Being Jewish is always something I have tasted on the back of my tongue. A sort of savory deep flavor, rich and warm. It is something that I have felt over my shoulders and in my hair, something I feel in all my fingers, especially my thumbs. It’s a deep orange feeling, a glowing in your stomach like eating something warm while standing out in the cold.

Much of Judaism feels as though it is about staying warm in the cold, keeping the fires lit in your stomach. This fire is fed by through different channels: wearing an outfit that is too fancy, kissing on both cheeks, putting on lots of perfume, and lighting as many candles as you can (although that whole list might be me projecting). But, most of all, these fires are fed by the rich culture that has developed around eating. For many Jews, food is a way to nourish not only your body but your spirit. It is a way to wear a fancy outfit and kiss on both cheeks but have it be fennel and coriander flavored and melt in your mouth.

The Jewish relationship with food is not a hedonistic one. Rather, it is the practice of making beautiful what you can, of putting love into everything because sometimes that’s all there is. And at its core, that is what being Jewish is to me. It is love and beauty and nourishment. The tasty food and kisses on the cheek are just lucky side affects.