"Ah," but you say, "what's the big deal about peeling a
carrot?"
Each person peels his or her carrot, and be done with it. Not
so. The experience can either be awesome or banal. I have
encountered both extremes. The banal is obvious; the carrot
just gets peeled. The awesome is more interesting. As the
carrot deftly rotates in my hand and the peeler swiftly
dances up and down, the graceful movement infects my
thoughts. I am awed at my own dexterity.
Then I am awed at the creation which is `carrot.' The carrot
which began as tiny seed in dirt and grew with single-
mindedness into "carrot." Such a mighty, nourishing, selfless
creation. I am washed in gratitude to the One Above Who
prepares my sustenance with such beauty and grace. Who gives
me the ability to peel. Who surrounds me like a cloak when I
am peeling and thinking of Him.
This is holy work. The preparation of food for oneself for
one's family can be an occasion for the most prayerful and
soul-stirring moments of the whole day. As the contents
of our minds spill into our pots along with all the other
ingredients, the food, itself, receives a blessing relayed to
everyone who eats it. We can heal the family through our
food. We can raise consciousness. We can increase the peace
and lovingkindness in our communities.
Most of the time, I find myself cooking because of hunger. It
is the fulfillment of a pressing need. At two o'clock, the
front door will open, and the children will return from
school. Hungry. Hungry, not only for the warm food, but also
for the love they expect to receive at the kitchen table.
With all that required cooking to get meals to the table, I
still have times when I enter the kitchen voluntarily, look
around in the cupboards, and dream up something to cook or
bake. I still make the space for creativity and playful
experimentation, because I have never forgotten what I
learned during the years when I mainly cooked for myself.
What I learned then in my solitary preparations and solitary
eating has helped to guide me up till now, even though
everything about my life is so utterly changed.
What was the main teaching from that time? As I sat before my
bowl of oatmeal and my peeled carrot, my inner voice would
whisper, "This is sacred." I felt a need to acknowledge and
honor the sacred, and this led me to the observance of Jewish
rituals. I still listen for that voice in the silence,
because without it, even the proper Hebrew words of blessing
that I have learned to say can be rattled off simply by
rote.
Eating is a sacred act, and the preparations are a sacred
art. And the careful attention which I give to keeping the
food and the kitchen kosher is a sacred trust. Sometimes I
forget what I'm really doing in the huge quantities of food
that pass through my hands and feel that I am no better than
"kitchen help." But in the end, I remember.
Today I served the children a simple lunch of chicken soup.
They kept filling up their bowls again and again. And while
they were dipping their spoons, I asked them if they could
identify the various ingredients in the soup. The younger
children fished out one vegetable after another and,
excitedly, they asked whether it was the carrot, potato,
sweet potato, the green squash, the sprigs of dill, celery
and parsley, the onions, garlic or the kohlrabi.
My big girl was waiting for the right moment to spring her
answer and when the younger ones had run out of vegetables,
she said with a big smile,
"Mommy's love."
