Cooking the Kaddish. Susan Gubar. This essay is dedicated to Sandra Mortola Gilbert. The urgency is palpable. They cannot help me. But I did teach myself to make the soup and the bread, the meat and potatoes, and even to tell some jokes, so surely I can learn how to recite the prayer.
It is only twenty-five lines long when I print out a transliteration from the Web. Certain phrases bring back a familiar and profoundly satisfying rhythm. But when I try to read it aloud, I sound like a dyslexic second grader. Do Jewish foods captivate me because I was never fed them? Oddly, my mother did encourage me to learn Hebrew and to participate in the recitation of the Kaddish at the end of Saturday services, though she never taught me how to make matzo ball soup, challah, brisket, or latkes.
So why must I and how will I set out to memorize the Kaddish at this late stage of my secular life? We kids were enrolled in a Reformed temple in Brooklyn where no real learning took place. So here is how I make chicken stock.
Put a whole chicken or a bunch of wings and whatever other parts of the chicken you have on hand into a big pot and cover with water. As you bring to a boil, skim off the foamy crud that rises to the top.
Then add a carrot, a stalk or two of celery, an onion, maybe a cut-up parsnip and some parsley, and lower the heat to a simmer, cooking partly covered for two or three hours. When you pierce the chicken with a fork and it falls apart, it is done. Strain through a sieve or colander, pushing the soft veggies down to extract their juices.
