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Pre-Pesach Pepperoni Pizza
Ilana Kurshan
Adventures in Mishnah with My Kids
Pesach is still a long way off, but my twins and I have begun working our way through tractate Pesachim. Now into the second chapter, we are learning about the difference between the status of hametz that belongs to a Jew and the status of hametz that belongs to a non-Jew once the holiday of Pesach is over. We already know that it is forbidden to own hametz on Pesach, as explained in the biblical injunction that “Nothing leavened may be found among you” (Exodus 13:7). As a result, it is common today for Jews to symbolically “sell” any remaining hametz in their homes to non-Jews just prior to the Passover holiday, and then to symbolically buy it back once the holiday is over. If the hametz was in the possession of a non-Jew over the course of the holiday, then a Jew may eat it once the holiday is over.
We are learning this mishnah over a dinner of homemade pizza, which is most certainly hametz. The mishnah considers the case of a non-Jew who lends money to a Jew shortly before Pesach. “If I lend something to you,” I explain to the twins, “I want to be sure that you’re going to pay me back. And so I can take something of yours and tell you that I will return it only once you pay me back. That’s called a mashkon – collateral.”
I reach over to Liav’s table setting and snatch her plate of pizza. “So let’s say you borrow money from me, and I don’t completely trust you to pay me back. So I take your pizza, and I tell you I’m going to keep it until you pay me back. But then Pesach comes, and your pizza is in my house the whole holiday. At the end of the holiday, when you pay me back and I give you back your pizza, are you allowed to eat it?”
“No,” Liav answers correctly. “Because it was in your house on Pesach, and you’re Jewish.”
“Exactly,” I tell her. “So long as the hametz is in a Jew’s property on Pesach, it is forbidden to benefit from it after Pesach.”
For the next example, I turn to Tagel. “Tagel, pretend you’re not Jewish.”
Tagel looks down at her pizza. “I’m not Jewish? Can I have some pepperoni?”
I recently explained to the twins about pepperoni when it came up in a novel I was reading to them. They know it’s something non-kosher that many non-Jews like to put on their pizza. I guess Tagel was trying to impress me with her newfound knowledge.
“OK, here’s some pepperoni,” I say, passing her the salt shaker. She pretends to salt her pizza generously, though the lid is still on.
“OK, now let’s say Liav lends you money, and she takes your pizza until you pay her back. After Pesach is over, Liav pays you back, and you give her back her pizza. Is she allowed to eat it?”
“No, because I put pepperoni on it.”
“Oh… right,” I say. “OK, we have to forget the pepperoni. Let’s say you didn’t put any pepperoni on it. You thought you were adding pepperoni, but it was just salt.”
“OK, so yeah, I guess she could eat it, because it wasn’t in her house on Pesach. It was in my house, and I’m not Jewish.”
“Right,” I tell her. “You got it.”
“But Ima, what actually is pepperoni?” To be honest, I’m not exactly sure. I have to consult Wikipedia before I can answer her. “It’s a kind of spicy pig meat,” I tell her.
“Ew, that sounds disgusting!” Tagel exclaims, and Liav wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Pig pizza? Yuck!”
“Well, you think it’s disgusting, but do you think a dog would like it?”
We’ve already learned that in order to qualify as hametz, the food item has to be something that a dog would want to eat. If the food is so spoiled or rotten that no dog would ever want to go near it, then it doesn’t count as Hametz. The girls decide that pepperoni pizza would probably be rather appetizing for a dog, and hence it’s still hametz. I turn to the last part of the mishnah.
“What happens if a huge avalanche of rocks landed on your pizza, and you knew it was under there somewhere, but you couldn’t find it. Would you have to dig it out when you search your house for hametz?”
“That would be really smushed, flat pizza,” Liav says.
“But I think a dog would eat smushed, flat pizza anyway,” says Tagel.
I explain to the girls that according to the Mishnah, as long as a dog would not be able to sniff out the pizza from under the avalanche, then there’s no need to dig it out and burn it. “So we can hide a pizza under a giant pile of rocks and leave it in our house all through Pesach?”
“I guess so,” I tell them. “But if you’re going to have flat pizza anyway, why not just have matzah pizza?”
The girls look down at the pizza on their plates. Maybe next time we’ll make pizza from the leftover matzah we still have in our pantry. Hold the pepperoni, please.
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