Angelina de León’s Matza 1

(after reading “Jewish Recipes of the Inquisition,” The New York Times, 4/16/97)

Deliberate
in my sunlit kitchen,
I am making the bread
that afflicted
Angelina de León
five centuries past.

Her recipe comes
straight from the Vatican -
flour, black pepper, eggs,
honey, water, oil.
The housemaid reported it all.
The inquisitor’s quill scratched it down.

No one is spying
as I flatten the balls of dough,
prick with a fork,
put them to bake.

Angelina, breathless,
takes a basket,
hides hers quickly,
hurries to the common oven,
returns with warm cakes
through watchful streets.

The ancient bread,
hushed song at her table
preserve
a story long retold,
a bond of ceremony
older than Spain.

Ancestress,
these flecked, misshapen relics
are my offering.
From desiccated parchment,
spirit glows. Your spices
flame in the mouth.

 

Ruth D. Handel
Scarsdale, NY
 

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1 During the Inquisition, baking matza took courage. Household servants were told to spy and report any Jewish food customs or ceremonies. Those reports are still preserved in Vatican archives. When I read the story of Angelina de León, who lived in Almazan, Spain, I tried to find a way to honor her courage.
Editor’s note: This poem has been read in women’s Passover Seders.

 

 

 

 

 



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www.utoronto.ca/wjudaism/
this page last updated on: 5/23/03

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