and presents are given to the one that finds it. Passover is a long, structured ritual followed in the houses of millions of Jewish families around the world, simultaneously. The awareness that at the same time thousands of families are eating and reciting the same prayers makes Passover a key holiday for the imagination of the nation.5 Through food, Passover reinforces the memory of certain events— freedom, pain, and slavery—that are key for understanding the history of the Israeli nation. The symbolism of the Seder plate reminds the diner who they are. The dishes of the Passover dinner remind the diner of their nationality, hierarchy, and Jewishness.

The Seder A Passover Seder can take around three hours, with the dinner eaten an hour or more into the ritual. Although most of the dishes outside the Seder plate have no connection or meaning related to the story of the Exodus, some (e.g. gefiltefish, matzo ball soup, or chopped liver) have become as important and traditional as the food on the Seder plate. In 1962 Lilian Cornfeld, suggested this menu for Passover in Israel (Table 6.1). In addition, Cornfeld provides a recipe for Israeli charoset which includes orange juice and substitutes the apples with carrots (Cornfeld, 1962). Oranges, carrots, and avocados have become fundamental in the Israeli diet. They are available most of the year and are a source of national pride. For Israelis, vegetables like these represent the agricultural Jewish 4 It is believed that the Israelites had to leave Egypt so quickly that they did not had time for their bread to rise, therefore, flat, unleavened bread is used to commemorate this event. 5 The importance of simultaneity is discussed by Benedict Anderson in his work Imagined Communities, 1983. London: Verso.

122

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

Table 6.1 Passover Menu, Lilian Cornfeld (1962)

Passover menu for Seder night Boiled carp with beetroot and horseradish relish Chicken soup with knaidel (matzo ball soup) Chicken or duck stuffed with apple stuffing or rice Orange, avocado, and lettuce salad Baked small potatoes or matzah pudding Fresh Fruit Salad Sponge cake

miracle in Palestine. The menu also includes a fresh fruit salad, well suited for the weather in Israel. Although Cornfeld’s menu reflects a willingness to create an original Israeli menu for the holiday, she favours Ashkenazim traditions over Mizrahim dishes. The carp, matzah ball soup, and potatoes are typical dishes of the Ashkenazi holiday kitchen. Their presence in the menu reminds us again of how Israeli traditions were Europeanised during the first decades of the State. Cornfeld’s attempt to nationalise the Passover menu shows the importance of introducing nationalist symbols (like oranges or avocados) to the Passover dinner, a fundamental holiday for the reinforcement of nationalist feelings in Israel. Anthony Smith suggests that the importance of Passover resides in the centrality it gives to memory; a key aspect for the construction of collective identities “Collective memories and encoded memories are central to the Jewish experience and to the rise of Zionism. In the Jewish case, religion has been both the source and the vehicle of shared memories. Each diasporic community, for example, evolved its own customs and practices for Passover, but they operated within the framework of the commandments set down in the Bible and Talmud and within the basic format of the recital of the Seder set down in the Mishnah” (Smith, 1995, 6). As Smith claims, Jewish religion has been used in Israel to reinforce collective memories, and Passover is particularly useful. It is a celebration that highlights the national history; the Passover story can be interpreted as a narrative of liberation that focuses the connection between the Jewish People and the Land of Israel. The culinary traditions that surround it remind the Israeli consumers of who they are and help them to embody the suffering of the Exodus by eating the tears of the Jewish People (salted water) and the bitterness of slavery (bitter herbs). Diners become part of

6

“FROM HOME-MAKERS TO NATION-MAKERS …

123

Jewish history and Jewish history part of the self. National identity is reinforced by constantly reminding diners that they are part of the same people who once lived in slavery. The symbolism embedded in Passover is fundamental for Israeli national identity as well as Jewish identity, therefore, Passover is also celebrated in public spaces, especially in those ones where new members of the nation are being “absorbed”.

Learning to Celebrate Passover Throughout my fieldwork in 2015 and 2016, I attended several different Hebrew courses at Ulpanim, Hebrew schools. I attended one winter and one summer Ulpan in the University of Haifa. I also joined a government Ulpan in Tel Aviv for three months. Although most Israeli universities have an Ulpan for international students, the most popular ones among immigrants are those subsidised by the government and located in cities with an important flow of immigration. The Ulpan is a key institution in Israeli society, and a fundamental element of the absorption system of the country “In Israel absorption means foremost learning Hebrew. [In an Ulpan the immigrants] also study Jewish laws and customs previously unknown to them” (Weinstein, 1985, 215). Although many students in a governmental Ulpan are Jewish immigrants, the details of the Jewish calendar and traditions take a fundamental part of the courses, and the “Israeli way” of celebrating is taught and practised. Learning Hebrew in a University Ulpan is a different experience to learning it in a subsidised Ulpan.6 The quality of university teaching, commitment of the students, and extra activities are superior. Most university students are in Israel exclusively to learn Hebrew for one or two months, so they devote most of their time to this. Ulpan students in Tel Aviv had families, worked, or studied, meaning they had less time to study Hebrew. The Ulpan in Tel Aviv was less than a quarter of the price of a University Ulpan even without the subsidy.7 I took the advanced tourist course, offered in the afternoon; the course comprised of four sessions per week, each four hours long. Contrary to what the course name suggested, most 6 Although it is possible for some students to be subsidised by the government even if they are taking Hebrew courses in a university. 7 The government only subsidises the Ulpan classes for Jewish immigrants that have the intention of staying permanently in Israel.

124

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

of the students in my class were not tourists. Many were Ukrainian, Russian, and American women in their twenties who arrived with a “partner’s visa” and were living in Israel. Some already had children and except for a yoga instructor, they did not work outside of the house. Some wished to marry in Israel so were considering converting to Judaism, as they perceived Jewishness as a key element of being Israeli, and the only one that allows them to be fully national. Most women attending classes were not too keen on learning Hebrew. They did not see it as a priority as their partners and friends were from the same country as them. However, they considered the Ulpan a safe space, where they could openly talk about their unfamiliarity with Israeli traditions and a place where they could learn how to behave like an Israeli. The Ulpan’s teachers and administrative personnel were tasked with helping their students to assimilate to their new country, alongside teaching Hebrew. Given this aim, the academic programme of the school included Jewish holiday celebrations. As Deborah Golden points out in her study of Soviet immigrants to Israel “The Ulpan serves as an encounter between Israelis and newcomers, during which the latter are instructed in social knowledge crucial for their becoming proper members of Israeli society […] At the Ulpan, the emphasis is in learning to talk about political issues, on the one hand, and the temporal ordering provided by the national calendar on the other. These set out the two principles on which the Israeli state was founded: civic citizenship and ethnonational peoplehood” (Golden, 2001, 54). During the tourist course, the teacher mentioned several times that she admired her students’ decision to migrate to another country to follow their partners. She praised those who had decided to be stay-at-home mothers and wives and was open about her preference for women who prioritised family over career. This sympathy for her students’ decisions was reflected in her efforts to help them improve their relationship with their Israeli families-in-law. She discussed Jewish traditions and dedicated time in each session to explain the topics she considered acceptable to discuss with Israelis, how to do it, and which topics were best avoided. This situation in which newcomers are taught which opinions to voice and which ones to avoid echoes Golden’s ethnography in which she explains how Russian female immigrants attending an Ulpan spent hours discussing politics with their teachers. They aimed to make clear to newcomers which opinions were allowed, and which were not (Golden, 2002, 10).

6

“FROM HOME-MAKERS TO NATION-MAKERS …

125

These conversations with teachers happened during formal language education, and in conjunction with Jewish holiday celebrations. Each festival was preceded by two or more weeks of rehearsals, where the meaning and rituals involved were explained. Every group had to participate. It seemed that Jewish students also needed to be taught how to celebrate those holidays as an Israeli. During rehearsals they were asked to modify the way they prayed, behaved, or ate. The women in my class perceived the Passover Seder as a defining moment, an occasion where their belonging to the Israeli community would be tested by their partner’s families. They viewed it as transformative, as if adequately performing the ritual could make them Israelis. Janet Siskud notes similar practices in American Thanksgiving rituals, which have the goal of transforming immigrants into Americans “by connecting them to a cultural history stretching back to the founding of the country” (Siskud, 1992, 168). Over a month before the celebrations, Passover dominated the conversations between the class. The teacher was well-aware of their anxiety for the coming holiday. She decided that the Ulpan’s Passover celebrations would not be enough to calm her students. She suggested we rehearse the complete Seder and everyone agreed. Two weeks before Passover, she asked us to bring one food item for the Seder plate and to study the story of Passover and typical Passover songs and prayers. She was concerned we would feel left out, or that some of the women would be less liked by their partner’s families if they could not perform the ritual correctly. We started the preparations with a week of lessons dedicated to the story of the Exodus. Most of us were familiar with the story. However, the teacher tried to provide a detailed account and explanation, so everybody had a good basic understanding. At different points in her narration, she clarified the way she interpreted it, assuring us that her views were shared by most Israelis. For example, she said that “We were forty years in the dessert” and immediately explained that “well, in Israel we don’t believe that literally, we know Egypt is close by”. Trying to involve everyone in the story, she asked an Eritrean student how long it had taken him to get to Israel from Egypt by foot, assuming he had followed that path. He did not appreciate the question and made clear that although he was happy to speak about political issues, he was not willing to discuss his past or his status as a refugee. He openly told the class that he did not feel accepted by other Israelis because he was not Jewish, so he preferred not to talk about his origin. Aware she had touched on a difficult topic,

126

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

the teacher told him that although Israel’s immigration policies were not always friendly, he would soon feel at home and hoped he would be able to stay. The teacher was uncomfortable talking about immigration. Her behaviour and few words about it made it clear she did not agree with how refugees and non-Jewish partners were treated in the country; however, she never explained her political position. She was happy to discuss politics but never provided her point of view, and she expected us to do the same. This seemed to be something she wanted us to learn from her; how to talk about the nation without sounding less national. The Exodus story was only the beginning of more than 10 classes devoted to Passover that culminated in the Seder rehearsal. The day of the Seder rehearsal, my classmates learned the traditional prayers and songs, and we all brought the food items we were asked to. The teacher set the table and gave each one of us a Haggadah where the prayers, songs, and steps to follow during the celebration were listed. However, when the time to eat arrived, nobody, including the teacher was willing to eat much. The students commented how spicy the horseradish was, or that the charoset was too sweet for them. Only one ate a hard-boiled egg. The teacher did not force anyone to eat, but did comment that, even if the food was unpleasant, it was important to eat everything during the real Seder. To do otherwise would not give a good impression of them to their families-in-law. The only thing the students enjoyed was the matzah. Realising this, the teacher told us not to celebrate it too much as loving matzah was a clear sign of not being Jewish (Fig. 6.1). By participating in these Passover rituals, I was able to witness the relevance attached to the ability to follow and perform a Passover Seder in being considered Israeli. These rituals highlight the Jewish character of the state and reminder the newcomers of the essential place of Judaism in the state. The image that the immigrants in the class constructed about Israel was deeply affected by the experiences in the Ulpan; Natasha, one of the youngest Russian women in the class had real difficulty comprehending that there were Arab citizens in Israel. She had learnt in the Ulpan that being Israeli meant being Jewish, “you should see how many papers me and my boyfriend had to present so I can stay here. And everything is because I’m not Jewish. His family is not happy, the government is not happy, and his friends treat me differently. You can’t be accepted in this country if you are not Jewish, that is why most of us want to convert”.

6

“FROM HOME-MAKERS TO NATION-MAKERS …

127

Fig. 6.1 Seder plate in the Ulpan

According to Natasha, the only way to be fully accepted into the Israeli community was by being Jewish. She believed performing Jewishness by celebrating holidays or keeping kosher was the first step in becoming Israeli. Learning to celebrate Passover was as important to her as learning Hebrew. Therefore, the idea of the existence of non-Jewish citizens in Israel made no sense to her. Through her experience of living in Israel, the only way to be Israeli was to at least, act Jewish. The Ulpan rehearsal was my first experience of Passover in Israel, but it was not the only one. I received over 15 invitations for Passover Seders and lunches, so I attended two more celebrations. Attending those

128

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

private celebrations combined with my experience in the Ulpan gave me a more complete vision of how Passover has been assigned national meaning and how it is used to socialise newcomers. It also highlighted the importance of “acting Jewish”. Performing the ritual correctly held significance for newcomers and those who felt on the periphery of the national community.

Esther’s Gefiltefish I spend the first night of Passover with the Friedman family. The Friedman’s can trace their origins to Eastern Europe, although their immediate ancestors lived in the United States. Esther, the great-grandmother of the family, arrived in Israel in the 1950s, after marrying an Israeli. Her three daughters live in different parts of Israel and her son lives in the United States. All are married, and she has many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. After Esther was widowed a few years ago, family gatherings take place at daughter Ruth’s home in a town half an hour north of Tel Aviv. Esther celebrates all the Jewish holidays and cooks traditional Ashkenazi food for all the family celebrations, however, she does not remember the last time she went to a synagogue or attended a religious event. She regularly told me stories about her mother, who was very religious “My mother, who was a terrible cook, used to keep Shabbat, so when she moved to my house in Israel from the United States, she had a difficult time. She shared a room with my mother-in-law, who was not religious at all. I remembered them fighting every week, as my mother-in-law did her laundry on Saturday morning and my mother could not stand it”. Esther described her mother as “a cold woman and a bad cook, who was constantly bothering about my weight and reminding me I was not good enough or thin enough”. Although Esther associated negative aspects of her life with religion, she continued maintaining Jewish traditions and religious festivals, and kept a basic level of kosher at home. Esther’s daughter Ruth had similar points of view. The Passover Seder I was invited to, took place in Ruth’s house. Most of the family was attending, except for the brother living in the United States. Seder preparation began a month before the actual dinner, when Ruth started preserving carp heads for her mother so she could cook the gefiltefish for Passover. Gefiltefish is an Eastern European dish eaten at Passover and other holidays. The traditional recipe for gefiltefish calls.

6

“FROM HOME-MAKERS TO NATION-MAKERS …

129

for the flesh of the fish to be removed from the skin, ground up and mixed with other ingredients such as eggs, spices, and ground onions and carrots. The mixture was then stuffed back into the skin and cooked or baked. The laws of Shabbat prohibit removing bones from fish, making fish consumption a bit tricky. Boneless gefiltefish circumvents this problem. In addition, including other ingredients in the ground fish stretched the amount, so that a poor family would have enough for the entire household. (Chein, 2013)

Nowadays most families do not stuff the fish but shape the ground fish as balls served with beetroot. According to Gil Marks, gefiltefish was never the most popular Jewish fish dish, however, the addition of ingredients such as onions stretched the expensive fish. Therefore, it became a staple dish for poor Jewish families in Eastern Europe (Marks, 2010, 221). There are many people that dislike gefiltefish, but my participants that did like it were passionate about it. Others said they were willing to eat the one prepared by their grandmothers, but the majority simply avoid eating it. The dislike is often linked to its flavour. A childhood memory of gefiltefish shared by some Ashkenazi Israelis is best explained by Gil, a woman in her forties: “My hate for fish comes probably from the gefiltefish we used to have in Passover. I remember the carp swimming in our bathtub for two days.8 After the two days, my grandmother took the carp and killed it with a hammer. I remember her hitting the head of the poor fish until she killed it. Yes, I have never eaten gefiltefish again, it was really cruel”. Israeli writer Amos Oz also discusses this in his autobiographic novel: After the chicken soup with kneidlach, Mother suddenly placed on the table the corpse of my Noonie, complete with head and tail but bearing a series of seven knife-gashes along its side, as splendid as the body of a king being borne on a guncarriage to the Pantheon. The regal corpse reposed in a rich cream-colored sauce upon a couch of gleaming rice, embellished with stewed prunes and slices of carrot, scattered with decorative green flakes. But Noonie´s alert, accusing, the gaze was fixed unyielding on all his murderers in motionless reproach, in silent torment. (Oz, 2004, 205)

This controversial Ashkenazi dish has been elevated to ritual food. In the same way as the food on the Seder plate, consuming gefiltefish makes 8 By swimming in clear water, the carp cleans itself from sand, improving its flavor.

