Midway through Passover, I’m tired of eating matzo. Actually, I’m over it after my first bite of the usual, hard flour-and-water matzo at the seder. I quickly switch to Yehuda’s gluten-free matzo, which is made from tapioca, rehydrated potato flakes, honey, egg yolks and vinegar. They’re basically Jewish Pringles, and, unlike the usual matzo, they won’t settle in your gut until Shavuot.
Then, this year, I read about soft matzo. Amid the rampant antisemitism on social media, there’s also some interesting semitism. I came across a Reddit poster who asked what should be the Fifth Question, “Why do we eat hard matzo?”
The fleeing Israelites didn’t have time for their bread to rise, but they did linger until it was extra crispy? Wouldn’t it make sense that matzo more closely resembled the soft, unleavened flat breads you find in Yemen, Ethiopia and Syria than hard crackers you find in a grocery store end cap?
On X, Isaac Choua, did an exhaustive examination of rabbinic sources and concluded, “Soft Maṣṣa isn’t a Sepharadi ‘custom.’ It was the norm for nearly two millennia. The shift to cracker-style Maṣṣa wasn’t halakhic—it was industrial: shelf life, war, storage, shipping.”
Think of the part of the seder when we make a sandwich from charoset and maror, korekh.
“The so-called ‘Hillel Sandwich’ wasn’t a sandwich,” writes Choua, “it was a wrap.”
Even more answers came from a thoughtful, deeply researched piece by Sam Lin-Sommer in the Forward from last year entitled, “No your matzo doesn’t have to be drier than the Sinai desert.”
“Scholars believe that, for much of matzo’s history, it has been thicker and softer than the stuff on many American supermarket shelves,” Sam wrote.
The advent of mass production and distribution, combined with a rabbinical preference for hard-cooked matzo that couldn’t possibly be subject to leavening, created the ubiquitous holy hardtack we all pretend to love.
“Ashkenazi rabbis still debate the merits of soft matzo,” wrote Sam, “but it’s more common in the Sephardic world, and remains a staple of Yemeni and Ethiopian passovers.”
After the seders, I decided to make my own soft matzo, adapted from one Mark Bittman published in the New York Times.
I rolled out the olive oil and salt-enriched dough, slapped it across the upturned bottom of a superheated wok, and watched as it bubbled and brown — but did not rise. The entire process took less than 10 minutes. I spread mashed fresh avocado over one of the warm matzos, and labne, za’atar and olive oil over the other. I rolled them up — absolutely delicious. You’ll find the exact recipe at Foodaism.
The lesson of the soft matzo is pretty clear: A tradition we grow up thinking can only be a certain way is more often than not itself a product of change and evolution. If there’s an aspect we think can be better, more humane — or more delicious — we can be part of that change. It all starts with asking questions, or, in my case, with indigestion.
Warm, soft matzo
Ingredients
- 2 cups flour
- ½ teaspoon salt
- ⅓ cup olive oil
- 1/2 – 3/4 cup water
- Sea salt optional
Instructions
- Put flour, salt and olive oil in a food processor. With the machine on, add ½ – 3/4 cup water through the feeder tube Continue to run machine until dough forms a ball and rides atop the blade.
- Turn the dough onto a floured cutting board. Cut dough into six balls — this is easiest if you cut the ball in thirds, then each third into half — and flatten each into a 6-inch disc. Use a rolling pin to roll each patty into a 10-12-inch circle. The shapes can be irregular, but the dough should be very thin.
- Put dough directly onto the hot griddle or wok. If you prefer the oven, lift onto ungreased cookie sheets and place in oven. Bake for about 2 to 3 minutes, keeping a very close eye on breads — they can burn very quickly.
- When they puff up and brown, flip and cook for another minute or so on second side. Repeat with all the dough and let cool completely.
- Slather hot matzo with: avocado and salt, labne, za’atar and olive oil, your favorite tuna or egg salad, or just eat warm.
