The hot pot
January passed under Israeli skies. The buzz of military planes was as consistent as the sunshine. I realized there was no reason to accelerate the time it takes to go through a sack of rice looking for tiny stones. I learned to sit for long hours without my primal Western agitation. Hurry is not a word Middle-Eastern people understand. Punctual is an unheard- of concept. Preparation for a dinner of wild rabbit or lamb, greens, and (you guessed it!) rice takes the time it takes, that’s all. What I learned to value as much as the flair of serving a nourishing meal was enjoying the company and the organic process. The twinkle in the dark eyes of the two women passing time on the sunny kitchen steps became, for me, as much inspiration as the food itself. If no other room in a home is sanctuary, certainly the kitchen is.
Since ancient times no more worthy endeavor has existed than to feed others. Abraham and Sarah prepared a special meal for three strangers who eventually revealed themselves as messengers from God. In fact, Scripture says it was the Lord himself who appeared to Abraham.1 Thousands of years later Jesus repeatedly used food as a metaphor for life. After his resurrection Jesus asked his disciple Peter: “Do you love Me?” When Peter answered in the affirmative,Jesus said, “Feed My sheep,”2 referring to spiritual nourishment. In Matthew’s account Jesus also told his followers that “whoever gives one of these little ones only a cup of cold water. . . shall by no means lose his reward.”3 How much proof do we need that the kitchen itself is a place of worship? Setting a glass of cold milk on the table for a hungry kid is a way to honor God. The work we do in the kitchen is less about elegant style, handy gadgets, and glamorous space than it is about the love and purity of heart that empower the work.