130

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

those who eat it part of the Ashkenazi Jewish collective. It symbolises tradition and continuity, particularly for American and Israeli-European Jews. It also serves as a reminder of the years of poverty and persecution in Europe. Gefiltefish, together with other traditional Ashkenazi dishes such as chopped liver, has seemingly become part of what Michael Herzfeld defines as “cultural intimacy”: “the recognition of those aspects of a cultural identity that are considered a source of external embarrassment but that nevertheless provide insiders with their assurance of common sociality, the familiarity with the bases of power, that may at one moment assure the disenfranchised a degree of creative irreverence and at the next moment reinforce the effectiveness of intimidation” (Herzfeld, 2005, 3). Gefiltefish and chopped liver seem to respond to this idea of cultural intimacy, although apparently a culinary embarrassment for Ashkenazi Israelis as well as diasporic Jews, saying that you like it, or eating it, is a clear symbol of Jewishness. Yossi, an American immigrant with Jewish roots grew up as a Christian. He constantly repeated to me how much he enjoyed gefiltefish, especially the one prepared by his wife’s grandmother. The dish was not to the liking of his family-in-law, so Yossi’s insistence in liking it was not welcomed by his mother-in-law. For him, eating gefiltefish was a way to show he belonged to the community. His mother-in-law perceived it as him “trying too hard to belong”. Meanwhile, Moshe, a Mizrahi man in his twenties from an Iraqi family was not at all comfortable with gefiltefish being considered part of the Israeli cuisine. “That is not Israeli, is not Middle Eastern, is white people’s food. I hate it; I dislike people thinking that is Jewish food. There are so many delicious dishes, and they have to say that is the most Jewish dish of all. I don’t understand why people eat it here”. For Moshe, gefiltefish was embarrassing and did not provoke cultural intimacy. On the contrary, it marked the differences among Ashkenazi and Mizrahi communities in Israel and their understanding of Israeliness. For Esther, gefiltefish meant Passover, and she prepared the dish carefully. She also cooked chopped liver and matzo ball soup—both staple dishes of the Ashkenazi cuisine. Although she told me she preferred Asian flavours, she felt she had to cook traditional Ashkenazi food for Passover and most Shabbats. She never asked her family if they enjoyed gefiltefish. It is “what you eat on Passover, and that’s it”. As this ethnographic material shows, the importance of gefiltefish has little to do with the flavour and pleasure it can give, it is more symbolic.

6

“FROM HOME-MAKERS TO NATION-MAKERS …

131

Gefiltefish embodies, more than any other dish (apart maybe from matzo ball soup) the epitome of Jewishness, of Ashkenazi Jewishness. Eating it, and talking about it, allows Yossi to feel Jewish “enough”. For Esther, cooking it helps fulfil her role as the carrier of tradition. Conversely, Moshe profoundly dislikes its flavour, but also for what it stands for. By saying gefiltefish is Jewish food, his Middle Eastern Jewish cooking traditions are overlooked, as though not sharing the European experience meant he was therefore less Jewish. The importance of this dish also exposes the key relationship between Jewishness and Israeliness. To be fully national, it is fundamental to be Jewish, and preferably Ashkenazi.

The Friedman’s Seder The main course in the Friedman dinner was turkey, a common choice for many Ashkenazi families. In this instance, the American influence in choosing turkey for the menu was evident. It was accompanied by cranberry sauce and stuffing, both traditional elements of American Thanksgiving dinner. Rice, a bean salad, and an artichoke and onion dish were also part of the menu. This last dish was prepared by Nathan, the husband of one of Ruth’s daughters, and an enthusiastic cook. Nathan’s dish was not traditional in their household, “I like to invent and improvise, I probably took the inspiration from a recipe book”. Unlike the women cooking the rest of the dinner, Nathan did not feel at all constrained by tradition. He improvised rather than following directives or rules related to the holiday. Nathan’s artichoke and caramelised onion dish did not aim to tradition, instead it highlighted his cooking skills. As an elderly woman, Esther’s role is to pass on tradition, but Nathan, a young man does not carry that responsibility. Although Esther and her daughter have control over what is served in their Seder, they remain constrained by the past, and the religious and national gender roles imposed upon them. They transmit tradition and identity through the dishes they cook and the menus they choose. If they use food to teach their families where they come from, they do not have the chance to innovate. The combination of traditional dishes cooked by different female generations with the more innovative dishes cooked by Nathan echoes the moral issues faced by women in Kalymnos, Greece, who balance tradition and modernity (Sutton, 2014). The mixture of dishes tries to reflect the identity of both the cooks and the family that will enjoy it: a family that

132

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

celebrates their Jewish roots while it simultaneously highlights its secular Israeli identity. The side dishes (rice and a bean salad) were also part of this balancing act. This was a curious choice as Ashkenazim normally do not consume beans, peas, rice, corn, or seeds during Passover. When I asked about these dishes, a discussion started as most of the members of the family could not remember who did not consider them kosher for Passover, Ashkenazim or Sephardim. This confusion between Ashkenazi and Sephardic tradition was common between most of my middle-class Ashkenazi participants, who tried to make a point by saying that these differences were not at all important in Israel. The rice did not cause any more arguments as these details were too “orthodox” to be concerned with, however, the meal was kosher for Passover and Esther had ensured that all the rules were followed on this occasion, so the guests could be comfortable. Therefore, there were no dairy products in the dinner, and the desserts (ice cream, almond macaroons, and flourless chocolate cake) were also kosher for Passover. Yael, Ruth’s husband, led the Seder, although everyone was invited to participate. Except for Esther, who had a version in English (that she threw out in the middle of the Seder as she could not follow it) all of us were given a Passover Haggadah in Hebrew. Some parts of the Seder were shortened, but all the ritual food was consumed. After the first ritual part of the dinner was over,9 the gefiltefish and the chopped liver were served. Contrary to all other occasions on which I had shared a meal with the family, the children did not have a dedicated menu. They were all expected to eat and try all the dishes served. I was surprised that although there was a little bit of complaining from them, all the children ate everything. This attitude was unusual, as I had witnessed constant conflicts around food in the previous months. Children were expected to eat the same as the other guests and enjoy the food on offer. In their everyday, the Friedman children had separate menus to their parents and grandparents, and Ruth cooked special dishes for them. Some children were fussy eaters and were never forced to eat what they did not like; they were expected to eat something and eating something even though it was “unhealthy” was perceived by Ruth and her husband as better than

9 After the dinner concluding prayers are said.

6

“FROM HOME-MAKERS TO NATION-MAKERS …

133

nothing. This was also the case in Shabbat, where children were never forced to eat anything they did not want to. The lack of a children’s menu made the menu and food choices even more relevant. The children were expected to eat the same as the adults and to like it. They were constantly asked if they liked the food and encouraged to eat as much as possible, while also leaving space for dessert. The symbolism embedded in these food items is more transcendent than their taste or presentation. Therefore, refusing to eat them would imply a rejection of tradition, history, and Jewishness. Children, in the same way as the women of the Ulpan, needed to eat everything and to have a taste of Israel through the food served on Passover. So, unlike any other day, they did not have a choice. Passover food does not intend to make children happy, it aims to show them, literally, the taste of suffering and slavery. The Friedman’s Passover celebration demonstrates how national identity is also transmitted through food in the domestic sphere. Children are normally allowed to pick and choose what to eat, lose their agency during this ritual and have no say in what they are expected to eat in Passover. Women also lose their autonomy and freedom of choice during the holiday. There is no space for creative cooking; women must cook traditional food to transmit tradition and fulfil their national female duties. Through the food they eat, women, children, and newcomers are transformed into Israelis and members of the Jewish nation. The preparation and consumption arrangements of the Friedman’s Passover Seder reflected some of the basic social hierarchies of the Israeli urban middle-class family. As Esther’s role in the dinner demonstrates, older women are tasked with transmitting tradition and Jewish identity. They are expected to cook the most traditional dishes, organise the dinner and make all required arrangements. Meanwhile, men oversee the ceremonial aspects of the dinner. Although they are allowed to participate in the preparations, they are not constrained by tradition and have space to innovate and experiment in the kitchen. Children are considered passive actors who, in the same way as immigrants, are transformed into members of the nation through the Passover ritual.

“I’m Not a Yiddish Mama, But I Do My Best” A few blocks from the Friedman house lives Deborah, a Jewish South African woman who immigrated to Israel more than 20 years ago with her husband. Deborah, a mother of two now in her fifties, works in Tel

134

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

Aviv for a women’s organisation that focuses on education and prevention of domestic violence. I met Deborah after contacting her organisation, as I was interested in interviewing some of their members. As I lived close to Deborah, they immediately connected us, and a few days later she invited me for a coffee at her house. After several hours of conversations, Deborah decided she had to take care of me. In her eyes, I was another immigrant woman who needed to be guided through the nooks of Israeli culture. She invited me to spend Passover lunch with her family. Contrary to the Passover Seder, lunch the next day is quite a relaxed occasion and many Israelis often hold barbecues. Deborah’s family was not the exception, and a large barbecue took place in her garden. Deborah invited her family, close friends, a few co-workers, and olim hadashim (newcomers) from South Africa. Although fluent in Hebrew, most guests preferred to speak in English. Deborah preferred it too and only spoke in Hebrew when strictly necessary. Deborah cooked a huge lunch as she was unsure how many people would attend. When she invited me, she told me “Feel free to come or not. You don’t need to let me know; I guarantee you there will be enough food for you”. More than 20 guests arrived at the lunch, and almost everybody brought a dish: a salad or a dessert. Everything was kosher for Passover, and there were no dairy products on the tables. The food was arranged inside the house in three tables: a fish table, a salad table (that later became the dessert and coffee table) and the meat was kept in the kitchen. The barbecue consisted of chicken prepared with a spicy South African marinade and beef brisket. On the fish table, there was gefiltefish and salmon. The salad table had many options: all of them included raw vegetables, and some of them had pulses, but there were no beans, corn, or rice. The desserts consisted of non-dairy ice creams, coconut macaroons, pavlovas, fresh fruit, and cakes made without using flour or yeast. There was also wine and beer that some of the guests had brought, but there was probably less than a beer per person. Local soft drinks and juices were also available, as well as Coca-Cola (Fig. 6.2). Although the food was kept inside the house, the drinks were arranged outside in the garden, together with the tables where the guests were sitting. Two hours after Deborah told her guests to arrive, the food was blessed by her husband, and some short and brief Passover prayers were said. There was no Seder plate, but matzah was on the table. The food was arranged as a buffet, so diners could serve themselves, except for

6

“FROM HOME-MAKERS TO NATION-MAKERS …

135

Fig. 6.2 Passover lunch, salad table

the meat that was served by Deborah in the kitchen. Contrary to the Passover Seder at the Friedman’s, places were not assigned, and people constantly moved between the tables. Food was served on plastic plates, and the children were not encouraged to eat anything they did not want to. Special praise was given to the gefiltefish and Deborah took it with pride by telling me: “You know, I’m not a Yiddish mama, but I do my best”. This comment made by Deborah allowed me to understand that although the lunch was casual and informal, she still wanted to make clear to me that she was proud of her European Jewish origins. Although most of the food was symbolically neutral, the gefiltefish was there to remind the guest they were celebrating a Jewish holiday. The different groups attending the lunch had various topics of conversation, but most of the people talked about the results of the recent Israeli elections and the security situation in the region. They constantly asked me about my opinion of the food, reassuring me about the importance of food for Jewish people, especially during the holidays. Deborah’s husband

136

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

told me: “You know what people say right? They tried to kill us; we survived, let’s eat. It’s true, that is what we do, we celebrate everything with food, everything is about food”. Deborah’s husband’s comment again highlighted the Jewish character of the celebration, and how the survival of Jewish culture is mainly celebrated through food and cooking. But the famous phrase he used to describe the holiday and its relationship to food also emphasised the political character of Passover. Passover, for Deborah’s husband, was mainly a national holiday that commemorates the liberation of the Jewish people, the people of Israel, from slavery and Egypt. He felt identified with the meaning of the holiday as at the time he felt Israel was still in danger and was a persecuted nation. This perception was constantly reinforced through speeches given by Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, reminding Israelis during the holiday of the many “threats” that they were facing. Celebrating Passover implied celebrating that remote victory over the pharaohs and the celebration of the victory over contemporary enemies. After the food had been taken away, most of the women helped Deborah with rearranging the house. It didn´t take long after the meal was over for guests to start leaving, as almost everybody lived outside the town where the lunch was held. Before they left, several people told Deborah how much they admired her cooking and how ingenious she had been by coming up with such an arrangement of food even when kosher Passover food was so difficult to cook. Although Deborah’s lunch was much more casual than the Seder with the Friedman, the ritual importance of food for the national identity was not forgotten. The food was still kosher, gefiltefish was served, and the abundance of salads reflected the immigrant’s belief that tables full of vegetable dishes were a characteristic of the Israeli diet. However, diasporic food, in this case from South Africa, also made an appearance. Even when the barbecue meat is still seen as Israeli, the spices used were—as Deborah explained—typically from South Africa. The importance of food to the Jewish community, especially around holidays was emphasised by Deborah’s husband. While eating, people spoke constantly about the food they had the night before, making food even more prominent.

6

“FROM HOME-MAKERS TO NATION-MAKERS …

137

Conclusion This chapter has shown how through the ritual of Passover, cohesion, Jewish values, and social structures are reinforced annually; and how the role of women as homemakers is transformed to the role of nation makers. The three Passover celebrations—the Ulpan rehearsal, the Friedman’s’ Seder, and Deborah’s lunch—highlight different aspects of Israeli culture, different ways to celebrate the same holiday. Although the three narratives present completely different scenarios, all of them use Passover and the food consumed on this holiday to reinforce the national identity of the newcomers—children or immigrant—that are transformed into Israelis through this holiday. In the Ulpan, the anxiety of performing the nation for newcomers who do not share one of the main national features is evident through the amount of time that is spent rehearsing beforehand. This scenario portrays how the elites try to impose a particular concept of Israeliness on immigrants by teaching them how to correctly perform the nation in private holiday celebrations. Non-Jewish female immigrants feel less able to negotiate this imposition and are less readily accepted into the nation. Therefore, they seek strategies that allow them to become more national. In the first scenario this happens through a culinary and linguistic conversion and later, a religious conversion to Judaism. The Friedman’s’ Passover dinner takes place in a completely different setting, in the privacy of Ruth’s home/Again, we see how Passover is used as a mechanism of socialisation for children where women play a fundamental role. It also highlights family hierarchies and gender roles. Women are the main agents in charge of tradition—reproducing and teaching the nation. For them, the home provides the liberty and authority to decide which elements of the nation and the diaspora to adopt and to keep. It also means their role as mothers, cooks and, women is restrained by tradition. Lastly, in Deborah’s lunch we can see how immigrants again celebrate Passover, but without any apprehension. They feel no need to prove their belonging to the nation as they are Jewish. Political elements of the holiday are highlighted through the conversation and connection to Israeliness, more than the diaspora through the presentation of fresh salads, a barbecue, and non-complicated dishes. The relaxed atmosphere, however, is accompanied by political conversations, highlighting the threats that diners perceive are menacing the country.

138

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

Jon E. Fox affirms that holidays are “key sites for the collective experience and articulation of the imagined community of the nation” (Fox, 2006, 219). Although not part of everyday routines, they serve to mark the passage of time and the rhythms of common life. The different scenarios presented in this chapter allowed me to explore how holidays can be used—both by elites and non-elites—to reinforce the sense of belonging to the national community. In some cases, they also reflect social and gender divisions. The different ways of celebrating Passover and the meaning that my participants give to it show the different interpretations of nationhood. They demonstrate how religious symbols and traditions can be assigned a new national meaning to help the members of a community feel more connected to the nation. In the Ulpan, national identity is reinforced by a Jewish official discourse that privileged Ashkenazi food traditions. In the home, national identity, religious identity, and diasporic traditions are negotiated. The results are diverse ways of being Israeli and understanding what this means. The dinner at the Friedman’s’ and the lunch at Deborah’s house also illustrate how the socialisation process and the reproduction of national identity occur in the home, where parents and friends become the agents through which children and immigrants are taught how to be Israelis. In these scenarios, the idea of nationhood is imposed by the elite and reproduced, negotiated and reinterpreted in everyday rituals, through the celebration of holidays and the consumption of certain dishes. Talal Asad points out that “the religious and the secular are not fixed categories. There is nothing essentially religious” (Asad, 2003, 25). Religion in the case of Israel has become fundamental to being part of the collective, acquiring citizenship and reproducing the nation in the everyday; to be Jewish means acceptance into the national community. Through religious holidays, even when they are secularised, the nation is reproduced, learned, and performed. Nationalism in Israel is mixed necessarily with religious identity, so rituals and holidays are—although Jewish in essence—manifestations of nationalism and a way to enter the national collective. Those who are not Jewish are therefore seen as less national, even if they hold a passport or citizenship.

