HeyJaredBite-Sized Jewish History
Jewish history made gastronomic, irreverent, and undeniably delicious.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 4
- Latest publication
- Aug 18, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 8, 2026
Latest issues
Melbourne, Dobos Torte? (opens the original)
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I walked down Carlisle Street yesterday, and it felt like reading two documents printed on top of each other. New bars have gone in where there used to be nothing but shopfronts shuttered by six; a wine bar occupies a space that, if you look up at the brickwork above the awning, still bears the ghost of a painted sign for a kosher butcher who hasn’t traded there in decades. Further along, a falafel place does brisk business next to an Israeli grocer selling halva by the kilo, a few doors from a
The Only Rock We Eat (opens the original)
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As a convert, I brought relatively few Jewish traditions to my marriage — in fact, I really only brought one: we do not dip our challah in salt on Friday nights, we use honey year-round. There’s enough misery in the world, who needs more reminders of it? We use salt, apparently, to remind us of the salty tears shed after the destruction of Jerusalem. Even in our happiest moments, is right … However perfunctory this sounds, salt is, arguably, the most important ingredient in human history. In add
Jerusalem, Starvation, and the meaning of Tisha b'Av (opens the original)
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Jerusalem, wrote Yehuda Amichai, is a city on the edge of eternity. It exists at once in history, text, memory, and at the centre of one of the world’s most intractable conflicts. Its Old City is carved into quarters — Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Armenian — each staking a claim to something eternal. But one claim deserves to be stated plainly: Jerusalem is, at its root, a Jewish city. It was the capital of ancient Judea and the site of the Beit HaMikdash, the Temple — the structure that once held
Shabbat in the Woods (opens the original)
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This past Shabbat, I stood in an outdoor seating venue with my family, looking at the agam (Hebrew: lake) as we sang the prayers welcoming Friday night. We had just come from the Chadar Ochel (mess hall) where my youngest daughter was delighted to learn that she could — for the first time in a week — actually have the juice on the table. It was Friday night, after all. We ate a supper of fresh-baked challah, chicken soup, and some vaguely grilled chicken (lunch the next day was cholent), the sam
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