Season of Rejoicing: Celebrating Sukkot in Crown Heights
In Crown Heights, Brooklyn, the holiday Sukkot is a celebration of life, community, and autumn's bounty.
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Photo: Todd Coleman
The foods tend to be warming dishes, perfect for eating in the chilly autumn air.
There are no religiously prescribed dishes for Sukkot, but patterns emerge on the holiday's menus. "You need practical, durable food," says Elka. "It has to taste good, but it can't be too delicate, too fussy." The foods tend to alternate between warming dishes, perfect for meals in the chilly autumn air, and ones that can be eaten cold. Casseroles are popular, as are stews like tzimmes, made with root vegetables. Tzimmes is eaten throughout the year by Ashkenazi Jews (who have roots in Central and Eastern Europe), but its inclusion of fall produce—like carrots, parsnips, and plums—makes it a staple of this harvest holiday. Stuffed vegetables also represent the season's bounty, and Jacobs fills cabbage leaves with ground beef and rice. She tops them with a sweet-and-sour tomato sauce, whose candied flavor represents hopes for a sweet new year. Elka uses a similar sauce for her stew of savory fish balls.
Elka and her mother also make kreplach, pasta filled with minced chicken, which is traditionally served in broth on Sukkot's final day. I watch as they roll the dough paper-thin and cut out small circles. Jacobs spoons the ground meat onto the rounds, giving each a twist so its sides cling together. "Otherwise they spill out," says Jacobs, "and you get meat soup."
I sample slow-cooked foods, the kind that get better as they sit untended on the hearth.
The foods of Judaism are inherently tied to the practice of the religion, so while the flavors are different from North Africa to the Americas, the meaning behind each meal is shared, and the similarities are inescapable. I discover this as Elka leads me from home to home, affording me the opportunity to taste Sukkot's delicious range. In many kitchens, I sample slow-cooked foods, the kind that get better as they sit untended on the hearth, a delicious and universal result of the restrictions on cooking during Sabbath.
At the home of Elka's friend Tanya Rogal-sky, we try t'fina pkaila, a Tunisian stew of spinach, white beans, flanken (beef short rib), and boulettes—meatballs with plenty of cilantro, mint, and parsley—which Tanya serves over couscous with a side of chickpea salad. We also go to see Elka's friend Tiki Dean, who is Yemeni and, unlike her Ashkenazi neighbors, embraces heat during this holiday of sweet foods. She makes a zesty za'atar dip and a fiery Yemeni schug, a spread of jalapeños, cilantro, and garlic. Dean also prepares cumin-scented ground beef that's wrapped in dough (a cousin of kibbeh, in which the filling is fried in a shell of bulgur wheat and lamb). The snacks and dips are perfect for a quick bite before returning to the streets to dance.
Inside the sukkah, just big enough for two long tables and a mess of chairs, the bam-boo-and-cedar-branch roof gives off an earthy fragrance. Elka has left me in the able hands of Gershon and Rochel Leah Eichorn, both masterful cooks. They're expecting 120 or so guests over the next several days, and tonight's feast is about to commence. We recite blessings over the wine and Rochel Leah's eggy challah, which we then dip in honey.
The meal is passed around the table, family style. Salads make their way first—my favorite is crisp cauliflower with black olives and roasted peppers. For the soup course, we slurp bowls of chicken stock, which Gershon simmered for more than six hours, using plenty of feet and knee bones. Then we tuck into the main courses: minute steaks with ginger and apricot sauce, and chicken cutlets baked with garlic and lemon. They're served with savory noodle kugel, a satisfying, pepper-spiked casserole.
With dessert—marble and honey cakes—the men drink schnapps while humming wordless songs called nigunim. As we eat, more guests arrive: a group from Argentina, visitors from Australia. It's hard to tell who has been invited and who has shown up unannounced, but I'm learning that for the Lubavitchers, there's little distinction. We're all welcome to eat.
See 16 recipes for Sukkot in the gallery »
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