CHAPTER 7

“They Might Be Our Enemies, But They Sure Know How to Cook”

I do not understand what you mean by Israeli food, that does not exist! How can you be studying something that doesn’t exist? They eat our food and their food from Europe, but there is no such thing as Israeli food. There is Palestinian food, so the food in Aroma (a coffee shop) is the food of this land, Palestinian food. Israeli salad is Arab salad! And if they want to think otherwise, they can be my guest!

The University of Haifa sits on the top of Mount Carmel. The huge campus includes student accommodation, where during the summer the residents are mostly foreigners, with a few Israelis and some Arab-Israelis and Druze students from villages close to Haifa. In the middle of the student halls, there is a patio, a mini market and a moadon, a multipurpose room where different activities take place, from aerobics to homework clubs and Sabbath dinners. The moadon is also a bar at night, where cheap food and alcoholic drinks are served all week after 8 pm. Many students take advantage of the bar and spend a couple of hours drinking and chatting on the patio. On one of those occasions, I met Aisha, a Palestinian accounting student who lived in the halls. Aisha worked in the university branch of the Israeli café named Aroma. Aisha was 20 years old when I met her. She was a lively and chatty woman who was always interested in meeting foreigners and practising her English with them. Aisha was Muslim, and although she did not © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 C. Prieto Piastro, Eating in Israel, Food and Identity in a Globalising World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87254-0_7

139

140

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

consider herself “too observant” she chose to wear the hijab to distinguish herself from Jewish Israeli girls. “The hijab is a new thing for me, is not about religion. I wear it because I got tired of Israelis thinking I’m Jewish because of my fair skin and my good pronunciation of Hebrew. I’m not Jewish; I am Palestinian”. Aisha was proud of her Hebrew; it had been crucial in being admitted to a good university such as the University of Haifa.1 She grew up speaking Arabic and her parents do not speak Hebrew, so she learned Hebrew on the streets and through television. Although she considers herself Palestinian, she has Israeli nationality and therefore an ID card that labels her as an Arab–Israeli. Most students of the Ulpan enjoyed practising Hebrew with Aisha, as she was good at grammar and spoke slower than Jewish Israelis. Aisha quickly became popular among the Ulpan students. She was constantly talking to us and telling us about her job and studies. Aisha and I spoke a lot as she was interested in my research and willing to help. She wanted to take me to her mother’s house to eat real Palestinian food, but she never did. She did not give a reason for this; she just stopped inviting me. Some students said it was not a good idea to go to a Palestinian house, as it could be dangerous for me, a Jewish woman, to go to a place in which “we are not wanted”. Aisha never saw me as a Jewish woman; she was only curious about me as a Mexican anthropologist and was surprised about my interest in shakshuka. Whatever the reason behind the change of plans, our conversations continued as always. One evening, as I was sitting with some of the Ulpan students in the patio of the student’s residence, Aisha arrived and began discussing her work in one of the university’s coffee shops. The coffee shop that Aisha worked in was part of one of the biggest Israeli chains. We talked through the menu they served, and she made it clear to me that she felt comfortable working there. She thought that most of the food was “standard coffee shop food” and was proud that Aroma was opening branches in different countries. Aisha was under the impression that the chain was American and not Israeli. When I told her that as far as I knew the owners were Israeli, she said that she could not see anything too Israeli on the menu. I pointed out that chopped vegetable salad with tahini or shakshuka for breakfast was not standard American breakfast and that they 1 According to Aisha, Hebrew is a requirement to being admitted to any of the top Israeli Universities, like Haifa University. As most Arab-Israelis attend schools that only teach Arabic it is not easy for them to access these universities.

7

“THEY MIGHT BE OUR ENEMIES …

141

might be considered Israeli dishes. She then laughed and said to me “I have told you this before, this is the food of the land, it is the food of the Middle East, it is the food of the Palestinians”. Other students intervened in the conversation and told Aisha that if there was no Israeli food, there was no Palestinian food either, as both nations did not exist a century ago. Aisha answered “if you want to call hummus Arab food instead of Palestinian food as you do with us, it’s fine for me. However, the truth is we have been cooking this food for longer than you, so it is ours, not yours”. Aisha’s claim of ownership over the local food was not a surprise for me. It is well-known by many Israelis that, in their own words, “they stole” most of their food, from the local population and from the countries from which they came. Aisha viewed shakshuka and other dishes as standard local food—imagining that this was simply the way people ate in the region—but she felt uneasy about labelling the dishes Israeli. She saw Israelis as Europeans, as foreigners with no real connection to the land. Her denial of the existence of Israeli food mirrored her beliefs about Israelis themselves: although they eat like locals they do not belong here. Therefore, she found my research topic odd, as she was convinced there was no such thing as Israeli cuisine. Aisha was not alone in the belief that there is no such thing as Israeli food. Some of my Jewish participants shared her scepticism about “Israeli food” being something that existed and that was worthy of academic inquiry. Others simply said, “there is Israeli food, but we do not know exactly what it is” or “we are on our way to find out what it is, we are still a young country”. Behind the doubts about the existence of Israeli food, most of them highlighted the influence of Levantine food, Ashkenazi food, Mizrahi food, and local food. Many of my participants said they did not know what Palestinians ate as they had not been in a Palestinian restaurant or in a Palestinian house. In this chapter, I will argue that the process through which Israeli food culture was created was not a simple melting pot process as the first Jewish settlers wanted. On the contrary, it was a process of creolisation, a violent clash between different cultures, with nothing smooth or simple about it. As discussed in other chapters, every Jewish community arrived with a food culture of their own. Communities clashed with the culinary traditions of other Jewish groups and with the impositions of the government. The food of the immigrants was not the only one that became part of the Israeli diet; local food—mainly Palestinian—also was part of this

142

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

blending. In this chapter, I focus on the place Palestinian food holds in the culinary repertoire of Israel. I also explore the role of Mizrahi food in the national table. I describe the influence of both culinary traditions and consider how Palestinian food has been de-nationalised and appropriated to become edible to Jewish Israelis. Accepting there is such a thing as Palestinian food implies the acceptance of the existence of a Palestinian nation. This suggests that the consumption and mention of Palestine food by Jewish Israelis has become a clear sign of their political preferences/stances, positions, and convictions. Finally, I also sustain that talking about Mizrahi food obscures the Arab origins of some dishes, while concurrently denying the possibility for Middle Eastern Jews of being simultaneously Jewish and Arab. To develop the arguments presented above I first define the term creolisation and how Middle Eastern food and Jewish Middle Easterners became known as Mizrahi. I highlight the different ways in which Palestinian and Arab influences in Israeli food culture are discussed, silenced, or disguised, and how these became a key element in the formation of Israel national identity. This process affects both Palestinian and Jewish Israeli foodways. It is closer to the process of creolisation described by Richard Wilk than a peaceful melting pot (Wilk, 2006).

Melting Pot or Creolisation? As previously mentioned in Chapters 2 and 3, to construct a nation the cultural and historical ties between its population must be highlighted. In the case of Israel, finding those cultural ties that united them was one of the great challenges faced by the Zionists. They aimed to prove their connection to the land. At the same time, they were tasked with strengthening the cultural and identity connections between Jewish communities migrating from across Europe and later, the Middle East. These ties, although not necessarily static or unchangeable, proved fundamental for the development of the nation. Zionism also had the aim of leaving the European experience in the past. The obsession with building a “New Hebrew” became the basis upon which Israeli identity was constructed. The first Jewish immigrants to Palestine developed a deep admiration for the “native population” who, before becoming a threat, developed into a source of inspiration for the newcomers. The foodways of Palestinians and of the Bedouins were imitated by the pioneers who saw in their diets the “proper” way to

7

“THEY MIGHT BE OUR ENEMIES …

143

eat and cook in their new land (Sertbulut, 2012, 55). The Jewish settlers left their diets in the past and adopted the customs of the locals. As Ichijo and Ranta describe, the diet of the new Israeli became one: Rich in fruits, fresh vegetables, and dairy products rather than the Jewish Eastern European diet of fish, meat and boiled vegetables. The inspiration for many of the new dishes and food ingredients comes from imitating and adapting elements from the local Arab-Palestinian food culture. In Zionist discourse, the role and importance of Arab Palestinian food were marginalised and forgotten. At the heart of this change was the presumption of European cultural superiority. In a way, although Zionism was based on the negation of Jewish diaspora life in Europe, it still perceived itself as a European movement. The pioneers found in food a tool for constructing a new strong and self-sufficient Hebrew identity which denied what was seen as the weak, passive Jews of the Ghetto. (Ichijo & Ranta, 2016, 98)

The relationship between Israelis, Palestinians, Arab Jews, and the Middle East became part of this complex relationship. On one hand, there was admiration. On the other, there was the desire to substitute the Palestinians. On one side, Israeli Jews believed Ashkenazi Jews were more civilised than Palestinians and Middle Eastern Jews, and therefore their culture should be preserved as the dominant one in Israel. However, since the first waves of Jewish immigration to Palestine, there had been an attempt to imitate the local ways which revealed the admiration the pioneers had for the native population and the desire to prove that their connection to the land was as strong or stronger than the Palestinian one (Ichijo & Ranta, 2016). This desire further complicated the relationship between Palestinians and Jews even before the establishment of the State. As mentioned in Chapters 2 and 3, the first task confronted by the European Zionists in their attempt to build a new nation in Mandate Palestine was to construct a unique collective identity that highlighted the connection between the land, their new inhabitants, and the different Jewish communities that were arriving in their Old-New Homeland. The task was not easy, as hundreds of years in the diaspora left few connections among the settlers themselves and with the land. Their diets and food preferences were diverse and dissimilar. The diet of Polish Jews had nothing in common with the diet of Yemenite Jews, and hierarchy and class differences were visible in the cooking practices of Jews from the same areas. It was only religious dietary restrictions that marked some common food

144

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

trends between the population. The new arrivals were unfamiliar with the ingredients available in their new land. To homogenise the population and to create a New Hebrew man that would leave the weak diasporic Jew in the past, the Zionist establishment employed different tactics. To achieve this, the elites followed a melting pot ideal, meant to guide the peaceful mix of all the cultural trends of the Jewish population and to help build a new identity. The melting pot ideology allowed Israelis to anchor themselves in the Middle East while simultaneously continue to consider themselves “modern, Western, and superior Europeans” (Avieli, 2018, 11). Although in theory the melting pot implied a mixing of cultures, in Israel it mostly implied the Europeanisation of immigrants from the Middle East and Africa. Mizrahi Jewish culture was believed to be backwards and was therefore altered to fit in with the civilising aims of the new country. The mix also ignored the Arab local population who, although admired by the first Jewish pioneers, by the 1950s was considered threatening. The process by which local Arab food became not only edible but a fundamental part of the national food culture in Israel does not respond to the image of a painless and peaceful melting pot. Arjun Appadurai affirms that “especially in the culinary matter, the melting pot is a myth” (Appadurai, 1988, 22). A simple, peaceful mix of local ingredients and European culinary knowledge never took place in Israel, not even among the Jewish population. Immigrants did not forget their food traditions: some of them even despised the dishes of the others. It was not easy for them to adopt some ingredients, and sometimes it was complicated to get others. Although the Zionist authorities aimed to disconnect the Jewish economy and culture from the Palestinian one, eventually Palestinian food, and not only local ingredients, became part of the culinary culture of Israel. The complicated path by which local Arab food was nationalised by Israel responds better to the idea of creolisation than to the melting pot metaphor. The term creole has been used since the sixteenth century to denominate the offspring of European colonisers born in America during the colonial period. Particularly popular among scholars and intellectuals of the Caribbean, it was not exclusively used in this region, and it was used with varying meanings through the American colonies in general (Stewart, 2007). Ulf Hannerz recognises the possibility of using the term outside of the cultures of the New world, in a more generic and less geographically specific way (Hannerz, 1996, 55). Hannerz upholds

7

“THEY MIGHT BE OUR ENEMIES …

145

that in this generic use of the term, “it stands opposed to the view of cultures as well-bounded wholes, as well as to assumptions of a replication of uniformity within them. It suggests that the flow of culture between countries and continents may result in another diversity of culture, based more on interconnections than on autonomy” (Hannerz, 1996, 265). Aisha Khan also points out that modern use of the term creolisation “has to do with the nature of cultural change, the expressions and consequences of cultural encounters among diverse groups within certain regimes of power, and the character of, and relationships among particular social formations, notably regions and nation-states. Manifestations of the creolisation concept have come in the form of such varied concepts as plural societies, miscegenation and more recently hybridity and multiculturalism” (Khan, 2007, 237). Khan, as well as Hannerz highlights the importance of cultural variety and exchange embedded in the process of creolisation. When discussing to this cultural exchange between periphery and central cultures, Hannerz also discusses what he terms a creative interplay. Here, the periphery can talk back to the centre and not only absorb the culture of the centre (Hannerz, 1996, 67). The term creolisation is not commonly used to talk about food but has been applied to the descriptions of other cultural encounters. Nonetheless, Richard Wilk applies the term to the case of Belize’s food culture. He describes it as “hardly a smooth blending process. Instead, it was work, compounded of appropriation and resistance, full of ambivalence and ambiguity” (Wilk, 2006, 109). Wilks’ emphasis on the violent aspects of the concept of creolisation is fundamental for applying it to Israel. Arguably, this process has included Hannerz’s creative interplay that has allowed Palestinians and Israelis, particularly restaurant entrepreneurs, to “talk back” to the centre, by “carving a niche” in the Israeli food market (Hannerz, 1996, 73). As I argue in this chapter, this by no means implies there is a peaceful culinary melting pot. It is therefore much more appropriate to talk about a creolisation process in Israel rather than a melting pot one. The process through which Israeli food culture was invented was not smooth or simple. On the contrary, creolisation perfectly reflects the political situation of the country, a situation of constant conflict not only between Palestinians and Jews but also among different groups within the Israeli society. The dream of a melting pot where the local population would simply adopt the customs of the newcomers and accept their presence gratefully never

146

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

happened. The process was a violent one in which ingredients, lands, and people were substituted, exchanged, appropriated, and nationalised. It was, and still is, through creolisation that everyday dishes like hummus or falafel traditionally eaten by the local population became politicised and a source of conflict. Creolisation implied the denationalisation and subsequent appropriation of some Palestinian dishes and recipes by Israelis. For example, labels were simply changed from Palestinian to Mizrahi, making them edible and good by adding Jewish character. In the following section, I explore the origins of Mizrahi food in Israel.

What Is Mizrahi food? As demonstrated throughout this ethnography, Israel is not a monolithic society. Within Israeli society, several groups constitute the cultural mosaic of the country. The groups which comprise the nation, and the way they imagine and understand the nation, are in constant competition, making the nation, as mentioned in the introduction, a zone of conflict (Ichijo & Ranta, 2016, 43). This conflict is reflected through political competition and in everyday life. Simple things like food choices reflect belonging to a certain group and a particular understanding of the nation. One of the most important characteristics that divides and fragments Israeli society is ethnicity. There is not only limited to one clear division. The most prominent one is between Jews and non-Jews, but even among the Jewish population the ethnic division is visible. Ashkenazim and Mizrahim are the main groups used in Israel to classify the Jewish population. Although some Israelis consider this unimportant, this ethnic differentiation remains a controversial topic with visible consequences. The term Mizrahim began to be used in the 1990s by left-wing Israeli activists. It eventually almost substituted the term Sephardim (Shohat, 1999). Mizrahi Jews had been part of the social life of the region since they were expelled from Spain in 1492 and welcomed by the Ottoman Empire. They assimilated to their countries and remained a minority in them for centuries. European Jews were the core of the Zionist movement and quickly became the elite of the Jewish community in Mandate Palestine. Apart from Palestinian Jews, the first Mizrahi Jews to arrive in Israel between 1910 and 1914 were 2,000 Yemenite Jews recruited by European pioneers to substitute cheap Arab labour (Massad, 1996, 54). The Mizrahi population continued to grow before 1948 with the

7

“THEY MIGHT BE OUR ENEMIES …

147

arrival of Kurdish and Iranian Jews, and after the establishment of Israel with millions of Jews who had to leave their countries because of the establishment of the new state (Massad, 1996, 55). Mizrahi Jews were perceived by the European Jews as different and “backwards”, which is why their migration and absorption into the country became a complicated and painful process (Bar-On, 2008, 14). Ashkenazi Jews identified Mizrahi Jews and Arabs as similar and “actively block their social ascendance by tagging them as Oriental and hence cultureless and inferior” (Avieli, 2018, 63). Mizrahi Jews were viewed as backwards and “less national” as the country was oriented to the West and to European cultural traditions. Michael Skey affirms that: “Within the bounded national territory, different groups are perceived to be more or less national than others. Those groups who possess greater national cultural capital in relation to a whole host of sanctified and valued social and physical cultural styles and dispositions are able to position themselves (and are recognised) as the legitimate arbiters of values, norms and social practices within the nation” (Skey, 2011, 29). In the case of Israelis, those groups perceived as less national were—and continue to be—the Arab-Israelis. Jewish communities who did not share the values and traditions of the European Elite—the Mizrahim, the Indians, and the Ethiopians—were viewed similarly. The invention of Mizrahi cuisine is also a recent phenomenon that mirrors the painful history of the Jewish Middle Eastern community in Israel. Nir Avieli defines it as “the outcome of a process whereby the varied Jewish cuisines of many cultural regions in North Africa and the Middle East were stripped of their uniqueness and complexity and simplified into a limited set of emblematic dishes, cooking techniques, spices, aromas and tastes” (Avieli, 2018, 107). The conglomerate of cuisines now known in Israel as Mizrahi food is also predominant. Although in the decades after the establishment of the Israeli state Mizrahi food culture was perceived as unhealthy and backwards, as time went by it became greatly appreciated. There are several reasons for this. Mizrahi food is richer in flavour and ingredients than Ashkenazi food, a food culture born from poverty, scarcity, and persecution. Mizrahi food reflects the much more comfortable situation in which the Jewish communities of the Middle East lived before the establishment of the State of Israel, especially compared to their counterparts in Europe.

