Watch That Matzoh!

Fast food the Lubavitcher way.



Matzoh fun: (From left) Kara Horwitz and Megan Lundy prepare the bread for the oven.

Seventh grader Matt Manser is standing in a canvas and clear plastic booth, kind of like the one where the scientists placed E.T. It’s labeled with a large sign that says "water," and sure enough, he’s holding a pitcher full of water. Next to him in an identical booth, this one labeled "flour," is fellow student Kate Horwitz, 10, who’s holding a pitcher of flour that seventh grader Tyler Goldman just ground from wheat kernels a few moments ago. As about 30 of their peers begin a countdown, the two "isolated" students thrust their pitchers through slots in the sides of their booths and pour the ingredients into a bowl, splashing flour and water onto student teacher Joanna Kramer Rosengard, 17. She frantically begins to knead the ingredients.

Iron Chef for the pre-teen set? Not quite.

The students attend Congregation Rodeph Shalom’s religious school, and they are on a trip to the Lubavitcher Center in Northeast Philadelphia. For over 20 years, the Center has turned into a model matzoh bakery during the Passover season to teach children raised on pre-packaged Manischewitz about the ancient art of making shmura, or watched, matzoh.

Matzoh, also called the Bread of Affliction, is unleavened bread, made of wheat flour and water, eaten as a symbolic reference to the unfinished bread taken along with the Israelites on their flight from slavery in Egypt. Matzoh is also a booming business, selling millions of boxes each year, and the two big names in Passover foods, Manischewitz and Streit’s, both report an increase in sales in recent years. Manischewitz spokesperson Victor Bevilaqua claims, "We probably sell enough matzoh in a year to make a ring around the world." (Matzoh also has become a big enough business to run into some trouble — Manischewitz was fined $1 million in a federal antitrust suit in 1991, and both Manischewitz and Streit’s were investigated in South Florida for possible price-fixing in 1997.)

All matzoh is prepared under similar rigid conditions, but, unlike most store-bought matzoh, the wheat used in shmura matzoh is guarded throughout its harvesting. If the wheat gets even slightly damp, it could ferment and therefore be considered leavened. Once the wheat is brought in and mixed with water in a matzoh bakery, the workers must prepare at a furious pace, having only 18 minutes to complete the matzoh-making process from start to baking. The wheat is ground and mixed with the water, then the dough is flattened into circles (Shmura matzoh is round, not square like the popular kind.) Tiny holes are poked into both sides of the dough, to further prevent rising. The dough is draped on long poles and placed gingerly into a coal oven and baked for only a few seconds. The whole kitchen must be scrubbed clean, a process that can take up to an hour, before the next batch can be made, to assure that not even a speck of flour has been sitting for more than the allotted 18 minutes. Why 18? Eighteen minutes was found to be a safe amount of time before leavening occurred, but 18 is also an important number in Judaism. The two Hebrew letters that translate into the number 18 also translate into the word for life, chai.

Although the students assembled in the Lubavitcher Center cannot make true shmura matzoh under these less-than-precise conditions, they hurriedly stab holes in their dough (hairpicks are used to replace more sophisticated tools) and fret over the flatness of their pieces. Without a coal oven (the Lubavitcher Center’s oven uses gas), the baking time is considerably lengthened, so one of the center’s workers entertains the students with a round of "Matzoh Jeopardy," featuring stumpers like "How long were the Jews slaves in Egypt?" (210 years). Covered in flour, everyone seems happy.

It is finally time to chow down on the finished product. The ovens are opened, the room gets a bit smoky and the matzoh is finally unveiled — looking a bit, well, burnt. The reviews are mixed. Some students eagerly crunch on the misshapen pieces, but others pronounce, "This doesn’t taste like matzoh." One student, apparently already wise to diplomatic ways, simply says "No comment."

Both Manischewitz and Streit’s offer a limited run of shmura matzoh each year, mostly donated to charities but sold (for higher prices) in some stores. Alan Adler, director of operations for Streit’s and great-grandson of its founder, Aron Streit, notes the obvious difficulties of preparing shmura matzoh on a large-scale basis. "It is a rather time-consuming and costly process."

The students, having seen how much work goes into shmura matzoh, may now have a new appreciation for the term Bread of Affliction.