Visit to the world's largest handmade matzo factory

One of the many pleasures for me of being in Israel, is the introduction to new family members. I knew I had relatives in Kfar Chabad whom I had never met, so  my cousin, Bruriah suggested we pay them a visit, I was very eager. Not only was this a place of which I'd never been, but to my mind it promised to be somewhat exotic.

Kfar means village, and Chabad is a Hasidic movement in Orthodox Judaism, founded in the late 18th century in Lubavitch, Russia. Members of this movement, mostly from the Soviet Union who were survivors of World War II and Stalinist oppression, founded the settlement in Israel in 1949. Since I come from a largely secular and very urban family,  the visit promised to be somewhat out of the ordinary.

Located 8 km. southeast of Tel Aviv, Kfar Chabad, as one might expect, is rustic. We drove in along quiet country roads, with orange and lemon trees everywhere, chickens roaming freely, and little boys with kippahs on their heads and sidelocks racing around on bicycles . There were many modest houses a goodly distance from each other, no satellite dishes on the roofs, no horns honking, no traffic jams. It was a quiet country atmosphere.

We were welcomed by Saraleh, my third cousin, and the 51 year old matriarch of the Kfar Chabad family, and Gittel, the only daughter of her 6 children. Gittel is 17, in teachers' college and of marriagable age, which means that her parents are actively trying to find her a match. Gittel served us tea and cookies she had baked herself. We sat in the dining room where the only adornment on the walls was a portrait of the late Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the charismatic Rebbe (leader) of the Chabad movement, who was greatly responsible for expanding Chabad's activities worldwide as a vehicle of Jewish outreach. Many of his followers view him to be the Jewish Messiah.
In the dining room were also floor to ceiling bookshelves, filled only with religious books on biblical and Talmudic subjects.

After tea and cookies Saraleh and Gittel asked us if we would like a tour of the village, including what they said was the world's largest handmade matzo factory. I thought this was an opportunity not to be missed, even though I didn't know what was meant by handmade matzo. Never embarrassed to show my ignorance in the quest for knowledge,  I asked Saraleh. "These are the special Shmura matzos," she answered. I vaguely knew what they were because we had them at our Passover Seder every year. They were specially obtained matzos, that didn't look like the square, uniformly produced machine made matzos; rather these were round and artisanal looking. But I didn't really know what made them special. Saraleh explained that ordinary matzo is made without any yeast or fermentation, but Shmura matzo quite literally means guarded matzo, which means that extra care has been taken to ensure that no fermentation whatsoever has taken place. So the wheat is reaped before the sheaves have completely dried out, because if the sheaves are dry and come into contact with rain, they can become moldy and fermented. The wheat is then guarded until it is ground. Most people make a point of eating a little Shmura matzo at the Seder.

Enriched by this knowledge, we approached a most unremarkable low-slung building. Once inside we walked down a long corridor, following our noses to the smell of fresh baking. And then we came upon large glass windows through which we could see the matzo factory. So much activity! And all of it by bearded men in identical blue T-shirts. To one side, and obviously the first step in the process, was a man weighing water, and another flour, the only 2 ingredients of Shmura matzo. (or any matzo). Other men mixed and kneaded the mixture by hand, in large bowls. In the centre of the room, about 20 men were standing along either side of a long table, rolling dough into logs. One man was cutting the logs into rounds, while others were rolling the rounds into  round flat shapes, not unlike pizza.

I was impressed at the speed and efficiency with which this production was taking place, but I was also somewhat surprised to see men doing this work, especially in a traditional society where baking is generally the domain of women, as Gittel had shown minutes before with the cookies she had baked. Gittel explained that the men make the matzo because it involves a lot of physical strength.

Once the dough was rolled into rounds, the rounds were hung over wooden poles. The poles were then carried over to a round brick oven, much resembling a pizza oven, in which a fire roared, where they were baked until done - just a few seconds.

Again in the interest of maintaining purity by avoiding fermentation, all of the equipment is scrubbed down and the rolling pins sanded, so that no bits from the old batch adhere to the news one.

The whole process from start to finish cannot take more than 18 minutes. Impressively the factory produces a ton of matzo a day, and it's shipped all over the world.  In order to keep up with demand, with Passover approaching, the factory operates 24 hours a day. (except on Shabbat, or course.)

When I said goodbye to my Chabad cousins, they gave me a box of the Shmura matzo, which I most gratefully accepted. When I celebrate the Passover Seder this year with my secular cousins in Tel Aviv, in the centre of the table will be the Shmura matzo, not only to remind us of our exodus from Egypt, but also to honour the dedication and devotion of the men who baked them.