148

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

Abundant meat dishes and labour-intensive cooking techniques mirror their history but was also the reason it was believed to be unhealthy. Mizrahi cooks adopted and adapted the food traditions of the societies that received them, substituting some ingredients to make them kosher and using festive traditional dishes for Jewish celebrations. Mizrahi traditional food was preserved in Israel even when it was a symbol of poor adaptation to the new Israeli society. Mizrahim were more familiar with the ingredients available in the country and their culinary knowledge had been transmitted without considerable breaks for centuries. Mizrahi food remained a family tradition and soon became a source of income. Mizrahi entrepreneurs opened cheap and abundant restaurants that eventually became a key characteristics of the country’s food culture. Yemenite Jews opened falafel stands and Iraqi Jews are still selling the popular sabih, an Israeli street food dish, with origins in the Shabbat Iraqi Jewish breakfast. The meal consists of fried aubergine slices, boiled eggs, chopped salad, tahini and amba (Iraqi mango pickle), stuffed into a pitta bread. On the other hand, Ashkenazi food, once the standard Israeli food and the dominant one in institutions; was left aside only for holidays, becoming a nostalgic narrative for the lost world of Europe (Gvion, 2015). This appreciation of Mizrahi food over Ashkenazi food is another symptom of the slow process of orientalisation of the country. This process, which is of course part of the creolisation process, implies a rise in the popularity of Mizrahi cuisine and Palestinian dishes. However, Palestinian dishes are almost never recognised by their national origin. They are commonly confused with Mizrahi food or simply labelled as “Middle Eastern”. Even when Mizrahi food seems to be more national, it is labelled as “ethnic” while Ashkenazi food is classified as Jewish. This mirrors the Zionist discourse and the Arab nationalist discourse which equates Jewishness with the European experience, while making it incompatible with Arabness and denying Mizrahim the possibility of being both Jewish and Arab. The denial of the Arab roots of Mizrahim becomes especially interesting when we consider the food culture of the country. To become acceptable and edible, Palestinian food had to be de-nationalised. On the other hand, Mizrahi food is not considered as Jewish as Ashkenazi food, and therefore is labelled as ethnic, despite being the more popular (and perhaps more national) cuisine in the country. This ambivalent attitude towards Mizrahi food and culture in general is repeated throughout

7

“THEY MIGHT BE OUR ENEMIES …

149

every aspect of Israeli social and political life. Mizrahi music, pronunciation, and culture—although no longer openly labelled backwards—are still considered less valuable than Western equivalents. This ambivalent attitude is also reflected in cookbooks, which underlines how this problematic culinary relationship began even before the establishment of the State of Israel.

Cookbooks The conflict within Israeli identity and the process of its formation are reflected in the state’s gastronomic history and is best recorded in its cookbooks. From the beginning of Israeli gastronomic history, Palestinian culinary influences are concealed. Despite constant remarks about the importance of cooking and eating with local ingredients, the people who cook with these ingredients are never revealed to the readers. Cookbooks were part of an orientalist discourse that identified the natives with tradition and therefore with a stronger connection to the land (Hirsch, 2011, 624). Keen to prove their own connection to the land but substituting the native population for a Jewish population, the pioneers appropriated the dishes and cooking techniques they learned from the simultaneously admired and silenced native population. Even when discussing Arab dishes, authors decided to de-Palestinise them and simply call them “Oriental dishes”. In some cases, Arab food was presented as Mizrahi food or Biblical food, highlighting the Jewish connection to Israeli land and denying the existence of another community living in the same territory. However, not only the Arab origins of the Mizrahi population have also been erased. Despite speaking with nostalgia about their places of origin, they draw a line dividing them from their co-national Muslims. Cookbooks like How to Cook in Palestine by Dr. Erna Meyer (see Chapter 1) reflected the way Ashkenazi pioneers viewed themselves and the local diet (Meyer, 1937). What is fascinating for the contemporary reader is Meyer’s open disdain for the European diet, which she constantly belittles. She highlights how unhealthy it is and how many hours of work it requires from housewives. Astonishingly, she only suggests substituting some of the ingredients used in European cooking with local ingredients but does not advise changing the structure of the meals or even the recipes. For example, she swaps butter for olive oil, as the locals do, and recommends using local vegetables and less meat. Nonetheless, although she praises the quality of the products available and constantly suggests

150

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

cooking techniques to preserve their nutrients—except for a recipe for Turkish coffee—none of the recipes included in the book are distinctively Middle Eastern.2 Recipes like chopped liver, a traditional Ashkenazi dish are still suggested, but cooked with aubergine instead of liver (Meyer, 1937). Although Dr. Meyer constantly discusses local ingredients, she never talks about local people. Nonetheless, at the end of the book is an advertisement that reminds housewives of the importance of only buying products made by Jewish hands. This undermines other options like buying cheap agricultural products made by Palestinians (Meyer, 1937, 122). Lilian Cornfeld’s Israeli Cookery also allows us to explore the contradictions embedded in the aim of creating a new Jewish identity in Israel. Although Cornfeld explores culinary traditions within some of the Jewish communities established in Israel, she never talks about the Arab population. She tells her readers: In the gathering of exiles from scores of different communities, from all corners of the earth, each reflects in their food and culture their country of origin. Many have never heard of eggplant or seen an olive. While most Europeans dislike sesame oil and burghul, the immigrants from the Middle Eastern countries cannot understand the excitement over borscht, gefiltefish, and herring or what the Western world thinks are typically Jewish foods. In attempting to improve the living standards of Israel’s heterogeneous population by teaching modern food habits, nutritionists have encountered many cultural barriers. They have to cope with a traditional dislike for milk, with ritual and lives attached to a certain item of food (Cornfeld, 1962, VII).

Cornfeld aims to show her readers the diversity of dishes that can be found in Israel and encourages them to try new recipes or adopt the most nutritious ones. In the same way as Dr. Meyer, Cornfeld advises her audience to consume local ingredients and highlights the preference of Israeli population for “Oriental food”. She labels ingredients like bulgur, lentils, chickpeas and, labneh as Oriental. Again, she does not talk about the people who consumed them. She does not believe Israeli food to be Middle Eastern or European and points out that:

2 The book does include recipes for stuffed vegetables, but they are not only common in Middle Eastern cuisine but also in Ashkenazi cuisine.

7

“THEY MIGHT BE OUR ENEMIES …

151

Sabra [Israeli] cooking is not entirely the Middle East, nor is it European Jewish. One finds kugel and tzimmes, latkes and borscht on the menus with pilaffs, koftas, and goulash. In many cases, they have become an Israeli dish of one type or another. In common is a love for a meat soup with rice or noodles, eggplant [aubergine]in all forms, salad hamoutzim, lamb shashlik or a kebab on spit, houmous, tahini, falafel, cottage cheese and labneh in countless combinations. (Cornfeld, 1962, VIII)

Although recognising the Arab influence in Sephardic food, she still refrains from labelling it as Arabic Instead, she discusses an “Oriental menu”. Published in 1962, Lilian Cornfeld’s book demonstrates the importance given by the State of Israel to creating an identity distinct from the Jewish diasporic identity. It also shows the unwillingness to be called Middle Eastern, despite the constant need to reaffirm the connection between the Jewish immigrant and the land, and the vagueness with which the Arab–Jewish identity was and is still treated. The conflicting relationship between Palestinian and Arab food continues. Israelis constantly move between culinary admiration for what they label as Arab food, while simultaneously talking about it with fear. The next section presents ethnographic data to illustrate this.

Eating the Food of the Enemy As described in Chapter 4, I spent Passover lunch with Deborah, a South African immigrant who was my neighbour for some time. Deborah had lived most of her life in Israel. However, she was always in contact with olim hadashim, especially for South Africa, and opened her house to anyone she met. English and occasionally French were both spoken in her house. The immigrants in the reunions she organised spoke with nostalgia about their countries of origin, though they constantly emphasised how violent they had become in recent years. Many indicated insecurity was the main reason that they decided to move to Israel. Issues of security, racism, and discrimination were always at the forefronts of their minds and were constantly talked about. The Passover lunch was only a few weeks after the 2015 elections, in which Benjamin Netanyahu was reelected as Prime Minister of Israel. Most of the people invited by Deborah agreed that Netanyahu was the only candidate prepared to oversee the well-being of Israelis. For Deborah’s family and friends, the well-being of Israeli citizens and Jews in the diaspora was related directly to security

152

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

and protection from the Iranian nuclear threat, and from the Arab people in general. The conversations during lunch also centred around security and the elections, and people engaged in political discussions soon after they arrived. The atmosphere was not tense. Most people agreed on the importance of security and expressed their distrust towards their Arab neighbours and Iran. Criticisms around education levels, fears about terrorism and Islamic fundamentalist groups filled the conversations, and their high level of mistrust towards Arabs was noticeable. However, at some point in the conversation, Deborah’s husband Ben stopped the others and decided to talk about Arab food, by saying “Well they might not like us at all, but they definitely know how to cook”. After his statement, long discussions about where to find the best kebab in Israel and how good the hummus was the closer you get to the border with Syria took place. People gave suggestions of other places to try kebabs, or where to find good Arab butchers. I noticed that Ben and his guest used the adjective “Arab” to refer to any non-Jewish citizen of Israel, as well as any enemy country of the region, including Iran, which he saw as the deadliest and most dangerous enemy. Simultaneously, I noticed that Iranian Jewish food was talked about and label as “Farsi food” as this could make it kosher and broke the relationship with its nation of origin. Ben’s suggestions and conversations showed the ambiguity in the relationship between Arabs and Israelis and the mistrust between both communities which finds its everyday expression in the way Israelis consume and talk about Arab and Palestinian food. This conflicting relationship between Israelis and the food of the Arabs and the Middle East in general is also rooted in an Orientalist discourse. This discourse affirms that the only good thing that can be found in Lebanon or Syria is food, negating any possibility of sympathy between these groups of people (Hirsch, 2011, 625). It emerges that the national identity of Israel has been partially built by using and appropriating cultural elements of the Other, another that is considered a deadly enemy. This ambiguity, expressed in Deborah’s husband’s comments, results from a national identity built on the appropriation and renaming of some cultural elements of the native Palestinian population, and on denying the Arab origins of an important part of the Jewish population of Israel. The relationship Ben and his guests have with their Arab neighbours and Palestinian citizens are not only one of enmity

7

“THEY MIGHT BE OUR ENEMIES …

153

and disdain. On the contrary, it is a relationship embedded in an orientalist discourse that highlights the Arab connection with the region and with traditions they admire and consume on an almost daily basis. This complex relationship, part of the creolisation and settler colonialist process, is visible in Israeli food culture and Palestinian diets. It is not rare to see Arab families in Haifa eating in the restaurant Fatoush (marketed as an Arab restaurant) and ordering schnitzels, traditionally perceived as a Jewish Israeli dish. While staying in the dorms of the University of Haifa, I witnessed that the female Arab students sharing the flat with me preferred to eat industrial Israeli hummus bought at the mini market in the University. Aisha, mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, told me that although she thought the traditional Palestine hummus had a better flavour, most people were brought up eating the Israeli version as it was convenient and easy to find everywhere. Bamba, a peanut-based snack similar to the British Wotsits or the American Cheetos, as well as other Israeli industrialised snacks and salads like aubergines with mayonnaise or tomatoes were also consumed by Arab students in the dorms. Ichijo and Ranta explain that “It is clear that ArabPalestinian citizens of Israel have to a certain extent adopted and acquired Jewish-Israeli food items, dishes, and eating habits. The Israelisation of Arab-Palestinian food culture is partly related to the dominance of Jewish Israeli food items, dishes and eating habits, food companies and media, but also to the impact of modernisation and globalisation” (Ichijo & Ranta, 2016, 57). Palestinian students also frequented the Aroma café at the university, McDonald’s, and on-campus fast-food establishments that served Chinese food, homemade food, and sandwiches and salads. The choice of going off campus to buy food always existed but finding Palestinian or Druze products like artisanal hummus implied a long journey. Therefore, it was more convenient, at least during the week, to buy food available on campus. Food product ranges available on campus were chosen with a Jewish population in mind. Kosher food was readily available, as well as microwave ovens designed to heat meat and dairy products separately. I never saw advertisements for halal food. While the Jewish population of Israel, as the settler coloniser, has been able to decide which dishes to adopt from the native culture; Palestinians have not. Palestinian consumption of Israeli products reflects the options available to them, convenience, and circulation of goods. For example, if the Palestinian students living in the dorms of Haifa wish to buy food in the minimarket at the university

154

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

they cannot choose between Israeli and Palestinian or Lebanese hummus (as American students in the United States can). Unless they want to make a trip to the centre of the city or to neighbouring Druze towns, they must buy the Israeli products that are widely available. This is also the case in the West Bank where, according to a Palestinian informant, although fresh products are cheaper than in Israel, Israeli processed foods are the easiest, and sometimes only, products to find. Although used to buying Israeli food in supermarkets, the students I talked to in Haifa were not familiar with traditional Ashkenazi cuisine. They said they did not know what Jewish Israelis ate at their house. The students I shared a flat with brought food from home every weekend that included stuffed vegetables, soups, lamb stews, and tabbouleh, as well as cheese produced in their towns. They mixed these traditional dishes with shop-bought products purchased at the university shop or at the supermarkets in town. They did not perceive these products as representative of Israeli food and insisted they did not actually know what Israelis ate apart from Arabic food. The ignorance that both Palestinian and Israelis have for the home cooking of the other is a widespread phenomenon which easily reflects the lack of personal connection between both communities. Palestinian street food like hummus or falafel are staples of the Israeli diet, while Israeli industrialised products have a space in the Palestinian cupboard. However, it is only in recent years that Jewish Israelis have decided to taste Palestinian food and look beyond street food or the standard Levantine cuisine. Conversations about and naming Palestinian food among left-wing Israelis are also part of this phenomenon.

