Interfaith Doughnuts
Americans have a hard time dealing with religion. Some of us have too much religion, others not enough. Or more precisely, some of us think others of us have too much religion, or not enough. Problems also arise when one follows the wrong religion: even though no American has ever found himself in this position, it is impolitic for him to suggest to others that they might be guilty of such error. Unless, of course, his religion demands that he do so.
These dilemmas are what cause many of us -- mostly young, single persons living in places like New York -- to hew to the advice of our third President:
Believing with you that religion is a matter which lies solely between Man & his God, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his worship, that the legitimate powers of government reach actions only, & not opinions, I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their legislature should "make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof," thus building a wall of separation between Church & State.
When you live in a dense knot of heterogeneity like the typical coastal American metropolis, keeping religion to yourself sidesteps a potential raft of conflicts with your millions of tightly-packed neighbors. In these circles, faith is a secret romance. You conclude that God is less offended that you keep your relationship with him secret than your fellow citizens would be if you flaunted it. You substitute yourself for the Jeffersonian State, segregating your religious tendencies from the other aspects of your daily life: your work, your play, your politics, your romances of the flesh. It's this last bit that most often gets you into trouble.
Lisa is Catholic. I am Jewish. Just a couple of generations ago, our relationship might have been cause for my family to disown me, or for her family to murder me. But that was in the old country. This is America. We're two coastal urban professional Jeffersonians testifying to the world that yes, we can all just get along. It helps, of course, that we are both lapsed.
The holiday season sets religious differences in high relief. You have to be flexible and creative to make sure nobody feels left out. For example: sufganiyot are Israeli jelly doughnuts made specially for Chanukah. I've never made them before. But in our house, we take every opportunity to reconcile faith with love. I made a batch of tiny doughnuts based on the dough recipe in the French Laundry Cookbook. Instead of the traditional apricot jelly filling, I piped them full of Harney & Son's Christmas Preserves, a spiced plum and currant jam that I thinned with a little brandy. Hard work, but all in the service of peace, love and understanding.
I'm just a little bothered that Lisa nor I particularly liked the doughnuts.
Many Jews of European descent are familiar with sufganiyot, the jelly doughnuts that ashkenazis incorporate into their chanukah diet. My ancestors in Babylon fulfilled their oleic obligations with a different kind of dessert. This is zingoulah, a funnel cake soaked in the ubiquitous rosewater syrup that drenches all pastries from that part of the world. My grandmother made it with yeast, but my mother and I have Westernized the recipe a bit with the substitution of beer. I can't think of a more fitting way to observe a holiday that celebrates violent opposition to cultural exchange.