Wednesday, September 27, 2017 // The Statement 
7B

Personal Statement: Mandelbrot

L

ast week, just in time for the Jew-
ish high holidays, a care pack-
age arrived from home. Grinning 
uncontrollably, I knew exactly what 

it was the minute I got it. Inside the box was 
a mound bundled in tinfoil and bubble wrap 
and cellophane, tied with a ribbon. “For a 
sweet New Year!” was written on a tag — 
referring to Rosh Hashanah, the holiday that 
signifies the beginning of a new year in the 
Jewish religion. After careful inspection, I 
opened the cellophane and tore through the 
tinfoil, instantly getting crumbs and cinna-
mon and sugar all over my shirt. My excited 
sneaking suspicion was correct: My mom sent 
me a package of her famous mandelbrot.

Mandelbrot is a cookie popular among 

Eastern European Jews, liter-
ally meaning “almond bread” 
in Yiddish. Cut from a loaf 
into one-inch slices and baked 
twice, the delicate treat can be 
mistaken for biscotti’s softer 
first cousin or the chocolate 
chip cookies’ thinner — and 
somewhat frailer — uncle, but 
one bite proves otherwise.

Every time I hear those 

three syllables, my ears perk 
up, my mouth begins to water 
and I mentally prepare myself 
to delve into a delicious piece 
of 
my 
great-grandmother’s 

mandelbrot recipe. The aroma 
produces a visceral reaction, 
a Pavlovian response. I know 
I’m about to enjoy a welcoming 
mouthful of chocolate, cinna-
mon and sugar.

***
Our family’s mandelbrot — 

“or ‘mandelbread’ as the gen-
tiles would call it,” my grandma 
would interject — dates all the 
way back to the early 1900s. I 
say it’s my great-grandmother’s 
recipe, but her neighbor, Mrs. 
Wertheim, was the true cre-
ator of this particular combina-
tion. In what has been retold to 
seem like a covert operation, my 
mom had to coerce Mrs. Wert-
heim’s niece to sneak her the 
top-secret recipe when her aunt 
wasn’t looking.

We still give Mrs. Wertheim 

credit, but ever since that recipe 
handoff more than 25 years ago, 
the mandelbrot recipe has been 
altered a bit, thus becoming the 
nucleus of the Katz household. 
Hosting the Katz’s for Rosh 
Hashanah dinner? Get out a 

tray for their delicious mandelbrot. Going 
over to the Katz’s house for Passover? Get 
ready for their amazing Passover mandelbrot, 
a different — yet just as tasty — recipe, made 
without flour and replaced with matzah meal. 
Sometimes I feel like our dessert gets us the 
invites.

Much of Jewish culture is centered around 

food, as is the case with many different eth-
nicities. The laughable, yet accurate, remark I 
hear all the time from my relatives that sum-
marizes every Jewish holiday is “They tried 
to kill us, we won, let’s eat!” Food is a major 
part of our cultural identity — pastrami and 
corned beef on rye with a cup of matzah ball 
soup is a mantra I live by — and my family’s 
mandelbrot recipe perfectly describes this 

importance.

The word mandelbrot doesn’t just mean I’m 

about to eat my favorite sweet; that’s not what 
it truly represents. The tradition of a family 
recipe links the generations while facilitating 
the creation of new memories. This heavenly 
loaf has the power to bring together a family 
and sometimes an entire community together 
in times of happiness and sadness.

Along with joyous occasions like holidays 

and birthdays, mandelbrot can also serve as 
a form of solace for those grieving. A staple in 
Jewish culture, the dessert infuses an inex-
plicable sense of comfort. Our family’s go-to 
dish to bring to a shiva — a weeklong grieving 
period in Judaism — is mandelbrot, for good 
reason. The crunchy bite doesn’t just give off 

a homey feeling, but it also provides one of 
comfort, a sort of distraction from pain.

Yes, I am biased, but I truly believe my 

mom makes the best mandelbrot in the 
world. Although a somewhat simple recipe 
of eight ingredients, for some unknown rea-
son, friends who have attempted it have been 
unable to deliver.

***
My mom used to tell me a man who knows 

how to cook or bake will always make his 
wife very happy. I immediately became her 
permanent sous chef. Looking back, that was 
probably just a ploy to get me to help make 
dinner — or maybe to spend quality time with 
her oldest child.

Ever since I can remember, I have helped 

my mother finish off the loaves 
with a dusting of cinnamon 
and sugar. Now I know the 
recipe by heart, perfecting 
the 
chocolate-chip-to-batter 

ratio. With this comes a great 
responsibility 
to 
continue 

passing on the joy of this man-
delbrot recipe to future gen-
erations — the common theme 
in Judaism of l’dor v’dor, 
“from generation to genera-
tion” in Hebrew — and doing 
so all the while touching oth-
ers with this taste of family.

It may seem cliche, but 

even though I’m 511 miles 
away from home, this des-
sert makes me feel like I’m 
still just a boy sneaking a taste 
after helping his mom with 
the cinnamon and sugar dust-
ing. For a split second when I 
ripped through the tinfoil and 
started to pick at the man-
delbrot, I wasn’t in my dorm 
room, but rather at home eat-
ing the treat that makes my 
ears perk up and my mouth 
begin to water.

For that one moment, as I 

ate the first piece of mandel-
brot, I felt a sense of love and 
security, protecting me from 
the outside and the stresses 
of college. I’m reminded of my 
culture, of home.

Mandelbrot is so much 

more than food to me. It repre-
sents a special bond between a 
mother and her son. It repre-
sents a cultural identity being 
passed down for generations. 
It represents celebrating the 
happy times and mourning the 
sad ones.

by Benjamin Katz, Daily Sports Writer

PHOTO COURTESY OF BENJAMIN KATZ