Naming Palestinian Food In recent years, chefs, cookbook writers, and Israelis in general, particularly on the left of the political spectrum, have started to look for Palestinian food and develop a new taste for what they believe is an unknown cuisine. This has also meant that for the first time Israelis are talking about Palestinian food. Chefs and restaurant owners have played a big part in the inclusion of Palestinian food in the culinary vocabulary of Israelis, but the term is still controversial, even among Palestinian chefs in Israel (Kamin, 2016). When talking with a Palestinian citizen of Israel,3

3 This was the way he defined his national identity.

7

“THEY MIGHT BE OUR ENEMIES …

155

he pointed out to me that although it is true that Israelis have started to talk about Palestinian food, and restaurateurs are now labelling their food as Palestinian, the Palestinian owners of Arab restaurants in Israel remain unwilling to change the label of their business, as they are afraid of losing a section of their Israeli customers if they read this as a political statement. Jon E. Fox and Cynthia Miller-Idriss state that “Nationhood is not only lurking in the crevices of the unconscious, furtively informing talk without becoming the subjects of talk; it is simultaneously the practical accomplishment of ordinary people giving concrete expression to their understanding of the nation. Nationhood does not only define their talk: it is defined by their talk” (Fox & Miller-Idriss, 2008, 539). Including the notion of “Palestinian food” in the everyday discourse of Israelis and the distinction in their speech between Lebanese, Syrian, and Palestinian cuisines imply not a change in their food preferences or a desire for new flavours, but a change in how left-wing Israelis perceive the place of their nation in the Middle East. Jonathan continues to refer to Palestinian restaurants as “Arabic restaurants”, preferring those that market themselves as “Arab–Israeli Restaurants”. A clear example of this is his selection of restaurants in Jaffa, a fundamental city in the collective memories of Israelis and Palestinians. Jaffa is well-known, especially for hummus which, according to Noa, an Israeli food consultant mentioned in previous chapters, is one of the most well-known varieties of the dish consumed in the Middle East. Hummus is not the only dish available in the city, considered by Israelis as part of Tel Aviv. Hundreds of Palestinian, Greek, Italian, Japanese restaurants can be found in Jaffa. Dr. Shakshuka, the restaurant that popularised the famous North African dish, is a resident of this Arab city and attracts hundreds of tourists and Israelis each day to its doors. Although Shakshuka has become an iconic Israeli dish, served in hundreds of Israeli restaurants around the world, Dr. Shakshuka has no problem in labelling the dish as well as the whole menu of his restaurant as Jewish North African (Fig. 7.1). Jaffa has a lively gastronomic culture and nightlife and is a common place for Israelis to meet for drinks or dinner. Ariel, one of my participants mentioned previously, enjoyed the “old vibe” of this area and the liveliness of the bars and of the Flea Market. He talked especially about two places: “Aboulafia Bakery” and “The Old Man and the Sea”. Both restaurants serve Palestinian food, but Ariel only referred to them as Arab restaurants. After several conversations, he admitted that one of the reasons he

156

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

Fig. 7.1 Lunch at Dr. Shakshuka

always took tourists to Aboulafia was the good relationship the owners had with Israelis. He wanted to showcase the multiculturalism of Israel and downplay what people saw in the news about the country. According to him, during the second intifada, Israelis perceived Jaffa as a threatening place to be as it was the site of revolts and violence, so the bakery almost went into bankruptcy. After a few months, they opened another shop in Tel Aviv so that Israelis afraid to go to the bakery in Jaffa could go to the new one. Aboulafia’s was established in 1879 and is open 24 hours. Its menu includes traditional Arab pastries and Sephardic burekas,4 a favourite snack of Jewish Israelis, made of puff pastry and different fillings like white cheese and spinach, boiled eggs

4 There are thousands of varieties of burekas that can be found around the world. Their origin might be Ottoman. However, the burekas available in Israel are never made with filo pastry like in Turkey but with a flaky dough and are traditionally filled with burned aubergine, cheese and spinach, or egg.

7

“THEY MIGHT BE OUR ENEMIES …

157

or aubergine which comply with kosher laws. Ariel favoured this bakery not because he believed it was the best one, but because he saw it as an “authentic” place that should be promoted because of the loyalty of their owners to the state. The perception that Christian Arabs are “good Arabs” is common. This phenomenon can be seen in other places such as Abu Gosh. Although it is mainly Muslim, Jewish Israelis believe it to be a Christian town as they have a good relationship with the population. Aboulafia responds to the idea of the good Arab, of the times when people got along, and the owners are perceived as less threatening and less Palestinian than Muslim Arabs. Aboulafia and Abu Gush respond to the idea of the “good Arab” and are seen as less threatening and less Palestinian than Muslim Arabs. From Ariel’s perspective, the political view of a cook or baker is the key to deciding if their food is good and edible or not and should be avoided. Although he does not personally know the owners, he tends to determine if they are “good” or “bad” by attaching political positions and friendliness to religion. This tendency, to equate political positions to a particular culture, or in this case a religion, was analysed by Mahmood Mamdani after 9/11. According to Mamdani, it implies an inclination to ignore historical processes by which individual identities are shaped and sees cultures as static and unchanging (Mamdani, 2002, 767). This phenomenon was particularly clear to me when I bought meat from a butcher in an Arab village close to the West Bank. When I asked my host if he knew if the meat was halal, he told me he did not think it was, as the butcher seemed happy to have so many Jewish clients. Although the political preferences and the religion of a cook or owner of a food business are not the only aspects that mark the transformation of Arab/Palestinian food into good food for Israelis,5 they seem to play a key role for part of the population. Through a process of creolisation, Middle Eastern dishes lost their nationality and were appropriated or relabelled to be eaten. In the case of Ariel, they might have even lost their religion.

Arab Food Most Must Be Cheap and Abundant Another example of “Arab” restaurants in Jaffa is The Old Man and the Sea. The label “Arab” is given to any restaurant that serves food in the form of mezze; little plates filled with salads, hummus, and falafel that are put at the centre of the table and accompanied by bread and grilled meat 5 The abundance of food and the price are also fundamental. For reasons of space and time I decided to leave these factors out of the presentation.

158

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

as the main course. Mezze is known to be the equivalent of the Western first course of a meal. They tend to be so abundant, especially in this restaurant, that most diners never order the main course. At The Old Man and the Sea, the price for mezze is fixed. The waiters fill the table with hundreds of little plates that come out every few minutes. Israelis particularly appreciate the fixed price and the abundance of food as it means that going out to this restaurant does not make you a Freier.6 Being a Freier is a common fear among Israelis, and their choice of restaurant and dishes is sometimes related to it. As “Arab” restaurants are seen as cheap, and “good value for money” they are preferred by Israelis on a lot of occasions independently of the quality of the food. Aboulafia and The Old Man and the Sea are only two examples of “Arab” restaurants in Jaffa. Depending on the region of Israel, restaurants that sell Palestinian food may be hidden behind other adjectives. For example, “Galilean cuisine” refers to the food eaten in the north of the country and is normally Palestinian, Syrian, or Lebanese food. These restaurants became popular among Jewish Israelis not only because of the quality of the food they serve but also the quantity, price, and the relationship the owners have with the State of Israel. In most cases, these restaurants are popular as they are seen as traditional, they “have always been there” and several generations of the same family may be frequent clients. “Good Arab” restaurants are known by a large part of the middle-class population of Israel and recommendations will be given among friends and family members. Although unspoken, the places Israelis choose to eat can tell us about their political convictions. While Ariel only chooses Arab restaurants with owners that seem friendly towards him and his country, others would prefer to go to Palestinian restaurants or at least call them by that name, therefore tacitly acknowledging their existence and right to have a nation. However, it is still uncommon among much of the Jewish Israeli population to talk about Palestinian food. The denial of the influence of Palestinian food is sometimes hidden behind the recognition of the influence of Mizrahi food. As aforementioned, Mizrahi food transformed itself from being considered a cheap street food alternative to a recognised “ethnic food”. The next section analyses the ambiguities of

6 Yiddish word commonly translated as “sucker” and used in everyday Hebrew.

7

“THEY MIGHT BE OUR ENEMIES …

159

labelling Mizrahi food as ethnic food. It investigates how Mizrahim and Ashkenazim deal with the “other-self”: the Jewish–Arab.

The Ashkenazi vs. Mizrahi Cook-Off As argued in the introduction, it remains impossible to talk about a traditional Israeli cuisine. Although a strong culinary culture exists—based on the traditions developed in the diaspora and mixed with local ingredients, Palestinian food and new influences from Asia and the West—it is not possible to find a standard menu or even a national dish. Israeli culinary culture has become another point of contention between different sectors of the population that claim the nation and its identity for themselves. Mizrahim and Ashkenazim have been fighting for the prominence of their cuisines on the Israeli table since even before the establishment of the State. Although Mizrahi food is becoming more popular every day, Ashkenazim are not yet willing to give up. In recent decades, Mizrahi food has won a special place in the Israeli table, while Ashkenazi food is labelled by many, as “grey tasteless food”. Though in the first decades of Israel’s history, European food was seen as the standard, “elegant” choice, Mizrahi food, especially Iraqi, is now one of the most popular cuisines in the country. One good example of a Mizrahi restaurant is Azura, which can be found in the Mahane Yehuda market in Jerusalem. Azura opened in the 1950s and serves Mizrahi food, especially Turkish, Iraqi, and Syrian, countries where the Jewish communities flourished for centuries. Their Kubbeh soups, (beetroot or lemon soups with semolina dumplings filled with meat) traditional in Iraq are their most popular dishes together with their hummus, potatoes, and slow-cooked meat dishes. The restaurant is popular with locals and tourists alike to the point that they decided to open a franchise in Tel Aviv. “People used to travel from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem just to eat in Azura. Jerusalem is the sacred city of kibbe, but now you can get good Mizrahi food in Tel Aviv”, Noa told me. The new branch of Azura not only responds to the quality of their food and their good prices but also to the rise of demand for “ethnic” food among young Tel Avivians that preferred to stay in their city and avoid the conflicting old-fashioned Jerusalem. However, although Mizrahi food now has a legitimate place on the Israeli table, it is still labelled as “ethnic” food; even when Middle Eastern

160

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

Jews represent more than 52% of the Jewish population of Israel (Canadian Jewish Advocacy, 2017). Some of my participants did not agree with the idea of Mizrahi food being “tastier” than Ashkenazi. Nevertheless, they perceived an increase in its popularity in recent years. I asked most of my participants why they thought Mizrahi food had won the battle for the Israeli table. Only one did not agree and felt the question was offensive. Ayala, one of my Hungarian participants mentioned previously, assured me that Mizrahi food was neither tastier nor more popular than Ashkenazi food and that the main problem was that Ashkenazi food was not valued enough. In her own words: “I find that question slightly offensive. Mizrahi food did not win the battle. The problem is people tend to believe Ashkenazi food is grey, boiled chicken soup, or gefiltefish, or poorly done kreplach. But Ashkenazi food has thousands of different dishes and varieties. Jewish Hungarian food is Ashkenazi food and is tasty and spicy, nothing to do with Polish food”. To some extent, her children agree. Although they never mentioned to me that Ashkenazi food was superior to Mizrahi food, they did express strong views about Yemenite food: “they put butter in everything and just for that they believe their food is good. Butter and dough: there is nothing more to Yemenite food”. Although Ayala’s family seemed to prefer Ashkenazi food, I was able to observe that their belittlement of Mizrahi food did not extend to Palestinian food. As a left-wing Zionist family, they rejected the settlement policies of the right and consumed Palestinian food. Some family members spoke Arabic and had previously worked with Palestinian families. They preferred to buy freshly made hummus from Israeli Arabs in Jaffa and enjoyed travelling around the country in search of good “Arabic food”. On more than one occasion they exhibited their preference for Arabic food over Mizrahi and made a clear distinction between the food and the people that cooked it. Ayala’s family opinions show the relationship between food preferences and political convictions. As secular left-wing Tel Avivians, they saw a rational and politically correct attitude in their preference for Palestinian food instead of Mizrahi, that aligned with their Zionist left-wing views. On the other hand, they labelled Mizrahi food as “simple” and “cheap”, a reflection of their own thoughts about these sectors of the Jewish Israeli population whom they thought to be simple, ignorant, and sometimes backwards.

7

“THEY MIGHT BE OUR ENEMIES …

161

Ayala was not the only participant who became offended when I asked why Mizrahi food was more popular than Ashkenazi food in Israel. This question was commonly received with a smile and a laugh as if the question and its answer were simply too evident. Most of my Ashkenazi informants were certain that the reason behind people favouring Mizrahi food had nothing to do with the price or the availability of its ingredients, but simply with the fact that it is tastier. However, Josef, a previously mentioned young food writer did not take the question well. As an Ashkenazi, he felt proud of his grandmother’s food and did not think it was culinarily inferior to Mizrahi food: “No no, our food is as good as their food, but they never want to taste our dishes. We do taste and appreciate their food, but they don’t. It is political resentment, you know? Because we treated them badly before, they now get their revenge by saying our food is bad”. Josef again is highlighting the political dimension of food preferences. He acknowledges the political grievances of the Mizrahi population and affirms that it is displayed through indifference and even contempt towards Ashkenazi food. He, like Ayala and her family, does consume Palestinian food. He carefully distinguishes it from Mizrahi food, openly saying he prefers the former. Josef also lives in Jaffa, values local products, and favours Palestinian cause. Josef is right to say that Mizrahim as well as their food were belittled in Israel. Mizrahi food was not always as popular as it is now. It was not until the nineties that many of my Mizrahi informants returned to their culinary roots and began cooking the food of their grandparents, or at least tried to recover their forgotten traditions. Hava, for example, remembered that her husband did not cook anything Iraqi until recently when they got an Iraqi cookbook and started an annual family reunion where only Iraqi food was allowed. Previously, as Esther MeirGlitzenstein argues, the consumption of Ashkenazi food, such as herring, was perceived by Iraqi Jews as a sign of assimilation to the new land. Although when they arrived in Israel, they manifested their repulsion to it, in later decades they would relate it to Israeli authentic identity and successful immigration (Meir-Glitzenstein, 2015). When recounting her experiences, Hava constantly highlighted how her family was unable to cook their traditional food in previous decades as they were taught that a real Israeli ate European food. Modern Mizrahim highlights their traditions in family reunions and open businesses targeting the general public as customers. In Kfar Saba, in central Israel, two Mizrahi businesses became popular in recent years: a Moroccan

162

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

pastry shop that sells traditional sweets, bread, and pastries, and a private catering company owned by an Iraqi woman that sold Shabbat dinners every Friday morning. Although there was admiration in the labour put into Mizrahi food, (like kibbeh or Moroccan sweets) there was also a degree of belief that modern women, like some of my participants labelled themselves, did not have time to make these kinds of dishes, even though making Ashkenazi dishes like dumplings can be just as time-consuming. This again speaks to the perception, although not recognised any more by most of the Ashkenazi population, that Mizrahim as well as Arabs are backwards and more traditional.

Arab or Jewish Although most of my Mizrahi participants talked at length with nostalgia about their countries of origin, and some of them even travel frequently to them,7 they did not see themselves, their food, or their traditions as Arab. They perceived their relationship to the Middle East through their own relationship to Israel. They talked about those countries of origin as if they had been guests, or temporary residents. Ronald Ranta suggests that the ambiguity of the Arab–Jewish identity began even before the state was built “The most important other-self within Zionism is the Mizrahi Jew, who upon immigrating to the Western-oriented Ashkenazi-European dominated Israeli, was forced to make a choice: either to be an Arab or a Jew. Being both was not acceptable anymore” (Mendel & Ranta, 2014, 10). During my fieldwork, I attended a dinner with a Mizrahi family who, while serving me Moroccan tea in a traditional tea set, talked about the problem of the backwardness of the Arab countries, making a clear distinction between Mizrahi Jews and Muslim Arabs. This ambiguity in their relationship with their countries of origin—of nostalgia and disengagement—is similar to the Ashkenazi identity of being simultaneously European and Jewish. While Ashkenazim do not talk about Europeans as backwards or perceive them as enemies, Mizrahim does about their

7 Most of the Mizrahi Jews in Israel that participated in my research did not feel safe or were not allowed to go back to their countries, however Moroccan Jews did travel frequently and insisted to other Israelis that traveling to Morocco was safe for them.

7

“THEY MIGHT BE OUR ENEMIES …

163

countries of origin, making their relationship with the diaspora even more complicated. This cannot be generalised; in an interview with a well-known culinary figure of Israel, he highlighted that he felt much more identified with Palestinians than with the European diaspora. He identified himself as an Arab Jew and a Middle Eastern. Some of my participants missed the days of peace with the Arab countries and remembered with nostalgia how they shared festivals and holidays with their Muslim neighbours before the State of Israel was established. Mizrahi culture is still belittled in Israel. While it was clear that I displayed a preference for Mizrahi food, I was asked for explanations if I openly said I had a taste for Mizrahi music. A considerably large section of the Israeli population prefers Mizrahi food. Nevertheless, it is not a reflection of an improvement of the life and status of the people that cook it. Similar parallels can be drawn with attitudes towards Jewish Ethiopian food. Also labelled as ethnic food, it is especially popular in Tel Aviv. However, many Ethiopians remain discriminated against and looked down upon. The relationship between Israelis and Mizrahi food in Israel is particularly insightful as it reflects the contradictions and ambiguities in Israel’s connection they have with the Middle Eastern culture. It seems that being Israeli erases the possibility of being simultaneously Jewish and Arab, suggesting that the Mizrahi population highlights, voluntary or involuntary, the Jewish character of their identity, while downplaying the Arabic elements.

