The bread we Jews call Challah has become sort of a cultural phenomena in the United States for as long as I can remember. When I was a child a fast food chain actually had a breakfast with challah bread in the morning. It strangely included sausage and bacon as well as eggs sandwiched between a challah roll, the irony not lost on our fellow Jews, but challah has more than just a cultural link to our faith, it actually has a strong religious component as its basis as the ancient bread tithe of the Jewish Temple.

The tradition of challah has evolved into more than just an ancient rite of bread portioning but is a cultural icon in our faith and sometimes the only physical connection to our history passed from parent to child, mother to daughter in the form of unique recipes and customs in baking this Shabbat bread. From my earliest memories I loved coming home on Friday and having a nice fresh challah for Shabbat dinner, associating the sweetness of Shabbat with the tasty flakiness of the bread. Even after my parents’ divorce when Shabbat dinners became less frequent, the taste of challah had that unique connection to something special.

The name “challah” is derived from the Hebrew word used for “portion” in the Biblical commandment “of the first of your dough you shall give unto the Lord a portion for a gift throughout your generations.” Jews were biblically commanded to separate from their dough one twenty fourth part and give it to the kohanim (priests) every Sabbath.

In post-Temple times the rabbis ordained that a challah (portion), which had to be at least the size of an olive, must be separated from the dough and burned. It is still a tradition for Jewish bakers and observant households to tear a tiny lump of risen dough from any type of bread and to “burn” it (usually wrapped in foil) in the oven or fire while making a blessing in memory of the ancient priests who would receive the bread.

Challah has become almost as synonymous with Shabbat that my son Ari often refers to Saturday as challah day at shul. This sweet bread has such religious significance that we often forget that it was once an essential part of the ancient Hebrews’ connection to one another through the portion given to the priests in the ancient temple. Today challah has become that unique universal Jewish connection to that ancient edifice by turning all our homes into that ancient temple and our table as the alter of the holy of holies.

Many people narrowly focus on "religion" as a scorecard that can be used as a dividing line on who is holy and who is not and measure how much one studies, how many rituals one fulfills, and how many kind deeds one performs without understanding that faith is often the simple aspects of life such as the bread we eat on a daily basis. The essence of religion is not quantitative, but purposeful in connecting us to where we need to be and connecting to others.

Whether it is in the doing itself or as reminders of the truly important priorities in life, religion is both the anchor that keeps us from drifting too far away and the healthy landmarks towards which we are to steer. Challah is that anchor in which we Jews link our faith and our community within the confines of the walls of our home. Our faith is linked between our past and our present all in one event of blessing the bread on Friday night.

To close I want to share this story that the great rabbi of Belz would tell his Chasidim about the acts of doing simple things can change your soul. The child of a certain rabbi used to wander in the woods. At first his father let him wander, but over time he became concerned. The woods were dangerous. The father did not know what lurked there. He decided to discuss the matter with his child. One day he took him aside and said, “You know, I have noticed that each day you walk into the woods. I wonder, why you go there?”

The boy said to is father, “I go there to find God.”

“That is a very good thing the father replied gently. I am glad you are searching for God. But, my child, don’t you know that God is the same everywhere?”

“Yes,” the boy answered, “but I’m not.”

The truth is the act of baking challah changes ones soul and thus we find God even in the most mundane place such as our kitchen. So when we see that simple bread in the store think a little of the searching of your soul when you put it in your kitchen.

Rabbi Jeffrey Lipschultz is the spiritual leader Beth Judah Temple in Wildwood. He welcomes your comments at dvjewish@rof.net