Ode to Cholent!

As if I didn't get enough people searching for "cholent" and getting to my blog, I thought I'd provide more reason for such searchers to end up here. Yes, while busy reading over Shabbos the most recent issue of Moment magazine, I happened upon a fascinating article about cholent with a great recipe. The part of the article that really sparked my interest, however, was some lines from a poem by Heinrich Heine called "Sabbath Princess."

It's a long poem, but believe me, it's worth reading, if only because the bits about cholent (called schalet in this poem) is pretty hilarious. Cholent as ambrosia? Oh yes.

And if cholent doesn't strike your fancy, check out their fascinating article on how Jews -- quite literally -- built Alaska.

Princess Sabbath

By Heinrich Heine (Trans. Margaret Armour)

IN Arabia’s book of fable We behold enchanted princes Who at times their form recover, Fair as first they were created.   The uncouth and shaggy monster         5 Has again a king for father; Pipes his amorous ditties sweetly On the flute in jewelled raiment.   Yet the respite from enchantment Is but brief, and, without warning,         10 Lo! we see his Royal Highness Shuffled back into a monster.   Of a prince by fate thus treated Is my song. His name is Israel, And a witch’s spell has changed him         15 To the likeness of a dog.   As a dog, with dog’s ideas, All the week, a cur, he noses Through life’s filthy mire and sweepings, Butt of mocking city Arabs;         20   But on every Friday evening, On a sudden, in the twilight, The enchantment weakens, ceases, And the dog once more is human.   And his father’s halls he enters         25 As a man, with man’s emotions, Head and heart alike uplifted, Clad in pure and festal raiment.   “Be ye greeted, halls beloved, Of my high and royal father!         30 Lo! I kiss your holy door-posts, Tents of Jacob, with my mouth!”   Through the house there passes strangely A mysterious stir and whisper, And the hidden master’s breathing         35 Shudders weirdly through the silence.   Silence! save for one, the steward (Vulgo, synagogue attendant) Springing up and down, and busy With the lamps that he is lighting.         40   Golden lights of consolation, How they sparkle, how they glimmer! Proudly flame the candles also On the rails of the Almemor.   By the shrine wherein the Thora         45 Is preserved, and which is curtained By a costly silken hanging, Whereon precious stones are gleaming.   There, beside the desk already Stands the synagogue precentor,         50 Small and spruce, his mantle black With an air coquettish shouldering;   And, to show how white, his hand is, At his neck he works—forefinger Oddly pressed against his temple,         55 And the thumb against his throat.   To himself he trills and murmurs, Till at last his voice he raises; Till he sings with joy resounding, “Lecho dodi likrath kallah!”         60   “Lecho dodi likrath kallah— Come, beloved one, the bride Waits already to uncover To thine eyes her blushing face!”   The composer of this poem,         65 Of this pretty marriage song, Is the famous minnesinger, Don Jehudah ben Halevy.   It was writ by him in honour Of the wedding of Prince Israel         70 And the gentle Princess Sabbath, Whom they call the silent princess.   Pearl and flower of all beauty Is the princess—not more lovely Was the famous Queen of Sheba,         75 Bosom friend of Solomon,   Who, Bas Bleu of Ethiopia, Sought by wit to shine and dazzle, And became at length fatiguing With her very clever riddles.         80   Princess Sabbath, rest incarnate, Held in hearty detestation Every form of witty warfare And of intellectual combat.   She abhorred with equal loathing         85 Loud declamatory passion— Pathos ranting round and storming With dishevelled hair and streaming.   In her cap the silent princess Hides her modest, braided tresses,         90 Like the meek gazelle she gazes, Blooms as slender as the myrtle.   She denies her lover nothing Save the smoking of tobacco; “Dearest, smoking is forbidden,         95 For to-day it is the Sabbath.   “But at noon, as compensation, There shall steam for thee a dish That in very truth divine is— Thou shalt eat to-day of schalet!         100   “Schalet, ray of light immortal! Schalet, daughter of Elysium!” So had Schiller’s song resounded, Had he ever tasted schalet,   For this schalet is the very         105 Food of heaven, which, on Sinai, God Himself instructed Moses In the secret of preparing,   At the time He also taught him And revealed in flames of lightning         110 All the doctrines good and pious, And the holy Ten Commandments.   Yes, this schalet’s pure ambrosia Of the true and only God: Paradisal bread of rapture;         115 And, with such a food compared,   The ambrosia of the pagan, False divinities of Greece, Who were devils ’neath disguises, Is the merest devils’ offal.         120   When the prince enjoys the dainty, Glow his eyes as if transfigured, And his waistcoat he unbuttons; Smiling blissfully he murmurs,   “Are not these the waves of Jordan         125 That I hear—the flowing fountains In the palmy vale of Beth-el, Where the camels lie at rest?   “Are not these the sheep-bells ringing Of the fat and thriving wethers         130 That the shepherd drives at evening Down Mount Gilead from the pastures?”   But the lovely day flits onward, And with long, swift legs of shadow Comes the evil hour of magic—         135 And the prince begins to sigh;   Seems to feel the icy fingers Of a witch upon his heart; Shudders, fearful of the canine Metamorphosis that waits him.         140   Then the princess hands her golden Box of spikenard to her lover, Who inhales it, fain to revel Once again in pleasant odours.   And the princess tastes and offers         145 Next the cup of parting also— And he drinks in haste, till only Drops a few are in the goblet.   These he sprinkles on the table, Then he takes a little wax-light,         150 And he dips it in the moisture Till it crackles and is quenched.