Conclusion This chapter highlighted how Jewish Israelis consumed, named, and talked about Palestinian food and the political connotations of these behaviours. It outlined the role of Mizrahi food in the Israeli discourse of Arab food and how the Arab–Jewish identity has been forgotten and denied by some segments of the Israeli population. Nationalist systems dictate the proper and improper conduct to their citizens for the national identity they hold. The first pioneers in Israel aimed to create a New Jew who was different from the diasporic Jew, yet whose Zionist roots were deeply embedded in European nationalist ideologies. To create this new identity, Yonatan Mendel and Ronald Ranta

164

C. PRIETO PIASTRO

argue that pioneers had to mimic some customs of the indigenous population of Palestine and then manufacture a new identity which was Middle Eastern in essence but clearly differentiated from the local Arab culture (Mendel & Ranta, 2014). Therefore, the Israeli identity appropriated Palestinian food culture but concealed its Arab aspects, labelling it as local or as Biblical. In other cases, such as Yonatan, the influence of Arab food, for example, is accepted if it is perceived as friendly and not Muslim. On the other hand, Israeli identity does not imagine the possibility of being simultaneously Arab and Jewish. Hence, the Mizrahi population emphasises Jewish characteristics of their identity while undervaluing the Arab elements in it. Food was then used to separate groups and determine who belonged to the Israeli collective. It also established how the nation should be performed. However, nations are not monolithic constructions. In the case of Israel, different groups and subcultures understand the notion of Israeliness in different ways. The Ashkenazi establishment attempted to erase the differences between groups that formed part of the new State but failed to impose a unified national culture. As mentioned in Chapter 6, this failure is reflected in the variety and diversity of Israeli food. Although modern Mizrahi culture remains belittled by the Ashkenazi establishment, the increasing popularity of Mizrahi food seems a consequence of Israel’s increasing cosmopolitanism, and possibly, a symbol of the slow Orientalisation of Israel. On the other hand, although there is a segment of the population unwilling to see the Palestinian population as the mortal enemy, in recent years it also evident that Israel is moving to the political right. However, the segments of the population that label themselves as leftwing have decided to eat, name, and talk not only of Arab food but of Palestinian food. This can be interpreted as a form of everyday resistance, redemptive movements used by the left-wing population to express their dissatisfaction with the status quo without breaking their social connections.

Final Considerations on the Study of Food Culture and Nationhood

Food and identity are intimately connected experiences and cooking and eating can be deeply impact sociopolitical dynamics. Many colleagues, as well as some participants of this research, were curious to know which dishes I considered part of the Israeli food repertoire. Some imagined that hummus and falafel would beat the top of the national Israeli food list, and therefore that my book centred around their cooking and consumption. They were surprised when I told them that during my fieldwork I had eaten as much falafel as I did chicken soup and other Eastern European dishes. Their questions made me reconsider how Israel is represented to foreigners, by itself and others. For example, the European elements of Israel’s food culture are constantly downplayed in the narratives that the country has created for foreign consumption, and nonetheless, the European element of cuisine is key to understanding the establishment of the Jewish state, the history of Zionism, and the culture of modern Israel. Although now it seems impossible to me to understand Israel without considering the different groups that shape the country—at the time of my research and even now, after the last war with Gaza in May 2021— conversations seemed to forget the diverse nature of the country. Israel is made up of hundreds of communities that emigrated during the nineteenth and twentieth century. Therefore, when we talk about Israel, we need to talk about a vast array of ideas and concepts surrounding what

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 C. Prieto Piastro, Eating in Israel, Food and Identity in a Globalising World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87254-0

165

166

FINAL CONSIDERATIONS ON THE STUDY OF FOOD …

Israel is and what it means to be Israeli. The country’s diversity and divisions that are not always amicable are well-known by Israelis, and many informants were eager to show me how their food mirrored them. For this reason, almost every Israeli I approached was immediately interested and willing to participate in my research. Some wanted to participate in it, and some even offered to help me design it. They came up with thousands of questions they believed I should address in my research: Why are there so many vegans in Israel? Where does sabih come from? What is the history of Bamba?1 Is Crembo2 Israeli or does anybody else eat it? Is there such a thing as Israeli food? Why is Mizrahi food so popular? I learned, through experience, that questions about food were central to Israeli identity. A few people even went as far as to say that finding a definition of Israeli food was the national question. Throughout my experiences and discussions, I learned how central food is to Israeli identity. On one occasion, after a dinner with friends, one of who was Israeli, I received a call from his wife. She asked me to avoid talking about Israeli food in front of her husband as our discussion around the origin of Crembo had triggered a deep identity crisis. I also witnessed several passionate discussions, most of them on social media, about the origins of certain dishes that are sometimes labelled Israeli. After learning that I was pregnant, one participant, Ariel, kindly reminded me to feed my child with Bamba as soon as possible, to avoid any possibility of him developing peanut allergies. Interacting with my participants and other people interested in talking about food helped me to formulate the main questions in this book. They also proved to me that food culture is central in comprehending how ordinary people understand their belonging to a nation and which 1 Industrially produced snack with a high content of peanuts. It has a soft texture similar to Cheetos and is given to children even before they are one year old. All of my participants affirm that is scientifically proven that this is the reason why Israeli children are not allergic to peanuts and they consider it the national snack, some of them even said it was the national dish. 2 Also known as the winter ice cream, it consists of a frozen biscuit with marshmallow on top and covered in chocolate. Although traditionally a common processed dessert, it is now possible to find artisanal versions. It is also considered something “really Israeli” although many countries consume similar products.

FINAL CONSIDERATIONS ON THE STUDY OF FOOD …

167

everyday tools they use to construct their national identities. My main question: How do ordinary Israeli women use food in their everyday life to construct, perform, choose, talk about, and resist their idea of nationhood was a direct result of my research. Most importantly, perhaps, was the time and feedback I received from Israelis who helped me to better understand the topics that concerned them in relation to their own food culture. Since my first visit to Israel, I sensed that the relationship between ordinary Israelis and food was one of the key aspects that could help me to better understand who they are and who they aspire to be. I was not mistaken; food culture is at the heart of the nation. Through everyday routines and mundane actions, ordinary people learn what it means to be national. They learn how to negotiate and sometimes resist the ideas imposed by others—especially elites—on how they should behave to be considered part of the nation. In this book, I have used ethnographic data to demonstrate the ways in which food is used for the construction of national identity, by nonelites and elites alike. Each chapter helped me to present the reader with an image of Israeli society that allowed me to explore my questions and illustrate the complexities of a society that is anything but a monolithic, uniform one. As mentioned in the introduction, a main goal of this research was to shed light on the role of the everyday in the construction of nationalism and the relationship between food and nationhood. It hoped to highlight the forgotten role of women in the construction of the idea of what it means to be national. Each chapter focused on one of these topics. By analysing how people talk, consume, choose, and perform the nation in the everyday, I suggested that it is impossible to understand nationhood without looking at the private sphere. By now, I hope that it is clear for the reader that food can be a useful tool for elites to impose ideas of the nation, but that it is also a useful tool to resist these impositions; a tool that can be used by women in their everyday to oppose the status quo, and/or to transmit Israeliness. Another goal was to explore an understudied yet fundamental aspect of Israeli society: the conflicts within. The realm of scholarly studies concerning Israel centres around the study of the country in relation to its neighbours and its position in the region. Even when researching internal politics, it seems that conflict with Palestine takes a prominent space. A quick glance at Israeli Studies journals and conferences panels

168

FINAL CONSIDERATIONS ON THE STUDY OF FOOD …

demonstrates how research ingrained in international relations and political science often takes precedence over anthropological and sociological considerations. In my opinion, this is a mistake. The understanding of the conflicts within Israeli society of its main values and of the way ordinary people live nationhood from an anthropological perspective provides researchers and decision-makers with a clearer overview of society and a deeper understanding of intersocietal tensions. This may, in turn, shed a different light onto the conflict with Palestine. Throughout this book, I have frequently argued that ordinary people are not simple receptors of ideas and concepts of the nation. On the contrary, non-elites reproduce the nation in the everyday; resist impositions of elites and socialise newcomers into the national community. If we want to understand the Israel-Palestine conflict, a first step is to explore the problems within each of these societies and the way each one understands the nation. To find the roots of the conflict, we need to look at how national identities are constructed in everyday life, as well as in the political sphere. Many of my informants were keen to participate in my research with the goal of showing me and my future readers that they not only have excellent food but that they are “normal, simple, people”. I hope I did their desires justice. I have tried to portray a society in which thousands of points of view coexist, not always peacefully but in the same way as in many other countries. Mizrahim and Ashkenazim as well as Jews and non-Jews understand Israeliness in different ways and therefore make it impossible to picture the country as a unified nation. It has been my intention not to describe Israel as an exceptional country but as an ordinary one, made by ordinary citizens that are simultaneously proud and ashamed of their country. Eliana, the Zionist immigrant who left her family and country behind to live in a town in the middle of the desert and help to build her dream country, is proud of her city and her work at the municipality, but deeply ashamed of the way the country treats Arab citizens. Like anyone else confronted with someone writing about their country, most of my participants tried to discuss only the positive sides of their society with me. I lived with them, I witnessed their family disagreements, cooked with them, and walked their dogs. Like many others, the Friedman family opened the doors of their house to me with the aim of showing me how welcoming Israelis could be. By sharing their

FINAL CONSIDERATIONS ON THE STUDY OF FOOD …

169

routines and celebrations, they eventually revealed the aspects of themselves and their country that they were not so proud of or preferred to keep quiet. I hope that by talking about these conflicts, I am able to bring to peoples’ attention those less known aspects of nationalism, and how ordinary people everywhere understand the nation.

Appendix: Informants

All my informants’ names have been pseudonymised. Upon their request, some of the details of their families were changed to avoid them being recognised. Where more than one member of the family participated in the research, I included a pseudonymised surname to identify them. Hava Hava is a left-wing secular woman in her sixties. Hava was born in Israel, in a kibbutz. Her family migrated to Israel from Hungary, at the end of the Second World War. She lost several members of her family during the Holocaust including her grandparents. She talks about this openly. Her husband’s family is from Iraq, and she seems very close to them. I saw Hava regularly during my stay in Israel in 2015 but I was never able to visit her at her home. Hava lives in a Moshav in central Israel. Access to the Moshav is difficult without a car, so we met in coffeeshops. Hava mainly spoke about her past, her life in the kibbutz and the story of her grandparents. She was convinced her family had been cursed as a result of her grandparents being cousins. Esther Friedman Esther Friedman is an independent, secular Ashkenazi woman in her eighties. She lived alone in the house she shared with her husband until © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 C. Prieto Piastro, Eating in Israel, Food and Identity in a Globalising World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87254-0

171

172

APPENDIX: INFORMANTS

his death more than a decade ago. I saw Esther at least twice a week and I became especially close to her. She seemed to be keen on talking about her life and about cooking. Born in America, she migrated to Israel during the fifties, not because of her Zionist ideals but because she had fallen in love with an Israeli man. During her first years in Israel, she struggled to adjust to her new life in Israel. She was not used to scarcity and found it difficult to deal with it. She loves cooking, especially Asian flavours, but cooks traditional Ashkenazi food for her family. She learned to cook in Israel, as she said her mother was incapable of cooking anything. According to Esther, most of her recipes came from Lilian Cornfeld’s books and The Jerusalem Post. Keeping tradition and transmitting Jewish identity is fundamental for Esther and this is obvious in her cooking. Although irreverent and not too keen on following religious rules, she keeps a kosher house, cooks traditional dishes for Friday dinners and holidays and only breaks the rules when she is outside. Ruth Friedman Ruth is Esther’s oldest daughter. She lives with her husband a few minutes away from her mother’s house. Ruth was born in Israel, and she is now in her fifties, has three grown up children and eight grandchildren. Ruth does not have a passion for cooking; however, she spends a considerable amount of her time in the kitchen. She meticulously plans menus spends a lot of time generally thinking about how to feed her family, especially her grandchildren. Esther picks her grandkids up from school and takes them to her house where she feeds them and helps them with homework. They also spend their weekends there and she sometimes takes them on holidays with her and her husband. Ruth might not enjoy cooking, but she does like good food and wine. She does not drink often, but when she does, she prefers red wine and beer over other drinks. She is not religious and avoids kosher wine, but she does not like the smell of pork. I never saw her cooking or eating a non-kosher dish. Yael Friedman Yael is Ruth’s husband. He works in a Hi-Tech company outside of Tel Aviv and travels constantly. I saw him most weekends but during the week

APPENDIX: INFORMANTS

173

he was working most of the time. He was always concerned about my wellbeing, but we never exchanged more than a few words. Nathan Friedman Nathan is Ruth’s son-in-law. He is an avid cook, always happy to experiment and learn new flavours. He asked me for Mexican recipes a few times and asked me how to use certain ingredients. He was always involved in the preparation of food on Saturday in some way, and Nathan was willing to help Ruth in any possible task. Noa Friedman Noa is Ruth’s younger sister. I met Noa through her sister who thought it could be important for me to visit a Modern Orthodox house. In 2015 we met twice at her house. I then saw her at a few family gatherings at Ruth’s home. We also had a few conversations in her car. Noa visited Tel Aviv a few times a week and she offered to take me to my Hebrew class on several occasions. She liked having me around and sharing her recipes with me, as she seems to really enjoy, and be proud of her cooking. “Every time I see you, I feel like I’m in Master Chef, I love it!” she told me once giggling while we cooked a fish dish. I had a good relationship with Noa. She always spoke openly about her life as an orthodox woman and she talked to me about her family life, but also about her beliefs and her political positions. Noa explained all her recipes to me in detail. She told me which ingredients she preferred, and even when we were not cooking, she discussed food with me. Chen Chen is a very well-known cook in Israel.3 Chen has hosted several cooking and traveling shows and has also written a few cookbooks. I was only supposed to interview her for an hour, but we ended up spending the day together. She was disappointed at first when she saw I did not

3 Annual Jewish Food Festival in London that takes place every year in the summer in the Jewish Community Centre (JW3).

174

APPENDIX: INFORMANTS

have a camera with me and that I was not Italian,4 but after our initial encounter she became more relaxed. Chen took me from restaurant to restaurant in Tel Aviv, introducing me to restaurateurs and chefs. Chen seemed to be known by everybody in the food industry in Israel. She walked around markets and restaurants with authority, expecting people to respect her and to give her special treatment. Chen did not ask me to anonymise her, however, at times I noticed she had probably told me more than she wished to, so I decided to anonymise her anyway. At the beginning of our conversation, she managed the interview as though she was being interviewed by a journalist—giving me well-rehearsed answers and focusing on hummus and falafel. As time went by, she started to tell me her story focusing on her relationship to food. Josef A food journalist in his thirties, Josef discovered his passion for journalism during his military service. He worked at his army base radio station before working professionally on different newspapers. A few years ago, he decided to start working with food. He now hosts a TV show in which he discusses different topics related to food, restaurants, and recipes. I interviewed him twice in 2015 in a coffee shop in Jaffa next to his house. Ofer Vadi again put me in contact with him. At that time, he was working on several projects including the design of a new food market in North Tel Aviv. After the interview, we kept in touch via email, and he was always happy to answer questions related to food. He was keen on talking about tradition Ashkenazi cooking. Rahel Rahel is in her fifties and lives in a house with her family in a suburb close to Tel Aviv. I contacted her after an Israeli sociologist suggested I talked to her. I interviewed her in her garden for a couple of hours in 2015. Our interview was mainly about cookbooks as she was not willing to talk about anything personal. However, during the interview she found herself talking about her cooking and her family eating habits. She talked a lot

4 My surname made her think I was Italian and she was excited about being able to practice her Italian.

APPENDIX: INFORMANTS

175

about her Ashkenazi roots, her interest in Asian cooking, and some of her family traditions. Ofer Vadi Ofer Vadi is the editor of Lunchbox, a small Israeli cookbook publishing house. I met Ofer in the summer of 2014 at the Embassy of Israel in London. I later interviewed him in 2015 and 2016. His name is not anonymised as we never discussed anything relating to his personal life. Ofer guided me through the food world of Israel, introducing me to several of my participants. He is well-connected and well-known among food writers, chefs, and food consultants. Ofer has a passion for cookbooks and helped me find the most representative Israeli cookbooks. During my fieldwork, we were in constant email contact. He pointed out places that I should visit, people I should talk to and several topics he thought were important for my dissertation. Ruth Sirkis Ruth Sirkis is a beloved food writer in Israel. Now in her late seventies (she never mentioned her age), she is extremely proud of her work as a food writer and does acknowledge her role in the transformation of Israeli food ways. Chen put me in contact with her and we met in a coffee shop in North Tel Aviv in 2015, a few days before Passover. The interview took around 3 hours, and we mainly discussed her cookbooks. She did not want to talk about her life, however, talking about her books meant talking about her life; so we spoke about her time living in the United States, and what she felt was guiding modern Israeli food. The interview was conducted in a mix of Hebrew and English. The fact that I interviewed her opened the houses of many Israelis to me, and it was always a good topic of conversation. My informants were curious about her. They wanted to know how she was in real life, and what she had said to me. Ayala Grossman I met Ayala, during a family gathering in 2016. I was invited by a friend of the family, and soon after I arrived, we start talking about my research, and she immediately invited me for dinner at her apartment. She was

176

APPENDIX: INFORMANTS

curious about my fieldwork and repeatedly asked me about my interviews with “food celebrities” and cookbook writers. I met her at several family gatherings during the summer of 2016 and I spent a considerable amount of time with other members of her family. Ayala was excited to show me her cooking as she believed I had been shown the “dark side” of Ashkenazi cooking. She wanted to show me good Ashkenazi food, Hungarian dishes. I Ayala is proud of her Hungarian past; she has dual nationality and so do her children. She does not keep kosher, although her husband and one of her daughters do. Ayala found this strange and contradictory to their lifestyle and beliefs. Yossi Grossman Yossi Grossman is Ayala’s son-in-law. At the time of this research, he had only been living in Israel for four months. I saw Yossi at every family gathering I was invited to by the Grossmans. I was interested in his experience as a newcomer to Israeli society. Einat In 2015, Einat invited me to her apartment in Tel Aviv, it was a few months after she had returned to Israel. She was keen to participate in the research that she knew about through a friend in common, however, she was unsure if she could contribute to it as she did not believe her Jewish identity was very strong. Neither she or her family are religious, and she considers herself anti-religious. Einat is in her thirties and has two young daughters. Einat herself is vegetarian, although she cooks meat for her family, and they do not keep kosher. She lived with her family for a few years in the UK while her husband was finishing his PhD. She is a primary school teacher but had not worked since moving to the UK. When we met, she was looking for a new job in Israel and was happy to return to work. Moshe Moshe was Ariel’s sister’s boyfriend at the time of this research. In his late twenties, Moshe identifies as Mizrahi. I saw him several times during my visits in 2015 and 2016, although I first met him in December of 2012. On the few occasions that we had conversations he only talked to

APPENDIX: INFORMANTS

177

me about food, especially about his mother’s Iraqi cooking. He disliked Ashkenazi food and referred to it as “grey food”. Natasha Natasha is a Russian woman in her twenties, one of my classmates during the time I spent in the Ulpan in Tel Aviv in 2015. At the time, she had been living in Israel for a year with her Israeli boyfriend. She met him at a party two years previously, while she was on holiday in Israel. She found Israeli society too “simple” and missed Russia every day. At the time, she worked as a yoga instructor but wanted to open a catering business. I saw her every day for two months, and we mainly spoke in Hebrew. Gil Gil is an Ashkenazi woman in her forties who lives in central Tel Aviv. I met her casually at a reunion with Israeli friends, where she told me about her repulsion for gefiltefish. A few days later, I interviewed her at her house for a couple of hours and she spend most of the time explaining me how kosher laws work. Deborah Deborah was born in South Africa and moved to Israel with her husband and two sons over 20 years ago. She is an avid cook, and we spent a considerable amount of time in a small cookbook library she has next to her kitchen. She was proud of her collection and asked me to bring her a few cookbooks from Ottolenghi from London. Deborah never said she cooked Israeli food, she always talked about “Jewish food” and made efforts to showcase her cooking skills and knowledge about traditional dishes. Deborah did not consider herself religious but kept kosher and tried to teach her sons the basic rules in the hope that they would be able to have a kosher house in future. During the week of Passover, I was a regular dinner guest and Deborah made a different dessert each night. “I have a lot of Passover cookbooks and I only use them once a year so I better cook as much as I can” she told me while making a strawberry pavlova and homemade ice cream.

178

APPENDIX: INFORMANTS

Ben Ben is Deborah’s husband. Also from South Africa, he works in a HighTec company. I never interviewed Ben, but I saw him at all the dinners and lunches Deborah invited me to and was always willing to chat about politics and food. He never avoided controversial topics, and he often talked about security issues, which were his main concern. Maya Maya is a food consultant in her thirties. She works with Ofer Vadi and has written several cookbooks. She has also worked with chefs developing recipes, food related TV shows and recipe books. She studied design in the UK but decided to change career paths once she was back in Israel. She is now a successful consultant and is well-known in the food industry in Israel. I met Maya in 2015 in a coffee shop. We then saw each other a few times that year and again in the summer of 2016 during the book fair in Tel Aviv in coffeeshops and at the Lunchbox stall. Maya proved to be a good guide to the food world of Israel, but she was especially interested in talking about Israel’s food history as well as Jewish food in general. She was always interested in talking about kibbutz food as well as wedding food. We talked for long hours about food trends in the country, from the boom of sushi restaurants to the difficulty of finding a non-kosher venue for hosting a wedding. Eliana Eliana is an American woman in her thirties who emigrated to Israel in 2011. She lives in Beer Sheva and at the time we met, Eliana was studying for a master’s degree in social work at Ben-Gurion University. By 2016, she was writing her dissertation and working full-time in Beer Sheva municipality with English speaking immigrants. We met once in 2015 and then twice in 2016. I visited her in Beer Sheva, and we spent the day walking around the city that she proudly showed to me. Then we met once again in Tel Aviv and a few months later in London. Eliana is from a small town in the United States close to Kansas City, where her family still lives. Her mother is Jewish, and her father converted to Judaism later in life. She discovered her Jewish identity when she was a teenager and decided to become orthodox. She said this was part of her “rebellious phase” and spoke several times about how difficult she made

APPENDIX: INFORMANTS

179

her parents’ life with her determination to follow Jewish law as best as she could. Eliana is interested in food, but she does not cook often, as her motherin-law regularly cooks and shops for them. Her diet changed dramatically in Israel. She now believes she has a healthier diet based largely on the consumption of fresh dairy and salads. Ariel Ariel is a graphic designer in his thirties. We saw each other frequently and I saw him and his family in Israel constantly during my fieldwork. I stayed in the flat he shares with his sister in North Tel Aviv in 2015 and again in 2016. Ariel and his sister are part of a large family who live in a small town on the road between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. The family has a mixed background and do not identify as either Ashkenazi or Mizrahi. During my fieldwork, Ariel took me to numerous restaurants all over the country and to friend’s reunions in which food always played a relevant role. Ariel organised “food tours” for me and spent his weekends taking me from market to market and introducing me to stall vendors. He also made sure I went to the “right places” to taste Georgian, Yemenite, and Iraqi food and spoke at length about why I should avoid high-end restaurants. During our long food tours, he made sure I understood how Israeli society “worked” so he taught me Israeli slang, what music I should and shouldn’t listen to, how to take buses and trains and even Israeli “etiquette”. Aisha Aisha is my only Palestinian Israeli informant. She is in her twenties and was studying accountancy at the University of Haifa when we met in 2016. I met Aisha in the University accommodation, where I lived for a month in the summer. We met in the courtyard outside our accommodation every night and had dinner together with other students from the university. Aisha works at the university branch of Aroma, a famous Israeli coffee chain. From the day we met, Aisha laughed about my research topic as she considered it impossible to be studying something that does not exist, and in her opinion Israeli cuisine does not exist. “They took everything they know from us!” she repeated to me almost every night and changed the topic. Aisha got herself in a lot of discussions with some American

180

APPENDIX: INFORMANTS

Jewish students who did not agree with her, but she was always friendly towards them and helped them with homework. Aisha is from a small village close to Haifa. She goes there every weekend to visit her family. She promised to take me several times, but she never did. She dreams of traveling in Europe and Latin America and leaving the conflict behind her.

References

Abu-Lughod, L. (1990). The romance of resistance: Tracing transformations of power through Bedouin women. American Ethnologist, 17 (1), 41–55. Albala, K. (2012). Cookbooks as historical documents. In J. Pilchner (Ed.), The Oxford handbook of history (pp. 227–240). Oxford University Press. Allison, A. (1991). Japanese mothers and obent¯os: The lunch-box as ideological state apparatus. Anthropological Quarterly, 64(4), 195–208. Anderson, B. (1983). Imagined communities: Reflections on the origin and spread of nationalism. Verso. Appadurai, A. (1988). How to make a national cuisine: Cookbooks in contemporary India. Comparative Studies in Society and History, 30(1), 3–24. Arian, A., & Keissar-Sugarmen, A. (2009). A portrait of Israeli Jews, beliefs, observances and values of Israeli Jews. The Israeli Democracy Institute. Ariel, A. (2018). Mosaic or melting pot: The transformation of Middle Eastern Jewish Foodways in Israel. In H. R. Diner & S. Cinotto (Eds.), Global Jewish Foodways (pp. 91–114). University of Nebraska Press. Asad, T. (2003). Formations of the secular, Christianity, Islam modernity. Stanford University Press. Avieli, N. (2018). Food and power: A culinary ethnography of Israel. University of California Press. Bahloul, J. (1983). Le Culte de la Table Dressée. Editions Metaile. Barak-Eretz, D. (2009). Land and religion under the status quo model: Between past compromises and constant change. Law and Religion Overview, 30(6), 2495–2508.

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 C. Prieto Piastro, Eating in Israel, Food and Identity in a Globalising World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87254-0

181

182

REFERENCES

Bar-On, D. (2008). The other within us: Constructing Jewish-Israeli identity. Cambridge University Press. Beoku-Betts, J. A. (1995). We got our way of cooking things: Women, food and preservation of cultural identity among the Gullah. Gender and Society, 9(5), 535–555. Billig, M. (1995). Banal nationalism. Sage. Buckser, A. (1999). Keeping kosher: Eating and social identity among the Jews of Denmark. Ethnology, 38(3), 191–209. Cairns, K., & Johnston, J. (2015). Food and femininity. Bloomsbury. Caldwell, M. L. (2002). The taste of nationalism: Food politics in post socialist Moscow. Ethnos, 67 (3), 295–319. Canadian Jewish Advocacy. (2017). Demographics of Israel. Accessed February 16, 2017. http://www.cija.ca/resources/israel-the-basics/demographics-ofisrael/. Chein, R. (2013). What is gefiltefish. Chabad. Accessed February 2, 2016. www. chabad.org/library. Clark, G. (1999). Mothering, work, and gender in urban Asante ideology and practice. American Anthropologist, 101(4), 717–729. Connerton, P. (1989). How societies remember. Cambridge University Press. Cornfeld, G. (1996). Lilian. Orion Master Recordings. Cornfeld, L. (1942). Keitzad Mevashalim Biyemi Milhama? Olam ha-Isha. Cornfeld, L. (1949). Ma Avashel mi-Manot ha Tzena? Madrikh. [Published by the author]. Cornfeld, L. (1962). Israeli Cookery. Tel Aviv. [Private edition]. Counihan, C. M. (1988). Female identity, food, and power in contemporary Florence. Anthropological Quarterly, 16(2), 51–62. Counihan, C. M. (2004). Around the Tuscan Table. Routledge. Counihan, C. M. (2019). Mexicanas: Food voices and differential consciousness in the San Luis Valley of Colorado. In C. Counihan, P. Van Esterik, & A. P. Julier (Eds.), Food and culture reader (pp. 173–186). Routledge. Counihan, C. M., & Kaplan, S. L. (2005). Introduction-food and gender: Identity and power. In C. M. Counihan & S. L. Kaplan (Eds.), Food and gender, identity, and power (pp. 1–10). Harwood Academic Publishers and Routledge de Certeau, M. (1984). The practice of everyday life (S. Rendall. Trans.). University of California Press. DeVault, M. L. (1999). Comfort and struggle: Emotion work in family life. Annals of the American Academy of Politics and Social Sciences, 561, 52–63. Dosick, W. (2007). Living Judaism. HarperCollins. Edensor, T. (2002). National identity, popular culture and everyday life. Berg. Elgenious, G. (2011). Symbols of nations and nationalism. Palgrave Macmillan. Ettinger, Y. (2016). High Court: Only chief rabbinate can pronounce businesses kosher. Haaretz.

REFERENCES

183

Fehervary, K. (2002). American kitchens, luxury bathrooms, and the search for a normal life in postsocialist Hungary. Ethnos, 67 (3), 369–400. Felski, R. (2000). Doing time: Feminist theory and postmodern culture. NYU Press. Fox, J. E. (2006). Consuming the nation; Holidays, sports, and the production of collective belonging. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 29(2), 217–236. Fox, J. E., & Miller-Idriss, C. (2008). Everyday nationhood. Ethnicities, 8(4), 536–563. Friedman, S. (2016, June 14). Religion and state: The kosher monopoly. The Israeli Democracy Institute. https://en.idi.org.il/galleries/12481. Accessed May 8, 2021. Friedman, S. (2020, August 3). On induction cookers, non-Jews, and god. The Israeli Democracy Institute. https://en.idi.org.il/articles/31981. Accessed April 25, 2021. Gardiner, M. E. (2000). Critique of everyday life. Routledge. Gleason, P. (1964). The melting pot: Symbol of fusion or confusion? American Quarterly, 16(1), 20–46. Go Israel. (2001). www.goisrael.com. Accessed March 10, 2016. Golden, D. (2001). Now, like real Israelis, let’s stand up and sing: Teaching the language to Russian newcomers in Israel. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 32(1), 52–79. Golden, D. (2002). Belonging through time: Nurturing national identity among newcomers to Israel from the former Soviet Union. Time and Society, 11(1), 1–24. Gorny, Y. (2001). The melting pot in Zionist thought. Israeli Studies, 6(3), 54–70. Grosglik, R. (2011). Organic hummus in Israel: Global and local ingredients and images. Sociological Research Online, 16(2), 88–98. Groslik, R., & Ram, U. (2013). Authentic, speedy and hybrid: Representations of Chinese food and cultural globalization in Israel. Food, Culture and Society, 16(2), 223–243. Gvion, L. (2012). Beyond hummus and falafel. University of California Press. Gvion, L. (2015a). The changing significance of cooking and meals for kibbutz women. Food and Foodways, 23(3), 163–185. Gvion, L. (2015b). Two narratives of Israeli food Jewish versus ethnic. In A. Helman (Ed.), Jews and their foodways. Oxford University Press. Hannerz, U. (1996a). Cultural complexity: Studies in the social organization of meaning. Columbia University Press. Hannerz, U. (1996b). Transational connections. Routledge. Helman, A. (2014). Becoming Israeli: National ideals and everyday life in the 1950s. Brandeis University Press. Herzfeld, M. (2005). Cultural intimacy. Routledge.

184

REFERENCES

Hirsch, D. (2009). We are here to bring the West, not only to ourselves: Zionist Occidentalism and the discourse of hygiene in mandate Palestine. International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, 41(4), 577–594. Hirsch, D. (2011). Hummus is best when is fresh and made by the Arabs. American Ethnologist, 38(4), 616–630. Hobsbawm, E., & Ranger, T. (1983). The invention of tradition. Cambridge University Press. Ichijo, A., & Ranta, R. (2016). Food, national identity, and nationalism: From the everyday to global politics. Palgrave Macmillan. Jones, R., & Merriman, P. (2009). Hot, banal, and everyday nationalism: Bilingual road signs in Wales. Political Geography, 28(3), 164–173. Jung, Y. (2012). Experiencing the West through the East in the margins of Europe. Food, Culture and Society, 15(4), 579–598. Kamin, D. (2016, November 1). In Israel a new passion for Palestinian cuisine. New York Times. Katz, S. H. (2003). Women and gender in early Jewish and Palestinian nationalism. University Press of Florida. Khan, A. (2007). Creolization moments. In C. Stewart (Ed.), Creolization, history, ethnography, theory. Left Coast Press. Khazzoom, A. (2003). The great chain of orientalism: Jewish identity, stigma management and ethnic exclusion in Israel. American Sociological Review, 68(4), 481–510. Kimmerling, B. (2001). The invention and decline of Israeliness. University of California Press. Kong, L., & Yeoh, B. S. A. (1997). The construction of national identity through the production of ritual and spectacle. Political Geography, 16(3), 213–239. Kordova, S. (2014). What goes on a seder plate. Haaretz. Kramer, D. C. (2007). Jewish eating and identity through the ages. Routledge. Leibowitz, R. A. (2017). Hashgacha Pratit. Head start. www.headstart.co.il/pro ject.aspx?id=11395&lan=en-US. Accessed June 30, 2017. Lerner, N. (2017). Religion and the secular state of Israel. In D. D. Thayer (Ed.), Religion and the secular state: National reports. Universidad Complutense de Madrid. Lughod, L. A. (1998). Feminist longings and postcolonial conditions. In L. A. Lughod (Ed.), Remaking women: Feminism and modernity in the middle east (pp. 3–33). Princeton University Press. Luttrell, W. (2005). Good enough methods for life-story analysis. In N. Quinn (Ed.), Finding culture in talk (pp. 243–267). Palgrave Macmillan. Mamdani, M. (2002). Good Muslim, bad Muslim: A political perspective on culture and terrorism. American Anthropologist, 104(3), 766–775. Marcus, G. E. (1995). Ethnography in/of the world system: The emergence of multi-sited ethnography. Annual Review of Anthropology, 24, 95–117.

REFERENCES

185

Marks, G. (2010). Encyclopaedia of Jewish food. Wiley. Massad, J. (1996). Zionism’s internal others: Israel and the oriental Jews. Journal of Palestine Studies, 25(4), 53–68. Meir-Glitzenstein, E. (2015). Longing for the aromas of Baghdad: Food, emigration and transformation in the lives of Iraqi Jews in Israel in the 1950s. In A. Helman (Ed.), Jews and their foodways. Oxford University Press. Mendel, Y., & Ranta, R. (2014). Consuming Palestine: Palestine and Palestinians in Israeli food culture. Ethnicities, 14(3), 412–435. Meyer, E. (1937). How to cook in Palestine. WIZO. Miller, Y. (2011). The cost of keeping kosher. Haaretz. https://www.haaretz. com. Accessed May 20, 2016. Ministry of Foreign Affairs Israel. (2002). Israel beyond the land of milk and honey. Ministry of Foreign Affairs. www.mfa.gov.il/mfa/israelexperience/lif estyle/pages/beyond%20milk%20and%20honey%20%20israeli%20recopes%2020jan-95.aspx. Accessed August 1, 2017. Ministry of Immigration. (2017). Immigrant absorption. www.moia.gov.il/ English/Subjects/ImmigrantAbsorption/Pages/default.aspx. Accessed July 2, 2017. Nathan, J. (1988). The Jewish holiday kitchen. Schocken Books. Oz, A. (2004). A tale of love and darkness (N. de Lange. Trans.). Random House. Ozkirimli, U. (2000). Theories of nationalism: A critical introduction. Palgrave Macmillan. Palmer, C. (1998). From theory to practice: Experiencing the nation in the everyday life. Journal of Material Culture, 3(2), 175–199. Pilcher, J. (1998). Que Vivan los Tamales! Food and the making of Mexican identity. University of New Mexico Press. Posner, M. (2014). What is Shabbat. Chabad. www.chabad.org/library/art icle_cdo/aid/633659/jewish/What-Is-Shabbat.htm. Accessed September 1, 2016. Ranta, R., & Piastro, C. P. (2019). Does Israeli food exist? The multifaceted and complex making of a national food. In A. Ichijo, V. Johannes, & R. Ranta (Eds.), The emergence of national food: The dynamics of food and nationalism (pp. 119–129). Bloomsbury. Raviv, Y. (2015). Falafel nation. University of Nebraska Press. Reform Judaism. (2021). www.reformjudaism.org/Jewish-holidays/passoverpesach. Accessed May 15, 2021. Renan, E. (1882). Qu’est-ce qu’une nation? Roden, C. (1996). The book of Jewish food. Penguin Books. Rozin, O. (2006). Food, identity and nation-building in Israel’s formative years. Israel Studies Forum, 21(1), 52–80.

186

REFERENCES

Rozin, O. (2015). Craving meat during Israel’s austerity period 1947–1953. In A. Helman (Ed.), Jews and their foodways. Oxford University Press. Scott, J. C. (1985). Weapons of the weak. Everyday forms of peasant resistance. Yale University Press. Segev, T. (2002). Elvis in Jerusalem: Post Zionism and the Americanization of Israel (H. Watzman, Trans.). Metropolitan Books. Sered, S. S. (1988). Food and holiness: Cooking as a sacred act among Middle Eastern Jewish women. Anthropology Quarterly, 61(3), 129–139. Sered, S. S. (1996). Women as ritual experts: The religious lives of elderly Jewish women in Jerusalem. Oxford University Press. Sertbulut, Z. (2012). The culinary state: On politics of representation and identity in Israel. HAGAR Studies in Culture, Policy, and Identities, 10(2), 49–76. Shamir, O., & Ben-Porat, G. (2007). Boycotting for Sabbath: Religious consumerism as a political strategy. Contemporary Politics, 13(1), 75–92. Shohat, E. (1999). The invention of the Mizrahim. Journal of Palestinian Studies, 29(1), 5–20. Shternshis, A. (2015). Salo or Challah: Soviet Jews experiences of food in the 1920–1950s. In A. Helman (Ed.), Jews and their foodways. Oxford University Press. Sirkis, R. (1975). From the kitchen with love: The secrets of entertaining (5th ed.). Sirkis. Sirkis, R. (1979). The Chinese cuisine. Tel Aviv: Ma’Ariv-Bayit ve’Gan. Siskud, J. (1992). The invention of thanksgiving: A ritual of American nationality. Critique of Anthropology, 12(2), 162–191. Skey, M. (2011). National belonging and everyday life. Palgrave Macmillan. Smith, A. (1995). Zionism and diaspora nationalism. Israeli Affairs, 2(2), 1–19. Smith, A. (2008). The limits of everyday nationhood. Ethnicities, 8(4), 563–574. Stern, Y. Z. (2017). State and the Jewish identity crisis in Israel. Brookings Institute. Stewart, C. (2007). Creolization: History, ethnography, theory. Left Coast Press. Sutton, D. (2001). Remembrance of repast: An anthropology of food and memory. Berg. Sutton, D. (2014). Secrets from the Greek kitchen. University of California Press. Swerdloff, A. (2015). Why one Israeli soldier paid the price for going whole hog. Munchies. www.munchies.vice.com. Accessed July 5, 2017. Tene, O. (2015). The new immigrant must not only learn, he must also forget. In A. Helman (Ed.), Jews and their foodways. Oxford University Press. Wei, C. (2012). LA Weekly. www.laweekly.com/restaurants/q-and-a-with-aha roni-israeli-celebrity-chef-chinese-food-in-israel-hollywood-being-a-dj-237 9407. Accessed September 18, 2015.

REFERENCES

187

Weinstein, B. (1985). Ethiopian Jews in Israel: Socialization and re-education. The Journal of Negro Education, 54(2), 213–224. Wilk, R. (2006). Home cooking in the global village, Caribbean food from buccaneers to ecotourists. Berg. Wilk, R. (2010). Power at the table: Food fights and happy meals. Cultural Studies, 10(6), 428–436. Wilson, M. (1954). Nyakyusa ritual and symbolism. American Anthropologist, 56(2), 228–241. WIZO. (1948). Sefer haBishul. Wizo. WIZO. (2014). Women’s international Zionist organization. www.wizo.org. Accessed September 5, 2014. Yuval-Davis, N. (1997). Gender and Nation. Sage. Zubaida, S., & Tapper, R. (Eds.). (2001). A taste of thyme: Culinary cultures of the Middle East. Barbara Ward & Associates.

Index

A Aboulafia, 156 Abu Gosh, 119, 157 Arab food. See Palestinian food Arab-Israeli conflict, 80 Arab Jews, 27, 143 Ashkenazi, 13, 16, 19, 24, 25, 34, 39, 40, 42, 51, 53, 56, 63–65, 70, 71, 78, 87, 88, 94, 98, 100, 105–108, 110–113, 116, 120, 122, 129–132, 138, 141, 143, 147–150, 154, 159–162, 164, 171, 174–177 Ashkenazi dishes, 24, 55, 64, 70, 130, 162 Ashkenazi cuisine, 130 Ashkenazi food, 13, 53, 56, 63, 64, 70, 71, 87, 108, 128, 130, 138, 141, 147, 148, 159–161, 172, 176, 177 Ashkenazim. See Ashkenazi assimilation, 71, 74, 87, 89, 161 Azura, 159

B baking, 19, 46, 49–51 Bamba, 153, 166 Begin, Menachem, 57 Ben-Gurion, David, 54, 74 Ben-Gurion salad. See chopped salad black market, 37, 38, 40, 41, 50 burekas, 156

C challah, 51, 92, 94, 96, 98–100, 112 chametz, 118, 119 charoset, 120, 121, 126 chopped salad, 24, 98, 100, 101, 116, 148 Cornfeld, Lilian, 39, 42, 52, 150, 151, 172 creative interplay, 145 Crembo, 166 creolisation, 21, 27, 55, 141, 142, 144, 145, 153, 157 cultural intimacy, 130

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 C. Prieto Piastro, Eating in Israel, Food and Identity in a Globalising World, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-87254-0

189

190

INDEX

D diaspora, 20, 26, 27, 44, 54, 71, 100, 107, 112, 137, 143, 151, 159, 163 dining hall, 48, 49, 51, 55, 56, 64 domestic sphere, 18, 20, 52, 92 Dr. Shakshuka, 155

E elites, 5–9, 19, 21, 26, 44, 46, 64, 137, 138, 144, 167, 168 ethnic foods, 52 European Jews, 24, 28, 34, 59, 130, 146, 147 everyday, 70 everyday nationhood, 6, 7, 9 everyday resistance, 4, 10, 164 resistance, 10

F falafel, 13, 52, 54, 56, 63, 146, 148, 151, 154, 157, 165, 174 food-centred life stories, 16, 17 Food Controller, 37 food culture, 8, 11–16, 19–21, 24, 28, 29, 42, 44, 46, 47, 55, 56, 61, 64, 88, 89, 106, 141–145, 147, 148, 153, 164, 166, 167 food work, 11, 93 Freier, 158 Friday dinner, 18, 70, 88, 91, 92, 94, 100, 104, 109, 112 Friday night dinners, 20, 92, 93, 97, 105, 110, 111

G gefiltefish, 108, 116, 121, 128–130, 132, 134–136, 150, 160, 177 gender roles, 11, 28, 52, 97, 105, 109, 131, 137

globalisation, 5, 13, 45, 153

H Hadassah, 31, 36 Haggadah, 119, 126, 132 Haifa, 16, 17, 38, 57, 70, 77, 78, 102, 123, 139, 140, 153, 154, 179, 180 haloni, 73, 84 Holocaust, 23, 84, 107, 113, 171 Holocaust survivors, 116 How to Cook in Palestine?, 32 hummus, 4, 13, 38, 52, 54, 63, 65, 70, 100, 101, 104, 112, 141, 146, 152–155, 157, 159, 160, 165, 174

I ingathering of exiles, 26, 27. See also melting pot intifada, 62, 156 Iraqi Jews, 41, 148, 161 Israeli breakfast, 3 Israeli cookbooks, 28, 35, 175 Israeli-Palestinian conflict, 13

J Jaffa, 155–158, 160, 161, 174 Jerusalem, 3, 16, 56, 59, 70, 72, 73, 78, 79, 94, 109, 119, 159, 172, 179 Jewish Agency, 32, 74 Jewish celebrations, 118, 148 Jewish Israeli, 13, 140, 142, 153, 158, 160 Jewishness, 14, 15, 19, 71, 74, 77, 83, 84, 109, 116–118, 121, 124, 127, 130, 131, 133 Jewish state, 19, 30, 32, 75, 78, 86, 88, 118, 165

INDEX

Judaism, 15, 78, 81, 85, 96, 97, 109, 124, 137

K Karpas, 120 kibbutz, 18, 23, 24, 29, 32, 45–54, 56, 57, 60, 64, 65, 77, 171, 178 kibbutzim. See kibbutz Kiddush, 96, 104, 105, 112 kosher, 3, 12, 15, 19, 35, 40, 42, 61, 62, 70–75, 77–89, 92, 98, 102, 116, 127, 128, 132, 134, 136, 148, 152, 157, 172, 176–178 krepelach, 24 kubbeh, 24, 56

L leftovers, 20, 48, 82, 91–93, 104, 109–111

M Mandate Palestine, 24, 26–30, 36, 143, 146 maror, 120 matzah, 116, 119, 121, 122, 126, 134 melting pot, 21, 25–27, 30, 38, 40, 41, 44, 46, 64, 65, 106, 141, 142, 144, 145 Meyer, Dr. Erna, 33, 34, 150 Middle East, 10, 13, 15, 18, 24, 25, 27, 31, 39, 141–144, 147, 151, 152, 155, 162 Middle Eastern food, 14, 21, 39, 52, 142 Ministry of Supplies and Regulation of Israel , 36 Miznon, 101 Mizrahi, 16 Mizrahi cooking, 110

191

Mizrahi Jewish culture, 144 Mizrahi Jews, 25, 27 Mizrahi food, 24, 54, 65, 141, 142, 146–149, 158–161, 163, 164, 166 Mizrahi Jews, 25, 54, 146, 147, 162 Mizrahim. See Mizrahi Mizrahi recipes, 56, 63 Modern Orthodox, 173 motherhood, 18, 47, 51, 92, 93, 102, 103 multicultural, 46, 62, 64 multi-sited ethnography, 16, 17 N national identity, 4, 7–9, 11, 12, 14, 16, 19, 24, 44, 46, 64, 66, 71, 74, 84–86, 89, 92, 93, 113, 117, 123, 133, 136–138, 142, 152, 154, 163, 167 nationalism, 4–9, 11, 12, 19, 60, 138, 167, 169 banal nationalism, 6, 7 hot nationalism, 7 nationhood, 5, 7–10, 12, 19, 93, 97, 138, 167, 168 Netanyahu, Benjamin, 136, 151 New Hebrew man, 27 O Old-New Homeland, 26, 143 olim hadashim, 134, 151 organic food, 13 Orientalisation, 164 Orthodox Jews, 62, 72, 84, 119 P Palestinian cuisine, 13 Palestinian food, 13, 21, 63, 139–144, 148, 152–155, 157–161, 163, 164

192

INDEX

Palestinian restaurant, 141 Passover, 20, 73, 76, 98, 116–122, 125–129, 132–134, 136–138, 151, 175, 177 Passover Menu, 122 pork, 70, 73, 76–78, 82, 84, 85, 115, 172 post-socialist, 19, 58, 59 ptitim, 56, 65, 98

R Ranana, 17 redemptive moments, 51, 71, 84, 88, 89 ritual, 9, 20, 70, 73, 117–121, 125, 128, 129, 132, 133, 136, 137, 150 Rosh Hashana, 3 Russian Jews, 77 Ruth Sirkis, 58–60, 65, 175

S sabih, 54, 148, 166 Sabra, 42, 151 scarcity, 8, 11, 18, 23, 35, 36, 42, 44, 46, 51, 56, 58, 59, 65, 147, 172 schnitzels, 14, 24, 51, 82, 98, 112, 153 Seder, 116, 118–122, 125, 126, 128, 129, 131–134, 136, 137 settler colonialist process, 153 Shabbat, 3 Shabbat dinner, 42, 70, 73, 78, 81, 82, 85, 87, 88, 91, 92, 94–102, 104–106, 108, 109, 112, 113, 116, 128, 129, 133, 148, 162

Shabbat Lunch, 97, 104, 109 Shakshuka, 54, 78, 140, 141, 155 shank bone, 120 social movements, 10 status quo, 12, 20, 71, 72, 75, 80, 84, 89, 164 T tactic, 83, 117 Tel Aviv, 16, 17, 23, 29, 32, 39, 45, 47, 51, 57, 58, 60, 61, 65, 69, 70, 77, 78, 85, 91, 94, 115, 123, 128, 134, 155, 156, 159, 163, 172–179 Torah, 72, 80, 95, 96, 119 Totzeret ha Aretz, 32, 34 Tzena, 35–37, 39, 40, 51, 54, 60 U Ulpan, 77, 123–125, 127, 133, 137, 138, 140, 177 W wine industry, 99 WIZO, 29–33, 35–39, 52 womanhood, 9, 11, 29 Y Yemenite food, 3, 160 Z Zionist, 11, 24, 26, 27, 29, 31, 32, 35, 41, 43, 44, 57, 82, 84, 107, 111, 143, 144, 146, 160, 163, 168, 172